#sir bruce

[siracethegreat]

Dick remembered a word to say when people are yelling!! man, I wonder where he learned that...

He does get very upset when he learns it's bad to say,, Bruce isn't mad of course he thinks it's hilarious

[frownyalfred]

Lois finding out Bruce's secret identity and using/abusing his expertise on crime and weird combat shit to ask him questions for background on random pieces she's assigned to.

"Hey hotshot. Quick question. Hypothetically, can you, or can you not, die from a punch to the throat."

"Hello, Lois. Nice to hear from you again."

"No, I don't think you heard me. Throat punching. Is that a thing?"

"A thing?"

"Can someone die if you punch them hard enough in the throat? Google says maybe."

"Looking it up on Google. That's a new low for you, isn't it?"

"The new low for me was thinking you'd take this conversation seriously. I need a yes or no answer, Bruce."

"..."

"I can hear you typing. Are you Googling it now?"

"Give me some parameters."

"I don't know, hard? If you punched them hard enough, could they die?"

"There would be some edema present, subsequent to blunt force trauma. Shortness of breath. Other delayed sequelae."

"So no?"

"Maybe."

"What if I punched them really really hard? Would it be instantaneous then?"

"Lois, I'm getting the impression this isn't much of a hypothetical anymore."

"Completely unrelated follow up question: can you break someone's neck if you punch them hard enough?"

"Lois."

"I just need a yes or no on this one. Promise."

"Lois."

"I'm not asking if you've ever done it, I'm asking if it's possible."

"...What does Google say?"

"To suck my dick, I'm on deadline."

"That new AI is testy."

"Are you going to be like this every time I call you?"

"Like this?"

"Yes or no answer, Bruce. Five seconds. I know you're holding it back. You're dying to tell me."

"I'm dying to tell you something you can Google?"

(five minutes later, Bruce's phone buzzes with a screenshot of a text conversation between Lois and a very confused Clark whose only response was "...I think so??? ask B")

Lois: final chance, yes or no

Bruce: Running to Clark is a choice.

Lois: oh god, you text with periods too?

Bruce: Yes.

Lois: yes throat punching or yes you text with periods?

Lois: Bruce

Lois: BRUCE

[snaileer]

I’m a Size Medium, Thanks - 2

Part one: https://www.tumblr.com/snaileer/766471879423885312/im-a-size-medium-thanks

Danny stares into the eyes of what has got to be the grumpiest looking 12-14?10? How tall are children?- year old he’s ever met. And he grew up with Sam!

Danny looks back through the door, hoping to everything that an adult walks through. He is disappointed.

“Well?” The boy snaps, foot tapping.

“Uh, can I help.. you?” Danny says, voice ticking up. That’s what you’re supposed to say at a job right? Or maybe the kid wasn’t supposed to be here, “Do you need to call someone…?” He hopes not, he doesn’t know how or if the shop has a phone, and his… well his is wired through a realm of the dead so enough said there.

“My name is Damian Wayne.” He says primly. And expectantly.

Danny looks outside again, past the neon sign he specifically hadn’t turned on, then back at the Damian kid, blinking. There’s no way this was that ‘Mr.Wayne.’

The kid rolls his eyes impressively well then drops his glare back onto Danny, “Has this absurd incense burned away whatever meager sense you were born with? I am here to have a so-called ‘reading’ with a medium.”

If Danny hadn’t seen this Damian kid walk in with three whisps of shades wrapped around his arms, Danny would have questioned why, but he did, so he doesn’t.

He does, however, say: “Aren’t you a little young… to be like.. talking about death or something?” Though honestly, the incense is a real concern, Danny hadn’t even lit any today, Claire had just left it burning and the whole room was saturated.

“Will you fulfill your job description or not, you peasant?” The kid grits out.

Danny would really rather not. Like really rather not. But nOoo, here he was, waiting for a portal that could show up at any time, pretending he was a medium for a 7 year old just because he could talk to ghosts.

Danny sighs and drags himself around the counter to go into Claire’s weird little seance room. Maybe the fumes will kill him before the embarrassment does.

The kid follows.

Danny drops himself into Claire’s chair with weirdly plush armrests for still being so uncomfortable.

“Alright then, let’s get this over with. I’m Danny, the -ugh- medium. Whatdya wanna know?” Danny says as he kicks his leg out to hit a shade getting agitated and grabby by Damian’s feet. They got way too much of a spiritual boost from this room for Danny to be comfortable with it.

Damian watches him with a raised eyebrow, still not sitting down, “Aren’t you meant to lead the seance?”

Danny’s lip curls in distaste, he huffs a sigh and lets his shoulders drop, opening his mouth to tell this 9-year old something easy about one of his shades and be done-

He spots a sticky note stuck on the crystal ball.

-Danny, don’t forget, the showmanship is important! I trust you know how to meet expectations! Happy first day!

- Claire <3

Danny feels his face go deadpan. He was going to have this woman committed. That’s what he was going to do. She could be studied for the degenerative cognitive effects of being freaking bazonkers.

Danny plucks the note off the crystal ball and crumples it, letting the trash drop to the abyss that is Claire’s plush carpet.

He sighs, looking back up at Damian. The kid snaps his head towards him from where he’d been poking around the curtained walls- weirdo- but Danny beats him to the snappy comment.

“You got any spiritually charged items? Or like… something?” Danny says, taking a guess, he can make the thingy glow, say some nonsense, get paid, and close.

Damian narrows his eyes at him, but slowly moves to sit in the other chair, perched on the edge of the seat. He pulls something from his pocket and sets it on the table.

Pearls.

It’s a clump of shiny white pearls.

Absolutely dripping in ectoplasmic blood stains. So lovely.

Does Claire have biohazard gloves because oh gosh-

Danny hesitantly reaches for the pearls, lifting the strand between two fingers as he looks between it and the 12 year old. “You sure this is what you want to ask about?”

The kid’s glare turns challenging, mocking, “What? Admitting you are nothing but a charlatan?”

Danny grimaces, “Not quite. I mean…” He looks at the pearls again, then at the shade trying to hack away at the kids neck, “There’s definitely someone or something attached to this it’s just… not .. yours.”

“Tt,” the boy clicks his tongue at him, ��and how exactly would you know that, charlatan?” Damian levels a mocking look up and down at him.

Danny’s eye twitches as he grimaces a smile, “Part of the job-“ brat. Danny doesn’t say that. Danny can’t say that. Danny has to deal with death obsessed TODDLERS who want to talk about some rando’s gruesome murder just so he can eat tonight. Or find somewhere to sleep. He doubts this will be enough for both.

Maybe if he’s dramatic enough.

Alright get to it then, Danny.

He sighs, dimming the light with Claire’s little remote- he is not so far gone as to turn them green like she had- and actually focusing his energy on the pearl necklace.

“What are you-“

Danny holds up a finger at Damian to silence him, which surprisingly works. He closes his eyes and starts trying to absorb the vibes of ectoplasmic remains as slowly as he can.

Feelings of course come with it and- well what’d ya know, he can definitely feel this attached to a ghost somewhere in this city.

“It’s a woman’s… younger than she should have been when she…”

He can hear Damian scoff, “Obviously, anyone could tell me that.”

Danny rolls his eyes under his eyelids, debating the merits of opening one to glare at him when his eyes are definitely glowing.

“She’s still here but-“ Danny says instead, trying to pull on the connection wandering out into the streets, “She can’t come here here.”

“What do you mean?” The boy snaps.

Danny tries to focus harder on it himself, he’s never done this before, tried to find or communicate with a ghost from an object… it was like Pointdexter and his mirror.

“She’s stuck somewhere… somewhere more important.. it’s dark and narrow and Danny mentally rears back as images flash into his mind. Accompanied of course by a woman’s scream.

An alley. A gun. A man stepping in front of her to protect her- no not her- a kid- Damian- not Damian- looks like-

Danny opens his eyes and drops the necklace. There’s barely any ectoplasm left on it.

Fine with him, he never wants to touch it again. But yuck that means he absorbed it!! Oh ewwww-

“Well?” An impatient voice asks and- oh yeah that’s right, the rude ass kid.

Danny pushes the pearls across the table with a finger and looks up at him, “Woman in an alley, that familiar to you?”

Damian’s eyes narrow, “Anyone who knows who I am could tell me the same.”

Danny snaps, “I don’t-!“ This is a child Danny, a child, he takes a deep breath, “Well she was scared for the kid, and now is… proud of him? There’s a lot of concern there, but she still watches him I guess, so that’s all I got for ya.”

Damian scrutinizes him for a minute, silent. Darn, weren’t mediums supposed to be vague as heck so that anything could apply and the person would find their own meaning? But did it count if he was just translating the vibes off a shade half a city away?

“This is…. acceptable.”

Danny nearly sags in relief and moves to stand, “Cool, then-“

“Wait.” The kid holds up a hand, “You said something regarding a disparity in the proposed ownership of the apparition you believed to be related to this jewelry.”

Danny blinks at him dumbly.

Damian scoffs again, “That the apparition attached to this necklace was ‘not mine,’ as you said??” He snarks, putting air quotes up.

Danny slowly sinks back down into the chair. “… Well yeah I mean..” does he tell this 8 year old about the slightly murderous shades he’s got around him? “You have… you have a couple… apparations… yourself. Not related to the pearls that is.” Danny says hesitantly, eyes skipping over said shades.

Damian jerks his head to follow his eyes and Danny shirks back, eyes back on the kid.

“Who are they? Tell me now,” Damian demands, standing to loom over the table.

Danny puts his hands up in surrender, “Whoa, I don’t know about that, they don’t really seem too happy with you-“ Another one tries to slice his hand through Damian’s neck, “I think you did something to them or made them angry at some point. I don’t really think you should try to contact them-“ Danny winces, that could end very badly. Thank goodness for limited ectoplasm access.

Meanwhile, his answer seems to have only made Damian more upset, his eyes wide as he stares down at Danny.

Suddenly the kid turns and stamps towards the door, leaving Danny to hurriedly push the chair out and chase after him to the main room.

Except-

When he gets there Damian is already shooting hushed insults at a man standing amongst the crystals.

The man looks vaguely like Damian, black hair, blue eyes, lithe build, and oh also- surrounded by shades of course.

These ones seem less vicious at least.

Please don’t be here for him. Please don’t be here for him.

Danny really doesn’t want to try and fake his way through another hour or however long it’s been of that.

“Hey there! I’m Dick, Damian’s brother!” The man says suddenly, pushing Damian aside and coming forward with a cheery grin, “Thanks for humoring him!”

Danny tilts his head to see Damian’s scowling face behind the man. Right.

“Uh huh… I’m Danny.” He says, trying not to be distracted by what he’s pretty sure is a baby elephant’s ghost behind him.

“You’re the medium right? We were just so interested to see if that old family heirloom would have anything or not. We-“

“We?” Damian cuts him off with a scoff, “I will meet you in the vehicle Richard. I will not spend another minute in this house of charlatans.”

They both watch as the kid turns and stomps out the door, uncrossing his arms only to open the door and stomp out. The stupid bell rings merrily.

This time it’s not Danny who sighs.

“I wish he wouldn’t say things like that,” Dick says wearily, “I grew up in places like this.” There’s a note of nostalgia to his voice. Danny just eyes the bowl of ‘fertility’ crystals warily, what kind of place??

Dick must see him do it because he huffs a laugh, “I grew up in a circus originally,” he explains, “So psychic places always just kinda remind me of my auntie’s tents.”

Danny glances at the elephant shaped ghost again, “Wow that makes so much sense actually.”

The guy raises a confused eyebrow at him.

Danny coughs awkwardly, waving it away, “So, money?” He claps, “I’m guessing you’re paying since Damian is…” Danny trails off, opting not to make a final guess on age and embarrass himself.

Dick laughs again and they go over to the counter, “Yep, here-“ He pulls out his wallet, rifling through cash before pulling some out, “Cash only yeah? This should be enough.”

Danny stares at the stack of slightly rumpled bills, “But- huh?…” that was… that was so much…

“Oh I added extra since I’m sure he probably said some things he shouldn’t have, don’t worry about it.”

Dick is already halfway out the door when Danny reloads and jerks upwards, “Wai-“

Could Danny really stop him? Should he? He needed this money but… he stops to count it. $20..40..60..80..100..120….140……160….180……….$200.

Danny blanches. He lurches for the door, no way he can take this much money just for basically acting as a glorified ecto-translator.

Danny stops in his tracks as he steps outside the shop and spots Dick and Damian speaking to a third, much older person, over the hood of a sleek black car.

This person, of course, also has several, several, shades around them.

What the hell was wrong with this family?

Damian turns and glares his way.

Oh ancients what if they were part of the mob or something.

Danny spins around on his heel-

And smacks straight into the glass door of the shop.

…

Ow.

Danny rubs his nose as he fumbles around for the door handle, acutely aware the death covered family was probably staring at him.

He grabs the handle and pulls-

Danny freezes, hand on his sore face stopping. He opens his eyes as he yanks again. Nothing.

Oh heck, he just locked himself out didn’t he?

No please no, they were so definitely still staring, no way they weren’t. Danny pulls again and it finally-

He looks at the door handle in his hand.

Then at the door still closed in front of him.

Then back at the door handle.

Just the door handle.

Crap.

Danny nearly weeps, clumsily fitting the door handle back on and still adamantly refusing to look and see if Damian and his absurdly rich family has left yet. Other people on the street are also starting to stare. The same reason he can’t just use his powers.

He finally gets the handle back on and gingerly lets go of it.

Ok. Deep breath.

Claire warned you about this. With a sticky note, but all the same. Extra key is taped on the bottom of the fire hydrant right outside the shop. You’ve got this.

Danny turns, kneels, and frantically begins trying to find the key on the absurdly dirty fire hydrant.

His hands come away black with grime, but thankfully he has the key.

He puts it in the lock and turns it, hearing what may very well be the newest sound of his nightmares: a snap.

Most specifically the sound of the key snapping in Danny’s very hands.

Danny stares at the half of the key still held between his fingers.

Did he do something to this city? Was this his fault? Could he not just sit in a closet and wait for the portal to open and go home?

Danny sags against the door, and resigns himself to his fate. Maybe he can go get food… with the money he left on the counter. Great.

Danny peeks his eyes sideways and catches the guy, Dick, finally getting into their car.

Okay, just a tiny bit just a bit. Danny holds the key again, focuses on the lock in the door jam and….. intangible!

He yanks the door open and jumps inside, door closing against the flutters of quickly fading shades on the street.

And more than one scream at them but hey that’s not his problem.

Mostly.

Danny revels in the cool lighting of the shop, glaring at the stupid broken key in his grimy hands. He drops the useless bit of metal on the counter, pockets the cash and wipes his hands on the backside of one of Claire’s million wall curtains.

It leaves a black stain that basically disappears when Danny folds the fabric over it.

Oh well.

Technically the shop was still open.

And technically, Danny didn’t know if the lock did or didn’t work right now.

He moves to find whatever storage closet Claire used to store her absurd number of crystals.

He finds it- finally- and using the keys he left in the store to begin with, he is able to unlock the perfect place to sleep tonight amongst several packages of…. Some kind of incense powder… or something. He doesn’t really care because that plan of hiding in a closet till the portal opens? Yeah, Danny’s putting that into action right the frick now.

He bends down to start to lay out his sweatshirt over the cardboard bed-to-be.

A bell rings in the distance.

Danny is going to destroy that bell on the door, he swears it.

[starry-storms]

The next Battinson movie has so much potential, but some of that being him coming to Alfred and saying "I made a friend" only for Alfred to turn around and see Bruce holding up a nine year old.

[illustratus]

[bruciemilf]

This mf is so hard to draw,,, I understand why dc hates him

[chazchaschad]

Drawing them interacting is literally medicine for my soul

[violent138]

Alfred: "Master Bruce I've arranged a date for the event tonight, with an heiress--"

Bruce, groaning on principle: "Alfred--"

Alfred: "You'll like her, she won't even mind you disappearing."

Bruce: "Another one? Where do you find them?"

Alfred:

Bruce: "Alfred??"

Alfred: "To tell you the truth Master Bruce, several of them are affluent heirs such as yourself, whose parents disapprove of their... inclinations. *clears throat* Like your cousin."

Bruce: "Oh. Oh."

Bruce: "Well that's perfect then. So I'll just leave and they'll assume--"

Alfred: "That you're sneaking off to meet your boyfriend in Metropolis."

Bruce:

Alfred: "It's amazing what trust you can gain when you tell the truth."

[cutiecorner]

More kiddie Caped Crusader... this Bruce would not recognize his regression but does it like, often. Usually to teen ages, generally rude and immature toward Alfred. But once he inevitably exhausts himself into baby ages he always goes to Alfred for help.

[malfiora]

I love how in Nightwing Year One Bruce is like, "I know the best way to introduce Dick and Jason" and it proceeds to be the most unhinged thing ever, meanwhile Alfred and Barbara are both like, "This is a terrible idea. Sign me the fuck up."

[siracethegreat]

Based on a stupid meme of a pikmin with a hammer 👍👍

[frownyalfred]

Alfred, in full butler garb complete with white gloves, vigorously shaking a metal cocktail shaker: and would you like your blend of HGH, BCAA’s, and creatine up today, or on the rocks, sir?

[ghostly-bat]

Damian looking and acting so much like Talia that it haunts Bruce like no other 🤌

____

It was hard looking at Damian sometimes. Bruce's skill for picking up on small details only made it worse.

He loved his son; he really did. He remembered a 10-year-old Damian who was so little yet so angry at the world around him, confused because he had to relearn so many new things.

"You can't do that, Damian."

"Why not?"

"It's just not how we do things here."

At 10 years old, Damian left the only life he'd known to simply be with his father.

Bruce knew from the moment he saw Damian that there was no doubt that he was his son. The small nose, eyebrows, and the curls that weren't inherently his but reminded him so much of his own mother who had passed.

And Damian was beautiful, to say the least, for a child.

Bruce would hear the cooing of others around his son about how much Damian looked almost exactly like he had at 10. How his baby fat still rounded his cheeks and how, despite being 10, he was often mistaken for being 8. The pout that sprawled across his son's face whenever the assumption was brought up made Bruce want nothing more than to pick up Damian and pepper kisses along the grumpy scowl.

There was a hint of pride in Bruce seeing that Damian took after him. It made him feel closer to the son he hadn't even known he had.

Those years went by fast though, with Damian growing taller and losing the baby fat that had made his cheeks so round.

At 14, Bruce started to notice the changes in Damian's appearance.

He saw Talia.

There was already no doubt that Damian had picked up habits from his mother; he liked the same books she did, the smell of rain, and how when both were in deep thought, they would bite their lips, or how in arguments their noses would scrunch out of stubbornness. Damian argued much like his mother, too. Sometimes it was hard for Bruce to tell if he was actually arguing with Damian or Talia.

But this was different because, well, habits are simply habits; looking like one's mother is completely different.

Damian had inherited so much from Talia already, and her looks seemed to be no exception.

Bruce watched as Damian grew older. How his body had grown to be the same lithe and slight frame of his mother's; his eyes and skin were a given, Bruce remembering Damian begrudgingly accepting that his height wasn't going to grow any taller beyond 5'8", much like his mother once again. He had her lips too, Bruce noticed when he and Damian had been arguing about something that Damian didn't feel he was at fault for.

And despite the baby fat that had left his face, Damian still remained rather soft and delicate-looking.

Exactly like his mother.

Exactly like Talia.

It haunted Bruce. To look at his son and see the woman he once loved so dearly, to see her in Damian whenever they argued, whenever it rained and Damian would open all the windows, to catch Damian humming a song that sounded so familiar yet so distant at the same time.

Damian was beautiful, just like his mother. And it pained Bruce like nothing else.

He was grateful, however, to see that Damian had inherited all of Talia's great qualities: her undying strength, her smarts, the love she had for creatures of any kind, and her ability to argue like no other until she got what she knew was rightfully deserved. All of those were things that Bruce himself had admired once before. It still hurt.

Because when he looked at his son, when he looked at Damian, all he could see was Talia, and when he saw Talia, all he could think of was 'what if.'

What if things had worked out? What if they had been able to be together despite their clashing differences? What if they had been able to raise Damian with both a mother and father who still loved each other?

Bruce loved Damian more than anything in the world. He'd go to hell and back just for him—in fact, he did.

But Damian was also a haunting reminder of Talia.

The haunting reminder of the woman that Bruce Wayne was sure was going to be his wife one day.

[puppetmaster13u]

Meme Prompt 10

[dragonpyre]

Jason Todd: If you don't murder this man right now, then you don't love me

Bruce Wayne: dude...

[batmen-and-birds]

Bruce Wayne and Magic

I don‘t really subscribe to the idea that Bruce doesn‘t believe in magic. He‘s childhood friends with Zatanna, he knows Gotham is cursed, one of his most trusted allies and friends is a demigoddess made out of clay and magic.

Not to mention, Bruce is low key kinda magic himself.

He‘s a descendant of Morgana La Fey and is able to use magic. not in a Zatanna or Constantine kind of level but still. It honestly would make so much sense to me that the reason that Thomas Wayne was even friends with Giovanni was because he was able to use magic as well.

I just think that practicing Magic is kinda like being an artist, or a gardener. Just bc you can draw some doodles doesn't make you Da Vinci. If you really think about it Magic is an art, not a science and that's why Bruce doesn't like to rely on it. Spells can vary due to externa factors out of his control, just like how every brush stroke is different despite using the same posture. Replicating your work with 100% accuracy is nigh impossible.

But even if Bruce won‘t rely on it, I doubt that he wouldn‘t train it. So he's proficient in magic but refuses to acknowledge it.

Imagine the League fighting some alien and it turn out that they're magic. Superman gets hit and Zatanna isn't currently in the same dimension.

And suddenly Batman just throws fireballs at the aliens. He knows he can't keep it up for long but it's enough to scare them off for the time being.

"Were you always able to do that!?", Barry asks.

"Hnng", Bruce answers and leaves so he can send a message to Zatanna.