ok this is “earring magic ken” who was introduced in 1992 (and discontinued shortly thereafter)
basically mattel had done a survey and discovered that girls didn’t think ken was “cool” enough
SO someone had the bright idea to research coolness by sending people to raves which, at the time, were mostly hosted & attended by gay men. so they went to these raves and took notes on what the fashions were and finally landed on this outfit, mesh shirt & all
this doll became the best selling ken doll in history, mostly because gay men bought it in droves. (many of them said his necklace was supposed to be a cockring) but mattel and a number of parents weren’t very amused and discontinued the doll
MAGIC EARRING KEN. This bitch gay as HELL. supposedly the aforementioned rings on him are for “magic earrings” and clip on charms. These charms are advertised as totally COMPLETELY heterosexual, not gay at ALL, see there’s a Barbie that also has Magic Earring Action with clip on charms! Ken wears them to match, because he’s STRAIGHT
Here’s the issue: THERE IS NO MATCHING BARBIE. Magic Earring Ken is out here straight up wearing cock rings on his jacket with a thinly devised advertising ploy to make it SEEM not-gay. But it’s DEFINITELY GAY.
(And if you’re thinking, why cock rings? Well way back in 1992 gay culture was HUGE on wearing cock rings, it was the in-style. Everyone who was gay wore one, even women; you sewed them to your leather jacket, and the placement indicated some of your sexual preference. In case you were wondering, Ken is a Bottom.)
AND IT GETS BETTER. Magic Earring Ken was on the shelves for six weeks before they pulled him. In that short amount of time? Magic Earring Ken became the BEST SELLING Barbie Doll Mattel has EVER SOLD.
LET THAT SINK IN. SIX WEEKS. And now every time these wheezy old hetero windbag execs go to look at their sales board, they’re forever haunted by Magic Earring Ken at the top of their charts.
Gay as hell, Cock Ring Bottom Ken, the Best Selling Mattel Doll.
Pride.
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My piece for the upcoming Gallery Nucleus tribute show "Together From Afar: A How to Train Your Dragon Tribute Exhibition" ! Opening Reception is on April 11th from 5–8 pm 🐉☁️
Imagine a scenario where Batman gets de-aged into a way too young version of himself; think pre-Wayne murders, a toddling little babbling Bruce, basically
Everyone is panicking in the cave. He hasn't stopped crying. He doesn't recognize Alfred because at this age, they haven't met yet. He refuses to be held or tended to
There are weird people who brought him to a cave full of scary bats trying to ask him questions and he can't find his mommy or his-
"Papa!"
Tiny Bruce waddles to the tall, broad figure emerging from the shadows, clad in black and leather. He cries into his leg, hugging him tight. Everyone is frozen in fear and awe.
"Papa, I'm scared! Where were you? Where's Mama? Are you okay? Papa, help me! It hurts!"
Jason, meanwhile, is having the whiplash of his fucking life
Because Jason looks like Bruce, who looks like Thomas Wayne
And Jason, like everyone really, had forgotten that underneath the suit and armor — Batman was also someone's son
superbat where they hate each other's civilian identities bc once they were kidnapped together and they had to come up with plans to escape that would look like an accident and not reveal their identities but they would keep trying to enact plans at the same time and unwittingly ruin the other's plan. By attempt #6 Bruce is about to murder this dumb hick of a reporter who's too clumsy for his own good and Clark is trying to calm himself down by reminding himself that Bruce is just a civilian and he's not doing it on purpose and it's not his fault he's quite possibly the most idiotic, infuriating man alive.
Now every time they happen to see each other they're super passive aggressively polite to each but they can't let the other know they're being passive aggressive bc there's no outward reason for them to hate each other. It leads to situations like this:
Bruce, extremely fake smile on: Mr Kent, good to see you again. When the daily planet said they were sending someone over I thought it would be someone else. Isn’t our, uh, shared past a conflict of interest or something?
Clark, also extremely fake smile on: Wow, Mr. Wayne, I wouldn't expect you to take an interest in the ethics of a situation. Actually, I did bring up this point to my boss and he said that our shared trauma meant we "had a bond" which might allow me to get better answers.
Bruce, grinding his teeth: Well. That is certainly an interesting thought. I’ve been kidnapped so many times though, it barely registers. I’m sure I’ll do nothing but waste your time and give you unusable quotes.
Bruce: *proceeds to do nothing but waste time and give unusable quotes*
Clark: *uses all the restraint in his body not to snap his pen in half as he writes down absolute garbage*
(superman and batman are besties btw, they get along just fine)
considering illya’s tendency to ragebait scott hunter (famously both an orphan and a canadian) i’m not sure he would even bat an eye at the 1000 canadian orphans exploding
You see this in the pool scene at the All-Star game
And from the few screenshots I’ve seen from the books he’s constantly thinking about a future with Shane and specifically about wanting to raise Kids with him 
He’d be devastated that all those (very adoptable) children are now gone
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When Nightwing tells Justice League members that Batman makes him laugh, obviously, everyone knows that he's joking, because that's Batman. How the hell does That make anybody laugh?
But then really weird things start to happen. Like suddenly, Batman starts making little quips that toe the line between sarcasm and puns. He begins to humor the stupid ideas that other heroes come up with purely for comedic purposes. He even admits things like "Jesus, I'm getting so old, if I hurt my back much more, spin class is going to be an issue."
And the thing is, Batman only does these things when Nightwing is around, and it literally always earns a laugh from the younger hero. Sometimes they high-five after Nightwing recovers from a fit of giggles. At this point, nobody knows that they're father and son, so this type of behavior is just really freaking people out.
"Did I restock—yes, of course I restocked, my god what do you take me for—"
"Ok, well can I have—"
"No, you should have packed your own."
"I didn't expect to need any! We're going into space, why the hell would I need that in space—"
"Poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine."
"Don't be such a stingy asshole, you don't even like—"
Faster than any present could see, Batman withdrew something from his utility belt and hurled it directly at Nightwing's face. Nightwing, for his part, caught the item in his mouth and grinned around it.
"Fanks, B!" He mumbled, spitting the parcel out and ripping it open in one smooth motion.
"Are those... smarties?" Barry, brave soul that he was, asked the million dollar question every other League member was too terrified to vocalize.
"Yup! Batman keeps candy in his utility belt for traumatized children," Nightwing explained reasonably, as if that made any sense whatsoever.
"But... we're going on a space mission? Why would he need candy for children on a space mission?" Barry pressed.
"See?" Nightwing motioned to Barry with one hand, his other busy pouring candy into his open mouth. "No children in space! So why would I bring any?" Batman glared at him.
"I don't know, Nightwing, why would you bring candy for traumatized children on a space mission? Perhaps because you always eat my candy for traumatized children? You haven't been a traumatized child in at least a decade," Batman sniped. Hal and Barry glanced nervously at each other.
"A decade? You do not get to age me like that mister, I'll have you know I've been a traumatized child as recently as last week—"
"Losing at Mario Kart isn't trauma, it's a skill issue." Batman smirked. Smirked! The world must be ending.
"Dirty, dirty lies. You're a cheat and you know it," Nightwing insisted, crumpling the now empty packet.
"I feel like I'm missing a lot of context, here," Barry whispered to Hal.
"Don't look at me, I'm not touching this with a ten foot pole," Hal whispered back.
hmm, Bruce’s kids all experiencing strange nightmares all of a sudden. What prompted them? No one knows. What they do know is the dreams are less like dreams and more like…memories. Not their own, but their father’s
Dick dreams of being five and holding his sore cheek while Thomas Wayne stands over him, face flushed w anger and a hand still in the air. Martha Wayne is quick, not quick enough to stop it the first time, but quick enough to prevent another hit. She scoops the boy up and he hides his face in her shoulder, even as his cheek radiates w pain
Martha, “It’s okay, Bruce, baby. You’re okay. He didn’t mean it. It won’t happen again.”
Tim dreams of being sixteen and at a gala. Strangers seem to crowd in on him from every angle, hands and bodies against his own. Someone’s touch slides down his back, another digs nails into his inner thigh. One person goes as far as to kiss him and despite everything in him burning w disgust and fear, he takes it
Guest, “You’re just so…pretty. You know that, right? You must be doing this on purpose, so don’t act like you don’t like it.”
Jason dreams of being twenty. He’s staring at himself in a shattered mirror, glass decorating the dirty sink beneath it. Stains off all kinds, dingy and gross. The mirror reflects someone who looks tired, worn down. Gaunt. His arms sting. His knuckles. His palm hurts the worst, where it’s gripping a large shard of glass, already dripping red. He watches as he brings it slowly to his neck, only to freeze
‘Bruce’, “You look pathetic. You made it this far, and this is how you want to go out? Father was right. You’re worthless.”
Cass dreams of being eight. She’s cold, even as she sits by the fire with a blanket over her shoulders. There’s a cup of tea next to her, but her focus is entirely on something else, straining to listen to the faint voice of someone speaking in the next room over
Alfred, “I’m leaving in a month, there’s nothing of worth tying me down here any longer. The boy? Why would he matter?”
Damian dreams of being nine. He’s alone and he’s gotten used to it, even if he hates it. He would prefer the company of people now lost a million times over, even if he knows they never really wanted to be around him. How funny. He’d rather be hit and yelled at than endure silence. He’d rather face Father’s wrath, or Mother‘s poor attempts to keep disgust off her face. There’s no one to speak to, no one who wants to speak to him. He’s just alone
—
It’s a bad decision, to confront him all at once, but none of them know what else to do. Those weren’t the only dreams, the only nightmares. They weren’t the only memories they relived through their dad’s eyes
Bruce stands stoically at first, as they each take turns explaining what they saw. But it’s obvious that each word weighs heavily on him. His shoulders tense before he seems to sink in on himself, growing smaller and smaller
Dick, “Why did you never tell any of us? You…it was so much, Bruce.”
Damian, “Was it all…real? True?”
Bruce, nodding stiffly, “I’d forgotten a lot of the details over the years, but yes. Nothing inaccurate.”
Cass, “How are you still alive?”
Jason, “Cass-!”
Cass, “No, I mean it. All of that…how could you withstand it and keep pushing? Keep living?”
Tim, “You had…no one. No support. Even the people who were in your life, they only…they beat you down. Used you.”
Bruce, “There were good moments. Not all of it was bad. And I had Alfred.”
Everyone flinches. They’d all seen a side of Alfred they’d never witnessed in person, never even knew existed. A man who threw a child to the wolves and let him be eaten, chewed up, and spit back out only to offer nothing more than a disgusted look and reminder to clean up after his own mess
Jason, “The hell you did, B. He was going to leave. Your parents were gone, and he was going to leave you too.”
Bruce, closing his eyes , “But he didn’t.”
Damian, “Because you begged him not to! You increased his paycheck!”
Bruce, pained, “And he stayed. It doesn’t matter the how or why, it matters that he did. And he…he’s changed. He’s never treated any of you how he treats me.”
Dick, “…treats?”
Bruce, “No, that’s not-”
Jason, “Don’t fucking lie, Bruce. Don’t cover it up. Not now.”
Bruce, “…yes.”
—
Bruce avoids them for a week after that. It’s not 100%, there’s still patrol and Bruce still takes Damian to school. But he doesn’t linger, doesn’t let them talk
The dreams have stopped, but the memories of what Bruce went through are burned into their minds. Was it a good thing? To learn about all of that? They’re not sure
Ok so your post on bad grandparents Thomas and Martha & more specifically the part when they briefly think dick is Bruces bio kid 
Got me thinking about a situation where the league, YJ or both find out Batman and Robin’s ages (& don’t know their identities) and then proceeded to freak out and be very concerned about Batman about both his safety- is with this person? & he’s mental health- what if Robin is constant reminder of what happened?
Because they know their father and son that’s obvious and adoption doesn’t even cross their minds 
How would each team react? Would Batman and Robin have no idea? Would Robin know and think it’s hilarious and so it doesn’t tell B? Would Batman know and try to spare his son be embarrassment?
Anyway, this all just kind of popped into my head while I was reading that. I hope you can have some fun with this concept. :D
Oh I love this. I love this so much. I’m unfortunately too tired rn to expand on this idea but it’s excellent.
But I do like the idea of them both being oblivious to the fact that everyone around them is suddenly concerned abt how Robin was conceived and how young Batman must have been lmao.
Also something to consider: they always talk about Agent A around the other heroes. They both talk about him as if he’s a parental figure of sorts, even if they’re not outright saying it. It’s very much implied.
Now take that and add the fun twist of them all thinking: omg Agent A is Batman’s dad. Batman’s dad must have taken charge in raising Robin when Batman was still too young to provide for and raise Robin on his own. Agent A must be Robin’s grandpa who’s sort of raising him while they all still live together.
Also something to consider: Artemis introduces M’gann to the wonders of the hit MTV shows 16 & Pregnant and Teen Mom. Robin cannot figure out why they’re so obsessed with these shows all of a sudden and why they always quickly change the channel when he walks in the room.
I do very much agree with the Agent A ideal and I think it would be comedy gold but as an alternative situation 
I raise you they’ve only ever heard Agent A be referred to in passing so they end up thinking ‘she’ is Robins mother and get really annoyed at any mention of ‘her’
Only adding to the confusion and obliviousness of the bats 
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Did somebody say angst? I think I heard it somewhere over there (・・?)
I wrote this a while ago in the middle of class on a piece of paper cause it just came to me and I knew if I didn’t get it down I would forget it
This is separate from my connected stuff
——
——
“Ah…” Bruce stilled, flinching at the sudden sting of pain radiating from his wrist.
Where was he?
Bruce looked around in confusion. His bathroom. Why was he in his bathroom? He can’t remember. He can’t remember his entire day, and judging from the sunlight glinting through his windows, it was just turning to evening.
“Shit… shit, shit, shit!” Bruce cursed under his breath, finally looking down at what had shaken him from his stupor.
He was holding a razor in his hand. Something Alfred had banned him from for the entirety of his early adolescence and late into his young adulthood for this exact reason.
He knew he was having a bad day, week, month, but he hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten till he unconsciously fell back on his old habits. Till his days were passed in autopilot, his mind a haze, and his thoughts growing darker and darker.
Bruce fumbled for the knobs of his bathroom sink, hissing as the hot water washed away the blood on his wrists and irritated his fresh wounds. His razor clattered somewhere on the tile floor, useless, like him.
“This is… this fine.” Bruce breathed, glancing at himself in the mirror and wincing at the state of his self. Fuck, he looked pathetic. But, not unsalvageable. “I can- I can make this work. I can fix this.”
If there’s one thing Bruce can do, it’s pretend. But… maybe in a household of detectives trained by him- no! No one would notice. He had hidden his mental state from his family before; this would be no different.
He was fine.
Bruce carefully finished bandaging his wrist before tucking it away under the long sleeves of his turtle-neck. He tested it, raising his arm and reaching for things across the counter, making sure his sleeve wouldn't accidentally slip down and reveal what he had done to himself.
“Master Bruce.”
Bruce flinched, biting down on his tongue and almost drawing blood just to avoid an uncharacteristic yelp of surprise from escaping.
“Yes, Alfred?”
“Dinner is ready. It is Friday, family dinner. Your children are waiting for you.”
“Alright, thank you. I’ll be out in a bit.”
And with that, Alfred left. Bruce waited, breath stilted and quiet, wondering if Alfred would suddenly turn around and-
Nothing.
He fooled him? Okay… okay, this was good. He could do this. No one would know. He was acting normal, and no one would figure it out.
Just keep acting like normal.
By the time Bruce made his way downstairs, his children were still rowdy and unseated, laughing and talking to each other about everything and anything. This was fine.
Just like usual, Bruce took his seat, waiting for even a tiny crumb of acknowledgment, yet nothing came. He couldn’t fault them; they looked as though they were having interesting conversations. Why would they want to include him?
Bruce sat, hands tucked under the table just in case his sleeve rolled up, waiting for Alfred to set the table.
And suddenly dinner was on its way. The smell was overpowering and assaulted his senses in a way that made him nauseous. Each bite Bruce took felt like a stone settling into his stomach. His throat worked against him; swallowing was a battle only aided by taking gulps of water to wash everything down.
No one talked to him.
No one asked him how his day had been, or the week when they hadn’t seen each other. No one asked him to pass the potatoes or the pepper. No one asked if he wanted a refill or if he could get them one.
Bruce wasn’t there. He didn't exist in their world.
Bruce blinked, and suddenly dinner was over. Half of his plate was still full, and everyone was moving on, going their own separate ways.
“Master Bruce.” Alfred’s voice was level, but there was a disappointed tone underneath as Alfred came over to take his plate.
He tried to relax his face and made sure not to look the older man in the eyes, which wasn’t unusual for him. “I ate earlier.” The lie slipped out of his mouth before he could think about it. "I'm just not hungry."
Alfred took his words with a simple nod before clearing his area.
Then he was alone.
So fucking alone.
There was nothing else to do but leave. Go back to his room and not exist somewhere else in the manor.
He felt his legs shake as he climbed the stairs that seemed to go on forever. Somehow, some part of him hoped that someone would come after him, to notice. To ask if he was okay.
But no one did.
Bruce felt tears sting at his eyes. No one had noticed a single thing. Not a look of concern, not a question of his quietness, not a glance at the tremble in his hands.
What the fuck is wrong with him? He didn’t want them to notice! He purposely made sure to act as if he was fine. He was hiding it; this was the best possible outcome.
Still, against his will, Bruce felt his throat start to close up and burn as an unwanted pressure built behind his eyes. His stomach turned.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid-
Things were supposed to be getting better. Bruce tried to suck in a breath of air, but it felt as though his lungs were collapsing in his chest.
He clambered to close his bedroom door behind him, locking it with unsteady hands. Not that it would stop anyone if they truly cared. If they truly…
Bruce stumbled to the bathroom, vision going black around the corners just as it always had moments before he would pass out. No, just like it had moments before, he had a major panic attack, one that had branded him as insane for months in the media.
He needed… he needed-
The toilet seat slammed open, and Bruce was already heaving. He needed the heavy dinner to get out. He couldn’t keep it down any longer. He would die, he would fucking die.
He had been so good. He had promised Alfred he wouldn’t go down this path again, but… but even with that, here he was again. Alfred wouldn’t get mad, would he? He’d spent so many years being good, he could slip up just once.
Bruce grimaced at the bitter taste of bile and puke coating his tongue. Instead of feeling lighter and getting rid of the hole in his stomach, he felt… dirty…
Why couldn’t he just be fucking normal?
Why was he like this? He was supposed to be better, to be fixed, to be perfect, not only in public but in private as well.
Everything would be better if he weren’t around. His children would be happier, Alfred could finally go home and leave Gotham, and his parents… they would still be alive if it weren’t for him.
Everything would be better if he were just fucking dead.
The visceral thought shook Bruce from his spiraling, with how intense it was. He hadn’t thought that way in quite a while, at least, not so bluntly.
Bruce shakily stood and looked at himself in the mirror.
Yes… he needed to…
Bruce glanced down at the abandoned razor he had dropped hours earlier, still coated in his dried blood.
He picked it up slowly and stared.
If this… if this would fix his family, then he would do it. If this is what it takes.
Bruce had sworn since that night in the alleyway that he would do anything to protect the ones he loved, no matter what. If that meant taking himself out of the equation, so be it.
He’s always known it would come down to this.
He was a disease, a pestilence on those around him. He needed to be taken care of. To free the world of his cancerous form.
Jason, for the first time in a long time, had a good family dinner. There was of course a bunch of bickering and fighting but for all intents and purposes, it was good. He was nervous when bruce had come down but it seems like the man has finally got it though his thick head to just shut up. To be honest, Jason forgot he was even there. Which is preferable.
He was about to get on his bike when he remembered he wanted to tactically aquire some cash from the old man. His bike needs maintenance and his dead robin fund needs some donations. Snickering at his own joke he walks back inside and starts to sneaking upstairs. He doesn't want to notify all of his siblings since everyone else decided to sleep over.
His first stop is the old man's study, likely to have some bucks in here somewhere. Walking into the room, he's hit with a wave of nostalgia. He can practically hear the echos of his laughter from younger years, when life was easier. Jason can swear this room used to be brighter, it felt like a castle rather than a dungeon. When Bruce felt like a king than a jailer. No matter how many fights and awful words that are said, he still yearns for those times. When bruce would smile freely, when his laugh sounded like angels singing. Jason's favorite memory's of his childhood where of making bruce howl with laughter.
He can't remember the last time bruce smiled.
Shaking his head, he pressed on, rounding the grand desk to riffle though the drawers. When he didn't find anything, he looked inside the books surrounding his desk, again nothing. He spends a good 15 minutes trying to find anything, since he really doesnt want to go to the other room. But once it becomes obvious there isnt anything in the room, he puts on his big girl panties and makes his way to the master bedroom.
He puts his ear to the door and he can hear water, a loud rush, too big to be a sink so it must be a bath or shower. Perfect, easy distraction. He twists the knob but its locked. Really Bruce? A locked door in this family might as well be an invitation. Jason easily picks the lock, the old man should really update his security, its almost like he wants someone to break in.
Slowly he opens the door, peaking in, he sees no one. The door to the bathroom is slightly ajar and he can hear the water clearer. Feeling confident he swiftly and quietly walks in, zeroing into the wallet on top of the nightstand. Bruce always carrys a lot of cash so he snags a couple hundred, enough for his bike and some groceries.
He turns around, about to make his escape when... he hears something. A.. whimper? From the bathroom? Feeling curious he stalks closer to the bathroom and strains his ears to listen past the noise of the water. The first real noise jason hears is a strangled breath, and then some mumbling. The hell is the old man doing?
Oh god.. please dont be doing anything gross. He thinks he'd have to die again if he hears. Nope. No. Not thinking about that, just going to run away. Right now.
"Dirty... can't... clean...disease..."
What.
To say Jason was confused was an understatement? If hes not doing.. that, what is he doing? Why is he talking about a disease, alone, in the shower? Bruce is weird at the best of times but this is a bit extreme, even for him. Jason probably should check on him, just a peak to make sure he isnt actively dying. If hes having a psychotic break he'll just tell Alfred and dip, easy.
He quietly opens the door, oh so slowly and he sees-
Blood.
Blood everywhere.
It's on the floor, on the counter, the sink. Its even smeared on the mirror, like someone trying to hide their reflection. And in the center of this macabre spiderweb, is Bruce. He's sitting on the edge of the tub, hunched over only in his underwear, mumbling and crying to himself with the faucet running to its max behind him. And, dear god, the blood is coming from him, its coming from everywhere. The man has a razor and hes going to town, mauling his body.
There's cuts on his stomach, chest, legs, his damn neck. The most concentrated are on his forearms and inner thighs. Those looks like a damn warzone. Everywhere looks like a warzone.
With a speed he didn't know he was capable of, he rushes the man and rips that damn thing away from him, throwing it into the sink. With a heaving chest, Jason looks to the older man, completely losing it.
"What in the FUCK do you think your doing?!" Jason yells, shaking with rage and fear, he knows they joke about Bruce being suicidal but not like this. The man in question tries to take back the razor, but with all the blood loss and being in the middle of a mental breakdown, his reaction times aren't the best.
"No no no, i need that. I need, it will make it better. All better. Please baby, please let me fix it." Bruce begs nonsensically. The man must be having a panic attack because hes not making any sense. When the man starts to claw at his own wounds, Jason finally does something. Grabbing the hoard of towels, never feeling more greatful for the billionaire being so extra, he starts pressing them to the gashes. He yells for Alfred, but with the water, no one can really hear him.
Even in a break down, the man's smart enough to not be found. Although with the intensity of his wounds, it would be found out rather quickly. So does he not want it to be found or he does? Or... hes hiding away.. but screaming for help. Jason manages to turn the water off while fighting to keep the towels on and pin Bruce.
"ALFRED!" Jason screamed, making his voice as loud as possible. He can distantly hear what sounds like glass breaking and several sets of foot falls all converging on his location. This is going to be a shit show.
"Baby please, it will all be better, just, I need. It'll be better for you, if I do it. Let me fix it, please, let me fix my mistakes" Bruce sobs, becoming more and more hysterical. Its so slippery, hes struggling to keep his grip. Seeing his... his father in such a state of distress is indescribable. How can they fix this? Can they?
The first person to make it to the bathroom is Tim, thankfully. Jason may give the boy shit but hes got his head screwed on straight.
"Tim. Don't let Damian see. Ok? Keep dami away!" Jason orders, doing his best to spare the youngest bat from this horror. The boy practically worships his father, and while they've gotten better about that, this is too much. Immediately understanding why, Tim turns to grab damian before he can see. The boy screams and yells but they quiet as the pair moves to somewhere else in the house.
The next person to enter is Cassandra, which, also not great. She's very skilled and also a good head but her and Bruce have a deep connection. Its like they're telepathic, outside of dick, no one can get their father to do anything as well as her. Jason knows this is going to gut her, he wishes all of them left to their respective households than have a sleep over. Cass rushes over to his other side, helping put pressure over all the wounds.
"No no no" Bruce blubbered, shaking his head violently. Continuing to try to escape their hold. "If I go, then you all, you'll be a proper family! I wont be there to ruin everything. Please, let me. Let me fix this" he wailed. At this rate, a sedative is going to be on the table. Its a sensitive topic for the whole family, but bruce needs to calm down.
Finally, Alfred comes to the door, the most frantic Jason's ever seen him. He looks absolutely stricken at the sight, aging 20 years before their very eyes. "No.. not again. He'd been doing so well..." Alfred whimpered. Again? Again!? This has happened before? When??
With the three of them, they get bruce up and start to head down to the cave. Walking threw the hallway, the rest of the kids, save for Tim and damian, pop out of their rooms, seemingly not hearing the initial cry but the subsequent commotion. Duke looks gobsmacked, like it never occurred to him that bruce could become this hurt while inside his own home. It didn't take long for the boy to peice together why, it was painfully obvious. Stephanie stepped out of Cass' room, tears immediately welling in her eyes.
And Dick. He looked like he wasent even there, like he was younger, in a tent wearing a gymnasts uniform. While their father being hurt isnt new, they've all prepared for those things in the field. But they aren't in the field. Within these walls, every member of this family is supposed to be safe. Everyone helps get Bruce downstairs and into the medbay.
Alfred shoo's them away while he works on sowing bruce back together, and Leslie shows up at some point, muttering about 'not again' and 'i thought they where done with this'. Did everyone know except him? When their father doesnt look like an active crime scene, tim and damian join them as well. The littlest bat glaring in Jason's direction, but he doesnt have the energy to care.
All the kids are huddled together, completely silent. What could they even say, this was unimaginable. Some of them were crying, some just staring. But all think about what they could have done. Said. Tried. This doesn't happen over night, this is systematic ignorance to their father's pain. While jason knows that bruce has been through a lot of shit, its never really occurred to him that it could actually affect the man. That the man could struggle.
Bruce had always seemed so untouchable, a foundation of stone that would never crack. But it did, in fact it shattered. Maybe hes been holding on by a thread for so long, they didn't know what stable looked like on him. Isnt that a horrifying thought.
After several hours, alfred and Leslie are finished with patching bruce up and giving him blood transfusions. And it took 3 days before bruce woke up.
~~~
Bruce had a horrific headache, migraine at this rate. He feels utterly exhausted, in a way he hasn't in a very long time. He doesnt know how long it takes for him to gather the willpower to open his eyes. And even longer for his eyes to adjust the blinding lights of the... medbay? That can't be good. He must have gotten quite the beating if he thinks those lights are too bright since they're designed to be very dim for this purpose.
He blinks his eyes open and... oh. Oh no. All his kids are here, and theyre all looking at him. Not good. He tries to take stock of his surroundings, hes bandaged everywhere, and a IV in what little of his arm isnt wrapped. His brow furrows, trying to rack his brain and remember. What happened? What happened. What hap-
Fuck.
Fucccckkkk.
What has he done. What the fuck did he do? He's ruined everything.
Why can't he just be normal!?
He can't remember everything, and that only makes it worse. He looks at his kids and he can see it. The tears, the worry, the fear. He did that. He put that there. God, what awful, horrible father can do that to his kids. He's a monster.
And as if he hasn't done enough, he can feel his eyes well with tears. Just cuz why not add to the shit cake. He needs to fix this, back track. He needs them to stop looking at him.
But he can't seem to open his mouth, only letting pathetic, manipulative tears fall to speak for him. He can't do anything right can he? He can't just be a good father, and good protector, can he even call himself a man. He's nothing. Just a parasite that feeds off of the happiness of his family.
"Dad? Hey can you hear me?" Jason coaxed. Bruce glanced up to his miracle boy standing at his side. Shame tears threw him, god even jason, who hates him, is here.
"..Im sorry... im so sorry... I shou-shouldnt have, oh god, I ruined everything." Bruce whined. Hiding his face in his hands like the coward he is. He continues to blubber apologies, like that will fix seeing your father ripping himself to peices. He should have just went for the neck rather than being so dramatic.
"NO! No dad, that would have been so much worse!" Tim cried. Great. He said that out loud, hes upsetting the kids more. Which inturn upsets him more, a horrible feedback system.
And then, he hears footsteps from outside his view. He knows that gait. Its alfred. Bruce immediately holds his breath, desperately trying to quiet his wailing. He quickly wipes his eyes as well, least he be reprimanded for being unpresentable. While he knows it be founded, hes far too weak to handle such things. Bruce keeps his head low while alfred checks over all his equipment and wounds, refusing to be the one to break the silence.
Alfred grabs his chin and tilts his face up, examining him. With a deep sigh, he huffed "What have you done, boy". And God, if that doesnt make everything worse. It must show on his face because his kids are quick to intervene.
Notably dick puts a hand only alfreds shoulder and sternly tells him a quiet 'not now, not ever'. Bruce cant even defend himself, or alfred. Its not like the older man is in the wrong, what had he done. But alfred stands down, and the kids focus on him again. Yippee.
"Dad, first of all, this isnt your fault. I know i know, it feels like it is. That you did this, and made everything worse. But its not like that." Dick declared, looking towards the other kids who nod and give affirmations. "You've been in a dark place and no one in this family noticed until it was almost too late. You asked for help in the only way you could, for anyone else, they might not have caught it. But us? You taught us to catch it." He insisted.
The group before bruce seemed to shrink at the words, guilt etched into all their faces. No, that wont do. It was his fault.
"Babies, no, it-im the one who couldn't handle my emotions. Its not yo-" Stephanie interrupted him. "No Bruce, maybe not individually but as a group, someone should have said something. There were definitely signs, but we all just ignored them. Bystander effect or something." She concludes. It be a convincing case if it wasent him at the center, he knows better.
"Baba... you told me that its ok to have ugly emotions. And sometimes you do things that you wouldn't normally do because of them. You said that those feelings were ok because I had a loving family around me, and they'd be there to pick me up when I fell. Why wouldn't that apply to you?" His little damian challenged.
When had he gotten so big? Bruce didnt have an answer. He thinks logically they are right, but everything in him is telling him its wrong. He's just so tired.
"Dad, get some more sleep. We will be here when you wake up. We love you" Cassandra promised. Looking at all of his kids again, he cant help but wonder what he did to deserve them. And when his eyes flutter shut he thinks maybe, just maybe, things might be ok.
[This got out of hand... again... im bad ok? I love bruce whump and I love to write.]
Commissioner Gordon always carries candy and breakfast bars; his coat pockets are deep, sometimes Cass can score 2 chocolate chip breakfast bars if she gives Gordon a hug. The second Robin liked lifesavers, and oddly enough that seems to be Red Hood’s kryptonite too; the third Robin, now Red Robin, prefers chocolate so Gordon hands over a Reese’s cup in thanks for intel on who robbed that bank on Monday. Red Robin eats it while mapping out his theory for Gordon to understand, mumbling around the peanut butter chocolatey goodness. The first Robin, now going by Nightwing, is rare to see these days but Gordon still carries gummy worms in case he shows up; Spoiler swings by, hyper as always, and Gordon has already dug out a pack of Skittles and three breakfast bars. The newest Robin, little devil that he is, can be placated with a a pack of Runts that he begrudgingly shares with whatever sibling he’s on good terms with that night; Batman doesnt accept anything.
There was a time where Gordon, young and unawares, didn’t carry candy and breakfast bars; not until one night a boy was brought into the precinct, in shock and alone and grieving, clutching a bloody suit jacket way too big to be his, and Gordon poured four dollars into the vending machine for a pack of poptarts and 3 different types of candy. Anything to offer comfort and make the boy feel less alone…
Batman may not accept anything, but whenever Gordon sees Bruce he’s always tempted to ask if he still likes jawbreakers.
Au where Batman doesn't want to tell the Justice League his secret identity but it's because he's really embarrassed about the things he's done as Bruce Wayne.
The thing is; Batman has spent years crafting and perfecting his public persona.
'Brucie Wayne' is supposed to be a dumber than life himbo, with daddy's credit card and the maturity of a seventeen year old. He's supposed to be someone so outlandishly ridiculous no one would ever even dare to mention him in the same sentence as Batman... And Batman has been acting that part perfectly.
It's a genius plan.
But then the league begins talking about maybe all sharing their secret identities, to become closer as a group and work better together. And the only thing in Batman's mind is 'Oh. My. God. Please don't'
Superman is saying something about trust and how he has come to value all of them as friends. Batman is thinking about last year Christmas' Gala, where he took off his clothes in an improvised strip-tease, and started swimming in the fountain.
Wonder woman is talking about how she wishes to strengthen their bonds so they become greater warriors. Bruce just remembered there's videos of him fucking twerking and pole dancing to Ariana Grande all over the internet.
Flash starts smiling and telling them he already trust them with his life– Bruce once said chocolate milk came from brown cows.
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"The Batkids wouldn't canonically call Bruce 'Dad' because they're not used to it" "They wouldn't call him 'Dad' because their relationships are much more complicated than that"
Alright, sure. Whatever. But imagine if they all started to regularly call him Dad, not exactly bc of sentimental value, but more so to disarm or mess with him?
On The Watchtower
Bruce: Now that I have informed you all of your roles in this mission, we must look over our various strategies. Once we have uncovered their base of operations, it is imperative that we—
Dick, entering the meeting room: Hi everyone!
Bruce, unhappy: Nightwing, you're lat—
Dick: Hey Dad, I know. Sorry I'm late, there was just this thing
Clark, waving: It's fine, Nightwing
Hal: Yeah, don't sweat it, kid
Diana: We are happy you managed to come at all
Barry: I was almost late too
Dick: *winks and grabs a chair*
Bruce:
Barry:
Diana:
Clark:
Hal: Er
Clark, smiling: Batman?
Barry: You were saying?
Bruce:
Diana:
Clark:
Hal:
Barry:
Diana: My friend, do you need assistance?
Clark: Batman, are you alright?
Bruce, snapping out of it: Of course, I am Da— doing just fine. As I was...saying
Dick: *stifles his laughter*
In The Cave
Tim, half listening: Oh, word?
Jason, on his fifth monologue of the day: I don't think it's asking for too much for the police to do their jobs. Am I? Am I asking for too much, Timbo?
Tim: Nope
Bruce: *sighs*
Jason, pacing: But they're STILL covering up Gotham's dirty work all the damn time and it makes me sick. You should see the stats of how many crime rings would've been discovered if it wasn't for GC-fucking-PD not throwing out their own trash
Bruce: *shakes his head at the language*
Tim: I made the stats
Jason: Exactly! And I just don't understand why someone like DAAAAAAAD can just sit by and let this happen!
Bruce:
Bruce:
Bruce, softly: ...me?
Jason, overhearing: YES, you, who else?!
Tim: It was pretty obvious he was talking about you, Dad
Bruce:
Jason: You should be ashamed!
Bruce:
Bruce: but
Jason: ASHAMED! Don't you feel ASHAMED?
Bruce:
Bruce: yes
Jason: Good
On A Grocery Run
Cashier: That'll be $37.90
Bruce: *pulls out wallet*
Cass: *smiles, holding his other arm*
Cashier: Aw, that's so— Wait, I'm sorry, what is your relationship...?
Cass, to the cashier: It's fine, we don't look alike but this is my dad
Bruce: Ye—
Bruce: *looks at her*
Cashier: Oh really? It's always nice to see family spending time together even after everyone's over 18. It can be hard to find the time but it's worth it
Cass: Yes, I agree :D
Bruce:
Cashier, turning to him: $37.90, please sir
Bruce:
Bruce, clears his throat: Right
Bruce: Here
Cashier:
Cashier: Sir, you can't press your whole wallet onto the card reader
Bruce: Oh right
Cass:
Bruce:
Cashier:
Cashier: That is your business card
Cass: *laughs under her breath*
In The Zoo
Damian: I am being reasonable
Bruce: You aren't Damian, we've been over this. You currently have a dog, a cat, a turkey, a monkey, a cow, a dragon bat and now you want a what?
Damian: *points at a twitching lion cub viciously scratching at the cage doors*
Bruce, wincing: Son. That thing will eat us the moment we take it home
Damian: She.
Bruce: Pardon me?
Damian: Tt. The lion cub is female. She is a lioness.
Bruce: Apologies. That lioness will eat us the moment we take her home. She's now being raised in captivity, but we've ensured that the animals here are receiving the best treatment possible. We oversaw the hiring of half of this zoo's staff, didn't we? Why do you still want to take her home?
Damian: She would make a fine addition to our household.
Bruce: It is hardly legal to raise her out of—
Damian: It is hardly legal to run around at night as a bat—
Bruce: *slams a hand over his son's face*
Bruce: Damian.
Damian: *to himself* Fine. *removes the hand*
Damian: Baba >:(
Bruce:
Bruce:
Bruce: Stop that
Damian: But Baba >:(
Bruce:
Bruce:
Bruce: *sighs long sufferingly*
Bruce: *to himself* I'm being used
Damian: >:(
Bruce: Fine
Later
Alfred, glaring at the lioness cub violently attempting to claw through her metal cage as if it killed her entire family line: I beg your pardon!
Bruce, angry: He called me Baba! How could I say no? You weren't there, you don't understand!
Alfred: *slowly turns his look to Bruce*
Bruce, flinching: I'm sorry...
Bruce: ...Dad
Alfred:
Bruce:
Alfred: *holding back a smile*
Alfred: Well, I never
Bruce: :')
Alfred: I appreciate your apology
Alfred:
Alfred: However *reaches for a broom*
Bruce: *bolts*
We always have this idea what Alfred's word is law and I find that so interesting because that implies that Bruce Wayne gives a single fuck about what Alfred is saying when it comes to his kids.
"Master Bruce, I spoke to Master Dick about his homework, and he implied that you told him that he could skip? Is this truthful."
"Yes I did, a break would do him well."
"Well I believe..."
"It's good to have belief's, how sad most of the time they are incorrect. Now I'm taking Dickie to the movies."
-
"Master Bruce, Master Jason said you bought him more books, and I think it would be...."
"Yes Jason does love those books, some are expensive but if it makes him happy who would dare to disagree?"
-
"Master Bruce, I informed Timothy he could not keep that feline, Now I understand...."
"Yes he's so happy about that cat, it would make a man an idiot to try to take it away from a kid who asks for so little. Especially when said child is mine. Now what was it you were saying?"
-
"Master Bruce, Master Damain's animals are getting to be a...."
"Great edition to the family wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes Master Bruce."
-
Alfred is a imporant figure to the baby bats, but in no way is his word law. Especially when it comes to the children, after all Alfred has certain feelings when it comes to raising children that Bruce very much disagrees with.
Alfred is powerful, but there are only a few people who can change Bruce Wayne's mind, maybe even convince Batman to change his rules.
Unless your one of his children you have a better chance of seeing god.