yeah, they're dysfunctional, traumatized, and occasionally murderous, but they're a family, and sometimes they even act like it. the term 'Bat-Family' does sound an awful lot like a mirror to 'Crime-Family'.

Tim has a thing for buying sex toys (in bulk, Jason suspects) and Jason is constantly putting his foot in his mouth about what things his lover likes.

Twenty is probably too young to die, even for a shinobi, but if anyone can kill Sakura with sheer attractiveness, it's Kori.

Hardison is 100% certain that there is no way Bruce Wayne could possibly be Batman. But maybe they should check it out, just in case.

“You know, just out of curiosity,” Red Robin begins, and Jason twists to face him, “are you from Gotham?” “What gave it away?” Jason drawls as fire sirens start up in the distance. “My anger issues, or my apathy in the face of the new supervillain flavor of the week?” (Or: That time Jason moves to New York and becomes a meme.)

Twenty is probably too young to die, even for a shinobi, but if anyone can kill Sakura with sheer attractiveness, it's Kori.

Dick pulled a face at the new paperwork. “Why do we gotta lie on this stuff, anyway? People aren’t gonna know what I can do exactly when I’m Robin...” “But they’ll suspect,” Bruce answered, typing something on his computer. “This way, if they think Richard Grayson isn’t all that impressive of a metahuman, it’s more cover for Robin flying through Gotham.” “Hmph.” --- In an AU where small, token superpowers are common enough to have their own optional line on forms alongside name and age, it's totally coincidence for Batman to have picked up a circus kid capable of flight. And a tire thief with super strength. And a- well, alright, the pint-sized photographer with not-actual-invisibility makes for a pattern, but even so. (He still tells the Justice League he doesn't allow metahumans in Gotham, though. Somehow with a straight face.) Series

"Timmers sucked me pregnant," Jason blurts, and Tim watches in morbid fascination as Bruce goes through the five stages of grief in a millisecond. "I thought you said you weren't… sleeping together," Bruce says reproachfully. "He means that I, uh, impregnated him with my teeth. When I drank his blood. No sex involved," Tim explains. "It was an accident. I didn't even know I could do that."

The news that Timothy Drake, Gotham’s cryptid millionaire, has shot the Joker dead during a public live-stream hits the world like a freight train—and that is just the opening salvo of his bugfuck plan. Maybe there exists, in the multiverse, a configuration of Jason Todd who will weather this with decorum, dignity and self-respect. This version of Jason Todd decides that the life of an academic is not, really, all that rewarding. In contrast, the life of Timothy Drake’s live-in house-husband is looking more appealing by the second.

Maybe it was because he didn’t have time to read the gossip columns; maybe it was because he seriously underestimated the audience’s power to “Ship It”, but Bruce didn’t *immediately* cotton onto the fact that his scheme made half the country think that his son was in love with, well, his *other* son.

"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?" "It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back.

Bernard is maybe not doing all that great at his first gala but Tim Drake is nothing if not a problem-solver and Conner Luthor . . . well, he's here too?

Bernard pops the top off his water bottle, a roll of his wrist at the perfect angle and it comes right off, and pops the faucet in Tim’s very nice kitchen to cold. Tim presses a kiss to the back of Bernard’s neck before Tim moves to the fridge to get his own water. Bernard used to not drink as much water, but Tim drinks enough water for three people a day so Bernard naturally has followed- and now Bernard has no acne so he’s sort of mad about it actually. “The main character has two hands.” Bernard chimes easy and teasing. “Polygamy is the awnser here babe.” Tim peaks over the door of the fridge. “Oh? Is this you telling me something?” — Tim Drake, Bernard Dowd, and Kon-El have two hands each. They use them to hold onto each other.

“Repeat that,” Tim says slowly. Kon gives him a defensive look. “I panicked, okay?” he repeats. “And ‘panicking’ meant you decided to kidnap . . . how many kids, exactly?”

"Crap!" the food truck worker shrieks in alarm. "Don't hurt him, Superman, he's just a kid!" Clark . . . pauses, then looks up from the kid that he is currently pinning into the street as said kid struggles underneath him. "'Hurt him'?" he asks in reflexive confusion, and then realizes how batting a teenager around like a person-shaped cat toy and pinning him to the street hard enough to crack it probably actually looks to an outside observer. . . . um. Whoops. "Um," he starts awkwardly, and then the kid slips his pin while he's distracted and throws his arms around his neck with a gleeful laugh and a bright grin. "Dad!" he crows triumphantly, and hugs Clark harder than literally anyone has ever hugged him before.

“I need you,” Tucker blurts immediately as he bursts into the living room where he left Kon half an hour ago. Or maybe two hours ago. Hopefully not more than three . . . ? “Like in a sexy way?” Kon asks, sounding halfheartedly hopeful as he looks up from his position draped across the couch with one of Tucker’s mom’s blander gossip magazines, where he’s clearly been bored out of his mind. Tucker will make that up to him later, definitely, but right now– “Like in a rogue attack way,” he says, and Kon makes a face.