I'm working on it-

the real transphobia, my friends, is the fact that cookies are unhealthy.

happy pride

by: Asidian

Fandom: Batman (comics)

Pairing: Batfam gen

Warnings: sickfic, emotional hurt/comfort, Tim is extremely bad at self-care, truth serum effects

Excerpt:

"— you copy?" someone is saying into his ear, when he can concentrate again. "Red, do you hear me?"

"I'm here," Tim manages, after a moment, when he thinks he can talk again. He closes his eyes, and he opens them again. He licks at his lips. His mouth is as dry as the desert, cloyingly sweet. All he wants to do is lie down and sleep for a thousand years.

"The hell happened?" says Jason.

The answer comes swift and automatic, like it's bypassing his brain entirely. Maybe it is: the instinct to report when Bruce demands it is hardwired into him, at this point.

"Just a little dizzy," says Tim. "Got thrown off balance. It's passed now." A beat, and then another. He wavers and bites down on his lip, and then he adds: "Mostly."

"You okay down there?" says Dick, and there's something threaded through his tone that Tim can't quite place.

"No," says Tim, before he can think about the answer. "I'm doing pretty bad, actually."

The realization starts somewhere in his chest. It lodges there like an icicle; Tim's fought Dr. Freeze enough times to recognize the sensation of something impossibly cold burrowed into flesh, slowly melting from your body heat.

This feels exactly like that.

It's slow-spreading horror, every bit as biting as those jagged shards of ice.

Tim turns, in what feels like slow motion, toward the supply cabinet he'd planned to stuff the man into.

There it all is, the office caddy and the pens and the paperclips — and there, tucked down on the bottom level in among the printer paper replacement sheafs, right where Tim had been standing, are a half dozen bricks of what Tim can only assume are plastic-wrapped pollen.

Clark and Bruce

Conner and Tim

Jon and Damian

Kara and Barbara

horseshit is false, unreliable, and horses are very reliable. bullshit is also false, but carries an additional implication of trickery, while bulls are extremely straightforward and guileless.

Bruce: We need to contact Queen Hippolyta about Diana. But all of the Amazons are-

Jason, dialing a flip phone: Hey, Your Majesty. Bruce has something to ask. Yeah, sure, yes, totally, I can arrange that too. I'll hand you over and get that done.

Bruce, covering the phone: how do you have the Queen of Themyscira's phone number.

Jason: All residents of Themyscira do? I lived there for six months last year? I worked as Hippolyta's assistant? I told you this?

Bruce: But... There's no men allowed-

Jason: what?

Batman: how did you undo the gender changeing spell?

Bruce believes this to be a joke. A prank. Ergo, he does not think much of it when he mentions it to Tim.

Bruce: Jason informed me he has once come into contact with a gender-altering spell, which took six months to ‘reverse the old fashioned way’ with the Amazons. Of all the pranks all of my children have played on me this month, that one takes the cake. Tim: only once? Bruce: funny.

Tim: I’ve been afflicted four times, now. Cured three times. Bruce: huh?

Tim(?): yes. Steph has banished me to the couch. Bruce: huh??

If you break any of these rules just consider yourself grounded

Rule #1: Do Not Throw Food

I don’t care if it’s chocolate, shrimp, or tiny fancy sandwiches—no one wants to be hit in the face at a gala. Damian, I’m looking at you.

Rule #2: Stop Wrestling in the Foyer

Yes, I know you can flip each other. No, this is not the time. The valet does not need to witness that.

Rule #3: Hands to Yourself

do not “help” guests by rearranging their food, drinks, or hair. Just… hands. Down.

Rule #4: Walking Is a Skill

I shouldn’t see you tripping over your own shoes or each other. This isn’t a wrestling ring; it’s a gala. Act like it.

Rule #5: Stop Talking Loudly About Gotham Crime

I know you’re proud of your detective work, but no one here needs a play-by-play of the last bank heist. Damian, I mean you too.

Rule #6: Drinks Stay in Your Glass

If I catch any spilled wine, sparkling water, or juice on a guest, on the table, or on me, you will regret it. Trust me.

Rule #7: No Impromptu Acrobatics

Dick, I don’t care how tempting the chandelier looks. It is not a jungle gym.

Rule #8: Smile, But Not Like You’re Plotting Something

Too serious = scary. Too happy = terrifying. Find a middle ground, gentlemen.

Bonus Rule: Just survive the night. And remember: I carried all of you for nine months, I can survive a three-hour gala too… but you might not.

Bruce Wayne’s Gala Rules for Cass

Rule # 1: Have fun, you can do no wrong.

Rule #2: Watch your brothers

Alfred Rules for Bruce