You Don't Understand There's A Part Of Me That Wants Alfred Pennyworth To Never Age But There's Another

alfred gave them the sheets

Tim: Can you imagine the food they eat in jail? Bleh!

Dick: Don't need to imagine, it's disgusting.

Jason: When did you try prison food?!

Dick: When I was 8.

Tim, scoffing: If you commited a crime I'm pretty sure there'd be hundreds of articles about it, I didn't see any when I was researching you.

Dick: Oh! I didn't commit a crime.

Jason: Why the fuck would you be in Juvie if you didn't commit a crime?

Dick: Orphanages were full.

Everyone:

Jason: The hell?

Tim: I'm calling a lawyer, that has to be illegal.

Damian, in the vent: I can't believe this city's incompetence.

Dick: I can. Now get down here.

Damian: Fine.

Today’s the day!!

Thank you for sharing this masterpiece 😂😂😂 it’s fantastic

I think we can all agree that this is the theme song for the batfamily

Tumblr usernames are so funny, "the ghost of jason todd started following you" okay well can he stop

ooh interesting idea

I need more people to acknowledge that bruce is not gonna be a great parent, but i'll be damned if he doesn't try

His parents are dead, and as far as I've seen, the only real, not-explicitly-toxic relationship he has is with Alfred, his butler

and remember that, at least for a long while, as much as Alfred cared, he still drew a very clear (sometimes limiting) line between them as butler-and-master

so no Bruce does not know what he is doing with any of his relationships, familial or romantical

and no he probably will never really learn

he's going to make absoulutely horrible, relationship-ending choices, but can you truly look me in the eye and say that any batman does not truly love and value every single relationship he is in (asides from when dc butchers everyone's personalities)

so I need to see more fics like this,

a bruce who tries and fails,

who does not know how to deal with any of this,

and so hides behind a mask or a doof smile, uses his persona to try to deal with it, to try to cope

a broken batman who doesn't know what's wrong with him but desperately wants to fix it, only, if only, just to maintain whatever semblance of love he gets from his friends, his kids

maybe that's why he has so many, desperately searching for any warmth in the innocent's child eyes

fanfic writers where you at?

in the next batman movie selina is back in town to con bruce wayne which he knows but he missed her so much and obviously he can afford it so he just lets her

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Pt2 to my previous post🤭

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Had someone on Tiktok being hateful so I drew this in spite

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Also referenced a miraculous ladybug scene in s6!

Don't mind me, I'll just be here, screaming incoherently about how beautiful this is

Wax Wings and Gotham Skies

Everyone always talks about how Icarus fell. Not enough people talk about how he flew.

About the boy who looked the sun in the eye and smiled. Who laughed as the heat blistered wax and feather, as gravity remembered his name.

They call him arrogant. Reckless. Say he should’ve known better. But maybe he did. Maybe he just wanted to see how close a mortal could get to divinity before the world pulled him back down.

Because there’s something sacred in the reaching. Something holy in the trying. And even if the fall is inevitable— there is still meaning in the flight.

And far from the sun, beneath a sky choked in smog and sirens, in the bones of a city that never sleeps, another boy is born to that same story.

No prophecy named him. No legacy claimed him. Not shaped in fire, nor vengeance, nor divine right. He was not forged like a weapon, or claimed like an heir. Instead, he saw the shape of a myth stitched into Gotham’s skyline—a shadow stretching across rooftops and ruins— and stepped toward it with empty hands and open eyes.

He was not called. But he came anyway.

Like Icarus, he didn’t wait for permission to reach. Tim Drake was a boy built from questions, sleepless nights, and the aching need to know. He was a boy carved from questions, sharpened by silence. The kind of boy who watched too long and listened too well. The kind of boy who stared too long into shadows and found himself staring back.

He pieced together wings from scraps— late-night stakeouts, news clippings and coffee-stained theories. A thousand tiny truths stitched together from silence. He studied the dark like scripture, read between bruises and newsprint until a pattern emerged.

No one gave him a path. So he drew one in ink and breath and quiet resolve.

Not for glory. Not to be seen. But because the pull of the sky was louder than fear. Because some part of him—deep and unrelenting—refused to stay grounded.

And maybe that was the beginning of the end. Perhaps chasing what was already breaking was always meant to end in ash. Maybe he was never meant to carry the weight of a symbol sewn in grief. Maybe no boy can hold the sun and not burn.

But when the cracks came, he didn’t look away.

He climbed. He reached. He flew.

And when the wax burned and the feathers tore loose, he didn’t scream.

He smiled.

Because like Icarus, he had touched something divine. And he knew— that to fall is to have once reached the sky and kissed the sun.