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"Didja miss me?" Jason asked Barbara, voice distortion not enough to muffle the sly, crackling humor.

"Like a toothache," she would reply, but even through Oracle's digitization, the dry fondness would burn through.

"Didja miss me?" Jason asked Alfred, casual, like the answer didn't matter.

The old butler would sniff and not lift his eyes from whatever task lay spread before him, but he would answer, words as crisp and pressed as his cuffs, "Of course, Master Jason. Every day." And Jason would flush to the tips of his ears and duck away, as if it were all a silly game.

"Didja miss me?" Jason asked, all six feet of looming muscle leaning casually in the shadows, nothing like the boy he had been, but the ghostly <i>Commish</i> at the end of his question lingered.

"I never miss the heartburn you boys give me," Gordon would huff, his daughter's father to the bone. But a father still he was, and he would chew on his toothpick with a bittersweet twist to his lips. "No one knew how to talk to the street kids like you," like that was all he had missed, like he hadn't lit a candle for the second Robin every year.

"Didja miss me?" Jason asked Dick as they leapt from rooftop to rooftop, racing each other through the night.

"All the time, Little Wing." It would be said with a laugh torn free by the wind, but Jason believed it, especially when they would land and Dick would totter off-balance to crash their shoulders together.

"Didja miss me?" Jason asked the alley cats twining around his ankles, crouched as he ran a hand behind their ears.

Selina wouldn't answer aloud, but she would scritch her nails against his scalp and ruffle his curls, making him smile.

"Didja miss me?" Jason asked, eyes on the horizon, heart frozen in his chest, but when he glanced to the side, Bruce was staring directly at him.

"Yes." There would be a pause as Bruce studied him. No, as Bruce marveled at him. "Every second of every day, with every heartbeat."

He didn't need to ask again. He would, just to hear the answer.

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owch.

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BruTalia WIP

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Selling Fish, art by George Morland (1792)

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maybe the single funniest twitter comment I've ever seen

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Tim and Bruce like The Clash. Alfred does not.

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1929 Door by Edmond Pletinckx at Rue Emile Wittmann 39 Schaerbeek, Belgium. From Art Deco, FB.

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Jason's day off

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“Bruce doesn’t know how to cook” “Bruce doesn’t make his own bed” have you considered the possibility that Bruce knows how to do all of those things but lets Alfred do them anyway because if he doesn’t, the whole Manor falls apart?

Bruce lets Alfred make the bed because after the close call with Killer Croc last night it’s either crisp folded sheets pressed to perfection OR Alfred goes deep into the Gotham sewers with a rifle, a belt of flash-bangs, and 30 years of unresolved overprotectiveness.

let the man cook. literally, please let him cook something.

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*writes two paragraphs after months of literally nothing and it took three hours*

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Dick grayson

Fallen bird

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i can’t stand “it’s not that deep” attitudes like even if it really really isn’t that deep just PLAY WITH ME. just fucking PLAY. have a meaningless but deep analytical conversation with me. just like think about shit for fun. does anyone else like to think about stuff for fun. it’s so lonely

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Bruce, trying to engage with Cass socially during patrol: Did you… fight anyone interesting lately?

Cass: No.

Bruce: Okay.

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Batman

Art by Steve Rude