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spectral-phases · 6 months ago

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A non-comprehensive guide to my cooking headcanons for the Batfam

I'll add comic panels to support myself when I feel like I'm going very much against the grain of fanon and have to defend my position a little.

Alfred: Master of the craft, learned to cook from French chefs and has been a professional chef as a cover while serving as a spy. He can make you croissants and puff pastry from scratch, but the waffle iron (every waffle iron, yes even that brand new fancy one that is supposed to be so easy to use) was designed in hell to torment him specifically. This may be because even God himself is jealous of Alfred's ability to master a recipe after only reading it once (never refers to it again while working), or watching the video once and so he was given an Achilles heal by the divine. He has a cookbook and personal recipes written down, but very rarely looks at them. He is not the best teacher, and he did not care for children or anyone else in the kitchen, but Martha Wayne was not having any of that, especially for Jewish holidays, and to date, the way he handles kids in the kitchen is his best approximation of how Martha taught Bruce how to cook, but he lacks the requisite patience because he learned how to cook from old school French chefs (Gordon Ramsey without the soft kids mode, but he's never screaming or yelling or cussing people out because he's refined).

He is allowed to cook in the kitchen by himself

The kitchen is his domain and he maintains the right to supervise as needed, with some exceptions

Select people can assist him, but he prefers to do the cooking by himself as its the only thing he adds to the family that they enjoy that isn't cutting off years of his life like medical treatment or running the comms is. He's also stupid fucking fast at it and good at cleaning as he goes, and its hard to have someone else in his very regulated and honed system without mucking it up

Bruce: Contrary to popular belief, the man can cook. Unfortunately, he can only do so if there is a written recipe to follow and it is written in the way that makes sense to his brain. Will read the recipe ahead of time for prep, but will miraculously forget that there is a 3 hour resting period if it is not at the top with the prep time and cook time. Please do not ask him to cook anything after watching a video, it does not stick. Has no sense of what spices do what, so if the recipe says we're using 2 tablespoons of ground cloves, then that's what we're doing. With a good recipe, he can make any food from around the world no matter how complex, however, even something as simple as a tuna salad, ham and cheese, or a PB&J sandwich needs a written recipe with exact amounts and instructions for him to get it done or he will mess it up in ways not even the devil himself could imagine. Look, he has an eidetic memory, but his brain just does not compute that way and he's alway second guessing himself without a written recipe. The only thing he can make from scratch without a recipe are his mother's latkes, but that is, of course, rarely made because of all the emotions, but sometimes he goes through it because he remembers how she had him make them and it feels like she's still there with him, whispering in his ear.

He and Alfred have both agreed to tell anyone who asks that he's not allowed to cook by himself in the kitchen because he will find a way to use three pots and every bowl to make hot chocolate (he will, as a matter of fact), but it's really because when he was younger, he was making a pan sauce that the recipe simply said to “reduce” and managed to burn it so badly it ruined a pan Alfred had inherited from his grandmother and Bruce cannot stomach the possibility of doing that again

He winds up cooking for real these days only if Alfred is injured, but can sit in the kitchen to help supervise (“No, Master Bruce, you'll need a much bigger pot for that”) and explain vague steps in the recipes ("Coat the back of a spoon means that...")(Alexa or other virtual assistants do not help)

He's also a bitch and a boss and a babe and he is? So tired. Most days he would probably wish for the sweet release of death over making one more decision about what to eat and how to get it on the table.

Dick: Despite what his kitchen cabinets may suggest, he makes phenomenal food. He's just putting all his emotional energy into keeping his people alive so if he's on his own then odds are he's having take-out, eating a mix of cereal/granola bars/trail-mix/cartons of protein shakes, or maybe a frozen meal prepped thing from the last time he had the wherewithal and time to do so and is thusly freezer burned to shit. If he is making food for other people? Amazing. Delicious. His repertoire is mainly dishes from Eastern Europe or Southwest Asia, but he has to know what the soul of the meal is if he's making something new. Rarely consults written recipes (unless they're online and have the whole novel of where the recipe came from and what it means and all the pictures of how it's supposed to look at various stages, and he will read that and the ingredient list only), prefers videos, but only from grandmas and grandpas or POC, not the rich white frat boys.

He cooks in any kitchen where Alfred is not and will not be present. You would be forgiven for thinking that he and Alfred could cook in the kitchen at the same time, especially since they can make the same dish with a reasonably similar flavor profile. The fact of the matter is, they both are very much type A personalities (even if Dick likes to pretend he's a type B) and if they are both present during the cooking process they will be at each other's throats constantly about their different methods, even if they are getting to the same destination in the end

Cass: Subsists mostly off of what she can find or what others feed her. She can cook a few simple dishes but they’re not mind blowing. She does make a phenomenal assistant, but she had zero working knowledge of what does what coming into the picture and has been gradually learning. Has learned how to work the waffle iron from Steph, and so is in charge of waffles for breakfast. Waffles has become her thing and everyone lets her have it. She can even make stuffed waffles these days.

Alfred is happy to leave all waffle breakfast adventures in the manor to Cass, she's very polite in the kitchen and doesn't make a huge mess, she'll even clean as she goes so it doesn't interfere with whatever else he is making

She is Alfred's favorite assistant (the rare times that he actually wants one) because she doesn't take his irritation personally because she can see how its meant to be directed at himself and will do exactly as he says

Jason: It's important you know I headcanon his paternal grandmother as Italian (so she cannot be Ma Gunn) and his step-mother as Latina going into this. He can fucking cook like no one's business. He can taste something and recreate it nearly flawlessly. However, he was taught by his nonna and mamita to measure with his heart, so he was presented with measuring cups once and broke out into hives. Only God knows how much of any one ingredient makes it into anything he makes, this includes cakes and breads. The only recipes he's interested in learning are strictly videos from the grandmas and grandpas or POC (Jason has a rule, the shittier the camera quality, the better the food will be, usually). He watched one popular white frat boy cooking video exactly once and was screaming about why they have to dirty approximately sixteen thousand little bowls to measure out each spice by themselves (and that wasn't nearly enough garlic!). He technically has recipes written down by hand from his nonna and mamita, and a few he wrote himself to try and help Alfred understand some meals, they're just hidden away in a drawer that he rarely references for cooking guidance over looking at their handwriting (The set from his family was in the box of stuff the neighbor saved for him that had his birth certificate in it, and he is forever grateful to still have that stuff. He thought for sure it was gone for good). Approximately 80% of all his meals are cooked by him or someone else, even if it's just a quick scrambled eggs and toast.

Jason and Alfred do not coexist happily in a kitchen together. However, they do coexist because Alfred asked him once why he was doing things “that way” as a child and he said his Nonna did it that way and that shut Alfred the fuck up immediately

Jason does not accept help in the kitchen from anyone unless he's making dumplings of any variety or tamales and then everyone's helping put them together

Tim: He only started learning how to cook at the age of 15, so he doesn't have a wide base of experience to draw from or pre-existing knowledge. Tim has a few staple dishes he has learned how to make. It's good, but not winning any awards. However, his hang up is he needs to know exactly how and why things work the way they work in a recipe before he can actually be trusted to cook it on his own. He likes recipes from food scientists, hobbyists or professionals, because they are more likely to explain all the things he needs to know before he can go ahead and cook something more complex. He measures everything in grams, and had to get a scale with 10ths of a gram for spices, once made coffee with lab equipment just for the science of it. Someone got him The Food Lab by J. Kenji Lopez-Alt and it was a game-changer. There is no deity out there that can explain to you the recipes he writes down himself, because their ever changing shorthand only make sense in his brain. Like Dick, Tim does not often have the wherewithal to make complex foods for himself, and so has a bunch of jars of sauces/curries/soups or vacuum sealed pre-seasoned meals ready to go in a sous vide or pot in the freezer to break out as needed. Often freezer-burned because of how little he is at his own place.

Tim is only allowed to cook in the manor's kitchen with supervision because he is likely to make disastrous experiments if left curious and unattended ("I know it's usually done this way, but…" is either going to lead to some delicious food, or an explosion. No way to know for sure unless you're there watching it happen live). What happens in his home kitchen is between him and God

He can make himself useful as an assistant if needed, but usually only for Dick because only he has the patience to put up with Tim in the kitchen

Damian: Has forced himself to learn to cook competently. Will not let himself be outdone by the others, but has learned from all of them. When he's older, he could whip up a Michelin star quality dinner with plating, but doesn't find it worth the effort unless he is trying to impress someone or prove he can. Opts for simple and nutritious meals on the rare occasion he is responsible for his own meals and has the time/desire to cook. Does he measure? Only exactly for baked goods, he will never admit it, but he has no idea how Jason can make baked goods without measuring. There are two things he knows how to make on his own as easy as breathing beyond eggs: Martha Wayne's latkes and Talia's karak chai.

Damian will only cook in the manor if it is more prudent to do so and everyone else there cannot (It's the middle of a blizzard and Bruce and Alfred are sick). Regardless, he is allowed to cook unsupervised in the manor when he's old enough for that to be reasonable.

Will help Alfred but complain the whole time, despite obviously enjoying the time spent with Alfred

Look, he's either helping someone else make something, or he's on his own. Does not care for assistants as he feels like he is constantly being judged.

Barbara: Can cook, will cook, and does cook. She uses slow-cookers and sous vide usually, because she needs something she can throw into a pot and then have to run away from for hours at a time at a moments notice without having to juggle it too. Otherwise it's a microwaved meal. Everything in her kitchen has been fit to accommodate her cooking in her wheelchair and when she's got the time and is really feeling up to it, she can cook a very amazing meal on the stove just for herself or anyone else she's having over.

Will only accept help in the kitchen from Cass or Steph because they are laid back enough to put up with

Steph: Can she cook? Yes. Does she love cooking? No. Cooking is a chore to her and it does not have the payoff she needs to engage with it more than absolutely necessary. She'll look through her pantry and declare that she doesn't have anything good because everything she has was bought when she had more ambition to cook than she currently possesses and then order door dash. The easiest way to get her to cook is to tell her that she's not allowed to. That said, she really loves to bake. She's not winning any awards for her presentation, but it tastes amazing.

Would rather clean dishes than help cook because she does not have the energy to put up with the way the others are while cooking

I haven't read much with Kate, Duke, Helena, or Harper in it, so I don't have anything for them.

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kxsagi · 2 months ago

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“𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞, 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐚”

a/n: i am so down bad for dante sparda (mainly the version of him in the new netflix anime)

not only is he OP, white-haired, muscular, ripped, and tall, he’s also funny, sarcastic, protective, caring, and mine

(i am not lying when i tell you i binge watched the entire season 1, 8 episodes in one sitting and it took 3.5 hours)

definitely suggestive content inside btw!

the motel room smells like cheap smoke and cheaper whiskey. the walls are paper-thin, the flickering neon light from the “VACANCY” sign outside bleeding through the curtains like a pulsing headache. you’d almost rather be back in that alley surrounded by demon guts. almost.

dante lounges on the bed like he owns the place. boots kicked off, jacket discarded, and shirt peeled halfway up his torso, showing off a slash across his ribs that’s still bleeding. of course, the smug bastard doesn’t even flinch because he can heal himself.

you drop the med kit on the table with a hard thunk.

“you wanna explain why you dropped in like a dramatic ex during my mission?” you ask, tone sharp. “or do you just enjoy ruining my night?”

he grins, slow and infuriating. “missed me, sweetheart?”

“missed the way you swing in late, steal my kills, and leave me cleaning up your mess? yeah. like a migraine.”

he sits up, wincing slightly as he does. “c’mon, don’t be like that. i did save your ass.”

“i had it handled.”

“sure you did.” he pats the bed next to him. “now come on. patch me up before i start bleeding on these nice sheets.”

you snort. “did you forget that you can heal yourself? plus, the sheets are already stained. pretty sure someone died on this mattress last week.”

“perfect ambiance for us then.”

despite every instinct screaming at you to leave him to suffer, you grab the whiskey and some gauze and make your way over. kneeling beside him, you press the rag against the wound, maybe a little rougher than necessary.

he hisses through his teeth, eyes flashing. “you mad at me or just into pain?”

“depends. you like it rough, sparda?”

his gaze locks on yours. heat rolls off him like a storm. “with the right person? always.”

your breath catches in your throat, but you don’t let it show. not entirely. instead, you press harder against the wound, watching his muscles tense beneath your fingers.

“tell me,” you say, voice lower now. “do you flirt with every hunter who tries to kill you?”

“just the ones who make it interesting.”

you should roll your eyes. should finish patching him up and walk away like none of this is getting under your skin. but it is. he’s cocky and reckless and stupidly attractive in that bad decision kind of way, the kind that ends with broken furniture and bruised lips.

your hands drift lower, fingers brushing against the edge of his belt as you check for more injuries.

he leans in, breath warm against your ear. “you gonna keep touching me like that, or are you just teasing?”

you glance at him. “if i said i was teasing?”

he grins, eyes dark. “then i’d say tease harder.”

you’re close. too close. his hand comes up, slow and deliberate, thumb grazing your cheek like a challenge. you lean in, not kissing him yet, just hovering, letting the tension coil tighter.

“you’re dangerous,” you murmur.

“baby,” he says, voice low, “i’m the safest bad decision you’ll ever make.”

the space between you snaps. your lips crash into his, all heat and teeth and frustration. his hand tangles in your hair, the other gripping your hip, dragging you onto his lap like he’s been waiting all night for this moment.

you grind down, and he groans against your mouth.

"fuck. been thinking about this since that warehouse job,” he mutters, lips trailing down your jaw. “you remember that? when you nearly stabbed me?”

“you deserved it.”

he chuckles, low and rough. “probably.”

his mouth finds your throat, kissing a line down to your collarbone. your hands fumble at the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and over his head, tossing it aside like it’s in the way (because it is). your fingers trace the fresh bandage, then drift lower, skimming over his abs.

“you really gonna fuck me on a bullet wound?” you ask, teasing.

“you really gonna stop me?”

his tone is cocky, but there’s something feral behind it. like he needs this. needs you. not just for release, but to feel alive again after facing death one too many times. maybe you need it too.

you roll your hips again, lips barely brushing his. “say please.”

he huffs a breathy laugh. “you’re evil.”

“and you like it.”

he kisses you like he’s proving a point. like he’s staking a claim. and maybe he is.

you lose track of time after that. your bodies move in sync, messy and desperate and addictive. somewhere between kisses and muttered curses, you forget why you hated him in the first place.

when it’s over, you’re tangled in sheets that smell like smoke and sweat and something almost like satisfaction.

you lay there for a moment, catching your breath, heart pounding against his chest.

“so,” dante says, voice muffled against your shoulder, “you still mad at me?”

“depends.”

“on?”

you glance at him, smirking. “how fast you can recover.”

he laughs, a real one this time. deep and warm and stupidly charming.

“baby,” he murmurs, “you’re gonna kill me.”

“that’s the plan.”

a/n #2: this part had me in a chokehold so bad, i know bro is on the verge of dying here but i sent this pic to all my friends and they had nothing appropriate to say

#his eng dub voice actor COOKED #i liked one edit and then he was all over my fyp so i had to watch the anime #this man is so fine #i cannot relax when he's on the screen #i need him biblically #dante sparda #sparda dante #dante devil may cry #dante sparda devil may cry #dante sparda x reader #dante sparda x female reader #dante pls one chance #bite me sparda

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