#he just does this to any rich person. bruce being batman was just an unexpected bonus

[martyrbat]

alfred in wonderland – batman tales: once upon a crime

[ID: Alfred Pennyworth walking into the kitchen in Wayne Manor. He just had an Alice in Wonderland esque dream sequence due to accidentally drinking a hallucinogenic tea made by the Mad Hatter. Alfred is looking over his shoulder as he reassures an off-panel Bruce, “No tea will touch these lips again, I assure you. Perhaps a pumpkin spice latte will best settle my stomach at this late hour. But unfortunately Alfred is oblivious to the Scarecrow currently lurking in the kitchen, injecting fear toxin into the pumpkin shaped mug... END ID]

[paragonrobits]

“most superhero groups are billionaires beating up poor people” okay this isn’t funny, its just really annoying and like a lot of memes that pick up traction, people are acting like its actual canon so in response consider this:

this is based on the idea that most superheroes are billionaires, or otherwise rich. Besides the fact that a few of the founding figures that would inspire many superheroes were rich as a cover story (Zorro, as an example) and that a common superhero secret identity idea during the pulp era was ‘local wealthy person uses their money to fund their battle against gangsters and supervillains and anyway no one believes a rich idiot would do anything useful like that’, its not really a common thing. At ALL. Some prominent superheroes (Iron Man, Batman) fit this, but most superheroes are not particularly wealthy. For a lot of them it doesn’t really matter either way, narratively, and a lot of the ones for whom it DOES matter are blue collar or otherwise not wealthy.

Actual examples are extensive, but not that many heroes are wealthy. It’s, again, way more common for them not to be; Superman holds down a job as a journalist. Peter Parker’s life is, with rare exception, a constant downward spiral of him struggling to hold down a job alongside doing superhero work. Bruce Banner is consistently depicted as legitimately homeless and his powers render him too unstable to hold down ANY kind of lifestyle that won’t inevitably end in him fleeing from the collateral damage that is his life. It goes on.

Then there’s Marvel’s most unexpected darlings, the Guardians of the Galaxy. For most of their on-screen movie appearances, they’re essentially a bunch of space ruffians taking mercenary jobs. It’s a bit weird to say ‘gun for hire’ as a blue collar job but... well, what else would you call it?

Supervillains are more consistently depicted as rich. The lists go on and on: Lex Luthor, the cunning businessman who’s sincerely tried to turn a whole city into his personal monopoly so he can feel important. Kingpin, who IS the actual kingpin of crime in all of New York and poses as a wealthy benefactor while muscling out anyone who might interfere in his control over the city. Obadiah Stane, the Ironmonger, a man so dedicated to arms dealing he has a whole super identity based around it. Doctor Doom, who whatever else he’s got going on, is also the absolute dictator of an entire country that he rules with a literal iron fist and whose entire GDP is essentially his personal wallet. Pretty much all of Batman’s rogues gallery from the gangster era have this to some degree; the crime families of old Gotham, the Penguin when he’s in top form...

And this leads to the second criticism of this extremely unfunny and  irritating deliberate misconception joke; the depiction of supervillains as victims or people who get beaten up while just trying to make a living. To be blunt, while it is common for supervillains to be depicted sympathetically (and in fact specific villains being treated like this, or in general, seems to go in cycles depending on whether people are sick of it or the inverse at that time). It’s not that common; you might be talking about, say, the minions of the arc villain, but even they tend to be career criminals who happen to get their kicks out of beating the shit out of other people, breaking legs for criminal organizations, being legitimate serial killers who regard torturing people to death as an art form, or take potshots at stray pets for the fun of it. They profit really well off of this job and they’re not typically victims; when they are, its usually a plot point and the writer is likely to address it. You don’t often get cases where a writer will just drop stuff like that or leave bad implications.

The vast majority of supervillains are huge assholes. Even the sympathetic ones; Mr Freeze might be a tormented ruin of a man desperately trying to save his sickly wife, but he is ALSO frequently depicted as being callously indifferent to other people because their problems aren’t HIS problems. Killer Croc is one of the few villains I give leeway to in this manner because dear god Gotham is so fucked up get this man some real therapy please, but even he has his moments. And then there’s the villains often treated as environmentalist feminist icons but when you actually look at them, they generally tend to be actually depicted as ecofascists who never shut up about how their plans is to exterminate humanity.

So long story short, its really weird that people act like ‘rich guys beating up poor people’ is the default of this genre when pretty much all the examples they reference are 1. very specific to the heroes who started out fighting gangsters during the 1940s and they were fighting the Mafia and Nazis and 2. few superheroes are rich, I don’t understand why people think its funny to make stuff up like this to dislike something that’s popular to make fun of (pretty much like it was 20 years ago and back, so time really is a flat circle)

[astyle-alex]

[Fanfic] Museum Mishap | the BatFam

Museum Mishap  |  Chapter 5/6

Fandom: the DC Universe, Batman & co. Pairings: Jay x Tim Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None

Total Word Count: 38,590

Summary:

Middle-School Tim Drake is on a field trip to the Science Museum, but with a WE exhibition of top-secret new technologies being staged in the basement, Tim separates from his classmates and breaks into the staff-only areas by using the skills he's developed over years of stalking Batman and Robin.

Current-Robin Jason Todd catches him in the act, but he's not there to confront Tim for trespassing or truancy - he's there because there's a rumor on the street that Tim Drake knows Batman's real name. And the rumor's gaining ground, quick, drawing in the wrong kind of attention.

When a Drug-Lord decides to take the rumor seriously enough to kidnap the little genius, Jason jumps into the crossfire. It all goes downhill from there. Fast.

(Jason is 14, Tim is 12)

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Museum Mishap Chapter 5: Checking Up

     Dick is the first to notice something’s different about Jason.

           Which is fair, because even though Bruce is the first person to see Jason after he wakes up on Saturday, a full 27 hours after being rescued from Sabini (ten of which he’d spent sleeping peacefully in his own bed instead of the Cave’s infirmary) – and even though Alfred is the first person to talk to him after he comes downstairs for breakfast – the bulk of what is actually noticeably different about Jason is aimed directly at Dick.

           Literally.

           Because Jason is starting.

           At Dick.

           From across his plate of scrambled eggs and sausage and toast piled high with strawberry preserves instead of the peach marmalade Dick likes and has on his own plate, Jason is staring. At Dick. Directly.

           He’s not even glaring at him, he’s just… watching.

           Which actually makes Dick more self-conscious than if Jason had been glaring, makes him think he’s done something wrong. Something especially wrong.

           Dick had never asked for a little brother, and to be perfectly honest he could admit that he hadn’t exactly been very nice to the one he’d acquired unexpectedly. While he had concrete and valid reasons to be pissed at Bruce for how he’d handled things, Dick wasn’t quite self-centered enough to miss how he hadn’t done right by Jason either.

           He’d screwed up their relationship in the beginning and now he spent most of his time trying to avoid making it worse. Which meant most simply that he spent most of his time straight up avoiding it…

           The longest span of time Dick had spent alone in a room with Jason since storming off to California a few weeks before his sixteenth birthday – to go be Robin with people who appreciated him and his skill and his right to wear the R, because it was his and always would be – was about the length of a Star Wars movie. The longest they’d spent together without such a specific and effective distraction was about twenty minutes.

           In which Alfred usually checked in on them halfway through.

           Because Jason does deserve the R.

           And he’s always resented that the older brother he’d never asked for thought he didn’t.

           Which isn’t exactly true, but Dick has never been able to explain that before Jason – brilliantly observant, woefully astute, and brutally willing to cut to the quick as he was – said something that made Dick get defensive. Which is when the yelling always started.

           And the quiet moments in between the yelling had always been punctuated by glaring.

           But now Jason is staring – and distinctly not glaring – and Dick doesn’t know what he did, or what he should do now. So, he sits in silence and plays with his eggs and worries.

           Because something is different about Jason this morning, and he doesn’t know why – or what it has to do with him. Or what Jason thinks it has to do with him.

           Because if Jason’s pissed with him for not getting to him quicker last night, for not jumping in earlier – early enough to stop Sabini from breaking his leg perhaps – then Jason would already be yelling. But he’s not. He’s staring.

           And Dick doesn’t know what to do.

           “Do you have a driver’s license?”

           Dick is so startled by the question he nearly drops his fork.

           Actually, he does drop it. He just manages to catch it before it skitters off the counter.

           “B won’t let me in the Cave with my leg and Alf won’t let me have the keys to any cars topside until I’m legal,” Jason explains – without explaining anything.

           “Yeah, I’ve got my license.”

           Dicks voice doesn’t squeak or waver. He’s moderately certain that some sort of magic or robotic voice replacement tech is behind the phenomenon. Or maybe his Robin conditioning is finally proving useful outside of the dark allies where his calm could comfort victims.

           Jason nods. He’s still staring.

           But now he’s squinting, evaluative. Not quite a glare, but closer.

           “Cool. Can you drive me somewhere after breakfast?”

           Dick nods. He decides not to ask to ask why Jason isn’t asking Alfred to drive him.

           He also decides not to ask where Jason wants to go until they’re already in the car.

           They don’t speak again until after Dick pulls into the circle at the end of the Drake Estate’s mile-long driveway, and even then, it’s just a gruff C’mon to hurry Dick along while Jason hauls himself out of the car on his own.

           Dick is slightly distracted as he cuts the engine. He nods to Jason – who’s paying him zero attention – as he marvels openly at the fact that they do, apparently, have neighbors.

           The Drake mansion isn’t quite a massive or effortlessly grand as Wayne Manor, but it’s a decently imposing imitation. There’s wealth here, excess. And no hint of the soft touch that Alfred has to bring a human element into the aching chill of life with money.

           Dick wants to ask what they’re doing here, of all places, but Jason is focused.

           It’s a feat for Jason to wrestle his crutches out of the car and limp his way up the wide steps of the ostentation front stair, but he manages. He does it without even making Dick feel terrible about not offering to help – though he knows if he did offer, Jason’s only response would be to curse and try to whack him with the pointy end of his crutches.

           Dick follows silently up the stairs after him and waits as Jason rings the doorbell impatiently, pressing it again after only a few seconds of silence.

           He’s not quite scowling at the Drakes’ front door, but he’s not smiling either. Whatever he’s thinking about is serious enough to warrant asking Dick for help instead of Alfred. Dick is definitely concerned by that, but there a hopeful anxiousness twisting in him too.

           Because Jason needed help, and he asked Dick to provide it.

           It’s not much, but it’s something.

           Jason’s leaning on the doorbell again when Dick hears a shuffling inside that indicates someone coming to check the matter. Dick hopes it’s not an elderly butler – Alfred moves around pretty well for his age, but it’s a big house and it takes even him a minute to get to the door on the bizarre occasion Wayne Manor has unexpected security-approved visitors.

           The Drakes’ equivalent can’t possibly be as light-footed or quick and Dick wants to tell Jason that it’s not whoever’s fault that it takes a while getting from one end of a mansion to the other on a Saturday morning for an unanticipated guest.

           There’s the sound of the lock being turned, but the door doesn’t open immediately.

           Jason is about to lean on the bell again – and Dick is seriously considering how counter-productive it will be to stop him from being overly rude – when the knob finally spins and the massive solid-wood structure sweeps inward.

           Dick plasters a smile on his face and –        

           It’s the kid from Thursday night.

           Dick’s whole being freezes.

           It’s the kid that took a beating because Sabini thought he knew something about Batman.

           Dick is stuck in a sudden mental rut of wondering why this kid – and Dick know he’s a tough one, he’s seen it, but he’s a head shorter than Jason and probably weighs as much as Dick’s leg and he’s just survived a torturous kidnapping and should be on bedrest with soup and blankets and stuffed animals – why this kid is answering his own door.

           Especially in a house like this. His family is clearly rich beyond reason and could have a flurry of staff to care for the household’s daily needs and to fawn sweetly over the poor injured young master. So why is he answering the door?

           When his door costs as much as the entire Trailer the Flying Graysons called home in Haly’s Circus. When there are still bruises on his face where Sabini’s fingers gripped him that haven’t quite gone ugly and greenish from healing. When the butterfly bandage on his cheek is still the only thing holding the skin together beneath the antiseptic goo.

           Jason’s brain is clearly doing the same acrobatics as Dicks, asking questions it’s not really keen on getting answered because the answers can’t be good, but Jason recovers faster.

           Which is good because the Drake boy – Timmy, Dick remembers, except no, that’s just what Jason called him, he introduced himself as Tim in his brief moment of lucidity on Friday morning – is looking between the pair on his doorstep like one of the rescue dogs Dick remembers Haly bringing into the circus fold on their first days of being treated well.

           They were cautious and skittish and quick to shy away, but also a little bit awed by the care and attention being paid to them – slightly overwhelmed to say the least. And Tim Drake is clearly in a similar state of mind.

           Dick is frozen on the doorstep.

           Tim is frozen in the doorway.

           Jason falters too, but only for a moment. Then he’s using his crutches to nudge Tim out of the way, so he can swing himself through the door and into the Drakes’ imposing foyer.

           Dick follows.

           Tim remembers to close the door – and lock it too, with a sturdy deadbolt that Dick knows will provide actual security – and then shuffles after Dick and Jason.

           Silent on his feet – impressive, given the floppy sneakers he’s wearing – Tim allows Jason to lead the way through the mansion’s sprawl to its kitchen. Tim is watching Jason’s back as he swings forward on his crutches, which gives Dick time to look around the mansion as they walk. He knows Jason’s scoping the place out too, and he’s glad Jason can manage it with that subtle street-wise skill he’s got ingrained. Dick could probably be subtle – he was trained by Batman – but he’s finding it hard to rein in the reaction he’s having to the place.

           It’s absolutely sterile here.

           More like a museum than like a house.

           Nothing looks soft, or like it’s meant for people to sit on, and the few chairs and cushions Dick has clocked as they move through the sprawl don’t look like anyone has ever used them. There’s not a speck of dust, but honestly that just makes it worse. There are people that come through here, in order to clean it at least, but nobody lives here.

           “What’re you saying about your face,” Jason asks bluntly when he stumbles upon the masterwork that is the Drake kitchen. Dick can tell that finding the kitchen has help Jason relax a little, that being in a place that’s meant to be sterile has helped at least as much as the prospect of diving into the soothing rhythm of cooking, but Tim doesn’t pick up on Jason’s new degree of ease and relax himself. If anything, he tenses more.

           “I’m going to say that I tried to launch a rocket in the back yard and it blew up in my face,” Tim explains. He watches as Jason moves to investigate his fridge.

           He notes when Jason stiffens, flinches as he realizes what he just said to prompt it, and he whips his head around when Dick is the one to speak up about it. “You’re ‘going to say’?”

           Dick knows the way he blurted it in aching disbelief is rude. Not calm. Not helpful.

           But he’s lost sensation in his limbs and his stomach is still sinking towards the center of the earth at supersonic speeds.

           They had dropped Tim back into his bed at 2pm on Friday afternoon, once Bruce had convinced Alfred that he was stable and well on his way to healing. That was almost 20 hours ago. Dick’s stomach churns as he realizes that no one’s been to check on him in almost a full day.

           Tim survived a brutal beating, and he’s been dealing with the mental fallout of his kidnapping – not to mention the physical aspects of his recovery – entirely alone.

           Dick is staring at Tim, wide-eyed and worried, and he knows it isn’t helping as Tim looks down and toes at the marble floor.

           “Mrs. Simz doesn’t work on Fridays,” he mumbles. “She thinks I spend Friday nights with my school’s chess club.”

           Jason snorts. “Of course, she does. That sounds perfectly reasonable.”

           He pauses. Anyone but Dick probably wouldn’t be able to catch the way he steels himself and forces down a mix of rage and worry before he asks lightly, “Hey, kid, you got any flour hiding in this joint? Baking soda?”

           “Why?”

           “I’m gonna make pancakes, obviously,” Jason replies, shouldering open the fridge and pulling out milk and eggs. He spreads his haul on the island and shoots Dick a look that he hopes means that he should start investigating the Drake cabinets for mixing bowls and a griddle and such. Because that’s what Dick starts doing.

           “Pancakes?”

           “Yeah, they’re kinda like pizza – you eat them,” Jason replies, a gruff amusement in his voice that tells Dick there’s some sort of inside joke involved.

           Dick wants to think that there’s no part of the joke where he should be legitimately concerned that Tim doesn’t eat, but he also remembers how easy it was to pick the kid up when they rescued him. Sure, he’s only twelve, but Dick is fairly certain that he weighed at least twice what Tim does when he was twelve. Comparing him to Jason – even the emaciated twelve year old Jason that had first been brought to the Manor – would be too tragic to let him keep the smile on his face, so Dick consciously fights the urge.

           Tim jumps in to help direct Dick and Jason around his kitchen, Tim acting as Jason’s legs while Jason barks orders. Dick didn’t know Jason could cook, but he’s not as surprised as he thought he’d be – even when Jason whips out the fancy tricks like cracking the eggs one-handed and twirling his spatula as he times the flips perfectly.

           Butter and syrup appear on the island as Dick tries to help put the finishing touches on their meal. It’s been over an hour since breakfast, so Dick can definitely eat – and he knows Jason is probably already starving. Tim is looking at the looming stack of pancakes warily, however, and Dick is pleased with himself for not shooting Jason a worried look.

           It gets even harder to resist when they actually settle down to eat and Tim expends a painstaking amount of effort on arranging the careful stack of pancakes on his plate instead of making any move to dig in.

           “So, Timmy,” Jason says around a mouthful of pancakes, “Find any cool new toys since you’ve been home playin’ with your rocket?”

           Both confused, Dick and Tim look blankly at Jason – who rolls his eyes. Then he taps his ear and makes a wide gesture about the kitchen. He’s asking if Tim’s found any Bat bugs.

           Dick knows Batman must’ve left some – Tim was suspected of knowing his secrets for a reason, after all, and Bruce would certainly want to keep tabs on any future developments that might potentially occur. What Dick does not know is why Jason’s asking Tim if he found any listening devices hidden in his home – why he’s referencing the plausible option so casually, so openly. Unless… unless Tim knows.

           Scandalized, Tim looks between Jason and Dick – redness creeping up his neck until his ears are bright ruby – and then stares down at his pancakes. He nods.

           Like he’s pulling teeth, Jason waits a beat to make sure Tim is still alive and then asks with the same casual air, “Find any in here?”

           This time, Tim shakes his head, still staring resolutely at his pancakes – and still making no move to actually eat them.

           Jason nods, satisfied.

           Tim waits, but Jason doesn’t say anything else.

           Eventually, peeks up. Looks at Jason. Waits.

           Then he slowly, sheepishly turns his head to look at Dick. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the accusations and yelling to start. Tim does know their secret, and he expects to be in serious trouble for it.

           Jason levels his own look at Dick, daring him to break the tenuous trust they’ve developed in the last few hours by voicing any sort chastisement.

           When they’d first brought Jason and Tim back to the Cave, Batman had been on Jason about getting to the truth of the rumors around Tim – to the point of absurdity, considering that there were two traumatized and injured kids to care for, considering that Jason himself was being questioned before Batman would give his broken leg the medical attention it needed…

           Dick had spoken up in defense of Jason – asserting his own opinion that Tim was ignorant of the secret that got him wrapped up in this mess – mostly because he was pissed at Bruce for being so callous. Dick knew that Bruce cared, that he cared so much he buried all of his feelings deep beneath an impenetrable layer of cold practicality so he could deal with the pragmatic details of resolving the situation.

           But it was really hard to remember that he cared when it felt more like he wanted answers in his own interrogation rather than to help the adopted son he’d just rescued from a drug-lord who’d been asking the same questions.

           But Dick had defended Jason’s stand against Bruce.

           At the time, he hadn’t realized Jason was lying – that Bruce honestly did have a valid reason to worry about Tim’s ability to threaten Batman’s secrets. He knew Jason wasn’t being entirely honest, but he’d brushed it off as embarrassment at getting caught and needing rescue.

           Knowing what he does now, that Tim is aware of much more than he should be, Dick isn’t certain he would’ve made the same call. On the one hand, he wants to trust his brother’s judgement – to stay focused on Tim as a victim rather than a threat – but he also feels the urge to trust his mentor’s trend of caution, because if Tim threatens Bruce’s secrets he’s also threatening Dick’s. And Jason’s. And possibly Barbara, and the Titans, and any other mask they’ve ever worked with… Tim could be very dangerous if Jason’s wrong about trusting him.

           But Tim is waiting to be yelled at – waiting to face the good guys’ wrath for simply being clever. And Dick had seen the R on Tim’s sweater. He’s a fan, and he’s been clever, and he’d taken one hell of a beating for a twelve year old kid to be expected to handle.

           And he hadn’t talked.

           It was more than Dick would’ve expected from most grown-ups. It was as much or even more than he’d expect from adults trained to withstand interrogation.

           If Dick needed proof that Tim wasn’t a threat, that was it.

           Tim was still staring at him – waiting for his anger. Waiting to be punished.

           Jason was staring too – waiting for a reason to get angry himself.

           Resolved to let Tim continue to fly under Batman’s radar, Dick doesn’t say anything. He just takes another bite of his pancakes. The bite goes down easier than he expects, validation that his gut trusts Tim on a level beyond instinctual. Something more like kinship.

           Tim keeps staring – like he doesn’t quite recognize what it means that Dick is just going on with eating like a major secret affecting both of their lives hasn’t just been exposed – but Jason relaxes. He even flashes Dick what could pass for a smile.

           It makes Dick feel like he’s made the right decision all over again.

           He’s got very little good history with Jason, but he’s working on his own issues and he thinks that, just maybe, he and Jason can work with this – can use Tim’s hush-hush existence as a bit of common ground to try standing by each other instead of against each other.

           Tim is still staring, though.

           Still waiting, still worried, still convinced that he’s in trouble.

           “Pancakes not to your liking, Tim?” Dick asks, flashing him a grin. It’s not the dazzling, thousand-watt smile that’s always made him shine as a media darling, but it’s still bright and teasing enough to startle Tim. And genuine.

           Jason growls before Tim recovers, retorting, “Hey, my pancakes are fantastic, asshole.”

           Dick gives a shrug, his smiling building as he feels out Jason’s grumble and realizes that there’s almost no real malice in it – none of the gritty defensiveness he’s used to from Jason.

           “They’re, um, great,” Tim replies in a squeak.

           With another snort, Jason says, “You haven’t even tried them yet.”

           He reaches across the island and swoops a smear of butter onto Tim’s topmost pancake, giving the terrified youngster a mild heart attack. He pushes the syrup across the table with his fork – it’s good stuff, real maple in a ceramic jug – until it clicks pointedly against Tim’s plate.

           “Eat.”

           Tim picks up his fork, obedient but still anxious and pushes a few bites around before he finally picks one up and forces it into his mouth and down his throat.

           Watching as Tim swallows and waiting until it looks like he might take another bite of his own volition, Jason says, “You gotta relax, Timmers. We’re the frickin good guys.”

           Dick gives a supportive smile as Tim forces himself to nod.

           His eyes jump guiltily to Dick for a moment but then he settles and takes another bite of his pancakes. This time he looks much less like he wants to throw the food back up immediately.

           “How’s, um, how’s your leg,” Tim asks. Guilty, which makes Dick’s lungs tighten, but at least he’s speaking up – which means he might be able to be convinced he’s not at fault.

           “It’s good,” Jason replies with a shrug. “I’ve gotta stay off it completely for the next week, and I’m benched for the next three, at least, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

           Dick snorts. “You’re supposed to stay off it for three weeks,” Dick counters automatically. He lets himself fall into older-brother over-dive to add, “And B wants to keep you benched for the next two months. Alf might actually put you in a coma if he sees you trying to go down to the Cave before the cast comes off.”

           With a shrug, Jason says, “So like two weeks and we call it even.”

           Dick tries to claw back the sigh that’s threatening to cut off all his air.

           “It was a pretty bad break,” Tim pipes up. He looks slightly guilt-ridden, but he forges on to add, “But it was direct contact to the bone, instead of to a joint, and I’m guessing it was a stable, simple tibia fracture – no skin penetration or muscle tears – and it was either transverse or very slightly oblique, so it should heal cleanly.”

           “Not if he bungs it up by trying to do cartwheels on it too quickly,” Dick counters.

           “I’m gonna leave the cartwheeling to you, Dickiebird,” Jason replies with a chuckle that’s warm and teasing and so much nicer than the conversations he’s used to having with Jason.

           It almost sounds like they’re just talking about your average sports injury, and Tim even joins in a few more times as the discussion shifts to Dick and his penchant for cartwheeling down the long halls of Wayne Manor. Tim’s a fan of the Flying Graysons, and after a little figuring, Dick actually remembers meeting him before – before the show for a picture and a hug and a somersault promise, before Zucco, before his parents fell… before life got so complicated.

           Dick and Jason and Tim stay gathered around the island in the Drakes’ kitchen until Tim has completely finished his plate of pancakes without needing to have Jason force him through each bite. And they stay an hour after they’ve cleaned up, and an hour after that too.

           They stay until Alfred sends Dick a text to warn him that Bruce is getting antsy with their absence, antsy enough to start wondering where they’ve gone.

           Tim looks sad as they start gearing up to head back to the Manor, but Jason assures him that they’ll be back tomorrow – and after school on Monday, assuming Tim actually goes to school on Monday. Neither vigilante would blame him if he wanted to take a day off.

           “Why?”

           “Because you got beat up by a drug-lord,” Jason told him with a gruff, but affectionate exasperation Dick can hardly believe he’s hearing from the ill-tempered teenager, “That totally warrants a fucking vacation day or two.”

           Tim shakes his head. “No, I mean why are you gonna come here? Why’re you here at all, if I’m not in trouble for… you know.” He mumbles through most of the words, falling back into the timid little thing he was when he first saw Dick and Jason standing at his door.

           It’s only now that Dick realizes how much he’d managed to come out of that shell.

           “We’re checking up on you, baby bird,” Jason huffs, “Duh.”

           “But why?”

           Tim stands there like the question is perfectly innocent, like it’s not one of the most heartbreaking thing Dick has ever been asked.

           If Jason didn’t have a broken leg and crutches to wrestle with, Dick is sure that Tim would be trapped under Jason’s arm getting his hair mussed beyond all possible repair. As it stands, Jason looks halfway to smacking Tim with one of his crutches.

           Or smacking whoever made him feel like his current state of being is somehow one that is in any way an acceptable situation for a child.

           But Dick smiles and slings an arm around Jason’s shoulders.

           “Because we’re Robins,” he says, promising, “And that’s what we do.”

           There’s a pause.

           And then Tim nods, smiling back in a way that makes Dick’s limbs feel gooey as he goes all warm and fuzzy. He can feel Jason lean into his side, can see that he’s smiling too – not as broadly as Dick is, but the expression is just as genuine. A bit surprised, perhaps, but happy.

           The door closes behind them and Jason clambers into his side of the car without beating Dick with his crutches for helping. The drive back to the Manor is just as quick as the one away from it this morning, but not as quiet.

           The Robins get themselves on a united platform about having gone to visit Drake as civilians – he’d recognized Jason as a Wayne and they’d gone to commiserate with Jason as a fellow victim of random, rumor fueled violence. They explain again to Bruce that Tim doesn’t know anything about Batman and latch onto Alfred’s concern that the boy’s parents are still out of the country. The Robins volunteer to go over and check on him tomorrow.

           At Alfred’s insistence, they agree to spend most of the day there, and several days next week – and bring over some of Alfred’s amazing, high-nutrition cooking.

           With all three of them set against Bruce in this, he relents to giving full approval to their plan – assuming that Nightwing patrols with Batman for the next three weeks while Robin remains obediently on bedrest.

           The butler sides with Bruce on that one, but he gives the boys a wink behind Bruce’s back and it makes Dick get that warm and fuzzy glow again.

           He’s halfway giddy all through that night’s patrol.

           Batman notices.

           But Dick doesn’t explain when he’s asked about it.

           He just says that he and Jason are finally seeing eye to eye about what it means to hero in Gotham, to be Robin… to be a good Robin.

           He smiles into the sunrise after a long night of beating up petty thugs on Gotham’s street corners – of looking into and utterly quashing any remaining rumors that Timothy Drake has any information on Batman. And maybe the throws a few extra flips into the maneuvers that carry him from rooftop to rooftop of Gotham’s city skyline.

           It’s a beautiful day and Dick resolves to make the most of the chances he’s been given – however unfortunate the circumstances around them. The world is already a slightly better place, and Dick is determined to make it more so, bit by bit.

           Because we’re Robins. And that’s what we do.

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[cxramel-cat]

(SUPERBAT WEEK 2019) day 01

Chapter Title: I Saw Daddy Kissing Superman Day One: Omegaverse & Secret Relationship Rating: Teen and up Audiences Warning(s): None Word Count: 2818 Summary: Bruce adopted young Richard Grayson. There is a lot for the adoptive father and son to learn about each other. For example; the secret identity and (possibly) new dad. Side-note: Written for @superbatweek​​ Other link(s): AO3 | Wattpad | Fanfiction

“Who is that guy with glasses?”

Bruce glanced against his shoulder in surprise. He hasn’t realized that Richard had sneaked behind him. The boy pointed a curious finger at the contact in his phone and zoomed the picture.

“You called him ‘sweetheart’.” Richard looked up at Bruce. “I thought your Alpha was Batman.”

Before the child could scroll up to the conversation, Bruce pulled the phone out of his reach. “What makes you think so?”

“Everyone in Gotham knows you have something with Batman. And I can prove it.” The boy pulled a Batarang from his pocket. “How can you explain the batarangs or the cowl I found in your rooms? Or the fact sometimes you have his smell on you. He must have been a constant visitor. I just haven’t had the chance of catching you guys in action.”

“Dick, that’s rude.” Bruce breathed out a sigh, shaking his head. He should have taken extra caution with his tools. Before this, he had too much convenience in dumping his stuff around, since there were only Alfred and him in this big mansion. But now, it was different. There was a new addition in the house – a young curious beta pup – and Bruce was not, mentally and physically, prepared to reveal his secret identity to the boy yet.  “I am telling you the truth. I’m not in a relationship with Batman.”

“Really?” The boy seemed to not believe his words. His eyes were glued on the screen of Bruce’s phone. “So, he was your alpha? That country-looking guy with glasses and in the flannel shirt who you called your ‘sweetheart’.”

Yes. The word was stuck on Bruce’s tongue. He was never good with his words. He knew there was nothing to be embarrassed about – his relationship with Clark. However, he was still struggling with his words. It took a lot of courage to speak up, but instead, the boy took his silence the wrong way.

“I will not criticize your choice, Bruce.” Dick smiled in the most uncomfortable way that Bruce had ever seen him pull. “I am an open-minded person. Mom always told me that there is nothing wrong with whoever you love, no matter their biology or races. So, it doesn’t matter to me if your alpha is the vigilante of Gotham or a random country guy, I am fine with that as long as you have made your choice!”

I told you, I’m not in a relationship with Batman! Once again, the words were stuck in his mouth. Instead, Bruce smiled back in the best way he could – although he wanted to frown at Dick’s words.

It seemed like it was time for Clark to meet with Dick soon.

×

“I think it’s time for you to meet Richard.”

Clark almost thought that he had misheard what Bruce said. He looked at his omega in surprise, seemingly malfunctioned for a while as he tried to process through the words.

“You mean it? Really?” He couldn’t bottle up the tingling happiness within him. All along, the relationship between Bruce and him had maintained as a secret. As Bruce said, it was better to keep the relationship low profile to avoid being overwhelmed by the media.

Clark had always respected Bruce’s wish, since he knew that the media loved to report any rumours related to Bruce Wayne, the rich and most well-known omega in the world. It was Bruce’s way of protecting him, as he didn’t want Clark’s reputation as a reporter to be stained by his. However, that didn’t mean that Clark had never wished that he could tell the world about how much he loved Bruce and how the man was not as described by the media.

When Bruce first adopted Dick, Clark had been excited to introduce himself to the boy. However, Bruce had told him that was not the right time yet. The child was badly traumatised with the loss of parents, and the comfort of a parental figure was more important than letting him meet the partner of his new father then. Clark, being the understanding and patient partner he had always been, had agreed to it.

“What’s the sudden decision? I thought you agreed that I will meet with him after another six months.”

“Because he has been going on some weird theories which have been making me uncomfortable.” Bruce turned around, looking at Clark with a frown. “Just this evening, he told me about how he thought that I was in a relationship with Batman. Can you believe it, Clark? Then he was giving me that look – the one that was like he is trying his hardest not to judge me, because he thought that I am probably cheating on my partner with another man. Exactly how the media has always judged me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he didn’t think so, Bruce.” Clark placed an arm over Bruce’s shoulder, pressing a kiss on the man’s head and taking in his scent. “I’m sure he will understand once you explain it to him. He will understand. I believe in that.”

‘Easier to say than to be done,’ Bruce thought, giving out a huff.

×

“I’m going to get killed by Bruce…”

Dick looked around his surroundings nervously. He had been too excited since this was his first visit to Metropolis. Without Bruce’s permission, he had sneaked out of the man’s office and went for a walk. He thought that he had recognized his way home, but he had been wrong. He was so occupied with playing around that he had lost his way. And now, he was stuck outside – no money since he had spent most of his allowance on the desserts and games... and without a phone.

Dick sat underneath a tree, biting his nails as he tried to find a way to get home. Suddenly, he took notice of the stray cat beside him, who was peacefully taking its nap.

Well, this is Metropolis, where the Superman lived. Rumours said that the man of steel will help no matter how small the issue is, even if it was just a cat stuck in the tree. I will do it as gentle as possible, and no feline shall be harmed in the process…

×

Okay, maybe he had thrown the cat a little too harshly. The cat gave out a surprised meow when it was suddenly grabbed by the tail and throw upwards towards the tree. Then, Dick sat under the tree, burying his head in his knees as he awaited the arrival of the man of steel.

Not more than ten seconds, there was a gush of wind as a figure floated downwards, holding the traumatized cat in his hands. “Is this your cat, kid?”

“No, but thank you anyway, Superman!” Dick grinned. His heart racing at the sight of his idol standing in front of him. But of course, this wasn’t the right time to be excited! He’d summoned the superhero for a very important reason!

“I had lost my way home, Superman. Can you… uhm, lend me your phone, Superman?” There was the alternative way, allowing Superman to fly him back to the Wayne Enterprise. But Dick wanted to be able to get the contact number of the superhero!

And Clark – Superman – didn’t know why he did think it was a good idea, to pull out his phone and lend it towards a little child he didn’t even know. He just assumed that the child’s parent was around, and all he needed was a quick call to get that parent back to him. However, when the boy started to dial a very familiar number, Clark’s eyes widened.

‘Hold on. Why is he dialling Bruce’s number?’

‘… why does Superman have Bruce’s number saved…?’

×

By the time his phone vibrated, Bruce felt relieved to pull himself away from the meeting for a while. It was too boring, and he was tired from dealing with those two-faced men who were just trying to dig a hole in his pocket. When he looked over at the screen of his phone, he was amused to see that it was Clark who was calling since it was rare for the man to call during work hours.

“What is it, my darling?” With a hint of playfulness, since he wanted to maintain his reputation as the flirty Bruce Wayne in public, Bruce answered with sweet name-calling.

There was a moment of silence at the other side of the phone, and Bruce was ready to ask if there was something wrong with Clark, when an unexpected, familiar voice answered his call.

“B-Bruce…?”

…Dick?

×

“Bruce, you called Superman darling.”

“Yea, I guess I do.”

“But… you have Clark listed as your sweetheart in your phone.”

“Yea… I did.”

“… it’s not right.” Dick whispered close to Bruce’s ear, frowning. “Clark is a nice man. He might not be shining like the Superman, but… you shouldn’t cheat on him, Bruce! You should only choose one! Clark deserves loyalty and respect!”

Clark knew he shouldn’t eavesdrop – superpowers were strictly restricted in Wayne Manor – but he couldn’t help but snicker at the boy’s words. He tried not to make it seem too obvious, so he bit back his laughter. Alfred, who noticed the man’s chuckle, could only shake his head at the mess that had been created by his own master.

“… I think I understand why Batman break up with you, Bruce.”

“Dick, I already told you –” He caught Clark snickering, and Bruce swore, if it wasn’t for Dick being next to him, he might have thrown the glass of water in his hand at the Kryptonian for laughing at his miserable situation.

×

It happened during one peaceful night – Dick was in his room sleeping, when he was suddenly being awakened by a noise downstairs. Out of curiosity (and concern, of course), he walked downstairs – only to meet with a sight which caused him to wonder if he was still dreaming.

“It’s okay… you’re safe now, you’re home…”

Superman was holding someone in his arms. Dick couldn’t really recognize the person in his arms, since the person’s face was well hidden by the red cape. When he stepped close enough, the beta had caught the heavy sweet scent which was emitted by one of them.

‘It smelled familiar… It smelled… smelled like Bruce…?’

Just as the thought crossed Dick’s mind, Superman stepped upstairs and almost bumped into him. The man halted back just in time; his eyes widened at seeing Dick.

“D-Dick? Why are you awake at this hour? You should be in bed!”

Due to the closeness between both of them, Dick finally managed to have a good look of the omega in Superman’s arms. It was Bruce, but he was wearing Batman’s suit.

“B-Bruce?!” All of his curiosities were swallowed back in his stomach. He was overcome with worry upon seeing Bruce in agony. “Oh my gosh, are you okay? Can you hear me? Bruce? Bruce!”

“Young master Dick.”

Dick turned around at the call. Alfred was standing behind him, seemingly more calmed down than Dick expected him to, with Bruce in such pain. “Master Bruce is in safe hands now. There shall be nothing you should be worried about.” Alfred placed a hand on his shoulder, guiding the teen downstairs. “Come, boy, would you like a cup of warm milk?”

×

It tasted sweet, the honey-milk Alfred had fixed for him. Dick took another sip of the warm beverage as he tried to process what had happened so far.

Superman brought Bruce home. Bruce was wearing Batman’s costume. Bruce was sick.

Somehow, none of the information seemed to connect with other parts. Who was the real alpha of Bruce? Superman?

‘Well, having a superhero as my adoptive step-dad is not bad.’ Dick shrugged at the thought. Superman was the well-loved superhero of the whole world. He was a public figure, just like Bruce, so they would make a great pair together! Not to mention, Dick should feel honoured, since he had a superhero as his adoptive step-dad, right?

‘But Bruce was wearing Batman’s costume!’ Dick remembered, Bruce was attending a bachelor party tonight. Alfred had helped him pick out his favourite three-piece suit.  That should have been what Bruce was wearing, right? Why was Bruce wearing Batman’s costume now? Was it perhaps because he was taken away by the crusader, in the middle of the night? What could both of them have possibly done?!

‘And Clark?’ Dick glanced down at the piece of cookie he had taken from the jar. It was Clark’s handmade cookie, and the man had baked a jar just for him. Clark knew how much Dick loved his chocolate chip cookies! Clark was always so kind to him, making him delicacies while Alfred refused to let him have more than he should. Clark played soccer with him when Bruce couldn’t. Clark also helped Alfred with the chores just to lessen the butler’s burden. How could Bruce have possibly cheated on such a kind person?!

“Alfred, the adult world is complicated,” Dick sighed out, biting off a huge chunk off the cookie.

×

Thanks to Alfred’s interruption, Clark could finally get Bruce back in his room – where the omega felt the safest whenever his heat arrived. It should have been another two weeks before the actual heat arrived. However, it had been quickened due to Ivy’s sudden attack at the night party which Bruce attended.

In the process of stopping Ivy, one of her plants had sprayed Bruce with its pollen. The effects hadn’t shown until later, when Bruce had handed Ivy over to Commissioner Gordon, that his scent had started to spread out wildly.

Clark, who stayed at Bruce’s side when all of this happened, had immediately sensed that Bruce’s heat had arrived early. In his greatest effort of making sure that Bruce’s identity wouldn’t be revealed, Clark had wrapped the man up in his cape and brought him home before he had bumped into with Dick.

There would be a lot of explanations to give with Dick tomorrow, but for now, the issue on hand was Bruce.

“Bruce? Can you hear me?” Clark gently patted on Bruce’s face. “Bruce, I’m going to help you get rid of your suit, okay? Everything will be alright ̶”

An arm reached out and pulled Clark into the bed. Bruce kissed Clark hard, their teeth clashing. It was obvious that the omega had been driven mad by his heat, and now, what he needed wasn’t gentle emotional comfort. He needed something more physical.

“Clark,” Bruce panted through the kiss. “Shut up and fuck me.”

×

“Bruce?”

Dick knocked on the door once, awaiting a reply from the man. Usually, the man would have answered– even a sleepy groan would count. But today, he was quiet. Too quiet.

“Bruce, can you hear me?” Dick called out louder this time, knocking on the door a few times. Again, there was no reply. The teen thought worriedly.

“I’m coming in,” he announced, twisting the doorknob as he took a peek inside. There was no one on the bed, but there were clothes scattered around the floor, which indicated that someone had been here – at least before he came in.

Dick looked around the room, feeling confused. When his search came up fruitless, he was ready to leave, when his sharp hearing took notice of a soft groan which was above him.

Immediately, Dick looked upward. And there they were; Bruce, who was still sleeping soundly, and Clark, who was holding on Bruce tightly, floating as he met Dick’s gaze nervously.

“Hey, Dick…” Clark tried to steady his voice as he spoke. “I will explain to you later. Could you… tell Alfred that Bruce and I will be back soon? Thank you for coming up to wake us, and uh, sorry, for what you had to see.”

Dick was staring, his mouth gaping wide in shock. There was a moment in which he couldn’t progress what he had seen, but once he regained his senses, he didn’t know what he could have said.

“C-Clark?!”

On that fine Sunday morning, Dick had a two-hour long conversation with Bruce. They talked about everything that Bruce had hidden from him since the beginning – Bruce’s secret identity as the dark crusader, his relationship with Clark who was actually Superman, and the Birds-and-Bees Talk which came in a matched set with the Safe Sex Talk.

Nevertheless, to say, Dick felt utterly betrayed (and flustered for the final two topics) upon realizing how much his new father had hidden from him.

“I thought we were family, Bruce!”

Aside from being saddened by the fact that Bruce had hidden his secret identity from him, Dick wasn’t bothered or disappointed at the fact that Clark was Superman.

In the end, Bruce and Clark took the boy to Haagen-Dazs to cheer him up.

[epilogued]

🦇 Headcanon ― [ Bruce Wayne ] 🦇

Does Bruce Wayne pretend to be Batman, or does Batman pretend to be Bruce Wayne?

Both are masks. Both are his real face. Bruce is very good at compartmentalizing― but not perfect. Certain aspects of both personas leak into one another.

Batman is less humorless than he appears, making jokes whenever an appropriate moment (to him) arises. His deadpan tone, general lack of expression, intimidating appearance, and very particular sense of humor cause many of his witticisms to go unnoticed. On more than one occasion, Batman has defeated the Joker by predicting the demented clown’s punchline long before its intended delivery.

Bruce Wayne isn’t grim like Batman, but he’s known to occasionally lapse into moments of solemnity or deep sadness, an after effect of seeing his parents die so violently. All the money in the world can’t fix that kind of trauma.

――

Bruce Wayne is known not just as a playboy philanthropist, but as something of an eccentric. It’s his most effective method of hiding his vigilante activities; any suspicious behavior as Bruce tends to get waved off as more Wayne-brand eccentricity. Like all good lies, it’s based in the truth.

Bruce Wayne has strange hobbies. He’s known to possess an eclectic mix of seemingly random skills― knowledge of the mating habits of endangered birds, for example, or expertise in close-up magic. He claims that he had a lot of free time in his twenties, being an excessively rich man with zero responsibilities. Such free time, he says, no longer exists: Bruce is too busy with Wayne Enterprises, his philanthropic work, and raising his children.

Bruce Wayne is far more sociable than Batman, but he’s still not the best with people. Where Batman is brusque and rude, Bruce is uncomfortably honest. He acts like someone who never really developed a filter, thanks to his unbelievably affluent lifestyle. There’s a YouTube compilation of Bruce Wayne interviews, wherein he derails them with unexpected answers, tangents, or by interviewing the interviewer right back. It has 3+ million views and is over twenty minutes long.

Bruce, generally speaking, only has proper social skills when he’s pretending to be an entirely different person.

An example of his “eccentric” reputation in action: Bruce was once caught with an extremely powerful camera on his person, the sort that wasn’t even commercially available yet. His excuse? He had bought it for birdwatching. To Gotham, buying an outlandishly expensive camera to take photos of birds sounds exactly like something Bruce Wayne would do between fundraiser galas and dates with supermodels. As a precaution, he had already set an array of well-composed bird photos in the camera’s storage, should anyone question his claim.

――

Who is he, if Bruce Wayne and Batman are both mixes of honesty and fiction?

The “truest” Bruce, perhaps, is the man he is when he’s alone with his family and closest friends. A person who lies somewhere between the two extremes of the Bat and the man.

[bambamramfan]

Superheroes

[Thing I wrote when Marvel was first promising a “woman Thor”]

I admit I was a little bothered by an article I saw bemoaning recent trends in science fiction and other genre movies. I don't argue with it's data, so much as the tilt of its conclusions. The article complains that scifi movies these days aren't really about the future, but rather about a different vision of now. They're not about tomorrow, they're about today.

Of course they are about today. Science fiction in all forms is always about today. Because today is all we know. We can talk about the future but it's almost entirely commentary on the current world, and the current truths we live in. None of us are from tomorrow, how could we write to it?

This is a good thing. It means science fiction (and other work) can tell us lessons for our current lives.

The other trend this article laments is the too many superheroes. A movie about superheroes isn't really a movie about us.

But much like "writing about the future" is really talking about today, then writing about "superheroes" can really be talking about everyone. When Spiderman recalls "with great power comes great responsibility", our reaction should not be "wow sounds like such a burden I'm glad I'm not him."

So I wanted to write about superheroes some. What are they telling us?

And first off, we need to distinguish a Super Hero movie from… well, a vigilante movie. A superhero is about a symbol that inspires the general populace. It's not that they do great things, but they proclaim "great things can be done."

A vigilante is just a dude who hits things pretty hard and solves the problem themselves.

What is Superman's power in one term? His power is to do the impossible. It's why they kept adding new powers all the time until cannon froze around Crisis on Infinite Earths (and why the end of Superman the movie wasn't shocking). It's all about thinking something is impossible, and then doing it! In an unexpected, garish, and often fairly public way. This is why the most famous line about him is "Up in the air, it's a bird, it's a plane, it's Superman!" He is all about us, the public, witnessing and being in awe of his impossibleness. (And his second most famous line, about truth, justice and the American way, is also meant to be inspiring.)

Superman's secret identity is a nebbish reporter who is almost offensively normal. This isn't a subtle disdain on his part, but rather a promise. Anyone could secretly be Superman. Why, even *you* could secretly be Superman. Any day you could rip off your shirt, fly over the moon, and save the city.

Superman is hope. Kryptonite represents, well, cynicism.

Batman, is like the opposite of this in all ways. He lurks in the shadows, and really does intend to fix all the problems himself. Batman is well known for inspiring an emotion – and that emotion is fear, in his enemies. (The yellow lanterns admit he is the greatest of them.) He's not a symbol for us to be in awe of, he's a symbol for others to cower before.

Populist fans admire Batman because he's human whereas Superman "cheats" by being an alien with superpowers. But well, I can be Clark Kent. We can't be Bruce Wayne. He's born a billionaire and has psychological fixtures we can never replicate. There's nothing populist about lionizing a obsessive billionaire.

(This is part of why The Dark Knight is such a morally bankrupt movie. People are inspired by Batman to be like him – and they are depicted as objects of pathetic ridicule who need to be stopped for their own safety. Gotham does need a hero to look up to, and so Batman and Gordon invent one out of a lie. It's basically saying "inspiration is for suckers.")

Who would win in a fight between Superman and Batman? That's really asking "Who would win in a fight between hope and fear?"

(Maybe if fear wore a ring of cynicism… See how these symbols work?)

***

Which brings me to the other goliath that's dominating the public imagination vis a vis superheroes and vigilantes: the Avengers. What do each of them stand for? By and large, they're not vigilantes.

Captain America is very, very obviously a superhero. His meek background is used to emphasize that anyone of us could become the symbol of idealism he currently is.

Iron Man is a billionaire yes, but at least he's a superhero for libertarians. He flaunts his power and oblivious do-gooder spirit, and encourages everyone else to be as smart as him and show up Uncle Sam who wants to horde all the cool toys to themselves. He's a fairly amoral superhero, but still it's something.

The Hulk is more primal than any of the above. It's not necessarily a pleasant inspiration to see him trampling through a metropolis, but it promises a sort of chaotic, undifferentiated power. There's more things than dreamt of in our philosophies.

Thor. And then there's Thor.

***

Oh my goodness, a woman Thor is such a bad idea. Why? Well lets go through the above Avengers and see what sort of inspiration they stand for. Then we can ask, how would a woman version of that character change the interpretation?

Captain America stands for America of course, but he also stands for idealism itself. He believes in people, and not out of naivete. He sees the fallen world and still believes in the best.  He never compromises, but also never loses faith in the people he cares about. A woman filling that role… is actually a radical departure AND an unambiguously good statement. I don't even know what it would mean, but I'd like to see it.

A woman Iron Man means like, nothing. You can be rich and smart and make things and generally disdainful of other people AND a woman. Iron Man is not a good person, he just happens to tag along for good things. There's nothing inherently revolutionary about a woman filling that role instead. It would work pretty smoothly and we might not even notice the difference. It would be Ayn Rand, but less edgy.

(Perhaps the best joke in that comic would be that when she's inside the suit of armor, no one can tell the difference between her and Tony Stark at all.)

The Hulk? The Hulk is basically phallic power. The woman version of the Hulk… is already a really popular comic called She-Hulk. And any fan of that series knows that she mostly solves her problems without or going beyond the use of brute force. She's clever and has personal skills besides her super powers (Note: superscience is a superpower. Itisn’t really a skill any of us can develop. Her organizational skills are.) The entire comic is basically a joke "What would a woman do with a phallus? Not much, she doesn’t need it." Consequently, it's a pretty good comic.

So what is Thor. Thor stands for worthiness. He didn't create or climb to his power, it was just given to him for who he is (son of Odin). But on the other hand, it necessitates an incredible standard that he must always maintain. He's good-hearted, loyal, determined, and many other generically good moral traits. Whenever he goes against Asgardian-morality, he loses his powers. The chief feature of his hammer is that no one else can lift it – Mjolnir is a worthiness symbol just as much as the sword in the stone. He doesn't even want his future kingship, which is contrasted with his very UNworthy brother.

I don't really like this, even though I like Thor. He's generally a liberal superhero arguing on the liberal side of things when politics comes up. And he dearly loves his brother, even as he's a pathetic snake. These are great things, but are largely treated as inconvenient biproducts of his essential worthiness. Like "Oh yeah, Thor is very generous because he's worthy, which means he will never give up on Loki, but that's just Thor, that's not at all a sign that *we* shouldn't give up on Loki." (This contrasts with Captain America. When Cap never gives up on Bucky, we understand that *we* should never give up on Bucky either. Faith in Bucky is *why* we admire Cap. For Thor, it's just a side-effect.) And worthiness… is not a good meta-virtue. Judging that people can only have certain power if they meet a standard of personality, is a fairly destructive moral heuristics. I could give plenty of examples of groups where this goes more wrong than right.

You know what group *really* doesn't need more of the message of worthiness? Women. A woman Thor would basically redouble on his inherent message that you can only participate if you meet certain unwritten standards. That you have no inherent value, but you have to prove your value every day. Ugh ugh ugh. How many times are women already told this? Too many.

This would be bad. So bad.

Now, one comic reinforcing sexism isn't going to be the dowfall of western civilization, obviously. But here's what will happen. The very people excited for "A Big Name Woman Superhero!" are going to find themselves… surprised. Upset. Woman Thor will be trying to live up to impossible standards, and only praised when she does (or punished when she strays from the arbitrarily chosen moral path) and holy shit will that look uncomfortable to readers. And Thor will meekly accept that and continue to try to retain the good graces of Odin.

Imagine the first scene where woman Thor can’t lift Mjolnir for whatever stupid reason it is this week.

They'll wonder why, and they'll conclude "latent sexism by the writers" which was half true, but was inevitable from the word go because of what Thor stands for. And since no one will be happy from this, it counts as a bad idea.

There is of course, one way this could be redeemed, but it would be the end of the comic. Thor could go before Odin, after she has strayed, and say "My time as a woman has taught me what utter bullshit all these rules and moral standards are. Fuck worthiness. Fuck you. I am done with all this. Me and Loki are out."

That would be rad.