[skateboards into the sunset]

anonymous asked:

Who are some of your favorite blogs?

there that’s like most of my following list 😂

time-to-hit-the-clouds  asked:

Bruce is the kind of dad who takes blurry pictures of his kids but shows it to people anyways.

This is like. Exactly what we need right now 💙

So Bruce has a Polaroid. It’s really old and probably belonged to his parents. It’s the OneStep Land Polaroid camera from 1977, and even though it’s supposed to be fixed-focus, Bruce has to be quick about taking pictures so all of them end up blurry.

He shows the ones that aren’t just bursts of flesh light (and thus laminated so his kids can’t destroy them) to his associates. When he’s in a good mood, whoever steps into his office will get a brief pleasant chat and “You know what, Percy? I haven’t shown you my kids yet, lemme just” [rustling of papers as he grabs his wallet] “This is Dick, you probably already know him”

And Dick is in sweats and is sleeping on the couch, arms crossed and knees to his chest. White socks peek into the frame, and a jack-o-lantern is gleaming on a side table next to him. His hair, in contrast to the rest of him, is brushed back as if someone can along and gently pushed it off his face.

“He’s a hard worker, that one,” Bruce says, not even thinking that he just showed his adult son in his mid-twenties looking like an exhausted teenager to an employee and how maybe Dick wouldn’t appreciate that. A wave of the hand. “This is Cassandra”

And Cassandra is posing in the doorframe and trying not to laugh, red toothbrush sticking out her mouth. She’s rolling her eyes and is in one of Dick’s old basketball uniform shirts. Both hands are flat, and the right is striking the left on the palm in the ASL sign of “Stop” but her toothpaste-filled mouth is curving in a happy way.

Bruce smiles, eyes crinkling. “She’s so beautiful,” he muses softly, mind wandering. A moment later he shakes it off and says, “This is Jason–the one who–yeah.”

Jason is thirteen in this photo, curls swept back in backwards baseball cap. His eyes are wide and his skin looks pale because the flash was on, but he’s smiling softly. He’s in navy blue coveralls and there’s a flannel shirt tied to his waist. He’s sitting down on a roller, arm back as he just rolled out from underneath a car. There’s a smudge of grease on his cheek.

“And this is Tim, he works here.” Bruce says it in an undertone, like he’s in on some secret. But the photo of Tim is actually the best of the set. It’s just before sunset and the backyard skateboard ramp is gleaming. Tim has half of a sandwich in his mouth, and his floppy hair is a blur like Bruce had just called to him. His foot is on the skateboard, just ready push off.

Bruce shows the next photo and starts silently chuckling. Tim is in a heap at the bottom, jeans ripped to show his gashed knee. Dick is squatting next to him and checking out the injury, rolling his eyes. Damian is a blur, tugging Tim’s fallen sandwich away from Titus. Tim is flipping Bruce off. The entire photo is a messy chaos and unclear because Bruce was laughing when he took it.

“And this is my youngest, Damian,” Bruce says, eyes lingering on the photo.

Damian, the scourge of the paparazzi, is sitting cross legged in a chair far too big for him. His hair is mussed and his eyes are owlish from sleep. The Christmas lights twinkle in the background. He’s baring all his teeth in exaggeration of a smile (no doubt due to the chants of “smile!” and “show your teeth!” and “Damian I mean it show your teeth”). He’s missing a tooth and looks absolutely every inch of a kid on Christmas, having been strong-armed into wearing holiday themed pajamas. The cat is a leaping blur, arching in the background.

The conversation is wrapped up and the employee walks out. Sandra the secretary gives them whatever papers they need, asks, “He show you the kids?” After the employee nods, she rolls her eyes and mutters, “Every year I used to give him a new camera. He never used it. Now I just get him a new roll of film. Don’t ever tell his kids, they’ll kill me.”

And that’s how the entire WE office AND associates have seen practically all the Wayne kids napping, brushing their teeth, injured, or in their pajamas.

  • Leorio: so, Killua, got yourself a gf yet?
  • Killua: heck yeah, man. I got a Gon Freecs, hah I'm gay af. *rolls on his skateboard into the sunset carrying Gon bridal style with some sick shades*