Ok soooo. Bruce can’t sleep, his kids and him were arguing over some new safety protocols or whatever so he’s overthinking the argument. He tries to sleep he does. For about 2 minutes. He wakes up in agony his body is in so much pain and he’s gasping. He feels helpless as he tries to call out desperately. Brice can’t form words or scream properly. He’s uselessly flailing on his bed. Tears pour out of his eyes. The pain is getting worse. He needs help, Bruce has never felt this before, he thinks he’s going to die. He is fine with death, but maybe deep down he doesn’t want to die, let alone die alone.
The kids check on him at noon. He rarely ever sleeps in. He’s found lifeless on his bed. Leslie tells them a day before the funeral what happened and how he must’ve been in so much pain. They’ve never hated themselves more and will never get to apologise to their father figure dad.
(Or a different ending he’s still alive in the morning and he’s convulsing and sobbing silently, Leslie saves him and all the kid cry because he was in so much agony all night and no one noticed, hose you you could do either)
tw. incorrect assumption of a suicide attempt
Dick raps his knuckles on Bruce's door. No one had thought anything of it when he didn't appear for breakfast. It wasn't a weekday, he didn't need to see off Duke or Damian to school, and patrol was rough last night, especially after the fight in the cave.
But Alfred is moments away from dishing up lunch, and he's still not up. "B!" He knocks again, and hears no noise on the other side.
Rolling his eyes, Dick makes quick work of the lock, sweeping into the room. "Oh, where's he..." Dick mutters to himself, staring at the empty bed, the rumpled sheets. He makes to turn around and tell the others Bruce has done a runner, when something pricks at the base of his spine, a call for him to look closer, his honed instincts sounding the alarm. He narrows his eyes and turns back away from the door, casting his eyes about the room again.
"B... You in here?"
Nothing.
Dick twitches his arm, allowing a wingding to fall into his palm, and brings it up as he creeps forward, body tense and ready for combatants.
He doesn't find any.
No.
No.
"Bruce!"
He dives across the room, hitting the floor hard on his knees, pain radiating through his legs, but he's already pulling Bruce to lie flat, undoing the agonised twist he's curled into, bringing his father's face to meet his own.
His eyes open, and Dick gasps in relief as tears slide down wan cheeks, wetting his fingers. "You're okay, you're okay," he repeats, continuing to iron out stiff limbs. "Report, Batman."
Silence.
"Report."
Dick looks back at Bruce, and watches in real time as his eyes roll back in his head.
"Shit, shit, HELP!" he screams, scrambling back as Bruce locks up again, then starts to convulse.
Dick rips a pillow off the bed, timing his shove so it slides under Bruce's head and cushions his crash back down to the floor.
Footsteps thunder down the hall, and his siblings barrel into the room.
Horrified silence follows as they realise what's happening, and Dick whips around, masking his panic under anger. "Call Steph, call Leslie, and call the Watchtower. We need medics ready to meet us up there as soon as he's ready to travel."
One minute.
Tim lifts his phone to his ear, and stumbles out of the room. Dick snaps his fingers, getting Cass' attention, and smiles as kindly as he can for her.
"Cass, get Steph."
She shakes her head. "He..."
"Cass, he wouldn't want you to watch this. Get Steph."
"I—"
"Cass."
"I'm here!"
Steph tumbles into the room, ripping off her jacket, dropping to her knees next to Dick. "Time?"
"Two minutes exactly."
She nods, whipping her hair up into a ponytail, and doesn't lift her eyes from Bruce. "Cass, get out, you're not staying in here."
"I'll call the Watchtower." She takes a step, and hesitates. "You get me. If he needs me, I can handle it."
She doesn't wait for them to agree, she knows neither of them could deny her that, and leaves digging for her phone.
"Dick, I need you to look in his beside table for any bottles, or needles."
His blood runs cold, and she drags her eyes away from Bruce for just a second, softening around the edges, even if tension pulls the skin tight. "We need to know why he's seizing."
"He wouldn't—"
"We don't know anything right now," is the objection he rightfully gets. "You don't know that. So I need you to trust me, and find out if Bruce took anything."
He pulls himself off the floor and around to the other side of the bed, checking the drawers on that side first. Nothing. He crawls across the mattress (that Bruce fell off from seizing, and you didn't notice—) to reach the other without creating an obstruction for Bruce to hurt himself on, and checks that one too.
"Nothing," he says, triumphant.
"En suite," she snaps back, eyes on her watch.
Empty too. So is his dresser, and under his bed, and his desk, and the balcony, and—
"He didn't take anything, Steph!"
"Fine!"
Silence falls between them. He licks his lips, shifts his weight between his feet. "It's been six minutes."
Her head drops, her hands fall to her knees. "I know."
"His heart is going to give out."
"I know."
"So you're just going to stand there—"
"I can't do anything, Dick!" She surges to her feet, rounding on him, finally giving him the fight he wanted. "After the mass casualty event last month, the cave doesn't have what we need! I don't know what we need, I am a nursing student!"
"So why are you here?"
"Because if his heart stops, I am the one most likely to get it going again! I am somehow the most qualified person here, but with what I have and what I know I can't do much more than watch him unless I want to risk making it so. Much. Worse."
Bruce goes still, and Dick thinks he is the one that stops breathing.
His vision blurs, swims, and Bruce is nothing mere than an ivory smear across the carpet as he sways in place, trying to focus on the blond head dropping next to him, trying to get his ears to stop ringing so he can hear the frantic, murmured words he can't quite make beneath the blood rushing through his ears.
There's a scream, and a blue and red mass appears in front of Dick, and no.
No no no no, Bruce.
If Clark— if Clark— if he's here—
No.
Bruce.
He can't...
The fight was so stupid.
That can't...it can't be the last time he talks to B... it can't.
The glass blows outwards as Clark flies away at hyperspeed, and Dick slowly sinks to his knees. Tears brim, making it even harder to see, and a sob breaks out of his chest.
"Dick. Dick."
"No," he moans, crawling forward, reaching for that ivory blur.
"Dick."
"Bruce," he groans, as hands circle around him, pulling him backwards. He fights it, throwing an elbow back, and hears a yell as he's released and crashes back to the floor.
He claws closer, closer, reaching out, and—
His hand meets air.
Not the ivory blur.
The ivory blur that isn't there anymore.
"Dick, come back to me," Steph begs. "I need you."
"Bruce," he chokes, fresh tears pouring down his cheeks. Did he dissociate? Where did they take him? Where's his dad?
"Dick, come back to me. Bruce needs you, he needs you to come back."
"Bruce..."
"Yeah. We need to go to the Watchtower, come on."
"I...I heard a scream."
"Yeah. Y-yeah, I was calling for Supes. Shit— Dick, he's not dead."
"What."
His vision sharpens abruptly, everything coming back into sudden focus, which is in itself dizzying, but he meets Steph's eyes concretely.
"He...he stopped seizing, and I called for Clark. He's already with the medical team on the Watchtower, Cass and Tim are on their way up with Alfred, they're not waiting for us. You coming?"
live up to ur username and gimme som good angst 🤲🤲
what about a scenario where Bruce knows that Alfred actively resents raising him, and is open with his disdain about it, but then is actually very sweet and caring to the batkids. The batkids see this dynamic, but having been used to it all their time in the manor, pay it no mind, thinking that is just how they are.
Until maybe an outsider sees it and puts into perspective that Alfred's words and actions border on abuse, yet its Bruce who rises to Alfred's defense, because at least he stayed, so Bruce owes him that much.
How dare thee challenge my name! Your lucky this is actually one of my favorite tropes! Yummy! ☺️
-
Bruce almost felt uncomfortable about Alfred raising him, he could feel the negativity of the man radiating off of him. The anger that filled his eyes, the slight grinding of teeth, and scrunching of his face. Bruce looked at the ground when the man looked him in the eyes, he couldn't bear to face the disdain directed at him head on.
Bruce was scared the man would leave, what would he do then? Go with his uncle? No, no, no, no... So, he would have to convince Alfred to stay somehow...
If... If Bruce was such an annoyance... then he would just have to work on being less... Yes! Yes! That was exactly it! Alfred probably didn't like how much Bruce was! All Bruce had to do was be less! That was easy! One meal, one hour of interaction, quiet stuff in his room, no problems at school, no friends, yes! Then maybe Alfred wouldn't leave!
Except he had perhaps been too naive... He broke a vase by accident and Alfred sent him to boarding school... It was okay... at least Alfred didn't leave... Maybe... he could leave Gotham! Just until Alfred wasn't mad! Then everything would be okay again!
That was until he came to Gotham and he was... more... that was okay though because he made up for it with small boosts in Alfred's salary and acting less like the burden Alfred took on!
Maybe... there's a pang in his heart when he sees Alfred act nicely to his kids, treating his kids like the sweet children they are, like the traumatized children they are. He doesn't understand why he feels anything other than relief that Alfred looked at them with the same disdain he used to look at him with. Its okay. He's happy. He's even happier when his kids don't ask him to elaborate on his and Alfred's relationship.
Why would he have to consider himself in the equation? He was just the burden. They, could never be a burden. He gives them every ounce of his love to make sure they know that.
Nothing Bruce doesn't know. After all, if there was something wrong wouldn't someone have said something?
"Hey- um- Mist- Bruce, why does Alfred treat you like that?" Bruce looked at Jim weirdly, what was he talking about- all Alfred did was brush shoulders with him...? "What are you talking about? Alfred's done nothing-" Jim's brows furrowed, "What? He just shoved you aside, then looked at you like you were in his way!" Jim nearly yelled, what? Really? What was the big deal? This was normal! "Jim- I assure you there's nothing wrong with Alfred's actions, I should've been aware of my surroundings and moved. This is normal, I move, he walks,"
Jim shook his head in shock, looking as if he was connecting something in his head,"What!? Bruce! H- Has this been happening since you were a child?" Bruce tilted his head and nodded, why was this such a surprise? "Even when you lost your parents-" Bruce couldn't contian his shock "YES! Its normal Jim!"
"Bruce thats neglect, emotional neglect! He shouldn't be treating you like this! He's treating you more like an object than a human! THIS IS NOT OKAY!"
Bruce felt a sort of defensiveness rise in his chest, "HEY, AT LEAST HE STAYED- NOT ONE OTHER DAMN ADULT CARED ENOUGH TO STAY." He felt his voice rise as he spoke, red hot anger building up.
"Bruce... Alfred was never your legal guardian... he was basically a babysitter... Leslie Thompkins was your guardian, she just never had time to see you... She said she would visit to play with you but you never wanted to... So she eventually just handed guardianship to Alfred..."
"What? But I never saw her, never..." he looked to Alfred who made it his job not to look.
Bruce left, he stormed out. No. Everything was okay.
Everything was okay... even if his children grimaced when Bruce was near Alfred or when Alfred approached them with a buttery sweet smile.
Bruce slumped against the cold, metal wall of the Watchtower’s corridor, right outside the medbay.
The battle against the alien invaders had been brutal, a devastating, punishing attack that had lasted days. Everyone, both hero and civilian, had been pushed to their limits. There wasn’t a soul on board the entire space station who wasn’t injured in some way.
Medical personnel rushed past him in a blur of white coats, footsteps echoing on the metal floors. He watched them with narrowed eyes from his spot against the wall, cataloguing everything from the way they walked to their grim expressions, for some insight into what was happening.
He watched another team of nurses brush past him and into the medbay.
The medbay where three of his sons were.
He had seen with his own eyes when a piece of debris appeared out of thin air, smashing into Dick and ragdolling him across the battlefield. For ten heart-stopping seconds, he didn’t know if his eldest had died from the trauma or not. It wasn’t until Damian’s frantic voice sounded over the comms, “Grayson’s alive. Evacuating him now to the Watchtower.” that he was able to continue fighting, that he was able to push down his overwhelming panic.
Jason’s injuries were equally horrific. His femur was broken in three distinct places, six ribs fractured, and his nose broken so thoroughly that reconstructive surgery would be inevitable. Jason was so incredibly lucky that his armoured suit had saved him from having his chest crushed inward or that the femur hadn’t punctured his femoral artery.
And Tim… Bruce closed his eyes briefly, trying to clear the memory from his mind of the way the metal rod had torn straight through Tim’s chest at an angle that should have been fatal. Instead, it pierced only millimetres from his heart. The surgical team had been working for some time to close the wound. But he was stable, too.
He was alive. And so was Dick, and so was Jason.
Damian was relatively uninjured, assisting with triage only a floor below. Cass was bruised, but working on civilian recovery down on Earth. Duke was safe in Gotham, having been benched with a broken wrist two weeks ago.
Everyone was alive.
His breath hitched as he shifted his weight, sending a sharp pain through his abdomen. He brought his gloved hand down to press against his stomach, wincing as it came away dripping in dark blood. With a roll of his shoulders, his cape fell forward over the wound once again, concealing it from view.
It didn’t, however, stop the blood from continuing to pool beneath him, hot and sticky as it soaked through the suit and dripped onto the metal floor.
But, at the very least, nobody could see that he, too, was injured; that he needed medical attention during a crisis where so many others needed it more urgently.
Tim was in the operating room. Dick likely had a brain bleed. If he were to steal any attention from the already stretched-thin doctors and nurses, then valuable lives would be put at risk.
He could wait. He could always wait.
His head fell back against the wall behind him, the cold metal soothing against his feverish skin. His vision darkened around the edges as he pressed down on his wound with a soft grunt, hot, sticky blood dripping between his fingers. One by one, the sounds of the medbay became muffled and distant, as though he were underwater.
Blurs of medical staff rushed in front of him, their forms indistinct now. They raced to save the worst injured, to save those worth being saved.
His eyes fell shut slowly, a raspy, rattling breath falling from his lips as the world faded into inky nothingness.
Alfred decided to take Bruce out of Gotham to some sort of Wayne/Kane family country home/stables for the summer where he meets Clark.
Alfred hopes Bruce might learn some humility over his summer in a small town, overlooking the fact he'll be living in an estate on the ourskirts of town. There's staff, so Alfred stays back in Gotham (he isn't fond of Kansas) and Bruce goes alone.
He's skulking around the property, bored out of his mind, until he finds the stables. He spends most of his day out there, fascinated, until someone finally comes in at the end of the day, a red-headed woman who bustles into the stables, apologising to the horses for coming so late, they wouldn't believe how busy—
"Oh!" She yelps. "Sorry, I didn't realise anyone was in here."
"My apologies," Bruce returns, "I didn't mean to scare you, I just... I was hoping to find someone who handled them, but no one was around, and—"
She nods, picking up a bag of hay and moving by him. "Oh yes, that's why I'm here. I don't normally look after them, but their handler had a family emergency and had to go home, so my husband and I were hired to maintain the stables until the grounds staff can find a replacement."
"Would you mind if I asked you some questions?" Bruce stands, moving towards the door, but she just smiles and gestures to the hay bales by the door.
"Not if you help me while you do it."
So Bruce meets Martha at the stables each evening, asking her questions about the horses, and she slowly teaches him how to deal with horses correctly. He asks for her to teach him to ride one, then backtracks at the unease on her face. "I don't want to impose—"
"You won't," she assures. "I just— I don't have the time, with my other jobs around the farm. Would you be alright if I asked my son to come by and teach you instead?"
"Not at all."
So Clark turns up the next day, and Bruce finds himself struck with an unfamiliar feeling when he talks to Martha's son. When he throws his head back with a laugh, or when he gives Bruce that bright smile when he does the right thing.
So Bruce spends his afternoons after Clark has school riding the horses through the grounds, and his late evenings in the stables, helping Martha with the chores. Until one day, when they get back to the stables, Bruce finds that Clark starts up the same routine Martha takes when she gets here.
"Uh, yeah. Ma doesn't have time tonight, so she asked me to."
"You mother always seems very busy," Bruce says, trying not to sound too invested in the lives of these random farmers. It's not like they're the only people who have seemed interested in Bruce and not what he can offer them since his parents died. Oh wait.
"Part and parcel," Clark grunts. "Doesn't help this Wayne lot doesn't seem in any rush to hire a replacement and keeps stringing us along like it isn't a hassle to traipse out here every night for pennies."
"I didn't realise you were so busy."
"Aren't you the son of the staff? Surely you see how much work it takes to maintain this much land? Now imagine it filled with crops and animals." Clark sighs, and pets a horse's flank. "It's a good thing Ma has a soft spot for these beauties."
"I could— I could talk to my but— boss, if you want. You guys have stables, right? Could you keep the horses on your farm?"
Clark pauses. "Probably, yeah. Would give Ma a chance to ask for more than a pittance, if we also gotta pay for feed and— do you even have that much sway?"
"I can manage, I think."
And he does. Bruce arranges for the horses to stay at the Kent stables, and more than doubles what they were paying them. When he's not visiting the Kent farm to check on the horses, he's in the dusty office in the mansion, checking on the way the staff kept here are treated, and starts making some reforms. Deep in the Kansas country, Bruce Wayne's quest to look out for his workers begins.
He spends more and more time at the Kent farm, until he feels bad seeing them working, and offers to help. Martha dotes on him, Jonathan gives him a firm (fatherly?) guidance that feels pleasantly like something he doesn't remember anymore, not to mention he gets to spend more time with Clark. Clark, who awakens things in Bruce he heard his classmates talk about but never understood, but knows is wrong, knows boys aren't meant to feel that way about other boys, yet can't help coming back for more even if he knows it will hurt. At the very least, he thinks they're friends, and that's nice. He hasn't had one of those in a long time.
Then Clark's neighbour Lana pops by to see the horse she apparently keeps there, and Bruce smiles at her from the back of the stables, grooming the mare he's grown attached to the most.
"Who's that?" He hears her ask, and waits with bated breath.
"Some kid that works for Wayne. His name's Bruce."
'Some kid.' Bruce supposes he shouldn't be surprised, he's not exactly friend material, and keeps his head down, ignoring how tears make his eyes burn. Lana calls goodbye to him when she goes, and he doesn't respond, pretending not to hear, not sure what his voice will do if he tries to speak.
Clark comes to him after she's gone, voice raised slightly, puffed up, and demands to know why he was rude to Lana, she didn't do anything to him. All he can do is mutter an apology and leave, head ducked low, pretetending he doesn't want to cry because the boy he thinks he might be falling in love with clearly loves his neighbour, and Bruce isn't anything more to him than 'some kid.'
He pulls back, reminding himself he isn't family, he's barely an aquaintance, and just quietly tends to his horses and does the chores asked of him. He doesn't notice the way Clark watches him with his brow furrowed, or how Martha and Jonathan follow him with their eyes, worried about the sudden switch up.
"Bruce," Martha calls one afternoon, and brings him inside the house. Tells him, quietly, that she's noticed how he's pulled back from them. Makes a horrible pun about getting him out of his stable, instead of his shell, and frowns when Bruce doesn't laugh. "Is this about Clark? How you feel about him?"
Bruce shrinks in his seat, and white-knuckles his mug. "I don't know what you mean."
"I do. The way you look at him, I know exactly what that look means."
"So what? I'm broken, I'm not meant to like other boys anyway."
"Bruce—" she gasps, but Bruce is already shooting up from his seat, horrified he admitted it, and makes a break for the door. "Bruce— No, wait, Bruce, don't go out back!"
But it's already too late, Bruce bursts out of the back door, and Clark and Jonathan turn to look at him. While Clark holds the tractor above his head. They stare at him. Bruce stares at them.
Martha comes hurtling out of the back door, and grabs Bruce's arm. "Bruce—" But he's too surprised, he doesn't have the time to recentre his balance, and her yank topples him. Clark's eyes go wide, Jonathan takes a step forward, and Marrtha lets to in shock.
Bruce drops, hits his head on the back step, and knocks himself out.
He wakes up in Smallville Medical Centre, and his only visitor is his chaueffer. He goes back to the mansion, and finds all of the horses back in the stable. "The Kents have terminated their contract, Mr Wayne," someone informs him, and he stares at them for so long they start to shift uncomfortably. "Give them a severance bonus," he mutters, and leaves for his room.
He goes to get coffee in town, and spots Jonathan making a delivery. He stops for a second, then his eyes go hard and he keeps walking by without so much as a glance. He sees Clark and watches his expression drop, before he turns his back on Bruce to keep to talking to his friends and— Lana.
Bruce decides there's nothing left except to leave Smallville and the hole in his chest behind, so calls Alfred who sighs at his early return, and sends him flight details. Waiting at the airport in Metropolis, he passes by a gate where a flight is returning, and spots Martha there, talking to a man with curly hair in an expensive suit. Her expression softens for just a second, but when Bruce takes a step towards her, it goes blank and she refuses to make eye contact with him over her companion's shoulder, so he swallows the lump in his throat and hurries to his gate.
Bruce returns to Gotham with two weeks left before the school term begins again, having spent eight weeks in Kansas, and resolves never to think about Clark Kent or Smallville ever again.
Happily reading a good parent Bruce fic, and then here comes Damian calling Dick “baba” I SPECIFICALLY FILTER OUT THIS TAG. LEAVE ME ALONE, WHY EVEN PUT THIS UNDER GOOD FATHER BRUCE
I am Mohammed, I live in the northern besieged Gaza Strip, I am 21 years old, I have always tried to create a beautiful future for myself in which I achieve all my wishes. I had ambitions and dreams, but they evaporated because of the war, but I still want to achieve them despite the siege. During the war, I lost many things, including my university, my dreams, my job, and some friends. Despite that, I still want to achieve my dreams and ambitions. I want to rebuild my life again, so please help me in that and rebuild my life. Therefore,
please donate as much as you can because that helps me a lot. If you cannot donate, tell people about my suffering.
My name is Mohammed, I live in a neighborhood in Shujaiyya, an area in the north of Gaza. I am 21 years old , the eldest among my siblings.
The JL doesn't know Bruce has kids AU but in the context of Batlantern getting together
Bruce and Hal like each other, okay? They're each funny! And okay, Bruce is handsome, smells nice, a gentleman... so maybe Hal is freakishly in love.
One thing Bruce consistently talks about is his babies. That man loves his babies so much. Hal respects that Bruce can never show him pictures, but his descriptions of the kids paint a really sweet image of Bruce's "civilian" family
"My eldest, Dick! Oh yes, he just mastered a new technique with his gymnastics class! He's very proud of it! And my daughter, Cass, is cast for a solo in her next ballet, I'm so excited to see it. Tim loves the new videogame you suggested for his console, he just can't leave it! Damian thinks the shirt you gave me was nice. Oh, and I cannot forget mentioning my Jason! Yes! My little boy was so clingy today. He won't let me leave to go on this date! He's sick as of last night. Oh, my poor baby..."
Hal is so sick with cuteness aggression, so when things get serious between Bruce and him, he insists that he MUST meet his kids.
Well...
He did not expect Nightwing to drop hell on him, like full on knee-drop from the stratosphere. His name is Dick Grayson, and he is part of a gymnastics class!!!...... as the teacher.
And Cass is, in fact, a ballet student.... THE SENIORS DANCE COMPANY..... she is also batgirl and she's the few creatures to remind Hal of what fear is.
Tim is Red Robin, and yes he thanked Hal personally for the videogame suggestion, before promptly threatening to castrate Hal if he ever breaks his dad's heart.
Damian was ALMOST forgivable. He's very much baby-sized. But he's also Robin and an Al-Ghul and Bruce get your child away from me he's threatening to duel me for your hand- STOP LAUGHING.
Jason? Jason is the worst. Bruce made him out to be this clingy, soppy wet cat of a child that cries when left alone too long and whose biggest problems is crusts on the sides of his plate. Turns out he's the Red Hood and also 6"5 and built like a barn. He also has dry humor. And guns. Lots of it.
.
.
.
Hal: You said you had 5 babies???
Bruce: Yes, 5 babies 😊
Hal: [staring at the 5 miscellaneous death threat notes he got from the trained operatives that are his boyfriend's attack dogs]
Bruce: Aww, they made you love cards! 🥹
Hal: One of this is from Dick. He says to remember to lock my door, just in case....
Bruce: He's feeling protective! 🥰
Hal: [opens Tim's letter, pretty sure what just fell out is a crawling camera] Uh-huh.
Click the tag 'good parent Bruce Wayne' so it takes you to the actual tag collection with about 15300~
Select filters
Sort by kudos (or I did, then I swap after I've exhausted it and sort by something else)
Got to 'include'
For characters, select 'Bruce Wayne' which should knock out about 1000 fics he isn't even in
Go to 'exclude'
Under 'Warnings' exclude Graphic violence, rape/non-con, mcd, and underage sex
Go to 'additional tags' and nix your usuals, I cut out Danny Phantom, Marinette, Peter Parker, and Percy Jackson
THIS IS THE KEY PART IT WON'T WORK OTHERWISE
Go to 'search within results' and put exactly what is in the speech bubbles "Bruce NOT Tim" this activates ao3 search programming (it is not anti-Tim, before I am mobbed, fics with Tim in are still present dw)
Ta da
(I also sorted by English, duh, but that depends on you)
(This is not self promo, but if you want to check if you got the steps right, on page 3, my fic should be a few down from the top. Which was a nice surprise.)
I love the idea of Bruce actually being very shy when it comes to anything intimate or romantic. Like Bruce is portrayed in the media as a playboy and yes while he has been associated with strings of models, celebrities, socialites and beautiful women, Bruce never actually sleeps with any of them and if you asked them, he wouldn't so much as go past a kiss but he was a gentleman. Even with Selina or Talia or Silver or any woman he has a long relationship with, Bruce is shy and reserved, he doesn't make the move ever. He's completely innocent in some ways, the man blushes at the very mere mention of certain things. He has the sensiblity of a young lady in a period drama. He is the one who gets swept off his feet. He is not the rizzer, he is the rizzed.
God damn the Bruce Wayne tags on AO3 is genuinely such a cesspit. You genuinely have to filter out like 300 hundred tags just get something somewhat decent and still the batboys (-duke, we all know a lot of you would rather die than actually write that man let alone have clogging the tags like that) will still take up most of it.
Like I like them. I enjoy them in fics too but god fucking damn you have your own tags USE THEM.
Damian is utterly distraught because he realizes his Baba was present at all of his other kids’ weddings but won’t be for his. It's not fair, it's just not fair
He barely keeps himself from crying when Bruce stays silent as he gets walked into the venue, still only halfway done, and questions where he was and why there were so many people
Damian has to be pulled away from his Baba to get ready, while Bruce gets led to a quiet place to relax and not be put under any stress
One thing Damian has never compromised on is having a big reveal with Bruce. He wants his Baba to be the first person to see him fully dressed up in his wedding garments
He sits beside Bruce and just holds his hand, gazing out at the vast, opulent scenery of the wedding venue, softly talking about anything and everything just to fill the air
Then, Bruce turns to his baby boy, a familiar sparkle in his bright blue eyes, and he smiles
"Oh, habibi... Damian, you look so pretty..." Bruce rumbled softly, putting his other hand on top of Damian's and squeezing. "My baby, my sweet baby, so pretty for your wedding..." his face crinkles into that ever-familiar smile that Bruce would give him, something he hadn't seen in so long
And Damian bursts into tears because his Baba remembered.
And Bruce is able to slowly walk Damian down the aisle, just as he had with all his other kids. Bruce stays aware for the entire wedding, and Damian barely leaves his side, unable to bear the thought of not being there every second Baba can remember him
Damian makes sure Bruce is in every picture and video
It's a good reminder because Bruce wakes up the next day, confused about why this little boy is crying while holding onto him
something i do think is funny is when people try to criticise bruce for his no kill rule by being like "and everybody always has to follow his rules🙄" as if the rule isn't literally,, don't kill people. like. i do not know how to explain to you that killing is bad. killing is the people killer. do we know this. i feel like it is not that extreme to say that bruce is justified in not liking when people close to him are murderers.
This conversation going on for years lmao but this shit right here pissed me right off
NO TF HE ISN’T. Let’s use our brains here and remember that most of them have a no kill rule, including the other gotham vigilantes.
1, he has tried to kill him and Superman stopped him.
2, he has specifically chosen not to save him and like a cockroach Joker lived.
3, EVEN IF THEY KILL HIM HE COMES BACK OR A NEW ONE POPS UP. Like im sorry but in this case killing him is just more fucking dangerous. You’re literally moving from a position of knowing he’s alive + knowing where he is for the most part to one where you would be behind, you’d have to one recognize the guy that was dead may now be alive again, two prove it’s not a fucking copy cat and then three do everything else including figuring out why tf he’s back.
The fandom needs to understand that, apart from Jason, the rest of the Batfam does not want one of them to kill the Joker. Others don't necessarily wants him to die. Cassandra would never agree that he needs to be murdered. Barbara also disagrees with the Joker being murdered. Dick does not want one of them to kill the Joker either. Damian is also ahainst murder now and has told the family they shouldn't work with Jason because he's a murderer. Bruce is the one having dreams about killing the Joker violently, not the others. Alfred has multiple times talk Bruce put of killing the Joker. Gordon has also stopped Batman from killing the Joker.
"Literally only Bruce contests this and he is wrong" Please, read a comic, and get better morals. Being against murder, even of one single man, because humans shouldn't take each others' life isn't "wrong".
Anyway, y'all only want the Joker dead because of what he did to Jason, no because he is "the worst", because, really, other rogues have done as much if not worse (Bludhaven was completely destroyed by Deathstroke dropping Chemo on it, killing nearly everyone in the city. He did this just to get at Dick. Poison Ivy has fed innocent people alive to carnivorous plants and listened as they slowly got digested. Etc, etc...)
Thank you! I’m so tired of all this crap. This conversation is so overdone and I genuinely think that at this point most of it is done in bad faith. Simply because it’s always aimed at Bruce alone when it’s not unique to him and also it’s not crazy for a person to not want to kill.
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