mimiri22-6

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🪶 Two Peas In A Pond 🪷

They're going for a swim somewhere secluded soak in the sun. Aziraphale may be planning some mischief, if you look at his hand, but Crowley sees right through it, even with his eyes closed💕

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August mini print, you can still get it!

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I just keep thinking about how mentally damaged Bruce is after leaving Jacob I just know he left with no self esteem left in him, I wonder how that’ll effect his future as a father and how the kids will react to it(sorry but I’m a sucker for Bruce angst)

God — me too. Literally writing tiny Bruce and wailing. I didn’t even get to the training part and I’m sobbing.

Because Battinson is all Kevlar, voice soft like a sad piano, broken fists that crack and shatter and protrude skin, but never quite lower.

And beneath all that, there’s a gentleness that defies Gotham, everyday, and gets punished for it. And it worries the batkids to hell and back.

I keep thinking of a scene where they watch Jacob and Bruce train. And it’s not playful. It’s not filled with banter, affectionate insults and laughter that leaves you lightheaded.

Tim saw Bruce fighting to survive before, and it’s not as bad as this.

It’s not the first time he saw brutality from his father, but it’s the first time he wants to look away.

“You fought an angry freak in an oversized trenchcoat,” Jacob’s colder than Lazarus water and it makes Jason’s skin bristle. “And you almost lost?”

Bruce is kneeling down, blood on a gushing lip. Cass assesses his injury with a quick, worried eye, — not concussed, not yet, that’s good. Mild damage to lung, gaze still focused.

She’s worried about his hands. Three fingers bent in awkward, warped angles, not broken, but harmed with the intent to LAST.

A part of her wants to cradle her dad and hold him. Another part wants to see how many times she can make Jacob bleed.

Jacob is painfully unimpressed. “Get up and try again.”

“I’m sure he would,” Dick is all snarl and no friendliness, nothing to his voice but teeth and a seriously unregulated protective streak, “If you didn’t break his fucking hand.”

He looks like Martha, for a moment. Jacob decides not to comment on it.

“His leg isn’t broken, is it?”

That’s it.

Surprisingly, it’s Cass who snaps first, marching up, fists itching with a father’s violence, heart breaking like a daughter, and Bruce—

Bruce stops her.

Arm extended, a barrier he knows Cass won’t break just for Jacob. “I’m fine,” Bruce pants, blood rushing past his lips in a way that has all of them shake. “I’m fine, Princess.”

Because this?

This is Jacob being nice.

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I think this is actually how the identity reveal happens.

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been thinking about them recently

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Time travel AU where Flash accidentally resets the timeline by moonwalking.

Moonrunning? Moonjogging? He hasn’t decided yet.

All he knows is this; When they figure out how to retrieve the Bat and his birds from ‘94 Gotham, his ass is grass.

—-

Bruce breaths Gotham in. It tastes like stale piss, expired cigars, and sinful intentions.

Tim is trying to build a Doctor Who time machine out of a payphone.

It’s held together by sticky gum and spite. The profanities scribbled on the glass are so strong Jason blushes.

Dick, ever so tortured, looks like a war vet who lost blinking privileges. “I’m pretty sure I just saw someone throw a body in a dumpster.”

Steph’s attention gravitates to a pair of rats robbing a cat for a can of tuna. Duke refuses to engage with this foolery, frankly.

“We don’t even exist yet. How does that work. How do you just exist one moment, and then you don’t. Only in Gotham, dude.”

Jason snorts. “You want the funny answer, or the real one, twinkle toes?”

Damian, for a lack of dignified description, is cranky.

He was supposed to watch animal planet with Batcow and Jon. It’s past his bedtime. Bruce gently patting his back is NOT adequate compensation.

He’s about to tell him, don’t worry, baba is going to fix it, but—

Bruce’s world, momentarily, incapsulates two figures bickering in front of a restaurant.

Not hateful. Intimate and knowing and intense, but not hateful.

Thomas. Nursing a cigarette with a rapidly declining lifespan, and Martha, looking like she told Gotham to chew glass and get a better wardrobe.

Bruce? Bruce carried his 8 year old corpse under his ribs for 30 something years, and it’s the first time he felt it move.

He doesn’t think. Not really. He just walks. Stares.

“You good, kid? You look like if Edgar Allen Poe fought a raccoon and died.”

Bruce’s thinking capacity is reduced to zero.

He doesn’t know if it’s Dick or Jason who cursed behind him. Just that he crumbled in Thomas’ arms and wailed.

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I would love to see Battinson, — Victorian vampire thrown into modern times, Gotham royalty baptised in blood and poor social skills, ‘Count Dracula but make it vogue’, — have a Harvey.

These two dancing around eachother in the vicious loop of ‘wait, you’re flirting with me?’ ‘Have been for a decade, but thanks for noticing’, and ‘kiss your doomed bros good night’ is amazing.

But also? You would never guess they’ve been married for YEARS.

Dent, justice in putrefaction, one foot on the law’s neck, one hand holding fate at gunpoint, somehow bagged Wayne.

Who, questionable adoption habits and eyeliner application aside, is THE prettiest motherfucker in the tri-state.

Seriously. Dick saw someone drive straight into a traffic light when Bruce walked him to school.

He’s seen a lot of weird shit in Gotham.

By far the weirdest was seeing Bruce, current foster father, who once cried because Dick told him ‘good job!’ for not burning eggs, talking his husband out of committing a felony.

Because Dick got an ‘F’ on his essay about birds.

Harvey, tucking a gun in his waistband, mutters angrily, — thought, sometimes Dick believes there’s a third party involved, cause Harvey’s right handed, but he only shoots with his left.

“I would love to see Belinda climb a fucking tree for two hours looking for feathers.”

Bruce, voice like a pianist singing in the rain, arms crossed, patiently cocks his head, eyes dark and doe eyes and eyelashes dagger sharp. “Harv.”

And Harvey? Folds. Immediately. Like a napkin with blood stains on it. It’s actually kind of embarrassing.

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“I don't think smoothies and soda cure concussions.”

“They don't, but they help, right?”

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Battinson with a Harley would actually tear a hole in the delicate fabric of universal peace.

Harley: What’s your favorite color?

Bruce, currently trying to find a facility that isn't fucking Arkham in this hellhole of a city: We don't have to do the small talk

Harley: Oh, okay! Do you really think you’re a good person, deep down?

Bruce: …Blue.

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Ruthlessness is *sniff* mercy upon ourselves

Edit:

(Poseidon design by @neal-illustrator !! I don’t know if she’d want to be tagged or not but I’m putting it just in case)

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“Do you want to make a stop for Batburger?”

[Incoherent concussed Jason noises]

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I like to imagine Battinson as the mom dad who gets empty nest syndrome and he’ll just steal his kid’s stuff when he’s lonely ^^

today’s victim is Jason. Tomorrow? Who knows.

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I've been seeing a lot of superbat posts.

Imagine the entire relationship starting behind masks, like most of Batman's relationships to date.

Imagine them dating almost exclusively as Superbat, while living their secret identity lives fairly normally.

Then Batman proposes...

Bruce Wayne, the beloved Prince of Gotham, is suddenly engaged to this random country turned city boy reporter.

No one knows how they met. They've never done an interview as far as the public knows. They're just announcing an engagement out of the blue!

The drama. The protectiveness of Gotham. The interrogations from Clark's coworkers.

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"Nobody has beaten slimecicle. You have to beat him twice." That's a crazy line

Slime aura is through the roof

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I heard this team was gonna win the nuzlocke

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feeling compelled to post some of my art. i hope everyone is yurimaxxing this fine summer