
I just like a lot of things ok?
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Besavvy - The Queen Of Randomness - Tumblr Blog
Bruce: Has anyone seen Jason and Damian?
Tim: That went out
Bruce: For what?
Dick: Something about Jason breaking a whetstone- don't ask- and Damian demanding he replace that
Bruce: We already have a whetstone for the batarang
Tim: Yeah, but Damian said and I quote "My katana was forged by greatest bladesmiths the League of Assassins has to offer, that cheap rock will not go anywhere near it"
Bruce: ...That does sound like Damian
Dick: Yep. So now we're just waiting on them
[5 minutes later]
Tim: [looks at his phone and starts laughing]
Tim: You guys are not gonna believe this
Dick: What?
[Shows a trending video of Jason walking across a parking lot with a bag in one hand and a screaming Damian under his arm, before noticing the camera and saying, "don't worry, he's mine I'm not stealing him." *pause* "if I was gonna take one, it definitely wouldn't be this asshole"]
Bruce: [tired sigh] Sadly, I can believe it...
Dick: Well, at least he got the whetstone
Feral McGee™
It starts with the Joker.
His goons picked up Tim Drake. Not specifically because it was Tim Drake, he just so happened to be in the Joker’s neighborhood, and we'll, he can't pass up that opportunity now can he?
Except Tim Drake is watching, along with the rest of Gotham, at the Batcomputer. He’s nursing a broken foot and has been put on monitor duty until he's cleared for field work again.
The guy looks enough like him, though. Black hair, blue eyes, and bags under his eyes for days. He's also got the same lean sort of build like he does.
It happens like this.
The Joker is doing his monologue thing where he explains whatever twisted game he's come up with this time. He takes up the majority of the screen, so nobody can see Not-Tim behind him, not until the big reveal. Then he covers the screen again, getting up close and personal, before stepping back. In those quick few seconds, Not-Tim is no longer sitting there tied to the chair.
Someone off camera lets the Joker know, and he whirls around, confused as the rest of Gotham.
And then Not-Tim comes in with the steel chair.
Or, well, a crowbar, but the reference holds up.
He takes out one of Joker’s knees before punching him in the face. The Joker drops like a bag of stones, out cold.
Then he looks towards the camera.
“Hey there. I'm not really sure where I am, but also if he was after Tim Drake, he got the wrong guy. I'm not him, I'm just some dude. Anyway, I'll just-yep-” he carefully steps over the unconscious Joker, gives the camera a little wave, and then leaves.
Batman and Nightwing enter shortly after, with the Joker and his goons out cold and tied up. The knots were complicated enough where, in the end, the police resorted to cutting the ties off of them so they could be properly cuffed and taken to Arkham.
“A constrictor knot,” Batman tells Nightwing as they watch the villain be taken away. “Often used by sailors to temporarily tie things together to keep something in a bag, or to hold something to glue it back together.”
“Huh,” Nightwing says, scratching the back of his head. “Go figure.”
—
The next time it happens, it’s the Riddler.
He’s laughing, giving his riddles to the Bats and recording himself to all of Gotham while his victim, one of the Wayne brats, hangs over a vat of something. From a distance, he looks like Tim Drake, or maybe a lankier Dick Grayson. And he’s not the only victim, they’re all scattered across the city, but he thought an important figure such as a Wayne should be under the Riddler’s direct supervision while he enacts his schemes.
While the Riddler cackles and plots and waves his cane around, in the background all of Gotham can see the figure escape. Several Gothamites recognize him as the kid from before, who clocked the Joker. They all watch with bated breath as he sort of wiggles his way out of the ropes holding him up. Once he’s free, he climbs the rope and gets himself down safely.
Gotham holds their breath as the kid casually walks up to the Riddler, who’s mid-rant. He politely taps him on the shoulder, and as the Riddler is turning around, the kid clocks him just as brutally as he had the Joker. He’s down with one punch.
They think he’s going to say another sort of awkward goodbye, but instead he pats the Riddler down until he finds a piece of paper tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket.
“Right,” the kid says, looking at the list. There’s a lot more static overlay now, and several wonder if it’s damage to the cameras. “Uh, the Clocktower, the Docks, and-” he squints at the page for a moment-”Mama Nacaroni’s? What the fuck is that? Anyway, uh. See you later, I guess. Oh! And we’re at the Gotham Arena. Have fun with him, I guess.”
The kid tosses the paper off to the side before the camera cuts to black.
Just like last time, everyone is out cold and tied up. The Riddler himself is sporting a pretty bad shiner, but well deserved nonetheless.
“Stop it,” Red Hood tells him. Batman just looks at him, and though Hood can’t see the top half of his face, he can tell that his eyebrow is raised. “You know exactly what I mean, B. Put the adoption papers away.”
“Hn.”
—
After that, it sorta becomes a game. The rogues of Gotham are no longer after a Wayne, or after anybody who holds any kind of social status like usual. They’re all going after this one kid, all determined to be the one to hold him. And each one is televised.
Mr. Freeze freezes him in a block of ice, but due to the cameras glitching out, nobody can really see how he got free. They do, however, see the kid suplex Mr. Freeze. It should seem impossible, given his lanky figure, but he evidently has more muscle than he’s originally let on.
Two-Face gets a hold of him, using chains and some power-dampening cuffs just on the off-chance that he’s a meta. They all watch as the kid leans down, pulls a bobby pin out of his hair, and picks the locks on his cuffs. One punch, and Two-Face is down.
Gothamites are going wild for the kid. They’ve dubbed him Feral McGee™ (an online poll, of course), because every time he goes in for the punch he gets this feral look in his eyes. Also, just the fact that he casually goes up to these rogues and takes them out with all the casualness of doing something incredibly mundane? Incredible. The Gothamites are eating it up. However, despite the video evidence, nobody has been able to properly identify the kid. They know he has black hair and bright eyes, but any time he gets near a camera, it’s like there’s this weird, sort of warped quality the camera takes on. It doesn’t usually calm down until the fight is done-as one sided as they usually are-before he awkwardly skedaddles away.
He gets kidnapped by the Penguin, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy (though that was more just a friendly chat than anything), Mad Hatter, and the Riddler again.
And then the Joker escapes.
It’s no surprise as to who he’s going to go after.
Due to one too many careless goons, they manage to find their way to the Joker’s hideout pretty quickly. This time, it’s all Bats on deck, and they all hide away in the rafters as Feral McGee™ is hung over a vat of acid. His whole body is tied up, hardly a single inch of exposed skin to be seen except for the neck up.
They watch the goons, they watch the Joker, and they watch Feral McGee™.
The Joker is monologuing, practically begging the bats to come find him before the timer runs out. When it does, the kid gets dumped into the vat of acid.
Despite these stakes, the kid seems to be only mildly annoyed.
“Fuck this, I have homework I still need to finish,” they hear him say.
They all watch, amazed and confused, as the kid starts gnawing through the ropes. Human teeth shouldn’t be able to do that so easily, but one bit after the other, and soon enough the kid’s got himself freed enough to just climb up the rest of the rope. When he’s at the top of the crane holding him up, Batman lets down a rope and pulls the kid up and out of danger.
“Oh, cool, you’re all here,” the kid says casually, as if meeting the entire Bat Clan is just a normal Tuesday. And then he pulls out a notepad and pen and hands it to Red Hood.
“Can I get an autograph? You’re dope as fuck, dude.”
Red Hood has to look away and hide his face in his arms for a few moments to not give away their location with his laughter before signing. And then, one by one, the others do as well. They pass along the kid’s notebook with shit-eating grins and barely contained snickers despite the fact that the Joker is still right below them. Even Batman signs it, after his children don’t stop hounding him about it.
In their distraction, they didn’t see the kid sneak away. He’s far away from them now, nearly right over the Joker. Danny waits, though, until the Joker has turned around as the timer almost runs out. They watch as he snickers at Joker’s flabbergasted look. The Joker comically looks back and forth and under objects the kid obviously isn’t under. However, before he can do or say anything else, the kid drops from the rafters and right on top of the Joker. He crumples to the ground, unconscious. The kid, however, just brushes the dust off of himself. Despite the fall he took, there isn’t a scratch on him.
When the bats join him, they give his notepad back to him, barely able to contain their laughter at the absurdity of it all. The kid, too, joins in the camaraderie, laughing and joking along with them as Batman secures the Joker.
“Okay, okay, but I gotta ask, dude,” Red Hood says at one point, looking at the kid. “How do you keep getting kidnapped?”
The kid just shrugs. “I get distracted easily. And I’m sleep deprived, so you know. Social awareness is kind of at an all time low right now.”
“Why are you sleep deprived?” Nightwing asks, barely hidden concern in his voice.
“Finals are kinda kicking my ass right now. Especially this dumb English homework I have. You guys wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“Oh, lucky for you,” Red Hood says, wrapping an arm around the kid’s shoulders as he walks them out of the warehouse, “I happen to know a lot about English. So, it is Shakespeare?”
“Yeah, Midsummer Night’s Dream.”
As they walk off, Batman calmly watches, though the rest of the bats can see his jaw twitching. Nightwing comes up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
“If you don’t adopt him, I will.”
“Hn.”

this is actually incredibly sweet
“I’ve been a massage therapist for many years, now. I know what people look like. People have been undressing for me for a long time. I know what you look like: a glance at you, and I can picture pretty well what you’d look like on my table. Let’s start here with what nobody looks like: nobody looks like the people in magazines or movies. Not even models. Nobody. Lean people have a kind of rawboned, unfinished look about them that is very appealing. But they don’t have plump round breasts and plump round asses. You have plump round breasts and a plump round ass, you have a plump round belly and plump round thighs as well. That’s how it works. And that’s very appealing too. Woman have cellulite. All of them. It’s dimply and cute. It’s not a defect. It’s not a health problem. It’s the natural consequence of not consisting of photoshopped pixels, and not having emerged from an airbrush. Men have silly buttocks. Well, if most of your clients are women, anyway. You come to male buttocks and you say – what, this is it? They’re kind of scrawny and the tissue is jumpy because it’s unpadded; you have to dial back the pressure, or they’ll yelp. Adults sag. It doesn’t matter how fit they are. Every decade, an adult sags a little more. All of the tissue hangs a little looser. They wrinkle, too. I don’t know who put about the rumor that just old people wrinkle. You start wrinkling when you start sagging, as soon as you’re all grown up, and the process goes its merry way as long as you live. Which is hopefully a long, long time, right? Everybody on a massage table is beautiful. There are really no exceptions to this rule. At that first long sigh, at that first thought that “I can stop hanging on now, I’m safe” – a luminosity, a glow, begins. Within a few minutes the whole body is radiant with it. It suffuses the room: it suffuses the massage therapist too. People talk about massage therapists being caretakers, and I suppose we are: we like to look after people, and we’re easily moved to tenderness. But to let you in on a secret: I’m in it for the glow. I’ll tell you what people look like, really: they look like flames. Or like the stars, on a clear night in the wilderness.”
— What People Really Look Like
There is a sort of trope that I've noticed in DC media where Batman is infinitely stranger from anyone else's perspective than his own. In his own comics and movies and such his motives are explained to you, you have his inner monologue, but the moment you put him in someone else's story, you're met with a general vibe of 'what the fuck is wrong with that man? is that a man? might be a demon.'
And this 100% extends to the batkids.
Dick? The man has no bones. From an outside perspective, he leaps before he looks, grinning and laughing as be backflips off buildings with seemingly no plan, only to catch himself with a grapple at the last minute. He's charming and warm until he can't be, and then he's terrifying, with a glare and temper that rivals the Bat's.
Jason? He has deadly aim and a steady hand. He's hulking and strong, but he's also silent. He still moves like a bat, like he was taught to in his Robin days, despite the fact that he's taller and broader than Bruce now. The Red Hood could appear out of the shadows behind you, no matter how safe you are, and you wouldn't be able to do anything to stop it.
Tim? He's smart. They're all smart, but he's smart smart. And his ethics and intelligence don't always mesh. He could tear down any security system with frightening efficiency, then rebuild it better. Logically, he's always five steps ahead.
Damian? He's the most obviously terrifying. He's small, and angry, and he has a sword that he knows how to use with frightening efficiency. He's as viscous as his father can be, but with a temper that more unchecked. He learned how to kill before he learned how to protect.
Duke, Cass, and Steph also fall under this, but I don't know enough about them to make accurate judgements.
Anyway, what I'm saying is the rogues and the Justice League alike fear the Bats, and for good reason.
Sharing because it’s seriously messed up that people steal art like that


So a free tool called GLAZE has been developed that allows artists to cloak their artwork so it can't be mimicked by AI art tools.
AI art bros are big mad about it.
Tim and dick are being interviewed on live television
Interviewer: So, what do you do to deal with your emotions?
Tim: Oh, I don't. ~That's poor people behavior~
Dick: Tim, your depressed, please go to a therapist
Tim: You can't make me
Dick: I'm worried for your future
Tim: You should be, any way do you wanna help me make pizza bagels later?
Dick: I WANTVTO get you a therapist
Tim: Good luck with that, pizza bagels?
Dick: You are a full grown adult, you can't make your own pizza bagels?
Tim: Dick, I was a severly neglected rich kid, of COURSE I don't know how to cook!
Interviewer: What is happening
Room full of Gotham rogues, tim enters it holding a gun a shoots a few bullets in the air to get everyone's attention
Tim: Alright, listen up, I do not want to be holding this gun, and that has absolutely nothing to do with the no kill rule and everything to do with that one time I met a future version of myself who was a mob boss who ran all of Gotham and was really into the whole shooting people thing so now any time I pick up a gun I'm like Is this it? Is this the pipeline? Is this how gun batman is created? THAT BEING SAID talk shit, get shot, understood?
I love how often people forget that golden boy started out as a little murder bat like Damian
"Jason Todd was a menace of a Robin"
WRONG Jason Todd was a sweet lil lad who liked to read fucking Shakespear
DICK GRAYSON WAS 11 YEARS OLD AND LOOKING FOR HIS PARENTS KILLER TO MURDER
He also beat Joker to death after Jason died, Dick is probably the most angry Robin to ever traffic light his way through Gotham.
Bruce before the Justice League meet the BatKids for the first time en masse: Alright, ground rules. Just because they’re my kids does NOT in any way mean I can control them, wrangle them, guide them, anything. I am NOT legally held responsible for anything they do.
Clark: Ah, they can’t be that bad.
Bruce:😑 one of them died, came back, and tried to kill his younger brother. Said younger brother had been stalking us since he was NINE years old. My eldest saw his parents die. One of my daughters was raised solely to be an assassin. My other sort of daughter has a villain for a father. My other son has superpowers. Yet another son was raised to be an assassin and lead a cult.
Diana:…..
Clark:….. I take it back, they are that bad. Duly noted.
Jason: *wandering in with half asleep Tim meandering behind him* Has anyone seen the Tiny Murder Bird? *pauses* Why’s everyone staring at us?
Dick: *walking in behind them* I’m assuming B gave them the general rundown on us.
Jason: That would do it.
Tim: *taking a drink of an unholy energy drink and coffee concoction* my preciouuusssss.
Oliver: Oh this one. This one scares me.
Bruce: Welcome to my world.

I saw this the other day and couldn’t help thinking about how the batboys first felt when they had to be the comfort/protector or how for they might’ve felt the first time children ran to them for protection.
Dick Grayson was a performer long before he was a protector. Even on his first night as Robin, he kept an eye out on the darkest streets for people in despair. Not even three hours into his first shift as Robin, comes the opportunity.
He knows how to hypnotise people, to make them forget about the world, about reality, even if it was just for a little while. And little did he know just how much he’d use it for the rest of his life.
And there’s the guy in front of him, robbing a store with a knife in one hand, tears streaming down his face. His wife is dying, and he needs the money and Dick falters. He remembers that feeling of helplessness.
But then there’s a child cowering away from him, and runs screaming towards Dick, arms outstretched with a plea. And his hesitation vanishes, before taking down the man in one fell swoop.
He then spent the time with only one goal in mind. Make the kid laugh. He cracked jokes, displayed few acrobatic endeavours and is only satisfied when the kid looks at him with joy, the fear long since burned away. It fills his chest with pride, and a warm flutter that stays with him for the next few months.
Jason never expected anything to happen. He was the new Robin, he was here only to protect, not chit-chat. He’s heard what others thought of him, and he couldn’t care any less. He did his job, made sure they were safe and unhurt, and then left.
And then one late night, finishing up on patrol he sees a glimpse of color out of the corner of his eye. There’s a young woman, hiding three figures behind her. He raises his head, and immediately sees the way they scramble away in fear. So he looks away and waits, muscles tense and ready, pretending not to notice them come closer.
He’s quite taken aback when the woman timidly asks him to walk her back home. It’s a trap. He thinks. But he sees the look on their faces, and decides it’s worth the risk. Along the way he makes a few dry sarcastic quips, and before he knows it the air is filled with laughter and chatter.
It takes a while for him to notice two kids were holding each of his hand, and the third was tugging on his cape. And the mother was smiling softly, eyes crinkling in fondness and vulnerability.
They felt safe, he realises with a start.
They felt safe with him
They trusted him.
And something in him stirs. He feels something similar to what Dick had recalled on his first encounter with children, but instead of a warm flutter it’s like his heart has forgotten its rhythm. It’s banging against his rib cage, warmth and love pouring out. He always had a bleeding heart.
When he comes back from patrol, he absentmindedly runs his fingers across the cape where they’d held it, and sees tiny wrinkles there.
He refuses to iron it, and when Tim first sees his suit, the first thing he sees are the thousands of wrinkles, dozens of smears and dried up trails of tears.
Tim, who didn’t know what the fuck he was doing.
He was good at the crime job. Children.. people? Not so much. Especially when he wasn’t trying to lecture them or take them down. He knew how to make them tick. But not how to make them talk.
Alas, when batman is stuck interviewing a father about a home invasion, Tim finds himself on kid duty.
He looks everywhere, on the ceiling, below the bed, when he finally notices a heat signature coming from behind a desk.
The kid is hugging her knees, cowering and clutching themselves as close as she could, squeeze themselves into the tiny space, and keeping heavy boxes and chairs to block any people or light from entering.
And Tim just sits there. He tries talking, engaging in conversation before realising how awkward it sounded and that he wasn’t helping. So he falls quiet.
He notices posters of marine life on the child’s bed, and after a while of silence he starts to slowly talk again. He talks about the ocean, about its inhabitants and the most peculiar creatures hidden inside. It is a while before he falters again, noticing his rant, but with a quick glance he can see that the child has slightly shifted towards him, hanging onto his every word.
And so he continues, bringing up holographic displays to show the amazing characterisers and traits they acquire. He hears the pitter patter of footsteps after a while, and then the kid pops up beside him, staring at the display. The kid was there, tense as a deer, and ready to sprint at any sudden movement, but there.
And so at the end of the night, that’s how Bruce finds Tim sitting on the floor, kid fast asleep and sprawled across his lap, using the cape as a blanket.
Tim was a grounding presence. He wasn’t there to judge, wasn’t there to speak. He was just.. there. And that mattered a lot more to children then he realises.
He remembers coming home in almost a daze, seeing the wrinkles on his cape before remembering Jason. His breath hitches, fingers running over the wrinkles, truly realising why Jason’s suit still stubbornly portrayed its wrinkles. It’s stories.
Jason was better at this. Jason cared. And tonight, he’d taken the first step towards truly honouring him. And he had no intentions of letting the second Robin’s legacy die.
Dick had described it as warmth that left you giddy. But this, this was terror.
Tim was scared.
Dick had always been an empath, Jason arguably more, and it was their legacy that he’d have to carry on. The children were counting on him. Batman was counting on him. But the most terrifying realisation was that Jason was also counting on him. And so was Dick.
So he lets the wrinkles stay on, subtly highlighting them in the cape to remind himself of his purpose, a feeling of protectiveness burdening him- not only towards the citizens, but also towards his brothers. He was NOT going to let them down.
Each of them made kids feel safe with them, in their own special ways. Because there was a broken kid in each of them too, that craved to make sure no one else was hurt the way they were.
I know we all talk about Jason finding out Dick killed the Joker from Tim or one of the other batfam members, but what if:
One day he’s searching for blackmail material on a member just for fun and knows Damian keeps a list of all of them so he backs into the files and realised the folder with the heaviest inscription to unlock is one labelled “Contingencies”.
He opens it to find every single person in their family is on there and starts surfing through them. When he sees Tim’s he freezes, mentally filing away some horrific details for checking up on him later, Jason’s list is impressive but not much he didn’t expect…still concerned how he got the evidence though.
His fingers hesitate over Batman’s, and after thinking screw it what the hell clicks on it just to realise most of them are psychological, and had to do with Jason. One video showed Bruce as Jason remembered him from his robin days. He was pacing furiously in the Manor, tugging on his pocket square which for him was a high level of distress, before he went upstairs - to Jason’s room when he stayed there - and looked in. The change was sudden, Bruce’s shoulders sagged and his face grew into one of fondness, one he’d rarely seen before.
“I cant help it Alfred.. Scarecrow’s toxin.. I KNOW it isn’t real but.. I can’t stop thinking about it. What if -“ and Jason can’t really believe his ears, that was a fucking quiver in his voice- “What if one day it comes true?” “What was your worst fear Master Bruce?”.
“Jason..” and Jason flinches. “I.. I saw him die, and I was powerless. I cant lose him Alfred. I just cant.”
The recording ends, and it takes a while for Jason to realise he can’t breathe. He sends the file to himself and laughs bitterly, remembering what the fear toxin had shown him. Lucifer. It had shown him falling from Bruce’s grace, being his greatest disappointment. “Guess we both failed each other didnt we old man?”
After what feels like forever, when he can feel his fingers stop shaking his eyes drift over to Dicks.
Damian sure does adore him, wonder what the brats got in store for him.
Most of them were things he was sure Dick could handle, until a glitched file appeared which read “for EXTREME situations only.”
When he heard Joker laugh, Jason could’ve sworn he was in the cave. “Hello there old friend! Aww why the long face?”
Dick wasn’t facing the camera, but the sheer aura of destruction radiating off of him was enough for Jason to know Joker was in danger. Judging by his outfit and well- hair- this must’ve been years ago.
“Didn’t you like my..ah.. gift? It was quite the blast I hear!”
Dicks fists clenched. His usual smile was gone, replaced by a hatred so vile it could’ve rivalled batman’s glare. It was so odd.. seeing him so pissed.
“Well that’s what happens.. when birds get hit. They never see what’s right in front of them and then BAM!”
As his laughter rang out Jason heard Dick whisper something. It was so soft, quieter than he’d ever heard him and he found himself leaning forward.
“What’s that? How long he lasted? Well I counted everytime he screamed when I broke his bones so-“
“SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP!”
Jason stumbled back, nearly falling to the floor himself. Dicks voice was thundering, echoing across the cave.
What the hell had happened? Why was Dick so mad? Why wasn’t he smiling?
“You..killed him.”
And that’s when it hit Jason. Oh. This was after he’d died.
The joker was trying to say something, but Jason couldn’t hear him. All he could focus on was how Dick was behaving, how he was walking upto Joker. Jason had seen that before.
The intent to kill.
SLAM
The fight was brutal, and blood flew everywhere, mixed with the laughter and cries of the Joker while Dick yelled, YELLED so loudly he could’ve sworn the cave was shaking before the sound of a wet snap ricocheted and Dick went limp.
No.. no no no no.
He watched in horror as Dick stood up, drenched in blood and heaving. Dick had gone- no BEATEN- the joker for Jason.
But the longer he looked, the more he felt the Lazarus pit burning inside him.
The joker wasn’t moving.
Dick walked away, and in the shadows, with bloody fists and face of hatred could not see him as the Dick he knew.
“Dead.”
He looked up to hear Dick whisper to the thundering sky outside.
“I killed him Jason. The joker is dead. Rest in peace little wing.”
Jason’s feet gave out under him, and he crashed to the ground gasping for breath.
Never in his wildest dreams had he thought he had been avenged.
Never did he even think that Dick had only killed once… and only for him.
i love the idea of the batfam wearing each other's merch cause like. i know they'd be petty about it. usually they'd wear their siblings merch in (kinda) equal rotations, but they'd change it up depending on sibling squabbles or sibling favours. Tim, walking into the kitchen in a Red Hood shirt: Dick: TIM!? Tim: what Dick: it's Tuesday. you always wear Nightwing merch on Tuesdays. Tim: oh. Tim: you stole my last granola bar, last week. Steph, looking for something in Jason's room: JASON WHY DO YOU HAVE EVERYONE'S MERCH BUT MINE?! Jason, peeking into the room: i have your merch. in the trash. Steph: WHY Jason: you hit me with a blue shell in mario kart last game night. i'm never forgiving you. Damian, sporting a full-on Red Robin hoodie: Tim: woah. what brought this on? you usually only exclusively wear Batman or Nightwing merch Damian: you helped me take that splinter out of Alfred's paw yesterday. Richard on the other hand has recently messed up my painting palette. Dick, from the other room: IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! Damian: he'll get over it. Cass, wearing Nightwing merch for the 5th day in a row: Jason: goddamn. what did Dickie do to get in your good graces like this? Cass, smiling: he made me a flower crown Jason: ... that's it? Cass: it was a very nice flower crown. Dick, buying seven Signal shirts: One for everyone. Duke, behind him: Dick, you really don't-- Dick: shhhh, sunshine. everyone will love your new merch. (they all wore exclusively Signal merch for a week straight) Bruce isn't allowed to change up his rotation or not wear someone's merch because he immediately gets accused of playing favourites. He'd rather keep some of his sanity, thank you.
This fic is just fantastic 😂
a toddler who was being saved by the red hood called him "mama" once and now crime alley kids will refer to him as mama all. the. time.
reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something
I love this idea so much
Jason Todd just has a wall of useless guns.
Like, Roy will offhandedly comment that he's really craving toast and Jay will pull out an honest-to-god toast-shotgun that shoots perfectly toasted toast and those tiny butter packets.
He and Artemis are fighting about whether swords or guns are better weapons and Jace pulls out a modified bazooka that shoots swords, and declares that he wins.
He has one that shoots confetti, one that shoots cheese slices, potatoes, toilet paper and SO MANY MORE.
His favourite is a post-it gun that shoots pre-made post-its with insults on them which include, but are not limited to
- suck my zombie cock
- go fuck a bat, batfucker
- "i am vengance" my left ass cheek
He has way too much free time and spends it reading classic lit or modifying his arsenal.
All of the guns look legit too, he gives Bruce a heart attack by shooting Damian with his water-gun-glock after Damian stole his bookmark and he decided to discipline him like a misbehaving cat.
Update to add that he finally looked at the heart eco he ordered as a way to shut me up and get out of his office. I have a literal heart defect that has to be monitored from now on🙃 Still refuses to put me on medication or give me the POTS diagnosis. I’d get a new doctor if there were any within six hours my insurance would take. This jerk has a reputation for pulling shit like this with women in my area
Any man could walk into a doctor’s office with the exact same symptoms as me and any doctor would be falling all over themselves trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong. The words “it’s just anxiety” would never even cross their mind.
But I, a woman, walk through that door and that asshole ignores all my abnormal test results, all my concerns, refuses to even consider the obvious diagnosis that my regular doctor (a woman) as well as multiple family members who are doctors and nurses all agree it likely is. Because “it’s really popular in the internet right now and I think it’s overdiagnosed. You’re just getting anxious because of that.”
BECAUSE THERES MORE INFORMATION NOW AND PEOPLE ARE FINALLY GETTING A FUCKING DIAGNOISIS YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! On top of that fact that a lot of people who had covid and got over it are ending up with it! I know what a fucking anxiety or panic attack feels like moron. This ain’t that! I’m literally passing out all the time that is not because of my anxiety. But it makes me pretty fucking anxious to worry if I’m going to randomly pass out while I’m out in public alone.
He literally almost made me pass out in his office while doing his own version of a tilt table test and I kid you not, looked me up and down, stared at my thick thighs for an extra few seconds (I was in shorts and already self conscious) scoffed, and told me I just need to do some squats and lunges and that will fix all my problems.
Wow! Thankyou! You cured my feinting and my atrial fibrillation! You told a girl who is extremely physically active every day all day to do a few squats. I’m sure that’s magically going to fix everything.
I wanted to cry or scream at him by the time I left I was so frustrated.
Human crewmate: *drops a dish and it breaks* damn it.
Alien crewmate: Are you okay? Why did you drop that?
Human: I have an autoimmune disorder that affects my joints, and sometimes my hands are very painful and just give out and I drop things.
Alien crewmate: What is an 'autoimmune disorder?'
Human crewmate: You know how humans are hard to get sick with space illnesses? That's because of our immune systems, but sometimes our immune systems go haywire and attack our own bodies, making us sick and sometimes destroying parts of our body permanently.
Alien crewmate: You mean one of your adaptations that makes you basically unkillable can hurt you instead?? Your body attacks itself?!
Human crewmate: Yeah there's a lot of different types of autoimmune disorders, too. And they're constantly discovering more.
Alien crewmate: there's more than one way for your body to destroy itself?? What kind of a world is so violent that one's very body could attack oneself?
Human crewmate: yeah it sucks but what can you do? Doctors don't even really care. If you have a rare one they'll just tell you 'sometimes that happens' and not help you figure out which one it is.
Alien crewmate: what the fuck?! They just don't care about this massive malfunction of your biology?! I'm taking you to a Lixinian doctor. They take their oaths seriously.
Human crewmate: yeah if you say so.
Tbh this has been on my mind for MONTHS
Human codes… but they’re not actually codes??
A small group of humans is discovered by some curious aliens. Both sides can assume that the other is sentient. The aliens are trying to translate the humans’ language to their own, and the humans are trying to learn the aliens’ language. But since humans are tricky, they’ve decided that they don’t want the aliens to know their language, so they can have secret conversations.
So they go a little crazy. With written words, they randomly use lowercase and capital letters, even using numbers and symbols, and use a lot of slang, occasionally using words incorrectly on purpose. They’ll jumble the words a bit so that only human brains can guess their meaning (that thing where if you use all the letters and put the proper letters at the beginning and end it’ll be comprehensible), and even use additional or unofficial languages (commonly known words like ‘hola’, ‘si’, ‘oui’, etc, and piglatin, in which you typically take the first letter or syllable of a word, place it at the end, and add ‘ay’ to the end).
As for spoken words, they will do a bit of the above, mashing languages and slang, perhaps mispronouncing a few things, and quoting memes, vines, movies, and even singing parts of songs to throw off the aliens. Perhaps they will say something with a somber meaning in a joyful way to throw off the meaning, or even just naturally (‘I wanna die!’ ‘Mood’), or vice versa.
Additionally, there would have to be a TON of body language. Maybe even sign language, should they know any. Gestures and expressions, eyebrow wiggles and poorly-hidden grins. Ah, the beauties of communication.
Any man could walk into a doctor’s office with the exact same symptoms as me and any doctor would be falling all over themselves trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong. The words “it’s just anxiety” would never even cross their mind.
But I, a woman, walk through that door and that asshole ignores all my abnormal test results, all my concerns, refuses to even consider the obvious diagnosis that my regular doctor (a woman) as well as multiple family members who are doctors and nurses all agree it likely is. Because “it’s really popular in the internet right now and I think it’s overdiagnosed. You’re just getting anxious because of that.”
BECAUSE THERES MORE INFORMATION NOW AND PEOPLE ARE FINALLY GETTING A FUCKING DIAGNOISIS YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING ASSHOLE!!! On top of that fact that a lot of people who had covid and got over it are ending up with it! I know what a fucking anxiety or panic attack feels like moron. This ain’t that! I’m literally passing out all the time that is not because of my anxiety. But it makes me pretty fucking anxious to worry if I’m going to randomly pass out while I’m out in public alone.
He literally almost made me pass out in his office while doing his own version of a tilt table test and I kid you not, looked me up and down, stared at my thick thighs for an extra few seconds (I was in shorts and already self conscious) scoffed, and told me I just need to do some squats and lunges and that will fix all my problems.
Wow! Thankyou! You cured my feinting and my atrial fibrillation! You told a girl who is extremely physically active every day all day to do a few squats. I’m sure that’s magically going to fix everything.
I wanted to cry or scream at him by the time I left I was so frustrated.
You managed to retire from the supervillain game long ago, when you became a parent. Now, your grandchild has inadvertently been kidnapped by an upstart villain, and you’re about to show them why the world (rightfully) feared you.
The Return of the Speedster
Years had passed since Wally's death. Years since the Young Justice team had split up because of it, none of them could move on, as much as they liked to pretend about it, Nightwing was the one who had taken it the worst.
While the years passed on the hero's dimension, Danny was exploring Clockwork's haunt in the Infinite Realms, something that took him a long time as his mentor was hard to convince; while he was at it he found something strange. Clocky had told him it was the "Speedforce" although the halfa had no idea what that meant. He frowned wanting to explore it but his mentor stopped him every time, telling him it wasn't safe.
Unfortunately that wasn't enough to stop the teenager, who slipped into the crack in time. Danny was quite lucky, as the watch that had merged with him long ago from the "Dark Dan" incident had left him somewhat immune to the effects the site had, not that he knew it.
When he stepped inside, all he saw was an incomprehensible place. Since he wasn't seeing something interesting he was about to leave when he noticed a boy in a weird suit running. He raised an eyebrow in confusion, didn't Clocky tell him the place was off limits?
The boy noticed him too and explained in panic that the place was dangerous and could kill him. To which Danny rolled his eyes.
"I don't think you can kill something dead" he scoffed showing his ghostly tail. The boy didn't take that revelation very well, as he started muttering about being dead and in the afterlife. Danny, seeing that the boy had gotten distracted and stopped running, pulled him out of the place and guided him towards Clockwork's haunt. He had to ask his mentor about the weird kid and the best way was well, kidnap him from the strange place.
Both ghosts watched the speedster (Wally?) continue to mumble about having passed into the afterlife while having an existential crisis on the couch. Danny was tempted to tell him he was alive and everything was a misunderstanding but he had to get information first. And maybe get him back home if it was all a mistake.
Wally West, trapped in the speed force and basically a ghost, complaining about how much being a ghost sucks to this random kid who kinda looks like he’d be adopted by Batman because he’s the only person that’s been able to see him so far: and I know Nightwing is being a complete idiot and all self-sacrifice cause he’s dumb-
Daniel Fenton, frantically researching on how to bring a ghost back to life because Kid Flash was his childhood hero and beating him up would be wrong but Jesus fuck he’s annoying: uh-huh. Cool. Yep. Please shut up.
Kakashi, carrying his very small very tired genin home after a long day of training: this will in no way set a precedent :)
The sixth Hokage, carrying his very adult very tired war heroes home after a long day of training: I sure fucking played myself didn’t I?