I Still Can’t Get Over How The Author Of That Game Informer Article For Veilguard Wrote In It That

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.

Age regressor Damian Wayne my beloved <33

(You can pry this idea from my cold dead hands. And even then I'll pull a jason and come back to life just so I can snatch it back)

(Trans) Tim: -Dramatic Sigh- Well you know Robin's always been a boy so I guess I just have to pretend to be a boy if I'm gonna be Robin now. -Yet another Dramatic Sigh- Oh well! I guess I'll do it for the sake of Gotham and Justice

Batman: You know it's ok if you don't want to, Robin can be a gi-

Tim: OH WELL GUESS I'LL JUST HAVE TO WEAR BOY CLOTHES AND GET A BOY HAIRCUT AND A BOY NAME AND TELL EVERYONE I'M A BOY AND BE CALLED A BOY-

So I'm of the belief that one of the finest things in life is a well loved book. A book with yellowed pages and a weathered spine, clear water/tea/coffee damage... That comes with time.

Usually you have to get those books firsthand and weather them down to that point yourself, or possibly find it at a library sale or a garage sale.

But occasionally. Occasionally someone will see you reading a book and say "I have something for you" before handing you something so rare, so important.

A book. A book with bent corners and crinkled pages from getting wet one too many times. A book that has creases in the spine and the cover from where its been bent over and over again.

That kind of book is special. The kind of book that has been loved and been passed along with intention, not just happenstance, a knowledge that the one being gifted it will love it just as much.

Those kinds of books mean something.

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.”

Age regressor Damian Wayne my beloved <33

(You can pry this idea from my cold dead hands. And even then I'll pull a jason and come back to life just so I can snatch it back)

at the very least, you should be required to at least read “robin: son of batman” before writing damian wayne.