and out of the darkness - you you you you you
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@chacarro
and out of the darkness - you you you you you
Clark first saw Bruce in a backyard concert
I think when Bruce dies, his face should be obliterated or smth, like, completely obscured.
Just like in life, he wears a mask in death. This time itâs blood, tho. Lived to prevent violence, died by violence. In the end, he'll be left to wonder if anything he ever did made an impact on his cursed city as his life quickly slips away.
He should die before Alfred gets too. Alfred is so broken-hearted that it only takes a few days for him to pass away, guilt-ridden over how three Waynes he had known his entire life passed away too young under his care.
Plus, his children should forget what his face looks like. There are a bunch of videos and magazines with Brucie, and thereâs minimal coverage on Batman, but no one has Bruce. Just Bruce.
I think they should all be haunted and hallucinate faceless Bruce, tormenting them for not saving him. Why couldnât they love him? Why canât they remember his face?
When they find his murderer, it should be a kid who was messing around with their parentsâ gun, and it was a complete accident. The kid barely understood what was happening; all they knew was that there was a loud sound, so they ran away. They want revenge, but how could they ever take it?
Female Bruce (whom I will just be calling Bruce) should have big boobs and a killer body, and she should be lovingly exasperated by her familyâs overprotectiveness.
It would be a crime if she werenât seen as the sexiest woman to ever grace planet earth. I need an elegant back dress with a deep V-neck and two slits up the side, all the way up her thighs, for galas. I need her adorned and dripping in beautiful silver jewelry with hints of blue that bring out the striking blue in her eyes.
I need her boys and girls to be ready to throw down at the drop of a hat. One wrong look and Bruce is having to grab Tim by his collar and escort him out of the room while heâs already plotting the downfall of that personâs business. He's barely holding back from straight-up snarling at people for trying to touch his mom.
I need Steph to wield a butter knife at a guy who dared to even glance at Bruceâs ass, and to only be stopped from gouging his eyes out with a single look from Bruce. Steph is circling around Bruce like a shark if she ever decides to wear skin-tight gym clothes or anything else skin-tight.
I need Damian, who understands that his Ummi is a strong woman who can handle herself and deserves to wear whatever the fuck she wants, to start tweaking when he sees her in tight-fitting clothing and wants to go everywhere with his mom to protect her. No, he doesn't care if it's just a haircut or a walk around the park; he's going.
I need little Jason, who still didnât trust Bruce fully, to immediately throw all of his fears and doubts out the window when theyâre walking down the street and someone has the gall to catcall his new Mama. Bruce has to run after him once he starts chasing a man who got way too close. This does not change once he's older. It only gets worse.
I need Harley to make sure she has Bud and Lou stand guard around Brucie whenever she decides to go to the club and have the time of her life, just as she had when they were in college. Definitely to Turn Me On (Extended) by David Guetta. Now, she canât blame them for looking (lord knows she was staring to- how does her body move like that??), but she will make sure they donât touch a hair on Bruceâs body.
I need Bruce to sigh for the millionth time as she walks into the principalâs office to see little Dickie, in trouble once again from defending his Mamiâs honor from the older kids. Bruce is trying to give him a lecture, but he looks so cute with his bruised fists, and he did win the fight against a group of kids three years older. Maybe just a little ice cream⌠Encouraging him only made him worse in the future.
I need for the next time a woman says âshe needs to be crushed by Brucieâs biceps,â Cass has a crash out of epic proportions. She hates senseless violence, but sheâs not afraid to brawl when they objectify her mom. Yes, her mom has awesome muscles and is very strong; no, you are not allowed to look. Advert your gaze before she fucking makes you.
I need Duke to plunge the room into darkness when theyâre getting followed around by paparazzi, and Bruce has a wardrobe malfunction. Bruce has had plenty of unsavory pictures taken of her when she was younger, but now that she has him around, Duke wonât let anyone take advantage of her. If all of the cameras get smashed somehow, well, that's just the consequences of their own actions.
I need Alfred to be at the grocery store and punch someone in the face because they commented on Bruceâs looks in a degrading way. Thatâs his daughter, and if he has to fight the entire multiverse for badmouthing her, he will.
Itâs already in my mind that both male and female Bruce do plenty of underwear and lingerie photoshoots. That shit is on billboards for months and months because no one can bear taking such a beauty down. The muscles, the curves, the hourglass figure, the grace⌠Itâs too much.
Yes, I believe that Bruce should be the most beautiful person ever, no matter the gender. No one surpasses his beauty in my mind. Please, argue with a wall.
a quick dink doodle to be used as future reference because i cant keep eyeballing the way he looks forever lolz.
love him down
16 yr old Damian
hiii I just want to let you know i jsut read your Clark and Bruce fanfic (?) with dick and i LOVED it and would adore more! :D keep it up
THANK YOUđ I'll make more for sure!
âI HAVE NO INTEREST IN NOT CARING ABOUT PEOPLEâ IS SUCH A GREAT BRUCE LINE DAMN IT
Now letâs bring this Bruce back too đ
It was supposed to be a routine visit.
Clark Kent had stopped by Wayne Manor under the pretense of an interview, but really, it was just an excuse to check on Bruceâmake sure he was still, you know, eating food and not brooding himself into oblivion. But when Alfred opened the door with a warm, âMaster Kent, how good to see you,â Clark sensed something was⌠different.
There were giggles echoing down the hall. Not the sarcastic kind Alfred sometimes offered. Actual, high-pitched giggles.
âBruce have company?â Clark asked, already raising a brow.
Alfred smiled in that unreadable way that meant he was holding secrets. âYou could say that.â
And then it happenedâtiny footfalls, pattering closer and closer, followed by a flash of movementâ
âAlfred! Alfred, look! I did it! Iâ!â
The boy skidded to a halt. Wide blue eyes blinked up at Clark. A blur of dark hair. Grinning, breathless. Maybe eight years old. Definitely chaotic.
âOh,â he said, tilting his head. âYouâre huge.â
Clark blinked. âUhââ
âDick!â Bruceâs voice rang from behind, laced with the kind of exasperation thatâs more fond than annoyed. He stepped into the hallway, still in a black turtleneck, but for once not frowning. âWhat did I say about leaping off the banisters?â
âYou said donât,â the kid said with a grin. âBut you werenât looking, so I figured I could impress Alfred.â
Bruce sighed. âThis is Clark. Heâs a friend.â
Dick looked up again, eyes squinting in appraisal. âHeâs got more muscles than you! Are you sure heâs not a villain?â
âIâm not a villain,â Clark said, amused now.
"You probably eat children."
âI donât eat children.â
âThatâs what a kid-eater would say.â
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. âDick.â
âIâm just being careful! You said always be aware of your surroundings. You saidââ
âI know what I said.â Bruce rubbed a hand over his face. âClark, this is Dick Grayson. My⌠ward.â
Clarkâs brows rose. âWard?â
Dick put his hands on his hips. âThatâs what he calls it so he doesnât have to say âsonâ out loud.â
Bruce winced. âDick.â
The kid only beamed. âItâs okay. He doesnât say it, but he acts like it. He made me a room and everything. And he tucks me in. It's okay to have more than one dad, you know.â He leaned conspiratorially toward Clark. âSometimes, when he thinks Iâm asleep, he reads aloud. Heâs really bad at the voices.â
Clark was delighted.
âI like him,â he said softly to Bruce.
Bruce scowled. âHeâs exhausting.â
âI bet youâre not boring though,â Clark said to Dick, crouching down to the boyâs level. âWhat else do you do around here?â
Dick lit up. âI do flips! Wanna see? I can do five in a row, but Bruce says I canât do them over the piano anymore âcause I broke a vase. It was ugly anyway.â
âDonâtââ Bruce started, but Dick had already sprinted down the hallway and launched himself into a tumble series that wouldâve made a circus proud.
Clarkâs eyes tracked the motion easily, a grin blooming on his face. âHeâs incredible.â
Bruce watched too, trying not to look proud. Failing.
âYeah,â he murmured. âHe really is.â
Dick landed in a dramatic pose. âTa-da!â
Clark clapped. âFive flips. Thatâs a lot more than I could do at your age.â
Dick beamed. âWanna see my room?â
Before Clark could answer, Dick had grabbed his handâso small in his ownâand was pulling him down the hallway.
Bruce didnât stop them. He just stood there, watching, an unreadable look softening his usual edges.
Alfred stepped beside him with a smile. âHe likes him.â
âClarkâs good with kids,â Bruce said gruffly.
âYes,â Alfred said mildly. âAnd Dickâs good for you.â
Bruce didnât reply.
But in the hallway, a small boy was explaining, in vivid detail, the science behind his circus-themed lava lamp and if he could help him prank Bruce later. (Clark, of course, agreed.)
It was the beginning of something warm, chaotic, and undeniably family.
â ď¸Please Help my children âźď¸
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Hello friends, I am Abdullah Salem Abdullah, 26 years old, a graduate of the University College with a degree in Information Technology - Mu
Hello friends, I am Abdullah Salem Abdullah Jaafar, 26 years old, a graduate of the University College with a degree in Information Technology - Multimedia. I used to have a beautiful family; Iâm married and have four children, and my wife is pregnant.
I previously worked at a multimedia company, but because of the war, I lost my job, my home, my car, and now I have no place to live or work.
During the war, we were forced to evacuate more than four times. Each time, we had to leave everything behind without taking any of our personal belongings.
I live in northern Gaza.
We were displaced to southern Gaza, then to Deir al-Balah, then to Rafah, and now we live in an uninhabitable tent that is not suitable for living.
My daughter Rahaf was martyred in the war due to Israeli airstrikes. Now I have Iman, Malak, Basel, and my wife is in her seventh month of pregnancy.
Please, I am in desperate need of your help just to provide food and water for my children.
I lost my home and we have become homeless."
Please donate and share
It started with a limp.
Subtle. Barely there. The kind Bruce wouldâve hidden with ease from any civilianâor even the Justice League. But unfortunately for him, his children were not ordinary by any means. They were trained vigilantes. They were spies. They were nosy. And worst of all: they were his kids.
âDid you see that?â Dick said, squinting over his coffee at Bruce across the manorâs kitchen.
âSee what?â Jason asked. He was leaning against the fridge, slouched.
âBruce limped.â
Jason rolled his eyes, biting into an apple. âOld manâs been limping since B.C.â
âNo, this was different,â Tim said, not looking up from his tablet. âFavoring the left. Probably a deep contusion. His weight shifted when he stepped over Al-cat.â
Duke looked up from his cereal bowl, spoon paused midair. âOkay, wait. Are we seriously starting the morning with medical surveillance?â Damina nods sharply.
âHeâs hiding an injury?â Damianâs voice sliced through like a blade. âIâll kill him.â
âNo oneâs killing Dad,â Cassandra sighed, eyebrows furrowed.
âYet,â Steph added cheerfully, grabbing a banana. âWeâre just maiming him into accepting help first.â
Bruce re-entered the kitchen at that moment, wearing that damn neutral expression that said Iâm fine, donât worry, and do not speak to me about anything concerning my mortality all at once.
He reached for his coffee.
Dick snatched it away.
Bruce blinked. âDick.â
âYouâre not allowed caffeine until you tell us whatâs wrong with your leg.â
âThereâs nothing wrong with my leg.â
Jason gave him that look.
Duke frowned, upset.
Bruceâs jaw twitched. âA criminal landed one lucky hit.â
âOne hit does not make your entire gait shift,â Tim said, pushing his tablet toward Bruce. âI made a slideshow. Hereâs you on Tuesdayânormal stride. Hereâs you this morningâhip drop, left side drag. Classic signs of pelvic bruising.â
Bruce glanced at the slideshow. Blinked. âYou made a slideshow about my limp?â
âPowerPoint is the language of intervention,â Steph said wisely.
âI am going to call Leslie,â Damian said, already pulling out his phone.
âNo,â Bruce said.
âYes,â Damian ducked out of his reach.
âIâm fine,â Bruce tried again, but now he was cornered. Literally. Cass was standing in front of the door, Tim had blocked the hallway, and Jason crossed his arms in front of the counter.
âYou always say that,â Dick said, voice gentler now. âBut youâre not invincible, Bruce.â
âYouâre allowed to rest,â Cassandra added. âYouâre not a god.â
âYouâre our dad,â Tim said quietly. âYou donât have to be alone in this.â
Bruce opened his mouth. Closed it.
Steph plopped into the seat beside him, peeled her banana, and nudged his arm. âTake the pain meds. Let someone else patrol tonight. Youâve got, what, five of us? Six if you count Duke, and you should. Heâs very shiny.â
Duke preens.
Jason finally moved, opened the cabinet, and dropped a bottle of painkillers on the table. âTake the damn meds, old man.â
Bruce exhaled through his nose, looked at each of themâtheir concerned, exasperated facesâand took the pill bottle.
Silence.
He unscrewed it. Took two. Washed them down with the coffee Dick returned to him with a victorious smile.
ââŚHappy?â Bruce muttered.
âEcstatic,â said Tim.
âRadiant,â said Steph.
âIâll allow it,â said Damian.
Cass just smiled and signed: We love you.
And for the first time all morning, Bruce smiled back.
Jason was halfway through cleaning his guns when he heard itâthe unmistakable, heavy, overexaggerated sigh of a man who'd made it his mission to be the worst.
"Are you seriously doing this again?" Dick asked from the doorway, leaning against the frame like heâd lived there his whole damn life. He was wearing joggers, a sleeveless hoodie, and the most judgmental raised eyebrow Jason had ever seen.
Jason didnât even look up. "Doing what, Dickie?"
âThat thing where you pretend you're a lone wolf vigilante cleaning your arsenal like you're not one MCR album away from having a breakdown.â
Jason set down his rifle with a deliberate clink. âYou're in my apartment. Uninvited.â
âAnd yet,â Dick said, grinning, âhere I am. Thatâs how you know I care.â
Jason exhaled through his nose. "If I shoot you, itâs not personal. Just pest control."
Dick stepped closer, casually grabbing one of Jasonâs pistols and spinning it with infuriating ease. âYouâve got the safety on wrong. Youâre slipping.â
âI just cleaned that.â
âYeah. Badly.â
Jason lunged for the pistol, but Dick jumped back, cackling as he tossed it to his other hand. âYou ever consider organizing these alphabetically? You knowâGlock, Heckler & Koch."
âThatâs not how letters work, Dick.â
Dick winked. âSays the guy named Todd.â
Jasonâs eye twitched. "That doesn't make sense."
"You make no sense."
But it wasnât over.
Dick sat on the edge of the table, swinging his legs like an overgrown child, and then picked up one of Jasonâs helmets. âYou know, Red Hood branding used to be cool, but this one looks like it came out of a gas station vending machine. What is this? Matte sadness?â
Jason snatched it out of his hands. âWhy are you even here?â
Dick leaned forward with a smug grin. âAlfred said you missed family dinner last night. Damian got into a spat with Bruce. Classic bonding.â
âI was working.â
âRight. Brooding. Classic. Very âearly 2000s brothel noir.ââ
Jason stared at him. âGet out.â
Dick stood, stretched dramatically, then started walking toward the door⌠but paused. Turned. Grinned maliciously and left.
Jason was paranoid the rest to the week.
Try Again Tomorrow
My fic inspired by this tumblr post- @chacarro
âĄâĄâĄ
Bruce Wayne prided himself on control. Discipline was a fundamental part of him, stitched deeply into his character. But every so often, when the cityâs rooftops were quiet and Gothamâs terrors seemed distant, a gentler, hidden side emerged. A side that reveled quietly in harmless mischief, subtle enough to avoid suspicion but potent enough to turn the manor into a scene of amused chaos.
It started simply enoughâa missing spoon from Timâs favorite coffee mug. Tim had shuffled around the kitchen like an irritable zombie, eyes bloodshot from last night's patrol, muttering accusations at Damian under his breath. Bruce hid behind the Gotham Gazette, sipping coffee and pretending to be deeply engrossed in the business section, a faint smile threatening the corners of his lips.
The next day, Jasonâs beloved leather jacket vanished. He stormed through the halls of Wayne Manor, frustration radiating off him as he barked at Dick for borrowing things without permission. Dick, arms raised defensively, swore he had nothing to do with it, and Bruce merely offered sympathetic murmurs from behind his laptop, discreetly typing out a memo to Alfred, the jacket hidden safely in the butlerâs immaculate pantry.
Dick wasnât safe from Bruceâs secret torment either. The eldest son found his prized cerealâthe overly sugary, marshmallow-infested abominationâreplaced entirely by unsweetened bran flakes. Dickâs exasperated wail echoed dramatically through the kitchen, blaming Tim for attempting to "improve" his dietary choices. Timâs blank stare, heavy-lidded, did nothing to prove innocence. Bruce simply sipped his morning juice, nodding sagely at their bickering, face carefully neutral.
Damian was the most suspicious, his narrowed eyes trailing after everyone in the manor. So Bruce had to be subtle, methodical. He hid Damianâs katanaâreplacing it with a training bokken from the dojo. When Damian found it, he stood in the training room, sword aloft and expression frozen somewhere between shock, indignation, and rage. He accused Jason immediately, launching into a scathing lecture about respecting personal weaponry. Jason returned fire with equal heat, grumbling about Damianâs paranoid streak and his constant complaints. Bruce, standing innocently by the doorway, raised an eyebrow as if mystified by the uproar, suggesting perhaps a less aggressive approach might be wise. Damianâs murderous glare silenced him swiftly, but Bruce managed to keep his composure, mouth twitching slightly behind a stoic facade.
The boys finally convened, assembling dramatically in the library. Voices rose as accusations flew, playful aggression veiled behind genuine irritation. Dick gestured passionately about the sanctity of cereal, Jason clutched the recovered jacket possessively, Tim grumbled into a newly acquired coffee mug, and Damian observed his katana meticulously, turning to glare daggers at each of his brothers. Bruce lingered just outside the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, feigning interest in an old case file.
âWhy would I even want your jacket, Todd?â Damian demanded, voice dripping with disdain. âIt's oversized, tasteless, and older than my father.â
Jason scoffed loudly, arms crossed defensively. âOh, I'm sorry my jacket offends your delicate assassin sensibilities, gremlin. Did your training sword offend your ninja honor?â
âDick, no offense, but your cereal is a health hazard,â Tim interrupted drily. âIâd be doing you a favor if I had replaced it.â
Dick gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest. âTimmy, what?â
Bruce coughed quietly, the smallest noise to gain their attention. They fell silent, eyes swiveling towards him, suspicious and wary. âSomething wrong?â he asked mildly, his voice even and controlled, betraying nothing of the quiet laughter bubbling beneath his facade.
âSomeone keeps touching my shit,â Jason growled, pointing accusingly around the room. âAnd no one's fessing up.â
Bruce raised an eyebrow slightly, adopting a look of mild concern. âOdd.â
Damianâs eyes narrowed suspiciously, analyzing Bruce with all the scrutiny he definitely inherited from both Talia and Bruce himself. âFather, you wouldnât happen to have any idea whoâs behind this madness, would you?â
Bruce let a thoughtful silence stretch just long enough to be convincing, before slowly shaking his head. âI'm afraid I have no idea, Damian. Ask Alfred, maybe he was the one to touch your things?â
He turned smoothly, leaving them in silent suspicion, a twinkle of uncharacteristic delight glinting in his eyes as he walked away. He paused briefly, just around the corner, to listen as the arguing resumed, softer this time but no less spirited, each brother accusing and teasing the other, unaware that their famously grim father wore a satisfied smile, proud of his subtle sabotage.
After all, even Bruce deserved a little harmless fun from time to time.
My babies
Detective Comics #1062
When you try to convince your dad to retire and he gives no fucks
Actually I'm obsessed with this. Bruce smirking and calling Dick "Grayson", and Dickie saying, "I'd kick your butt, old man." Endlessly precious.