#alfred

Alfred: Everytime I see Master Damian, he always reminds me of his grandfather.

Dick, scowling: Ra's?

Alfred: ...You do know Master Wayne existed, right?

——————

Alfred, after knowing about Damian volunteering at hospitals: Master Damian really takes after his grandfather. Maybe one day he'll be a doctor too.

Jason, sputtering: Since when does the Demon Head Ra's al Ghul care about healthcare?

Alfred: I don't know, but I do know Thomas Wayne did.

——————

Alfred: Master Damian once mentioned he wanted to become like his grandfather.

Cass: ...Didn't he talk about how much he hated Ra's before?

Alfred: Sighs.

——————

Alfred: What do you think of Master Damian entering the healthcare industry like his grandfather?

Tim, screeching: NO!

Alfred: ...

——————

Alfred: Master Damian has his grandfather's face, doesn't he?

Bruce, squinting: Ra's...? No... not really. Well, not to me.

Alfred: I meant your father, Master Bruce. Have you forgotten that Master Damian is your biological son?

(Over the coms)

Batman: Alfred, what’s the update on the Arkham situation?

Alfred: *Ahem* Unfortunately sir, it is as they say- ‘we’re cooked’

Collective groans from Tim, Dick, and Jason over the coms

Batman: …Huh?

Jason: *muttering* I knew I should’ve stayed outa this one…

Damian: I don’t understand, what are we cooking?

Alfred: It’s giving ‘failure era’, sir-

Dick: Damn it!

Tim: We really are cooked

Damian: What does that -?

Alfred: It’s lowkey not-

Batman: In English Alfred. Please.

tw : a bit of yandere if you squint really hard, neglect, she/her pronouns (I'm sorry guys!! I'm going to try and make something with they/them pronouns soon)

masterlist next

sunshine!reader who adores talking to people, even with people she doesn't like, which is rare

sunshine!reader who loves small things. the leaves turning orange in autumn, rain boots to jump in puddles with, warm candles, and so many other trinkets.

sunshine!reader who loves iced coffee to the point of addiction.

sunshine!reader who is the type of person to wave at babies and smile at strangers.

sunshine!reader who has been stuck at a specific mansion in Gotham

sunshine!reader who has been neglected by the bat family her whole life.

sunshine!reader who has tried every way to get their attention.

sunshine!reader who has been doing ballet since four years old and is now a professional ballerina

sunshine!reader who has performed on stage in front of thousands

sunshine!reader who is studying at one of the most prestigious colleges in the US

sunshine!reader who's paintings have been featured in galleries all over the US and Europe.

sunshine!reader who, when she graduated, had almost fifty awards

and still, none of that impresses them

sunshine!reader who is moving away to an apartment near campus with two of her friends, Thiego and Ivy

sunshine!reader who didn't tell anyone except Alfred because if they didn't notice her then, they wouldn't notice her if she left.

probably.

hopefully.

sunshine!reader who leaves the next day, putting all her boxes, that are filled with trinkets and decorations, into her car with the help of the two of her friends.

sunshine!reader who immediately starts unpacking once she gets there, decorating her small room. all while the sun shine through the opened window on the slanted roof.

sunshine!reader who after a week of moving out, still hasn't gotten a single call, text, or voicemail from her family. which she didn't expect she would.

they probably don't even notice she's gone, right?

author's note !

okay so first post?? it might be absolutely horrible, and I know it's a really basic trope but I just love it. anygays, bye lovelies!! remember to drink water and eat.

Okay, so I think it’d be hilarious if Jason took one look at Bruce and his whole persona and went: 'I can do that, but better.' Bruce has the classic “playboy billionaire” shtick: magazine scandals, paparazzi shots at every party. But Jason? Jason has an Instagram. He keeps posting pictures that are just scandalous enough to get people whispering and sharing the posts while blushing, yet never risky enough to land him in real trouble.

Bruce hates it but can’t call him out. Any attempt to make Jason stop is met with, “I’m only following your example, B.”

Eventually it all comes to a head. At a gala, Jason turns up in his tux but wears it wrong; sleeves rolled up, collar unbuttoned one notch too far. Women (and a few men) keep orbiting him, dragging him onto the dance floor. He flashes grins at the shyer guests hovering nearby and laughs when they flush bright red. Hushed whispers and stolen glances follow him trough the night.

Bruce lurks in a corner, absolutely scandalized. His “playboy” image? Pure theater. Jason, though, seems to be loving every second.

The next morning, newspapers run wall‑to‑wall photos. A few feature Jason and his dance partners, sure, but most capture Bruce in varying degrees of horror. One online article even has a clip: the camera pans from Jason slow‑dancing with a man, leaning in to whisper something that makes the guy blush, to Bruce in the background, face frozen somewhere between mortified and oddly proud.