mildlythreatningduck

[mildlythreatningduck]

Reader: wow! I’m so curious how you’re going to fit everything you’ve been foreshadowing in here!

Me, frantically flipping through my notes, trying to figure out if I’ve accidentally foreshadowed something I Shouldn’t Have: ummm, yes. Right. Uh, just for fun, would you mind telling me what, that would be… exactly.

[mildlythreatningduck]

Dick: What’re you writing?

Jason: The GCPD wants to know what kind of weaponry we have. I’m writing them a reply.

Dick: *looking over Jason’s shoulder* …This just says “fuck around and find out” in calligraphy?

Jason: yep

[mildlythreatningduck]

“-because Cass is iliterate…” “Because she can’t speak properly…” NO. shut the goddamn fuck up.  Cassandra Cain is a strong capable woman that will actually fuck you up if you refer to her as illiterate. She is learning and she is getting better by the fucking hour and she (and i) will fuck you up if you talk to her like that. 

[mildlythreatningduck]

what is it about yj aqualad that makes him so respectable that sinful thoughts about him make me wanna go fetch the Pope?

It’s because he’s voiced by Khary Payton, who reminds me of god himself.

[mildlythreatningduck]

Every friend group should include

A himbo,

A mean bisexual,

An even meaner lesbian,

She/theys and he/theys,

A token straight that’s on thin ice,

An astrology bitch who has everyone’s birth chart memorised,

And a short king

[mildlythreatningduck]

me : DC has a dragon  lady stereotype problem that dates back to the 1940′s that modern writers still use to this day which also includes the redemption arc of the biracial child leaning on the white parent

Fans with no braincells : but the female/mom characters are EviL???

[mildlythreatningduck]

But now people can SEE 😤

JDFHSDKJ YOU REBLOGGED MY DAMIAN THING AND YOU SAID IT WAS TERRIFYINGLY ON BRAND AND I JUST AKJHSDKJG HI

HI OMG HELLO IT REALLY WAS ON BRAND. Like Damian has been drinking that respecting women juice since he was a bean and he’s lowkey terrified of their mind tbh. Because the thing with men is that you can gauge how good they are and how they fight. Women on the other hand? They’re underestimated and they USE that to their advantage.

It’s hilarious watching Damian fight a woman. He claims it’s because he won’t ever lay a hand on a woman because it’s against his principles (everyone calls his bullshit because he grew up taining with his mother).But really he’s just scared they’ll kick his ass. And they have. Multiple times. On good days, he’s not even ashamed to admit it.

ALSO DID YOU FOLLW ME OH MY FUCKING GOD??? Perhaps I’ll scream into the void thank you very much ANDHAJSBSHSHBS

[mildlythreatningduck]

JDFHSDKJ YOU REBLOGGED MY DAMIAN THING AND YOU SAID IT WAS TERRIFYINGLY ON BRAND AND I JUST AKJHSDKJG HI

HI OMG HELLO IT REALLY WAS ON BRAND. Like Damian has been drinking that respecting women juice since he was a bean and he’s lowkey terrified of their mind tbh. Because the thing with men is that you can gauge how good they are and how they fight. Women on the other hand? They’re underestimated and they USE that to their advantage.

It’s hilarious watching Damian fight a woman. He claims it’s because he won’t ever lay a hand on a woman because it’s against his principles (everyone calls his bullshit because he grew up taining with his mother).But really he’s just scared they’ll kick his ass. And they have. Multiple times. On good days, he’s not even ashamed to admit it.

ALSO DID YOU FOLLW ME OH MY FUCKING GOD??? Perhaps I’ll scream into the void thank you very much ANDHAJSBSHSHBS

[mildlythreatningduck]

Damian Wayne hates fighting women. 

Getting in a ready position, with both Pamela Isley and Harleen Quinzel in front of him, it reminds him how much he hates fighting women. 

Men are easy to fight. They carry themselves so loosely, they think the whole world is in their hands. They don’t rationalize properly, they don’t calculate their possibilities of winning.  They are insane.

Damian Wayne has learned that most men are, at some point. His years in the island, as a part of the league, they have taught him that. The only person with a scent of kept sanity was his mother, and even though they never carried a strong loving relationship, Damian respected her widely.  For not only has Talia managed to keep her sanity, but she has dragged Damian far from the pit the other men are in. 

Damian recognizes that he owes his life to his mother, yet admitting it is hard, for there are also factors that made him who he was a few years ago.  A killing machine. 

Damian hates fighting women, they are so different from men. They are quick-witted, they think their actions through, they know exactly their abilities. They wrap their sanity tightly with blankets of laughs and craze, seeming harmless and irrational. Damian Wayne knows the truth about women.  They are far more dangerous than men. 

It’s not sympathy he feels, getting in a ready position, strategizing for combat. It’s not pity for his enemy, it’s not compassion.  It’s fear. 

[mildlythreatningduck]

::monochrome practice:: w/ Damian & Bruce Wayne

Took a break from zine works to sharpen my facial structuring skills...and ended up with something I am very very happy with and eager to share 🥺 which is rare, any artist can agree haha 😂 like father, like son!! The Batfam superpower is hot-af-ness, I don’t make the rules 😎🔥

[mildlythreatningduck]

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 🪴🕊

𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘹 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝐤𝐨𝐟𝐢

someone told me that i tend to write about the mundane things that truly express tenderness in love so here’s some of that in case you need it 🌷🪴💖

Dick:

Dick has had his fair share of experiences with those aspects of life that are systematically considered luxurious. That’s the thing about living amongst bourgeoisie idiots, regardless of it being new money or old money, it always seemed impossible for them to avoid reckless spending every now and again.

But no amount of caviar or Macallan scotch or bugatti’s bought in cash could ever meet the ecstasy that came with the feeling of being loved. That solid, undeniable and unshakable confirmation of affection that could be found in the smallest of utterances, of actions, of shared glances across crowded rooms.

That was priceless.

And being in love with a gem like you made every day a momentous gift in his existence. You were a dazzling light that graced the hazy skies that could sometimes threaten to suffocate him.

He would persist through the gray if it meant that he could hold on to you. It was almost serendipitous that you felt the same way he did, that you loved they same way he did.

So when he finds himself, choking on oversaid confessions in the inky blackness of a regular Monday night, all because you’d quietly taken to playing with his hair right before he was about to ask you to— he isn’t thrown.

“I’m in love,” he thinks. And then, “I am loved.”

Jason:

Take outs are the custom of the week in Jason’s household.

Usually, meals are quick fixes or luxurious spreads whipped up by either of you in the green-themed kitchen he’d so intricately spruced up himself. But this week, he’s been caught up with a web of something much bigger than he’d anticipated and you’ve been steeped in something equally as stressful.

The severe lack of your presence shouldn’t shake him as much as it does but by Friday— because he’d had to hold onto his complaints since Monday— he’s an aching mess for you. Heart torn out of his chest and hollowed centre painfully empty without your soothing company.

So he sets out on the task of a meal, because words are difficult and feelings are heard and Jason is man enough to admit that if he has to directly say the words, “I miss you,” he’ll burst into tears.

Maybe.

Your favorite meal is a cakewalk to him at this point. He goes through the motions on autopilot, body familiar enough with the actions that he doesn’t need to focus on mundanities. It leaves his brain enough space to focus on the deep yearning in his chest. He let’s the sting permeate for no other reason than he has no idea what else to do with it.

There’s an overplayed playlist of your favorite songs filling the apartment when you step through the door. A cover of a popular foreign love song that he can’t name but definitely knows all the words to, reverberates through his bones with it’s sheer volume. The chorus drops the second your eyes meet his over the kitchen island and if the moment isn’t cinematic and romantic and sticky, slow with magic then he has no other lexical inclination of how to describe it.

One second he’s plating dinner and humming along and the next, his arms are curving around your waist as you cling to him with impressive strength. And it fills the ache with sweet, forgiving honey. A gaping wound, healed in an instant.

“I missed you,” you say, so he doesn’t have to.

“I love you,” he says so you’re reminded. “So much.”

Tim:

“Hey.”

Tim’s eyes are screwed shut, breaths long and even streams from the depths of his chest. He’s exhausted. Knowing him, he’s probably been dragging around his tiredness for days, until the dam was forced to break on him. It wasn’t that he did this often, but rather that Tim was all about extremes. If he wasn’t stretching the limits of every task he had to complete or toeing the line of every aspect of life, he wasn’t satiated. Existing like that, regardless of how extraordinary it seemed, had to be beyond tiring.

Right here though, starfished across your bed in boxers and a soft, worn t-shirt that clings to the bend of his shoulders and slope of his narrow waist, he looked so normal. Untouched and unworried. His cheeks puff a bit as he exhales and your heart grows three sizes in your chest.

“Hey,” you try again.

This time you’re rewarded with a quiet, “Mmhmm.”

A hand extends in the general direction of your voice and you meet his touch with as much gentle reverence you can muster without your heart beating out of your chest. Tim’s fingers are knobbly and crooked but his skin is soft and warm against your own. Your hands fit together, seams melting away.

The tender idea births itself right then, as he gives your hand a squeeze, shifting over so that his nose brushes your knee.

“Pretty bird,” an intentional caress to his jaw is all it takes for his head to be moved, hair flopping back as his neck straightens. “Stay still for me okay.”

“Okay.”

He doesn’t shift an inch. You putter around, gathering the small vials of serums and moisturizers that you so often hoard for your own benefit. The second your body sinks back down until the mattress, his hand strikes out again, fully grasping the edge of your t-shirt now. He’s impatient even when he’s sleepy. Typical.

“Stay still, okay.”

He nods in response this time, placated by the closeness of your body.

You set to work diligently, warming citrus and bergamot smelling liquids in your palms before tracing the dips of his temples with your fingers, along the lines of his symmetrical cheekbones and down to his chin. You repeat the process, adding in slow circles of your index fingers to the points of tension— his jaw that he clenches, the apples of his cheeks, the middle of his forehead.

Around your third cycle of this, his hand swings up to grab your wrist. “Thank you.”

“Is it alright?”

“Yeah,” and you don’t miss the little sniffle he takes before speaking again. “Feels nice.”

“Love you, pretty bird.”

Duke:

The bathwater is hot enough that steam still curls off the surface. You stand in the doorway, clothed in a slip of a robe, trying to chase away the overbearing mixture of love and anxiety that threatens to drown you before you even step close to the water.

Duke hums lowly while he works, fingers dancing across bottle of lavender and basil and a handful of other extracts that you can’t be bothered to name. He makes quick work of it all and soon, the scent is strong and alluring enough that it bounces off the porcelain tiles. You luxuriate in the simplicity of it until he turns around and offers you up an extra special sunshine smile.

“Almost ready, yeah?”

“There’s more to do?”

He laughs a little sheepishly as he produces a woven basket full of flowers; whites and pale pinks, crimsons and yellows and dainty lilacs. “Only a little more.”

The care he takes with separating plant from petal makes you ache down to your bones. It must be— it has to be, it surely is— impossible to love one boy as much as you love him.

“Are they….are they supposed to have special benefits too?”

“Nah,” he answers shyly. “They’re just pretty. I thought you’d like it, you know?”

How wonderful it was to be loved by him in return. To be on the receiving end of affection from someone who’d voluntarily draw you a special bath on a Tuesday night for no other reason than he felt like yiu could use the escape.

You can’t help the smile that graces your features. “I do.”

“Cool. I think we can get in now.”

“Hey, Duke?”

“Yeah, sunshine?”

“I love you.”

Damian:

He knows he’s being a brat.

He really shouldn’t. Not with you, anyway. Not when you’re probably the best thing, the most cherished, most precious thing he could ever behold.

But.

But, he’s not a fan of nightmares— neither his nor yours— and as the ceiling fan spins idly above both your heads, as the alarm clock winks out a neon green 3:00 a.m, he finds himself seething with bitterness at the unfairness of the world.

His trashing and tossing had woken you up and his shaken face would keep you awake. The last thing Damian wanted was to disadvantage you in any way and being the sole cause of your lack of sleep didn’t sit well with him at all.

Yet, you seemed unbothered. A complete character foil to his rotten temperament. He trembles through a weak aftershock and you anchor him with soothing whispers that caress his skin with buttery safety.

“I know you think it’s stupid—”

“I think plenty things are stupid.”

“Yes— can you let me finish?— yes, but even if you think it’s stupid, I think we could give that breathing control exercise a chance.”

And what comes out of his mouth is, “We?”

Because the lexical representation of him and you, you and him, as a defined unit made his heart stutter beneath his skin, pulse rapidly drumming along with the rhythm of excitement that came with love.

“Yeah,” your eyes are soft when he meets them. “Yeah, I’d do it with you.”

“Okay.”

He succumbs then to your insistence. To the guarding safety of giving trust and getting trust.

You gently slip an airpod into his ear, the paired other into yours and you both clasp hands tightly between your sleep-warm bodies as you work through each breathing exercise. By the end, he feels enough relief that his annoyance fades into a pink-tinged appreciation for your care.

“Thank you,” he says the words against your temple, the lilting sounds of Frank Ocean filling his ear as you swipe through his apple music library. “Love you.”

[mildlythreatningduck]

DCeased: Dead Planet #5

[mildlythreatningduck]

Something I think is vital in understanding the character of Stephanie Brown is that acknowledging that she was let down, not just by the bad adults in her life, but by the ones who cared for her too. Obviously, the best friend of her father who abused her, and Cluemaster himself had a long lasting impact. But her mother, who loves her very dearly, was struggling with her own demons and addictions when Stephanie was younger and was absent, both emotionally, and, in some cases, physically, like missing important gymnastics events. And that didn’t change as she aged. She idolised Batman, and he let her down, both by rejecting her as Spoiler, and then, how he used her as Robin. Even the Birds of Prey refused to train her- whilst their intentions were good, those actions caused more harm than good.  The original storyline for her death had Dr. Thompkins withholding medical treatment and allowing her die to prove a point to other children and to Batman. Part of her kindness and connection to both Damian and, in lesser parts, Cassandra, is part of her underlining drive and identity. She wants to ensure that Damian is allowed to be a child, and sees Cassandra as a person before anything else, and unlike Bruce, she does a much better job of finding ways for them both to connect with that too.  Stephanie Brown should be the closest thing Gotham has to a Patron Saint of Children. [These thoughts were brought to you in part by this post.]

[mildlythreatningduck]

Bruce: [walks into the kitchen at the manor and finds Steph at the counter, eating ice cream]

Bruce: Why are you here more often than my actual children?

Steph: I'm poor.

Bruce:

Steph: If you'd give me an allowance too, I wouldn't be here either.

Bruce:

Bruce: [confused] I'm not giving you an allowance now?

Steph: [gives Bruce a scrutinizing look] You really are the Kris of this family.

Bruce: I don't know what that means.

Steph: [through a mouthful of ice cream] Kris Kardashian.

Bruce: [affronted] Kris Kardashian and I have NOTHING in common.

-earlier that month-

Bruce: [exasperated] Dick, stop taking pictures of yourself, your brother is going to jail.

Jason: I'm going undercover, stop making it sound like I'm actually stupid enough to get caught.

[mildlythreatningduck]

hate the fact that batman could be about how people from the most different backgrounds can find each other, become a family, love each other even through difficult hardships and fight for each other and to protect other people but instead men just write it to project themselves onto bruce and also joker is there

[mildlythreatningduck]

I sometimes feel like us raising voice about Damian's treatment at the hands of DC is going to become a nearly lost cause the same way it did with Talia's treatment at the hands of Morrison, Tom King and DC.

Similar to the way, every time we raise our voice against the treatment of Talia, we get asks and notes speaking over and trying to shut us up by saying "Well, didn't she force Bruce?", " Well, your precious Talia killed her own son". Please. We have been raising our voice against just that. They made Talia everything she was not.

And included her as another name in DC's list of Asian women who are rapists, abusers and child killers.

They have Asian women and rapists, abusers and child killers as synonymous and it is disgusting.

Tell me one Asian or brown woman DC character who is not that. I dare you

Now, coming towards the treatment of Damian and people jumping in notes and speaking over saying things along the lines of "I don't think Damian being a villain is far fetched and it is actually interesting" , kindly listen to us for a second.

No one is saying that Damian needs to be only good or he can't be morally grey.

No one is saying that he has to have the black and white moral compass.

We want him to have his own set of morals.

We are saying that even if they make Damian an anti hero, because yes, it could be interesting. But not by spilling all his character development down the drain.

But their execution about it is TERRIBLE, ENTIRELY DISGUSTING AND RACIST.

Give me a Damian who doesn't kill but the moment anyone endangers his siblings, oh, he absolutely will.

Give me a Damian who is kind but will absolutely break the kneecaps of child traffickers.

Give me a Damian who is loyal to his father but not to default.

Give me a Damian who is redeeming himself by doing every kind he can.

He killed 50 people in a year when he didn't know better? Now he has an oath to save at least 50 people this year.

Give me a Damian who is not good with verbal communication but will draw and paint and put smiles on the children of Gotham. Those children who were abondoned long ago.

Give me a Damian who is hope for children who have been abondoned, because Damian knows abandonment so well.

Give me a Damian who stops being Robin because he knows what he is and now he needs to figure out who he is.

We all are up for that ^

The thing is that DC's execution is... not good and if you notice the sequence, it is actually yikes.

First, in Teen Titans Special, they reintroduce his Middle Eastern heritage, kill his whole character development and go towards the prison arc. Then, in Teen Titans Annual, they have him wear a suicide bomb vest. (Remember the "reintroduction of Middle Eastern Heritage" part? Yeah, this is connected). And blatantly racist and Islamophobic.

Then the whole issues, since they have started the prison arc, he is coloured Darker and has thick lips. Just classic racism at its best. Every time anyone wants to have someone be depicted as a criminal, they go "let's make the skin darker and feature" ugly""

Then in Legion of Superheroes, they call him "baby Hitler"

Damian has started killing again in Teen Titans

Now, in the Detective Comics 1029, Damian is going to be a batman Villain and "a large threat".

Teen Titans Annual 2 might just be a re enactment of RHATO #25 but this time with Bruce and Damian

Think about how and which sequence they used for him to go to the villain route And Why

Also, I understand where all the people with the posts like "I didn't read it. I pretend I don't see what DC is doing with Damian" are coming from.

But the thing is that this isn't helping, it is actually hurting us.

Please raise your voice against the issue.

[mildlythreatningduck]

authors be like “ok we can have a character of color but they CANNOT have brown eyes”