Ah Yes, The Decision Between Getting Sleep And Finishing The VERY GOOD Fic You Started.

I was 19 when I started writing fanfiction.

Feel free to mention your first fandom you wrote for and what inspired you to start writing in the replies!

PLEASE REBLOG!

Business Man Tim Drake is 100% one of those cool af people in a full suit skateboarding into the office. I imagine he's wearing a fancy suit and tie, with either bright or cherry red converse (fancy shoes are hidden in his messenger bag), and with a stickered skateboard he takes to work, a thermos cup in hand.

He's either skateboarding in, and on the days he doesn't, he takes his civillian motorbike.

His Brentwood friends see a clip of him at some point on social media, from someone videoing the teen CEO T. D-W skateboarding to work and laugh. That's Tim alright.

Every time I fail to plug in my phone I think about Sherlock

one thing I do not see used enough is that

Dick does not want to be like Bruce.

not just in the fact that he wants to be his own man. in the fact that he is actively afraid of becoming like him.

canonically one of his biggest fears is becoming Bruce.

this is such a ripe thing for angst, are you kidding me? I cannot believe people don’t use it more.

especially during his Batman era. he didn’t want the cowl, he actively said no to taking up the mantle at first, but then he felt like he had to.

and then to be good at it? to be good at being Batman? honestly that must’ve made him feel sick.

I need to see Dick be actively hostile about it too. if Jason, for example, in your fic is comparing Dick to Bruce I need to see Dick lash out about it.

because that's what he does when people compare the two! when Dick and Roy were purposely trying to piss the other off, Roy compared Dick to Bruce and Dick lost it.

So my sister wants to start sewing more, because

a. She’s 5′ 11″ and can never find pants long enough for her legs or shirts long enough for her arms.

b. She hates synthetic fibers as much as I do and it’s difficult to find natural fiber clothes that aren’t made of cotton

c. She’s a biologist and would physically fistfight microplastics if given half a chance

So her gift from mom and dad for her birthday was a sewing machine. Not a super expensive one but a good solid serviceable one.

And recently she asked “So where do I GET wool or linen and thread that isn’t polyester” and mom was like ‘go ask your sister’

And I, of course, crashed into the group text like “GET A PEN I HAVE WEBSITES FOR U” and honestly I’m thrilled about this

Okay, a "Bruce who loves children and is great with kids" thought.

The Drakes, upon having Tim, organized a small private party to introduce their baby to the elite of Gotham. They haven't been out of town for months, they will not for the next months as well, they are not used to staying in the same place with nothing to do (apart from taking care of Janet and now Tim) for so long, they need a reason to see people and do something.

Bruce Wayne, a young Batman at night without any children following him yet, decides that it would be great for Brucie to show to his neighbors' party with some gifts. He needs to appear more in public, but he is tired af, so he thinks this will be easier than partying (also, he is too busy at night and Alfred told him to go, that he needs to socialize more or something)

People are a bit surprised to see Brucie Wayne, well-known playboy that does whatever he wants and throws money at all his problems, be at an alcohol-free private party about a baby, but aside from some side eyes, nothing happens. Well, until Tim is passed around.

You see, as parents of a newborn, the Drakes are tired, and this party is perfect to help them get out of this monotone period of their life, but also to make other people look after their baby, while they have some discussions about their business and hobbies. So, baby Timothy is given to people to hold, but nobody is really interested in him, most people came to talk with the Drakes, and he goes from hands to hands, until he is in Bruce's arms.

Bruce isn't here for business. Maybe he should be participating in the conversations, but he is tired, and he doesn't really want to. And, suddenly, someone gives him Tim. Bruce looks at this small baby in his arms, and he feels something awakening in him. He wants to protect and held him forever.

At this party, gently holding Tim, Bruce realizes that he wants to be a father. He never really thought about it before, he always had grief on his mind, and now, as he is holding this small child, he realizes he really wants that. He wants a family, he wants to hear children's laughter in the manor, he wants to hold a child closely to him, to share his warmth with them and feel their small heart beating. But he cannot, he is Batman, he has planned for himself a life of violence and pain. He will die in his suit, protecting Gotham. Protecting innocent children and babies like Tim, so they can grow up in a better world.

Therefore, as he holds Tim gently for the rest of the party, his eyes not leaving the sleeping face of the infant, he mourns the family he can never have. He makes this moment last as long as he can, as he dreams of and mourns the children he cannot have.

As it was a small private party, there were no paparazzi, no pictures taken of Brucie Wayne smiling softly at the baby in his arm, and Bruce never spoke about it to Alfred, even if his butler of a father could see that Bruce was off after the event. It's a secret he keeps to himself. And, when Tim comes around, Bruce promises himself he will never tell him about it. And he never did.

Unless... Unless he let it slip out one night, after his (now officially) son got really hurt doing some self-sacrificing bs they all do once in a while.

Alfred honestly can’t say shit about Bruce bringing in strays, because what if the Waynes got him the same way?

I genuinely can’t recall HOW Alfred, British special forces extraordinaire, ended up working for Gotham’s (scary) sweethearts.

In my mind, he came to them bleeding.

There’s a tang of bitterness pooling in his gut. Soldiers don’t have friends. They have guns. And he’s all out.

Just when Alfred thought all is in peril, a tiny little hand gently covers a nasty bullet hole on his abdomen.

The first thing Alfred thinks about is: ‘Jesus, this kid has scary eyes.’

“Hi, Alfred.”

“…How do you—“

“Bruce! Jesus FUCKING Christ, I swear, I’m not paying for your ransom next time you run o—…What the fuck is that?”

If there’s one thing about Thomas that Alfred will never forget is his voice; The bass , so chasmic and powerful it could shake the whole world, and the burning care in his eyes despite his vulgarity.

Bruce, — who’s the tiniest bundle of a boy Alfred witnessed, is yanked up by his father’s strong hands, squeezed to his chest carefully. “Hurt,” he says. There’s a tiny, red handprint on Thomas’ shirt.

“Yeah, I didn’t notice,” Thomas mumbling, looking around.

Maybe local gangs? The bullet point is too precise, too calculated. “Who the hell are you?”

Alfred, with his raspy breath, says, “I’m the terribly rude bloke dying on your doorstep, I’m afraid. Alfred Pennyworth. At your service.”

For a guy who’s about to bleed his last, he sounds awfully sarcastic.

“Yeah, wise guy, no one’s dying on my kid’s birthday. Bruce, tell Dotty to prep up the basement. And tell your mama to get my Budlight out of the cooler. Jesus Christ.”

Alfred ends up hoisted on this man’s back. Thomas asks if he has anyone he wants to call? Anyone that’ll come pick him up? Anyone to bury him, if it comes to it.

Alfred whispers he does not.

Thomas sighs. “Well. Kid‘a been asking for a playmate.”