#and for bruce there's the torture of knowing his child will always be a murderous rampaging spirit and you hate killing but can't stop it

[rad-batson]

Multiverse AU where different variants of Damian Wayne Al Ghul are accidentally hailed to one universe and Damian is in the middle, trying to get all of them back home, but it only gets worse and NOT for the reasons you would think.

So picture this: there’s a sea of Damian variants crowded into the Batcave. One’s a leader of the LOA. Another became the next Harley Quinn? One is a mute assassin. Another is Red Hood’s apprentice. One’s Batman. One’s a meta for some reason. Another is the leader of a revolution. One’s a monk. And another is a clone. They’re all somehow involved in vigilantism or the LOA.

And then there’s a completely normal one. He goes by Dami. He’s in college :) He works at an art studio. He’s got a heart condition. He has a boyfriend, and he has never been Robin before. In fact, he doesn’t even know his dad is Batman. So in a room full of wildly different versions, this Damian sticks out like a sore thumb. He’s like an NPC just standing in the middle of a final battle.

What he does know is that his mother, Talia, left the LOA with him when he was two because she fell in love with Bruce. Since then, the three have lived a Perfectly Normal Life as Perfectly Normal People in a moderately nice house in the suburbs of Gotham.

And you know what? No one questions it. Out of all the problems the Damians are having right now, Normal Damian is the least of them. So he just sits to the side, completely chill, and doesn’t interfere.

But then some chaos happens, the Damians are all sucked into a battle at some secondary location, Normal Dami is kidnapped, gets killed, and everyone’s super depressed about it. (Gosh, he was so nice. Why did it have to be him? Boo hoo. We didn’t even have time to recover the body.)

Until they head back to the cave…and there he is. Respawned. Alive. Confused.

He was literally dead on the floor two hours ago. They checked for a pulse! He bled out. Normal NPC Dami is supposed to be dead. But nope. He’s right there. “Hey, what happened? The last thing I remember is being tied up. Did I faint again?”

Everyone else, the whole batfamily and the mini Damian army, is like “wtf how’d you get here, buddy?” While he’s just like :) so Bruce, who put a bug on the security cameras or whatever, checks the footage and what he finds is absolutely horrifying.

Just after he died, Normal Dami’s eyes snapped open. Glowing a deep Lazarus Green. He stood up, walked out, and immediately fucking decimated the remaining group of kidnappers like a rabid animal. Literally anyone who got near him were goners, and Thank Sweet Jesus he didn’t run into anyone on the walk back because he didn’t care to clean off all that blood. Nope, he just walked right through the front doors of the manor, found a clean set of clothes, completely on autopilot, then all of the adrenaline wore off, and he collapsed from exhaustion.

So everyone watches the footage. NPC Damian is horrified. He insists that’s not him because he doesn’t kill people! How could they ever accuse him of killing people?! He has never done something like that. He can’t even walk up a flight of stairs without getting winded for Christ’s sake!

Nonetheless, he agrees to sit in their itty bitty holding cell as they do some fun little tests, and lo and behold: he is so genetically fucked up. Why? Because his DNA isn’t like the other Damians. It’s completely mutated by this green glowing substance that they know all too well.

The verdict? Normal Dami has been permanently mutated by the Lazarus Pit. The Lazarus Pit is inside of him. It IS him. Or maybe Normal NPC Damian is the Lazarus Pit.

When Normal Dami was two and he and Talia still lived with the LOA, there was an incident involving Damian drowning in the Lazarus Pit (à la Ra’s Al Ghul's Stellar Grand-Parenting Skills.) However, since he wasn’t dead, the Lazarus Pit devoured him, consumed him with violent pit madness, spat him back out, and Damian became this completely, unstoppably rage-filled toddler that can throw you over his shoulder and snap your neck. So Talia, terrified of what Ra’s would do with him, escaped to Gotham, found Bruce, begged for help, and they devised a plan.

Step 1: Raise Lazarus Damian as a completely normal kid.

Step 2: Take him to therapy. Maybe give him anger management classes. (Monitor his sugar intake. That couldn’t hurt.)

That was literally their whole plan. They had no other ideas ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Occasionally, he’d snap and kill someone in cold blood (whoopsie daisy) but his parents were an assassin and the world's greatest detective. No one’s gonna know.

Through some trial and error, they found out that abrupt adrenaline spikes were what triggered the madness. So they worked around it. They gave him calm, relaxing hobbies. They spoiled him with emotional support animals. They Never Raised Their Voices. He was homeschooled for a bit then introduced to university, but only AFTER they made sure Jon (the Indestructable Superboy) was his roommmate. (Yes, they told him. Yes, he is now part of the convoluted Keep Deadly Damian Relaxed Task Force. They’re also dating.) They got Damian a FitBit that tracked his heart rate so they could predict when his adrenaline spiked. They Life360’d his ass so fucking hard. Meanwhile, Damian just thought he had some kind of medical thing, none the wiser the entire time.

Long story short? “Chill Normal NPC Damian” Cannot Die. But he can Kill.

If he does “die” (the Lazarus Pit cannot die) then he goes into a murderous rage, kills everyone in sight, it wears off with the adrenaline, and he can’t remember what happened. This Damian is the Most Dangerous of the variants, and he doesn’t even know it because his parents decided that would be best.

And now the other Damians are scared of him, and he’s scared of himself, and no one knows why he's made of the Lazarus Pit, and they don’t know what to do with him, and they still don’t know how to get back, and some of them want to kill him, and some don't, but no one trusts him, including himself, and it becomes an all-out war over the fate of Damian.

Anyway, Normal Damian who's actually a Murderous Lazarus Spirit without even knowing it. Thank you :)

[autisticrosewilson]

So do you guys actually think that Jason's entire story, relationship to the others, and philosophy amounts to him being a rebellious teen who wants his dad's attention? Like are you 100% serious? I thought you were joking about that but too many of you are saying it with your whole chest.

And what the fuck is this "Bruce antagonizing Jason is fanon!" Shit I've been seeing? You guys are aware that a parent can love their kid and still be a shit parent right? I know you guys don't want to fathom the thought that maybe your blorbo might also occasionally have to face responsibility for consistently endangering children but let's not start being delusional now.

Bruce does love his kids, that doesn't mean that he hasn't hurt them. And I'd also argue that for the most part he feels in the right for it, and he's said multiple times that he believes it's for their own good, so you can't even argue that he's sorry about it. It's okay for you guys to admit that your PERSONAL INTERPRETATION of the character wouldn't do that but don't sit here and pretend that it's not a facet of the source.

[marcyvamp1re-blog]

Pt.3 SILLLY LITTLE BAT.

pairings ⸺ Yandere! Platonic! Batfamily x Anti-hero! Fem!reader.

sinopsis ⸺ There are only memories, fragments of a past that, like shadows, will haunt you until your last breath, whispers of what was and will never be. Gotham cries out for a guardian, a soul to face the darkness, to challenge fate in its shadowy alleys.

But tell me, who will rise to protect you, traveler of scars and broken dreams? Who will watch over your light when the world swallows your hopes?

In the eternal night, amidst the echo of fear and longing, there is only one path: to confront the monsters and become the hero this city needs, even if the price is the forgetting of oneself.

warnings ⸺ Dark Themes, Dead, Religion, murdering,Disturbing Content, Unhealthy Obsession, Discrimination, Street Fights, Gaslight, Violence, Blood, LGBT Content, Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Implicit Sexual Content, Mental Illness, Addiction, Torture, Corruption, Isolation, Trauma, Phobias, Paranoia, Manipulation.

Chapter guide! Pt.1 Pt2. Pt.4

A/N — English is not my first language—Spanish is— Here is the continuation of the other parts. There will be a few more parts but you should know that we will soon reach the end, but there are still things to clarify and so on. I don't know if you would like me to do another Batfam yandere series in the future or similar. Send me your ideas if you want :3

They are upset because I left

Where they never included me.

The car moved slowly under the gray sky of Gotham, as if the universe itself understood the weight of the pain you carried in your small figure. Commissioner Gordon, with his firm hands on the wheel, cast furtive glances at the rearview mirror, where he saw you curled up in the back seat. Wrapped in an old blanket, the same one you had hugged for days, your face was hidden among the folds, but the silent tears that fell could not be disguised. There were no words that Gordon could offer to heal the recent wound of losing your mother, but his empathy, though silent, was there, wrapping around you like the coat that couldn't quite warm you.

In your lap, a small Batman doll rested, pressed against your chest, as if that fabric toy could protect you from the world that had just destroyed your innocence. Your eyes, still swollen and red, looked out the window without seeing, watching the city that seemed so distant, so foreign.

"You will be loved and cherished," Gordon whispered, breaking the silence that had weighed like fog in the car. "Bruce Wayne... he will take care of you, I promise."

But you didn't respond immediately. The name Wayne felt strange, distant, as if he spoke of someone living in a story, not in your reality. You looked up, your eyes meeting Gordon’s for a second in the rearview mirror.

"And if they don't want me...?" you murmured, insecurity clouding your childish voice. "I don't know them, Commissioner... and they don't know me. What if they leave me in an orphanage? Mama always told me those places aren't nice."

Gordon swallowed hard, understanding the depth of your fear. "You were just a child, but you had already learned that love was not a guarantee." The world had taught you that cruel lesson too soon.

"The Waynes..." he began, searching for the right words, "are good people. You might not understand it at first, but I assure you they have suffered too. Bruce..." he paused, recalling the losses that man had faced. "He understands what it is to lose someone. He will do everything he can to make you feel safe, to help you find a home again."

But you kept looking at the doll in your hands, your fingers squeezing it tightly, as if it were the only stable thing in a world crumbling around you.

The silence grew heavy, uncomfortable, as if the words wanted to come out but didn’t know how. Again, Gordon spoke, his voice low, almost afraid to break the stillness.

"And/y/n... what was your mom like?" he asked softly, not taking his eyes off the road, as if by doing so, he could give you space to be honest, to not feel pressured.

You fell silent for a long moment, your small fingers nervously playing with the edges of the blanket. The world outside the car seemed a reflection of what you felt inside: cloudy, cold, distant.

Finally, you exhaled, as if gathering the courage to speak. Your voice came out shaky at first, filled with a mix of sadness and a hard-to-accept truth.

"My mom..." you murmured, not taking your eyes off the window. "She wasn't a good person, but... she wasn't a villain either."

Gordon nodded slowly, without interrupting you. He knew things were rarely black or white, that life had that cruel ability to mix the two.

"She... told me she grew up in an orphanage. She never had anything that was really hers." You paused, your eyes glassy as you recalled details that now seemed more painful than ever. "Well, except for me."

"Gordon felt a knot form in his throat." He knew that loss was a terrible burden to bear, but there was something more in your words, something suggesting that, amidst it all, there had also been love. An imperfect love, but real.

"She always dreamed of having a little house..." you continued, and for the first time, a faint smile appeared on your face, though it was tinged with melancholy. "A house with a garden, lots of Barbie dolls, and a little dog. She didn't need more. She just wanted something that was hers."

You stopped for a moment, as if the simple act of recalling those dreams your mother had hurt you. You knew she would never have them. That the world had been cruel to her, denying her even the small things she wished for so fervently.

"But... she never got it. We were always moving around, fleeing, searching for something better. And now... she doesn’t even have that."

The car seemed to shrink, the air denser. Gordon felt a wave of compassion for that woman who, though perhaps not perfect, had dreamed of something so simple, so human, and yet had not achieved it.

"I'm so sorry, Y/n," he murmured.

"Commissioner, what if... what if I can't forget her?" you asked, almost in a whisper. "What if I can't stop thinking about Mom?"

The silence in the car became heavy, almost tangible. Gordon wanted to tell you that you didn't have to forget, that it was natural to carry that pain. But the words didn't come, and instead, only a long sigh escaped his lips.

"It's not about forgetting, Y/n," he finally said, his voice low but firm. "It's about moving forward, even though it hurts. Your mother would want you to find happiness again, even though it may not seem possible now. And I’m sure Bruce will do everything in his power to help you."

The car turned onto the long, dark road leading to Wayne Manor. The trees formed a tunnel of shadows, as if the road were wrapped in the same mourning you carried within. The mansion, with its imposing grandeur, appeared in the distance, its walls as high as the secrets it held. "You were so small in the face of the immensity of this new life that awaited you."

"We're almost there," Gordon said softly, as he slowed down. "The wind outside whispered through the trees, like an echo of everything you had lost."

You didn’t know it at that moment, but that house would be full of stories, some broken, others in the process of healing. And although you felt like a stranger in a strange land now, Gordon hoped that, one day, that place would become your refuge.

The car stopped in front of the enormous gates. Gordon looked at you one last time before getting out. In his eyes, you could see a mix of sadness and hope, an empathy that went beyond words.

"You are not alone, Y/n," he said, his voice now firmer. "You will never be alone again."

You remained silent, gazing at the mansion as you clung to the blanket and the Batman doll. The weight of the world still rested on your small shoulders, but for the first time, there might have been a glimmer of relief in knowing that someone, even if he was a strange and distant man, was waiting for you inside."

And in that moment, although you still felt the burning pain of your loss, a ray of hope began to break through the shadows of your heart.

Y/n was sitting in the BatCafé, that corner of the city where the tables wobbled and conversations were woven into murmurs, as if the place knew how to keep secrets that even you wouldn’t dare to share aloud. The walls, a mossy green, were filled with stories that no one had asked for. She looked at her lukewarm latte as one looks at a future that hasn’t quite arrived, a liquid mockery evaporating before it could warm her hands. It had barely been a month since she left her family home, but she already felt that independence was more of a myth than a fulfilled dream. At first, the heroism of having thrown herself into the world had filled her with pride, but now reality lurked like a treacherous chill seeping through the cracks, and the fact that she was waiting for her potential roommate didn’t help matters.

“Well, at least the rent will be cheaper,” she told herself, or rather to the coffee, as if the dark liquid could reply with something sensible.

Sharing an apartment was, for Y/n, the only way out. Her salary barely covered survival, but only if she fed on fresh air and broken dreams. And there she was, waiting for someone named Pamela Isley, who, according to the ad, didn’t even seem to be from this planet. "I hope she’s not one of those people with invisible cats," she thought. Of course, the alternatives weren’t very promising: people who collected Batman figurines or guys who made friends with cockroaches in the kitchen. She had seen it all; after all, her apartment was in one of the most dangerous areas of Gotham, and she knew it all too well.

You were born in that area. One could say the neighborhood chose you before you had a chance to choose it. You didn’t remember exactly which apartment; in that hive of broken windows and half-painted bricks, all the floors seemed like a blurry copy of the previous one, each with the same square footage and an air of silent resignation. In the end, it didn’t matter, because in a way, everything was the same. Dust in the corners, worn tiles, cracks in the walls that seemed to form a map of some invisible and secret city, a place that only you could decipher if you stopped to observe long enough.

It was an unpretentious place, where people rarely smiled, but neither did they let themselves be trampled. There was something in the air, a kind of poorly disguised pride, as if every neighbor, every stray dog, knew that surviving there wasn’t a matter of luck but of will. Heroes didn’t exist in that corner of the world, but villains didn’t dare impose their law without facing some gaze that, without saying anything, said it all. It was rough terrain, where kindness camouflaged behind growls and complaints, and malice grew tired before it could fully settle.

And yet, you loved it. It was absurd, but you loved it with that devotion reserved for things you don’t choose, for roots that sink into your chest without asking for permission. The place was filled with memories you didn’t ask for, stories you never wanted to hear but that seeped into your skin. Tales of people who vanished in alleyways, of broken promises around the corner, of loves that drowned in factory smoke. And yet, those same tales were like echoes that held you, reminding you that you were born there, in that half-hell where life was always a fight but never a complete defeat.

The clock in the BatCafé struck six ten when the door opened. What happened next was hard to explain, like when you dream and you don’t know if it’s the pillow or the universe holding you. Pamela Isley walked in, and it was as if the wind, that autumn wind that brings memories, had gently pushed her in. Y/n looked up, and the first thing she noticed was her hair, a red that was out of this world, more fire than pigment, more nature than dye. The roots tangled as if they were living branches, and for a moment, Y/n wondered if the sun had made a mistake and was shining only on her.

Pamela walked as if she had a pact with the earth. Her steps were slow but firm, as if her feet waited for the ground to respond before settling. She wore a jacket that was impossible to describe without sounding crazy: green vines and small buds peeking out, as if at any moment the plants would grow over her. "Where does this woman come from?" Y/n thought, feeling something beyond mere curiosity. There was something she couldn’t deny, an attraction that felt unsettling, like those waves that, without warning, sweep you away when you think you can still touch the bottom.

Pamela approached the table with a calculated calm, a calm only nature or time can sculpt. And then she smiled. In that smile, Y/n felt something familiar yet strange, as if she were facing a younger version of her mother, but instead of being terrifying, it was comforting. What was happening?

“Y/n L/n?” Pamela said, her voice reminiscent of the whisper of dry leaves underfoot.

“Yes, that’s me,” Y/n answered, trying to make her voice sound normal, even though everything inside her felt out of place.

Pamela sat down across from her, crossing her legs with an almost feline elegance. The BatCafé seemed to conspire around them; the air smelled of wet earth and freshly brewed coffee, a strange mix, like the combination of what was about to be born and what had already died.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” Y/n began, not knowing exactly how to finish the sentence. She wasn’t even sure what she was expecting.

“Strange?” Pamela completed, with a playful smile that left Y/n with a sense of defeat and fascination in equal parts.

“Something like that,” Y/n replied, looking at Pamela’s hands. Her long, slender fingers were covered in small green spots, as if she had just planted a forest with her own hands. There was something almost magical about her, as if every part of her being was connected to the earth in a way that Y/n couldn’t quite understand. And there, amid that confusion, was the fine thread of attraction.

Pamela let her gaze fall on her own latte, turning it between her hands as if it were about to reveal some hidden secret in the foam.

“So, what do you do? I mean… aside from, you know… looking like you walked out of a Tim Burton movie,” Y/n said, attempting a bit of humor to ease the tension she felt in her stomach.

Pamela glanced at her and laughed softly, a laugh that felt like an unexpected breeze on a hot day.

“I’m… a caretaker. Of plants.” She paused, gauging Y/n’s reaction. “And other things.”

“Other things?” Y/n asked, intrigued but also amused by the way Pamela toyed with the mystery.

“Yes, like people who don’t know how to water a plant without drowning it,” she replied, arching an eyebrow mischievously.

The response made Y/n laugh, a laugh she hadn’t expected, as if Pamela had found a way to touch something deep within her, something that hadn’t bloomed in a long time. And without being able to help it, she felt drawn, not just by the way Pamela moved, spoke, or even by the air of mystery surrounding her, but because there was something more, something familiar, something that reminded her of her mother, but without the shadows of authority and judgment. It was like a wild, free version of what had once been security.

“So… are you going to save my cactus or criticize it?” Y/n said, trying to sound casual while feeling that her heart had started playing a game of chess with her emotions.

Pamela smiled again, and this time it was a different smile, one that seemed to carry a promise.

“It depends. Would you let me stay to try?” Pamela said, with a playful seriousness that left Y/n unsure whether the question was about the cactus or something much larger.

Y/n blinked, trying to process the phrase, but deep down she knew that any answer would sound awkward. Pamela’s question hung in the air between them like a leaf falling slowly, right at the perfect point where it was neither entirely a joke nor completely serious. And there she was, caught in that space, wondering whether she should laugh or just blush.

“Well… you can try,” she finally said, trying to hide the warmth creeping up her face. “But I can’t promise the cactus will survive. I’m something like… a serial plant killer... When I was younger, I had time to care for them as they deserved, with help from… from my father. But now work consumes me a lot, and the truth is I’ve neglected them too much… they must feel the same way I felt when… sorry, I talk too much about myself, don’t I?”

Pamela raised an eyebrow, with a smile that seemed to say more than either of them dared to voice at that moment.

“Oh, no, keep talking about yourself; I’m used to it. I have very… eccentric friends, to be honest.” She leaned a bit closer, as if about to share a secret. “Though I prefer not to work under threats, so don’t look at me like I’m going to be your next plant murder victim. But I doubt a little scared bat can kill even a fly.”

Y/n laughed nervously, surprised at how easy Pamela made everything. She, who had always been clumsy with conversations and glances, felt like the words flowed with Pamela in a way she didn’t quite understand but didn’t want to question either.

“...Little Bat?” Y/n asked, with a clumsy and blushing smile as her fingers nervously toyed with the edge of her cup.

Pamela let out a low giggle, that laugh that always seemed to carry the sound of dry leaves being trampled in autumn. With a gentle gesture, she pointed to her clothes.

“Is it that obvious?” she said with a half-smile, raising a playful eyebrow as she leaned a little forward.

She wore a dark fur coat, enormous, with a wide fall that, under the dim light of the BatCafé, seemed to have the precise shape of bat wings extending. The high, well-fitted black boots completed the image of a figure that seemed to have emerged from the very shadows. And for a moment, Y/n didn’t know whether to laugh or get lost in that air of mystery that Pamela seemed to wear like a second coat.

“Well…” Y/n diverted her gaze with a shy smile, “it’s not like you’re hiding it much.”

Pamela smiled with that touch of mischief that characterized her.

“Does it bother you? I’m sorry, it’s just… I’ve been fascinated by bats since I was little.” she asked, her voice low and slow, as if measuring every word, as if the world were a delicate plant that required to be touched with the tips of her fingers.

Y/n let out a small nervous laugh, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks again.

“No, not at all. I think it’s…” she hesitated for a second, searching for the right word, unsure how to avoid the obvious, “I think it suits you well.”

Pamela watched her for a moment, and then, with that look that always seemed to go beyond what words said, added:

“You’re turning red, you know?”

Y/n’s eyes widened a bit more, surprised by Pamela’s directness, but all she could do was laugh at herself.

“Well, it’s just that, I’m not really used to… this.”

“This?” Pamela repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Sharing coffee with someone or bats?”

“Both,” Y/n admitted, shrugging, which provoked another smile from Pamela. “I always wanted one as a pet… but I have a vegan little brother who’s very… spooky… so I’ve always been afraid he’d steal it from me or accuse me of having exotic pets.”

Pamela settled into the chair, not taking her eyes off Y/n.

“But you’ll get used to it,” she paused, letting her words float calmly.

Y/n felt a shiver run down her spine, a mix of nerves and a spark of something she couldn’t quite define. Pamela’s dark coat and relaxed smile were a disconcerting yet strangely familiar contrast, as if they had always been there, waiting for her. And suddenly, all she could do was wonder how soon that would happen… getting used to it.

“Although I can’t promise my apartment isn’t… a battlefield,” Y/n said, trying to sound confident, but noticing the slight tremor in her voice.

Pamela looked at her intently for a moment, with that mix of flirtation and something deeper, something that seemed impossible to decipher completely. Then she relaxed in the chair, as if the game had just begun.

“A battlefield, huh?” she said, playing with the spoon of her coffee. “Well, I like challenges. And chaotic places have their own charm if you know where to look.” Pamela let the phrase slide smoothly, like someone throwing a stone into a lake and waiting for the ripples.

Y/n couldn’t shake the feeling that every word Pamela spoke carried a double meaning, but far from making her feel uncomfortable, it sparked something akin to contained laughter, as if they were sharing a private joke that she was just beginning to access.

“Don’t you have plants at home?” Pamela suddenly asked, as if the question had sprung from the foam of her coffee.

“Well, there are a couple of cacti… and a fern that I think hates me,” Y/n replied. “But I always forget to water them. Or I overwater them. Seriously, it’s like plants come to me already doomed.”

Pamela smiled, one of those slow smiles that seem to grow little by little, like a sprout deciding when the perfect moment to emerge into the light is.

“It’s not just about water, Y/n,” she said, with that voice that seemed to carry the calm of the wind and the weight of centuries of nature. “Plants need attention. Patience. Sometimes they just want to know you’re there, even if you don’t say anything.” She paused, letting Y/n’s gaze get lost in her eyes. “Sometimes, like people.”

Y/n felt a little shiver. It wasn’t what Pamela was saying, but how she was saying it. There was something in her voice that disarmed her, as if every word had been calculated to penetrate a defense that Y/n hadn’t even realized she had up. And then, almost without thinking, she let slip a truth she rarely shared.

“I’m not very good with people.” The confession came out of her mouth before she could stop it. She said it without drama, almost as if she were talking about the weather. But something in Pamela changed, barely perceptible, like a leaf moving without the wind touching it.

“Really?” Pamela asked softly, but without an ounce of pity. Just curiosity.

Y/n looked down for a moment, fiddling with the edge of her cup, before daring to continue.

“I grew up in a huge house, but… empty. My father… well, he was busy with his things. Business, parties, the usual. Shrugging it off, wanting to downplay it, even though inside she knew it wasn’t something that could easily fade away. Alfred, the butler, raised me. And yes, he was amazing. But it was always just him and no one else. It’s not the same as having… friends.”

Pamela listened in silence, but not in that awkward way where people listen just to see how you respond afterward. No, there was something in her attention that enveloped Y/n, as if she were giving her space to bare herself without fear of being judged.

“You never had friends,” Pamela asserted more than asked.

Y/n shook her head.

“Until now,” Pamela said, with that same softness that seemed to have become her trademark, and something in Y/n’s chest stirred, as if she had just heard the most important thing in the world.

There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence that somehow connected them. And then Pamela broke the spell, with a mischievous smile that lit everything up again.

“So… are you going to let me be your first friend, or would you rather keep killing plants?”

Y/n couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her lips, a sincere and liberating laugh, as if something inside her had broken an invisible chain. After all, it was clear that Pamela wasn’t just another person passing through her life. There was something different about her, something that made the air feel lighter, that made the future seem less uncertain.

“Well, if you can survive the cactus…” Y/n said, leaving the sentence unfinished, but knowing Pamela would understand.

And then, for the first time in a long time, Y/n felt that everything might be okay. That maybe, just maybe, Pamela Isley wasn’t just a roommate, but the first person in a long time with whom she could imagine a less lonely future. She was already caught in that web, and the worst, or perhaps the best part, was that she didn’t care at all.

Bruce Wayne was sitting in the mansion's garden on a gray afternoon that seemed to drag memories along like the wind drags fallen leaves. In his hands, a cup of black coffee, still steaming, its strong and bitter aroma mingling with the scent of damp earth after the rain. In front of him, on a small wrought-iron table, rested a piece of dark chocolate cake topped with melting strawberry ice cream, forming a pink puddle around it. But he found no pleasure in the view. It was more of a bitter symbol of a routine he once believed unbreakable.

In the garden, where the wilted flowers swayed gently, a little girl flitted about with contagious energy, as if the chill of the afternoon did not exist for her. Her laughter, so innocent and pure, filled the air, breaking the sepulchral silence that seemed to reign in that old home for a moment. She wore a pink dress with small white dots, an 80s style that would have been charming in another time but now seemed out of place with the scene. Her patent leather shoes shone as she ran back and forth, chasing her dolls.

In her small hands, she held action figures, one of the Batman her father portrayed and another of the Joker, his eternal rival. The girl, no older than six, organized her battles with adorable seriousness. In a high-pitched, mischievous voice, she brought the characters to life, staging an epic duel between hero and villain.

“You won’t defeat me this time, Batman!” she exclaimed, raising the Joker figure with a malevolent laugh.

“I will stop you! I always do...” she replied with her other hand, giving voice to Batman, but with a childlike touch that contrasted with the darkness of the character.

Bruce watched the scene with a mix of tenderness and pain. He knew she wasn’t really there, that this vision was nothing more than a distant echo of what never was. Y/n, his little Y/n, had vanished months ago. And he… he had never given her the love she deserved, always wrapped in his own shadows, in his endless struggle to protect a city that never rested.

The air felt thick, heavy with nostalgia and regret. The girl continued to play, laughing, talking to her dolls, oblivious to the weight of the years, to the loss. And Bruce, although he knew it was an illusion, couldn’t look away; he couldn’t stop imagining what it would have been like to give her what he never knew how to offer. What it would have been like to see her grow, to laugh more, to run through those gardens with the carefree spirit only childhood allows.

Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps interrupted the daydream. Alfred appeared at the garden entrance, always elegant, always with that air of discretion and understanding that only he possessed. He approached slowly, placing a hand on Bruce’s shoulder as if he understood the pain that kept him trapped in that scene.

“Mr. Wayne” he said in a low voice, filled with compassion, “it’s time to come back.”

Bruce closed his eyes for a moment, letting Alfred’s words seep into his consciousness. He knew what they meant. He knew that girl, in her 80s dress and her dolls, was nothing but an idealized memory, a distorted reflection of what never was. Because Y/n wasn’t like that. She didn’t like those old dresses; she had always preferred the fashion of the 2000s, with its vibrant colors and comfortable clothes. And she never enjoyed the chocolate cake now sitting in front of him. She liked carrot cake, simple and sweet, but he had never paid attention to those details when he still could.

How did he know those little details about his daughter? Bruce often wondered. It wasn’t because he had learned them by being close, because proximity had been a luxury he never allowed himself. No, those small fragments of her life he had discovered in the album that Alfred kept with an almost reverential discretion. That album was more than just an object; it was a silent refuge where Alfred had archived what the big house, always filled with shadows and echoes of footsteps that never came, had refused to hold.

The day the children learned of the album’s existence marked the beginning of a chaos he still remembered with a mix of exasperation and a contained smile. They had decided, like little conspirators, that treasure belonged to them. A kind of all-out battle had ensued in the mansion, something that over time acquired the quality of family legends.

Bruce, standing in the study, could still see the sparkle in Damian’s eyes, the intensity, the almost playful fury with which he had taken that assault as a personal mission. Damian, with his perpetual impatience, had been the fiercest of all. He vividly remembered how his youngest son had burst into the room wielding two katanas, with the cold precision of a millennia-old warrior, even though his hands were still too small to fully grasp the handles.

“It’s mine!” Damian shouted, with that mix of stubbornness and vulnerability that only the youngest possess, as if he could cut not only the air but the very uncomfortable silence that always floated between them.

“It belongs to all of us, Damian” Bruce had tried to intervene, with that authoritative voice that, curiously, never managed to control his own children as he did with the chaos of the city.

But Damian wasn’t listening. For him, the album was not just an object; it was a relic, a bridge to something he felt but couldn’t name. His sister Y/n, so distant in daily life, was closer in those pages than in any superficial conversation they had ever had. She was his sister, but not enough. He wanted those photos, those notes that Alfred had kept, he wanted to understand what it was about her that slipped away from him daily.

Bruce watched from the threshold, not really intervening. He let the chaos unfold, as if it were necessary. The children fought, but it wasn’t just for the album. They fought for something deeper, a kind of silent reclamation of what they had never been able to have: time, connection, perhaps even love. Alfred, from a corner, merely smiled with that quiet wisdom, knowing that those battles of childish katanas, of shouts and disputes over photos and notes, were actually the way they tried to find each other in a house full of absences.

Bruce sighed, remembering. Alfred had always known more than he did, always understood those invisible things that Bruce, no matter how much he wanted to, could never quite grasp. And so it was that he himself, at the end of it all, also ended up snooping in that album, with a silent curiosity he would never admit. There, in those carefully tended pages, he found his daughter. Or at least, he found the idea of her, the pieces of a life he hadn’t shared but that, somehow, had always been present in those photos, in those little notes that Alfred, more of a father than he was, had kept with such love.

“She won’t come back, Alfred... I lost her... maybe forever... ” Bruce murmured, his voice barely audible, as if admitting it aloud would make her absence more real—“and I… I was never there for her as I should have been.”

The old butler sighed, his tired eyes filled with infinite patience.

“It’s never too late to remember, sir. It’s never too late to honor her memory in the right way.”

Bruce opened his eyes, looking again at the scene, but this time more clearly. The girl had disappeared.

The wind blew gently through the Wayne mansion's garden, carrying away the murmur of the dry leaves. Bruce remained motionless, as if the weight of the years, of the mistakes, had turned him into another statue in that landscape. The aroma of coffee had dissipated, and the cake before him remained untouched. Y/n’s figure still floated in his mind, her laughter like a distant echo that wouldn’t fade but also wouldn’t console him.

Alfred, with the patience only a father at heart could have, stood by his side, his firm hand on Bruce’s shoulder, as if in that gesture he could transmit strength to face the pain that gnawed at him.

“Mr. Wayne” Alfred began, his voice soft but laden with meaning, “the kids have gone looking for Y/n again.”

Bruce closed his eyes, allowing those words to sink into his consciousness. He knew all the Robins and Batgirls had been following leads, searching for answers in the darkest corners of Gotham, but the emptiness he felt remained overwhelming. They had failed so many times… what did another attempt matter? The city, always hungry for its heroes, seemed more a trap than a cause.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Alfred” Bruce replied, his voice rough, worn down by years of struggle. “None of this will change what happened. Y/n… is gone.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Alfred interjected, this time with a firmer tone, “Y/n is still out there. And as long as there’s a single chance to find her, you cannot allow yourself to give up.”

Silence stretched between them. Bruce’s gaze remained fixed on some point in the garden, lost in thought. But Alfred, with his usual insight, knew he needed more than empty words to awaken him.

“There’s something else,” Alfred added, taking a breath, “a new figure appeared last night during a robbery in the East District. They call her Kerosene. The White Bat. She was seen taking out a group of assailants in seconds.”

Bruce didn’t react. Kerosene. The city had always generated figures willing to fill the void he had left every time he stepped away, every time Gotham lost the light of its vigilante. But this time, he didn’t feel the urgency to learn more. What did it matter? He repeated to himself. Gotham already had its heroes.

“I don’t care” he murmured, his voice empty, as cold as the air surrounding the garden—“Let others deal with Gotham. Kerosene, the Joker, or whoever… the city doesn’t need me anymore.”

Alfred tightened his grip on Bruce’s shoulder, almost like a father refusing to see his son give up. He stepped forward, and this time his voice was lower but more incisive.

“This isn’t about Gotham, sir,” he said with an intensity Bruce hadn’t expected—“It’s about Y/n.”

Bruce lifted his gaze, his eyes finally meeting Alfred’s, as if those words had ignited a spark within him.

“If you don’t want to protect this city, do it for her ” Alfred continued—“Because you will find her, sir. I’m sure of it. And when you do… how would you want her to find you? Destroyed? Defeated? No. You need to be ready, you need to be strong, for her. Wherever she is, Y/n is still waiting for her father.”

Bruce felt the pain in his chest intensify, a constant reminder of his failure, but Alfred was right. Y/n was somewhere out there. Alive or not, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that as long as he didn’t find her, he couldn’t give up.

“The kids have done everything they can to find her,” Alfred said, softening his tone—“They’re still at it. Every day they search for new leads, explore new corners of Gotham… but there’s only one man who can put everything in order. There’s only one father who can bring her back.”

The air tensed between them, and for the first time in a long time, Bruce felt a slight tremor inside. He remembered the moment he decided to become Batman, driven by the guilt and pain of losing his parents. Now, that same guilt, that same pain, called to him again, but this time, it wasn’t for Gotham. It was for Y/n. His daughter.

“Tell me, Alfred, who is this Kerosene?” Bruce murmured, finally reacting to the information Alfred had given him.

“Yes, sir. Her abilities are astonishing, according to reports. Agile, fast… but her true identity remains a mystery. Some say she’s just another vigilante trying to fill the void you left. But the important thing is that she is acting with lethal precision.”

Bruce stood slowly, leaving the cup of coffee on the table, already cold and forgotten. He looked at the empty garden, but this time, with a new determination blooming in his chest.

“If this Kerosene is connected… if there’s any link to Y/n, I will find out,” he said, his voice firmer, closer to the one Alfred had known for so many years—“And if not… then I’ll find her myself.”

Alfred nodded, a mix of relief and satisfaction reflected on his face. He had managed to awaken the man Gotham needed, but more than that, he had awakened the father Y/n deserved.

“ Very well, sir,he replied with a slight smile, always the unwavering servant—“The Batcave is ready for your return.”

Bruce turned toward the mansion, but not before glancing once more at the garden, where Y/n’s figure, so real in his mind, faded like morning mist.

Wherever you are, I will find you.

Richard “Dick” Grayson knocked forcefully on the old apartment door, the echo resonating in the narrow hallway of the building, where dust gathered in the corners like forgotten memories and the lights flickered as if trying to perform one last dance before going out. Beside him, Barbara Gordon, the commissioner's daughter, crossed her arms, staring at the door with an intensity that could have splintered the wood.

Jason Todd, restless to his left, kept his gaze fixed on the doorknob, his body tense, as if each passing second brought him one step closer to breaking through that wooden barrier. Above, on the roof, Red Robin, The Spoiler, and Batgirl waited, shadows in a world that seemed to ignore their pounding hearts, ready to act.

“I don’t know why we always have to deal with the worst specimens of humanity,” Barbara murmured, adjusting her coat as she shot a sidelong glance at Dick, who seemed to have a plan in mind.

“Because we’re lucky,” Jason replied, sarcasm lacing his words, a crooked smile on his lips that didn’t quite fit the situation. “And when I say ‘lucky,’ I mean we’re carrying someone else's karma because we… are screwed.”

Dick knocked on the door again, this time with more force. The echo reverberated through the hallways, a declaration of intent.

“We should break it down. You know it’s not going to open just from a gentle knock,” Jason said, stepping forward, his intention clear and palpable.

“Calm down, Jason. Not all problems are solved with violence,” Barbara retorted, though a part of her knew that idea faded every time they found themselves in a situation like this.

“Sure, as if we have another option. Do you want me to schedule a tea date instead of kicking down the door?” Jason frowned, the tension palpable.

Finally, a sound came from behind the door. Chains, the metallic echo of locks being unlatched with a maddening slowness, as if someone on the other side knew that every second of wait was boiling the blood of the three standing before the door. At last, the door opened just enough to reveal a face: the landlord. A short man with small eyes and a slimy smile that seemed to ooze like dirty oil through his yellowed teeth.

“What do you want?” he asked in a thick voice, looking at Dick with suspicion, but his gaze soon dropped to Barbara, lingering unpleasantly on her figure, and then to Jason, who had already tensed the muscles in his jaw.

“We’re looking for Y/n Wayne L/n,” Dick said, trying to maintain his composure, the heat of anger threatening to overflow. “We know she lives here. And we know you know where she is.”

The man let out a laugh under his breath, a rusty squeak that resonated like a heavy joke.

“Ah, the pretty girl… yeah, yeah. And who are you all, huh?” he asked, his slimy tone sending chills that seemed to crawl over Dick's skin.

“It’s none of your concern. We just want to know where she is,” Barbara said, her voice firm and resolute, although the tension in her body betrayed her impatience.

The landlord tilted his head, like a cat playing with its prey, and smiled with a disturbing mischief.

“Well, if you haven’t found her in five months, maybe you don’t want to know,” he said, letting the words drop like stones in a pond, creating ripples of discomfort.

“I warn you, this isn’t a game,” Jason interjected, his voice low and dangerous. “Don’t make me remind you what can happen when a man plays with fire.”

The man shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned, although the glint in his eyes betrayed him.

Jason's hand rested near his belt, right where he kept his gun, and although he hadn’t drawn the weapon yet, the threat was clear.

The landlord noticed but instead of being scared, he wore a repugnant smile, like a predator that had just spotted a wounded prey. His gaze shifted back to Barbara, and then, without the slightest respect, murmured something that made Dick’s fists clench.

“Ah, Y/n... yeah, I remember her. She came around when she had just turned eighteen. Good material, if you catch my drift. She looked innocent, but... those are the most interesting ones, right?” The man's gaze darkened, scanning Barbara again, as if evaluating merchandise.

“Say that again,” Jason growled, drawing his gun in a motion so quick that the landlord barely had time to blink before feeling the cold barrel pressed against his forehead. “And I swear I’ll blow your brains out right here.”

The words hung in the air, sharp, loaded with contempt and a lust that twisted like a snake inside him.

The man let out a cynical chuckle, relishing the moment.

“The last time I saw pretty Y/n was a while back. I don’t know what she’s up to now, but I kept some pictures of her and her friend.” His tone was defiant, almost mocking.

Rage was bubbling in Jason. His fists were clenched, a deadly spark in his eyes.

“What did you say?” His voice trembled between anger and control, like a string about to snap.

The landlord, feeling invincible, continued. “I don’t know if they’re lesbians, but seeing them together was quite the spectacle. Both of them were hot, you know?”

Jason could no longer hold back. The anger erupted like a volcano.

“Shut up!” he shouted, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the tense silence that had invaded the room.

Before the landlord could react, Jason pulled his gun, aiming with precision.

“I’m going to give you one chance. Tell me where Y/n is. Now.”

The man’s laughter faded, his eyes widening in shock. “Wait, wait, there’s no need to…”

“WHERE?!” Jason's voice thundered, firm and filled with rage, like a storm rumbling in the atmosphere.

The tension became palpable, the air thick with promises of violence.

“Alright, alright!” the landlord stammered, but Jason’s voice turned even colder.

“I’m not going to ask again.”

“She just left for work at night and that’s it…” he started to say, but Jason could no longer hear. The man had photos of Y/n. Compromising, crude, and that simple mention ignited hell in his chest.

In an instant, the sound of an explosion resonated in the hallway, and the man fell to the ground, his silly smile erased by the terror that had overtaken his face. Blood gushed forth in a dark torrent, staining the floor and nearby walls.

Barbara covered her mouth in shock, while Dick stood frozen, stunned.

“Jason!” she exclaimed, but the image of the landlord lying on the ground with his vacant stare was etched in her mind.

Jason holstered the weapon, his breath rapid and uncontrolled. He had crossed a line, and in that moment, he realized there was no turning back. Anger had found a way to break free, but at a terrible cost.

“I won’t let anyone hurt Y/n again,” he murmured, his eyes filled with determination. No one else would stand in his way to find her, no matter the price he had to pay.

The room was saturated with the echo of the gunshot, and the silence grew heavy, almost palpable. Barbara took a deep breath, the anger sparking in her eyes as she looked at Jason, who still seemed dazed by the act he had committed.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she said, her voice contained but sharp as a blade. “That’s why we didn’t bring Damian along, because he would have gone off just the same, but in a much more reckless way.” Her gaze fixed on the corpse, lying in a pool of blood, a scene that could have come from the mind of a disturbed artist.

Jason, with his chest heaving and jaw clenched, simply shrugged.

“I couldn’t just stand by. He knew something, and I wasn’t about to let it slip away.” The fervor in his voice didn’t hide the confusion that was beginning to seep in, like the cold of the night creeping through the windows.

Barbara didn’t respond, but the silence that filled the room grew even denser when the others entered, alarmed by the gunshot. Tim, Stephanie, and Cass arrived, their expressions filled with concern that quickly transformed into indignation.

“What happened here?” Tim asked, his eyes widening at the scene. Blood slid across the floor like a dark river, and the landlord’s body faded beneath the flickering light.

“Are you crazy, Jason?!” Steph exclaimed, disbelief palpable in her voice.

Cass crouched down, her expression grave as she looked at the fallen man. She didn’t need to speak to convey her disapproval; every glance said more than a thousand words.

“It doesn’t matter how we got here,” Dick intervened, his authoritative tone trying to restore order. “We need answers. Let’s investigate.”

With a determined movement, Barbara approached the body, while Jason still breathed irregularly, as if the weight of his actions began to settle on him. Barbara looked around; the apartment was a dusty and sad place, filled with shadows that seemed to whisper secrets.

As the others searched, Tim found a series of photos pinned to the walls, each one showing Y/n and other women from the area, frozen laughter in time, trapped between moments that should have been happy. However, there was something unsettling about the way they were arranged, a disorder that seemed a declaration of possession.

“Look at this,” Tim said, pointing to the images. There was Y/n, always smiling, but next to her was a figure that couldn’t be ignored. The silhouette of Pamela Isley, better known as Poison Ivy, stood beside her, her red hair like a fire that seemed to consume the sadness of the place.

“Pamela…” Cass murmured, her voice almost a whisper. “She’s been in Arkham for three months.”

Barbara moved closer, examining the photos more closely. “This is more complicated than we thought. Ivy has been involved, and that changes everything.”

Jason, still trying to comprehend the chaos he had unleashed, ran a hand through his hair. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll find Y/n. I don’t care what I have to do.”

Barbara looked at him, her expression one of challenge but also understanding. “We can’t do this recklessly. We have to be smart. Silent.”

The group nodded, realizing that the road ahead would be filled with dangers, but also promises of redemption. They were all willing to kill for Y/n, but they had to do it quietly, like shadows slipping through the streets at night.

“Listen, we’re going to find her,” Dick said, his voice resonating like a mantra. “No matter how many doors we have to break down, how many truths we have to drag into the light.”

And so, in the echo of the silence that followed the violence, the five united in a tacit pact, intertwining their destinies in the search for Y/n. Each lost in their thoughts, each remembering that shadows sometimes have the power to conceal not only secrets but also the light that clings to hope.

The shadows stretched as they moved away from the apartment, leaving behind the vestige of a dead man and the echo of trapped laughter. The search had begun, and Y/n’s fate hung in the balance, a thread of light in the darkness that promised to bloom amid the ruins of despair.

The city lights flickered in the distance, like lost stars in the asphalt.

The tears of Y/n fell onto the slippery ground, forming puddles that blended with the blood, a dark ruby staining every part of her thin body, as if sins were being tattooed onto her skin. The humidity of the place smelled of iron and fear, of broken promises and a destiny she had chosen but didn’t quite know how to accept.

“It doesn’t feel good, little one?” said the Doctor, his voice a bitter whisper echoing off the damp walls of the room. He, with his dirty blonde hair falling messily over his forehead, wore a white coat that looked more like a rag than a symbol of authority. A cynical smile spread across his lips, revealing teeth that seemed sharper than the fate he had designed for her. “Bathing in the blood of enemies, isn’t it an exquisite pleasure?”

Y/n, her gaze lost at a point on the floor, nodded slowly, as if each movement cost her an eternity. The blood, warm and sticky, slid between her fingers, a sensory experience that drowned her in contradictions. On one hand, there was a dark delight in the power that image conferred upon her, a power she had learned to wield. But on the other hand, there was an abyss of pain threatening to consume her.

“It’s…” she whispered, barely able to form words. Her voice trembled like a leaf in autumn, indecision etched in her features. Guilt suffocated her, and each tear that fell was a reminder of what she had lost, of what she had left behind.

“What is it?” asked the Doctor, leaning toward her, his eyes lit by a glow that was not exactly compassion, but rather a cruel satisfaction. His gaze seemed to pierce through the layers of her being, scrutinizing the dark corners of her soul. “Is it pleasure you feel, or is it fear?”

Y/n recoiled, feeling her skin burn under his gaze. The Doctor’s words tangled in her mind, forming a knot that seemed impossible to untie. Her voice, almost a cry for help, resonated in the air.

“I don’t know! I don’t know if it’s pleasure or pain.” The words shot out like arrows, but only managed to embed their tips in the empty air, finding no destination. She trembled, caught between repulsion and the desire to free herself from the invisible chains that kept her anchored in that place.

The Doctor let out a cold laugh, as if he were enjoying the spectacle unfolding before him. With a careless gesture, he threw another bucket of blood onto the floor, creating a small puddle that slid toward Y/n.

“That is the beauty of your situation, my dear. You have been chosen to cleanse Gotham of the scum, and along the way, you will discover that pain and pleasure are two sides of the same coin.”

“Chosen?” replied Y/n, her voice shaking with the fierce mix of disbelief and rage. “Chosen for what? To be your puppet?”

The Doctor stepped closer, letting the distance between them fade. His presence was oppressive, like a shadow that swallowed light.

“You are not a puppet, Kerosene” he said, pronouncing her name as if caressing it. “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution. The tears that fall now are the ashes of the old you, and it’s time you embrace what awaits you.”

Y/n felt the air grow dense, as if the Doctor’s words were trying to envelop her, to convince her. But there was a truth in his voice, an echo of what she had longed for deep within her being. Hadn’t she been searching for purpose, a place to belong?

“No… I don’t want to be what you’ve made me.” she said, though her voice sounded more hesitant than determined. It was as if reality slipped around her, like the slippery ground she stood on.

“Of course you do, Y/n.” He smiled, and there was something unsettling in that smile, something that made her feel she was on the brink of a revelation. “Your pain is the echo of the city, and you, little one, can be its savior.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, and Y/n felt herself teetering on the edge of the abyss, the possibility of becoming Kerosene, the force of vengeance and power. She fought against the idea, but there was a part of her that was beginning to awaken, to open like a flower in the desert.

“So, what do I have to do?” she asked, finally facing the reality that surrounded her. The tears, instead of being a sign of weakness, now seemed a recognition of her new identity.

The Doctor looked at her with a mix of satisfaction and complicity, like a teacher who sees the spark of greatness in his student.

“First, you must accept that the past does not define your future. The blood that surrounds you is only the first step toward freedom. Become what you have always been. Your destiny is to burn, and in doing so, illuminate others.”

Y/n felt the weight of her decision slowly fading away. By accepting her destiny, she had found a new way to free herself, a purpose that shone like fire.

“Then I will do it.” she said, her voice now firm and resonant, as if she were finally embracing the darkness that had always dwelled within her. “I will be Kerosene.”

The Doctor smiled, and in that smile lay a world of possibilities. Together, they could shake the foundations of Gotham.

“That’s right, my dear Kerosene.” He stepped back, allowing his figure to fade into the shadows..“And remember, every decision you make will be a step toward glory or toward downfall. The line is thin, and you are destined to cross it.”

“What about them?” Y/n asked, pointing to the shadows surrounding her, referring to the Waynes who remained silent in their luxurious prison of silence. “Where is Batman?”

The Doctor paused, his gaze turning serious and contemplative.

“Since your appearance, the Waynes have become shadows of what they once were. Batman has vanished, as if fear has locked him in his own game. They don’t want you to know the truth, and I wonder if, deep down, he fears what you are capable of.”

“Fears?” repeated Y/n, incredulity splattering her voice like a rain of dead stars. “Why?”

“Because the truth is that there is no longer space for the good in this city.” The Doctor stepped closer, his tone low but filled with fervor. “Soon you will go after the Court of Owls. We will expose those monsters in the streets, as they deserve, and they will have no one to defend them. Not even their beloved bat.”

A chill ran down Y/n's spine. The idea of stepping out into the night, of facing the villains who had ravaged her city, filled her with a strange power. She remembered Pamela, laughing amidst the shadows, her voice like an echo urging her to fight.

“I will not be their puppet. I do not want to be a pawn in a bigger game.” The words erupted from her with the force of an approaching storm, and the vision of Pamela dancing among the flowers filled her with a sudden sweetness.

“You will not be a pawn, Kerosene.” The Doctor smiled, and in his eyes was an air of admiration. “You are the queen in this game. Your vengeance will not only bring down those villains, but it will also seek the man behind the mask of Batman. We need to end him.”

“End him?” The question hung in the air like a trembling whisper. Her heart stopped for an instant, remembering the nights spent with Batman, the unspoken words, the caresses of an absent father.

“Yes. Because he, like them, has become a legend that needs to fall.”

Y/n felt the darkness looming over her, a shadow whispering promises of power and pain. But there was something more, a spark igniting within her, a fire burning with the strength of a new dawn.

“Then I will do it.” said Y/n, her voice resonating with a clarity that surprised her. “I will expose the Court of Owls and make my father see.”

The Doctor watched Y/n with palpable satisfaction, as if he had finally ignited a spark deep within her being. With a gesture of his hand, he made the invisible shackles that kept her trapped fade away. In that moment, a strange freedom slipped over her skin, a freedom laden with dark responsibility.

“Come, Kerosene.” he said, his voice now a hypnotic chant rising among the shadows. “There is something you need to see.”

He led her through a labyrinth of damp hallways, each step resonating like an echo of past decisions. The walls seemed to whisper forgotten secrets, tales of those who had fallen into the abyss before her. As they advanced, the light of day faded, and the gloom became an accomplice to their thoughts.

Finally, they reached the balcony of the building, a place where time had stopped its march. The Doctor gently pushed Y/n toward the railing, forcing her to look out over the vast expanse of Gotham that stretched before them. The city was a canvas of flickering lights and deep shadows, a portrait of intertwined chaos and order.

“Look, little one.” the Doctor whispered, his voice wrapping around her like a veil of mystery. “This is your city, a monster that feeds on the secrets you hold in your chest. The blood that stains your skin is a symbol of the struggle that lies ahead.”

Y/n leaned over the edge of the balcony, feeling the cold wind caress her bare skin. The city glimmered like a sea of dying stars, each light a story, each shadow a whisper of betrayal. The vision enveloped her, and for a moment, she felt like a spectator of her own destiny.

Her bare skin, still stained with blood, prickled at the chill of Gotham, a freezing breeze sneaking through the cracks of crumbling buildings, as if the city itself reminded her that she was alive, that darkness embraced her with its mantle of forgetfulness and despair. Each small contact of the air made her more aware of her vulnerability, and at the same time, of the power that blossomed from within her. It was a reminder that, amidst chaos, she was the spark of a new flame.

The puddles of blood that had stained her skin, silent witnesses to her transformation, shone like a dark ruby under the dim light of the moon. In that moment, each drop was an echo of past decisions, a symbol of the life she had left behind. And yet, in her mind, the Doctor's words echoed: “You are the spark that can ignite the revolution.” The irony of her state wrapped her in a sweet and bitter confusion; deep down, her nakedness felt like a release.

The city stretched before her, a vast ocean of twinkling lights and lurking shadows. Gotham, in its complexity, seemed to breathe, a living being pulsing with stories of pain and longing. The streetlights flickered as if about to go out, and Y/n felt that each flicker was a whisper calling her, a reminder that she was destined to be part of something much larger than herself.

As she gazed at the horizon, her mind filled with images: the faces of those she had lost, those she had loved, and those she had to confront. Her heart wrestled between the desire for vengeance and the longing for redemption.

“What do you see?” asked the Doctor, his eyes shining with an unsettling intensity.

“I see…” Y/n began, but the words slipped away like sand through her fingers. The city was a labyrinth of emotions, a stage where pain and pleasure intertwined in a macabre dance. It was a reflection of her own internal struggle, her desire for vengeance and her yearning for redemption.

“I see a sea of shadows, a stage where illusions collapse like houses of cards.” she finally replied, her voice echoing. “Each light, a hope; each shadow, a whisper of unhappiness.”

“Perfect.” The Doctor smiled, his face illuminated by an almost fraternal satisfaction. “Gotham is a mirror, and you are the light that can break the darkness. You must be able to see beyond what shines.”

The Doctor’s words resonated in her mind, tearing through the veil of confusion that enveloped her. In that instant, Y/n understood that every tear shed had fed the city, that every drop of blood on her hands was an echo of what she had lost. And yet, vengeance offered her a new purpose, a path into the unknown.

“The city cries for change, for a fire to purify it” she whispered, her voice gaining strength in the night breeze. “And I… I am that fire.”

“That’s right, dear.” The Doctor nodded, a mix of pride and malice in his expression. “The fire that will purify Gotham and, in its wake, consume everything that stands in your way.”

Y/n felt the air fill with electricity, a palpable current connecting her to the city, to its pain and desire. Deep within her, something began to change. She was no longer just a puppet; she was no longer merely the shadow of her past. She was Kerosene, the spark that would ignite the flame of change.

“But, Doctor, what about those who love the darkness?” she asked, her voice now an echo of what she had learned. “What if they cling to their shadow?”

The Doctor stepped closer to her, his penetrating gaze filled with complicity.

“Darkness is a possessive lover, but there is always a price to pay. The truth is that they cannot hold onto it forever. And when the fire burns, only those ready to be reborn will be saved.”

Y/n felt a mixture of anguish and determination. The city before her became a symbol of her internal struggle, a stage where light and shadow intertwined in an eternal game. Every street, every building, every corner whispered her name in a song of warning and challenge.

“And when the fire consumes everything in its path, will there be anything left of me?” she asked, her voice trembling with the fragility of a leaf in the wind.

The Doctor smiled, a smile that seemed to mock the questions still dancing in her mind.

“Perhaps, dear Kerosene, you will find yourself in the act of burning. Or maybe, you will fade into the ash. That is the enigma of transformation: in the fire, death is merely the prelude to a new beginning.”

As she gazed at the city, Y/n felt her identity fragment and fuse, in an endless cycle of creation and destruction. The image of Gotham before her became a metaphor for the human soul, a reflection of the struggles everyone faced in the darkness. The city, with its chaos and its heartbreaking beauty, enveloped her like a hug.

With one last look at the flickering lights and lurking shadows, Y/n stepped back, a firm decision rising within her.

“There’s no turning back now” she murmured, her voice an echo of her new reality. “I will be the fire that illuminates this eternal night.”

The Doctor, with a gesture of approval, retreated into the shadows, leaving her alone in her revelation. As the city spread before her, a mantle of mystery and power, Y/n knew that the true journey was just beginning. The line between fire and ash was thin, and in her chest burned the certainty that by crossing it, nothing would ever be the same.

“So be it, Kerosene” she said to herself as the wind enveloped her in secret whispers. “Let the fire speak in your name and let the night receive your lament.”

And looking at Gotham, she understood that, in the end, her destiny was not merely to be a spectator, but an unstoppable force, a storm that would unleash chaos. And so, with her heart beating to the rhythm of the city, she prepared to embrace her truth, her fire.

☆

A/N — Here is the long-awaited third part of this series. Thank you for all the support and love you have given me. I decided to make this part longer (at the cost of not being able to include the last image :( ) so that you can enjoy it more.

I was reading your comments where you were asking if Y/n and the Doctor would have a romance (which horrifies me a bit :d, but it gave me an idea) or if he performed a lobotomy on her. Well, that will be answered in the next part or in a headcanon, whatever you ask me.

By the way, in the tag list, there are some users I couldn't add, sorry about that 😔. I really appreciate your understanding and patience. Your enthusiasm keeps me motivated to keep creating and sharing these stories. I hope you find this installment engaging and that it brings you the excitement and emotions you’ve come to expect from the series. Enjoy!

Don't hesitate to ask me anything if you want.

take a bath!

Tag list! ◇ — @amber-content @toast-on-dandelioms @feral-childs-word @sweetconnoisseurgardener @victoria1676 @toasted-cat18 @nosyrobin @beeaskewwrites @yandere-enthusiast @telltaletoad @dhanyasri @vanessa-boo @m3vl0vesu @jellypotato66 @midnightgrimoire @cherryxxxxyoongi @imnotdumbimstupif @plsfckmedxddy @h0neysiba @mybones537 @erikasurfer @sheepintherain @pix-stuff @yan-rai @uniquecutie-puffs @arlandvery @theblonde777 @alishii

@maicenitas @ti-girl1226 @vanilliona @chickenwings435 @thedramabrotherss @bat1212 @imnotdumbimstupif @somebodyrandom-613 @aelxr @jsprien213 @sheepintherain @lovebug-apple @zenychwan @starsdotalk @holylonelyponyeatingmacaron @misdollface @clementinesyummy @bunbunboysworld @lunaluz432 @kiarst @meowmeeps @adeptusxia0 @mettatons-number-1fan @fairygardenprincesss @nervousalpacalady @mottysith

Inspiration: @acid-ixx with his Again & Again series, @gotham-daydreams ' work, @i-cant-sing's work and @klemen-tine's work, be sure to check them out!

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

"I'm angry at you" Tim forces out.

It's been a long time coming, the words that have been circling his mind for years. Rotting the back of his throat.

Jason is Bruce's son in a way that he will never be. It's just a simple fact.

Maybe he could have picked a different time maybe a family dinner wasn't the place, but he was the one that spent year's of his life having to dodge bullets and murder attempts. He had to spend month's in physical therapy after the tower.

The place he felt safe was ripped away because Jason who is traumatized he hasn't forgot that fact, decided to hunt him down and hurt him.

Maybe Robin isn't a child, but Tim Drake was.

He turns to Bruce who's face is of course blank he's the one who wants Jason here yet not an emotion in sight.

Turns back to look Jason in the eye the man who's sitting next to Damian sometimes he wonders if Alfred does it on purpose a way to remind Tim that his murderers will always have something he doesn't.

He will look him in the eye he will not falter today.

"I was a child, I should have never been the exception to your rule. Say what you will about Robin being something else but you didn't care about Robin you cared it was me"

Silence it's funny how comforting it can be.

"I should not have to sit at the same table as two of my attempted murderers and pretend that it's ok. You are both traumatized I understand that but it will never be an excuse for traumatizing me. I see the Red hood and Robin in my nightmares."

He turns to look at Dick who as always is to the right of him once again pointing to Alfred doing this seating on purpose.

"You are a hypocrite who has never shut up about drying but goes out his way to kill another Robin."

He sees Alfred step forward closer to Bruce he wonders what the point is will he say anything, not likely but why move he almost asks yet if he doesn't finish he never will.

"This was your home first it still is, but I have bled and given more than you will ever know to secure my place here. So Bruce I do not ever want to partnered with either one of them in the field. You or Dick are the only options. You will not argue with me this is me laying my boundaries which I am entitled to."

He stares at Alfred loosing the blank look to let some of the anger out. He wants him to know.

"You will also never again force me to sit at a dinner table across from them again. Whatever British Passive-Aggressive gesture this is. You have no right to do. I will never forgive you for my birthday."

Dick goes to interrupt he doesn't let him.

"Bruce and Alfred have my full permission to discuss the psychological torture they put me through as my birthday present. But from now on none of you get to treat me as if I am some replacement or placeholder. I am a person with feelings, I will not be treated like a doormat."

He makes eye contact with each of them Alfred, Bruce, Jason and Damian.

Before turning to Dick for the last part.

"You are the only person here who has never deliberately hurt me, your my brother and I love you. I want to spend more time with you and I am specifically requesting that you come with me when I leave this table. We can get dinner or hang out but I need you to leave with me."

----------

Bruce is speechless.

How did he do this, his child is sitting at his table trembling and he can't move.

His child who just spent ten minutes defending himself and he is doing nothing.

Dick interrupts what he can admit is a pity party.

"Your my brother, I will happily follow you to the ends of the earth and if we leave now we can go to the Thai place that you like."

He can't let them leave he has to say something.

Tell Tim that he loves him, that he can fix this that this isn't the end. That it matters but before he can there gone.

His boys leave.

His precious sons, one loyal to a fault and one hurt beyond measure and what did he do nothing.

What he always does nothing.

[mister-001]

POISON

content: Yandere Platonic Batfamily x Neglected Reader

sinopse — you were neglected from a young age, you could no longer take all this neglect and the looks they gave you, as if you were an insect next to them, your option was to run away, and so you did, but on the way, you meet a certain clown, one who charts your path, you might think that's how it ends, but you're very wrong, you can't defy your family, and look who came to haunt you, I mean, look who came to take you home.

Warning: mentions of violence, murder, mentions of torture, violence, mentions of drugs, Reader is a girl, manipulation, violence against minors, torture, Cigarette use, negligence, joker being the joker, Yandere behavior, defined gender, blood.

chapters: 02

A/N: Firstly, you can call me Shin or Lay, feel free, sorry for the defined gender, I feel more comfortable writing for the female gender, but don't worry, I will write for other genders too, I'm just trying to feel comfortable first, I ask you to be patient with me, I can't be very active, I have a life to prioritize, health first, English is not my first language, Portuguese is, I'm using the translator, so if there is an error you already know Who to blame, I'm writing because I like writing, so don't rush me, sorry if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes, drink water and take care of yourselves, Take care little lamb...

Enjoy it while you can...

You can't run away forever little bird...

eyes were glued to the tomb in front, the tombstone well cared for and clean, a sigh came out of the little girl's mouth, more tears filled her eyes, even though she had this stoic expression, it didn't stop her from crying, until the stronger ones cry...

A hand was placed on the little girl's shoulder and she looked at the person, the middle aged man looked at her with pity, she had lost her mother so early, poor girl, at such a young age, already lost someone, the man smiled softly and nodded towards the car

The girl always had the curiosity of meeting her father, of course, her mother always said that he was a rich playboy who wouldn't have time for her, but even so, as harsh as those words sounded, the little girl knew that this was a lesson, a fact, and it seems that her mother was right, as always...

Bruce considers himself to be at least a somewhat decent person

I mean, he may not be what people call perfect, but he tries to be decent, behind that expression, there is someone who was much happier before...

Well, when a little girl arrived at Wayne Manor, he tried to do what he could to calm down first, yes, it's not the first time he's had a child, but this time is different, this little girl, is his, she contains the same blood, she is not adopted, she is really his daughter

He tried at first, but then why didn't he try later?

Because he let her slip out of his hands

He should have been there for her

He wanted to have been there for her, but the city needed him

But she also needs it, you know?...

Once again being ignored in this mansion, the dark halls that haunt you, stopping when you saw your older brother, Dick, he looked at you and just walked past you as if you didn't exist, you felt another piece of your heart break, with a sigh you walked again

Once again heading to the dark halls of the mansion

You were playing with dolls in your room, and looked at the door when you heard footsteps, your brother, Jason, walked by irritably, once again, it was always like this

You just went back to playing alone, with yourself and your silence...

It's like they say, silence is a person's best friend...

Footsteps are heard as a little girl walks through the halls once again, heading to the kitchen while looking for Alfred, she clutched the Batman plush and stopped in a room, she was going to knock on the door, but someone had already opened the door.

The little girl looked at her brother, Tim, and tried to speak, but he simply closed the bedroom door, leaving her standing in front of the door while looking at the wooden door in front of her.

With a sigh she turned and went back to looking for Alfred.

The little girl was helping Alfred and lost the Batman plush, while looking, the girl saw two girls talking and laughing, they were her sisters, Barbara and Cassandra, she likes to call them Barb and Cass, but when she went to talk to them girls, they just walked past her, Cass was kind enough to pet her head, but still, they completely ignored her existence

Again...

You were next to Damien as you clung to his jacket in the morning, a boy decided that you were the best option to bully, but Damien didn't like it very much and now the boy was on the floor bleeding, his nose was definitely broken. , he was crying in pain while Damien was looking on with disgust and disdain

You..., well you were scared, you hate seeing people bleeding, it makes you sick, you just wanted your stuffed animal back...

Startled when Damien finally looked at you with that serious expression, you quickly released the sleeve of his jacket and looked into his eyes

_ "you are weak, you will never be a Wayne, that must be why your mother died, because you weren't strong enough to save her, you can't even protect yourself alone, who guarantees that you can protect someone, I'm the most new, and I still know more than you, for once, be useful and grow "

You froze, as if time was standing still, with your eyes wide in surprise, you looked at the ground and nodded slowly as you closed your eyes to keep the tears away, it hurt, it hurt a lot, it hurt more than the scars you have from that day, the day your mother died, the day you were sent to a dark place...

Damien just walked past you and stopped in the hallway, leaving you alone, with just your tears...

You were in your room crying, tears rolled down your cheeks, holding onto the only thing you had, your Batman plush, you wanted Batman to save you just like he saves Ghotam...

You were too distracted to notice that someone entered your room, footsteps came closer to you and you felt arms around you, with a start you looked at the person, only to see Alfred

Without saying anything you allowed yourself to cry more as you clung to him.

Alfred caressed your back gently as he sighed softly, he just wishes someone in this mansion could see how brilliant you are, how amazing you are, if only there was something he could do...

LOOKING at the Tombstone, everything was silent, the silence was deafening

Yes, you ran away, and I'm not saying it in a metaphor, I'm saying you actually ran away from the mansion, well, I wouldn't consider running away, because I'm pretty sure walking out the front door and no one stops you isn't considered running away, but which is a consideration for those who have never had one...

Now here you were, in front of your late mother's tombstone, the only one who taught you and gave you affection when you needed her most, no one can replace your mother, no one at all, you would get blood on your own hands if necessary, for She, you destroy the world...

Walking through the dark streets of Gotham was you, as you held your Batman plush close, you couldn't stop feeling that feeling of someone following you, well you were right but the worst part is being right about wrong feelings...

That's why you looked back, and didn't see anyone, but when you looked ahead, your heart felt like it was going to leave you, trying to calm your breathing you dared to look at his face, the smile that doesn't fool anyone, the clothes, the hair...

You weren't mistaken

You wish you were mistaken

But this was really him...

With an amused smile in front of him was none other than someone with his own macabre thoughts...

_ "Well, well, if we don't have a little clown, alone... I don't need to introduce myself, you must know me, but I have education and I'm going to introduce myself anyway, I'm the... Joker...

Batman will like the little gift, well, if he can have his little friends, I can also have a little clown with me, don't you agree?, of course you agree, come on, little clown, let's introduce you to Gotham City..."

You looked at the man in front of you with fear, your brain was screaming at you to run, but your legs seemed glued to the ground, frozen, paralyzed...

panic settled in your body when you felt arms lifting you, you tried to fight, you tried to make him let go of you, but you shivered when you felt something come into contact with your skin, of course you knew how to put one and one together, you grew with your Mom, so you obviously know that he injected something into you, injected something into your neck...

You felt tired and stopped fighting, your eyelids slowly closed as you tried to keep them open, but it wasn't enough and you fell into a deep sleep, a dreamless sleep...

A broken heart will never be broken again if the pieces are already too small, but who said you can't step on the pieces...

BRUCE felt something was wrong, a bad feeling, he double checked his kids and found every one of them, but the more he looked, the more he felt something was wrong, so he went to look at the cameras in the batcave, wrong move ...

Looking at the cameras, he finally figured out what was wrong, his daughter, his little daughter came out, she ran away, he felt panic rising inside him, and he heard a noise behind him, and when he looked he saw Jason looking at the recording of the video. security camera with a death glare, before Bruce nodded as Jason quickly turned and went to warn the others...

That's why now they were all in the Batcave, looking at the security cameras, Tim blamed himself for not being able to stop this, he made so many plans, because he can't make a plan in case this happened, now she was lost, in the darkness of Gotham City, a dark place...

But they will find you, no matter what it takes

They will burn down Gotham if necessary

It looks like it won't rain water from the sky, but rather blood...

A/N: hello little lamb, I hope you liked it, it wasn't my idea, I was inspired by an account that had this great idea, sorry for any grammar or spelling errors, and sorry again for the defined gender, remember to take care of yourself, little one little lamb, bye bye, take care...

Signed: 𝙇𝙖𝙮...

Autor : @trashpanda0000 @dhanyasri @marsmabe @caged-birdies-blog @vanessa-boo

[coralaura]

No exit (Yandere! Platonic! Batfam x Sable DBD! Reader)

Y/N she never felt like part of this family of misfits, although Alfred would surely be an excellent father figure, however they shared nothing, just blood, no nice or flattering memories. For Y/N this was a family of strangers, Since she was a child she always thought that her mother and father (stepfather) were not her parents because they were so cheerful and she was the opposite, a serious person, interested in the dark, in what was hidden in the darkness of the night, that which frightened the bravest soul. That was what interested her, so she made her own radio show and podcast where she met more people like her, people who adored morbidity, those interested in the occult. Perhaps that's why I fit in so well with Mikaela Reid, a young woman equally passionate about the subject, although in greater moderation, both loved horror stories. Everything was going well with her life, until Mikaela disappeared, in front of the stage while telling a horror story, where eternal night reigned, a feast for the murderers and torture for those who fall in that place, at least that was the story Mikaela told and disappear right after the end, Shortly after her parents died, apparently someone thought it would be funny to take away her friend and then her parents, who despite being the opposite of her, she still missed. However, life led her to find out that her father was actually her stepfather and her real father was Bruce Wayne, interesting, right? In the end it seemed that he did resemble his father, a serious man, in a dark and seedy town unlike Greenville, a cheerful place where the only mysterious thing is the entity, The unknown.That which probably took Mikaela away from her side, they say that if you try to imagine it, give it a form, an identity, you disappear, perhaps her friend tried to give it the form, It was probably his fault, I insisted to Reid that he had to scare the audience that Halloween, that he had to give them something that would make them feel true terror, that would make them get into the skin of the protagonists, That made them tremble and sweat with terror, true fear, giving them the idea to write about the unknown, Mikaela laughed, she found the idea interesting but said she was already working on one with her roommate, Y/N didn't insist, however now she can't help but blame herself. She was about to live a dream life in a mansion with her biological father, while her best friend was suffering, God only knows what.However, shortly after she arrived at that place, she knew that it was not going to be joy, the others were cold, distant, Y/N Ward did not care, she was used to it, Nobody cared about his hobby that had become a way to annoy his deceased parents, so he didn't care about this house either, what did it matter? It's not like it really matters, although the butler will try to be nice and force them to be polite to her, I honestly don't expect anything from them. So when the little bastard, Damian Wayne, he tried to be annoying, she ignored him, when most didn't know his name, she would just shrug and walk away. Maybe because of that apathy and lack of belonging, who ran to Greenville at the first opportunity in search of her best friend.After several clues, he found information about a girl who lost her two brothers to a thick fog, she was in the psychiatric hospital but there was nothing stopping Ward, So, pretending to be her relative, she managed to get in and get an interview, where that girl warned not to enter the basement behind the town's movie theater, arguing that it was a place Horrible and scary, for most that would ring an alarm bell in their head but for Y/N it sounded like something fun. By the time he arrived, he explored that basement, filled with old, original posters, from Frankenstein to current films. He opened an old door behind the Frankenstein poster, finding stairs and slowly going down, minutes later a thick fog appeared, She recognized that fog, it was the one that took Mikaela, for a moment she was tempted to go up and leave the place but then she thought…

”scary creatures and sadistic killers and endless terror, and she quickly decided that she wasn't going to let her best friend have all the fun.”

END?

N/A

Should I write a second part? My native language is not English, so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes, I relied too much on translators, It would be a pleasure to hear ideas and opinions, especially if you know about the video game, although if not, don't be shy, I accept anything.

The art is not mine, just the edit.

[damianbugs]

i spoke about this briefly before, and i think i have my thoughts more collected now to develop on it; i feel like comics which show bruce comforting his child self in flashbacks of the wayne murder in crime alley understand the purpose of batman a lot more than the ones that have him talking to his parents.

if you've been keeping up with recent batman comics, then you'll notice a theme of bruce getting the chance to talk to his younger self. the important part though, is that it is not because of time travel or some detached third party force — it's the young bruce in batman's head.

it's the him hidden behind the black door in his mind when he's fighting his nightmares —

Batman Knight Terrors #2, 2023. written by Joshua Williamson.

— and it's the him tucked away in corner of his mind after being drugged and tortured with his greatest fears.

Detective Comics #1075, 2023. written by Ram V.

after experiencing something traumatic, the one bruce sees suffering from it isn't himself, but the young bruce wayne in the alley. because at the end of the day, every hurt circles back to that night, to that boy, that he can't save no matter how hard he tries — because that boy never left the pool of blood he was sitting in.

i think people often attribute the existence of batman as something created for his parents. to avenge them, or to be the symbol that could have saved their life had he existed before, to stop anyone else from being killed in the same way. there's some truth to that, however, to me, the answer is a little more selfish.

i think it has always been for himself, but not the him now, but the him that is still stuck in that alleyway, waiting over his parents dead bodies. batman is a symbol of hope and reformation and justice, but at its core, batman is what saved bruce wayne.

as a result, the panels above have a very different feel to say, this moment when bruce sees an illusion of his parents in Superman/Batman #56, 2009. written by Michael Green and Mike Johnson.

it's an emotional moment for sure, but it didn't quite speak to me the same way this absolutely phenomenal moment did in Batman: Blind Justice, 1989. written by Sam Hamm.

of course this moment is a lot more cynical in how bruce uses batman to cope with his guilt, while the other moments focus on batman providing young bruce with the hope to continue that he isn't alone — the sentiment of batman being the one to pick him up from the floor and lead him away from the scene in a shared motif.

it reminds me of that one discussion that batman is a victims power fantasy. his own fantasy! because bruce has — in order to have a semblance of control over himself — separated himself from this event that it is a completely different child at the scene of the crime. it's this fact that let's him reach down, hold the boy's hand and tell him everything will be okay.

this bruce wayne is a child, his child, gotham's child, thomas and martha wayne's child, an orphan to protect.

batman was made for children like bruce wayne, to stop them from becoming like him and for them to hold onto when it does — because batman is still trying to fix a problem that has an endless hole. he can never reconcile this trauma and let the boy in the alley leave, because that's not what batman was made for.

batman was made to protect the little boy, and in order to do that, he must remain in that alley.

there's still a bruce wayne who had to grow up, who learned to fight and love and lose again and again, a bruce wayne who becomes batman. a batman who then, tries effortlessly to fix problems and save people, who goes out everynight because if he doesn't, then that boy in the alley is left there for nothing.

then there comes a moment where he falls through the cracks and he's face to face with the child who can't leave and can't grow up and knows nothing but loneliness and grief — and batman gets to tell this child that life becomes more than just this alley.

the child is happy, if even for a moment, that batman is there. that's what batman is for.

[coldbagelfanstatesman]

Ultimate Batman by FitMarshmellow

The main premise here is that this is a Bruce who never had an Alfred or some kind of guiding mentor after his parents' death. He was simply an angry soul in a tortured city. With no one to ground him in reality, it made the Batman persona not exactly darker than normal, but rather...

More pragmatic.

Bruce has no real notions of idealism. He has no strict moral code, he just has his mission: eradicate crime in Gotham City.He's not a murderer, but he isn't opposed to self-defense (as far as he knows). He isn't necessarily opposed to gun, yet he finds himself unable to use them. He is a pulp adventurer in a noir city that always seems to be in shades of gray.

That is until he meets a rough street-kid who dared to take the wheels of his car--Jason Todd. This is the story of two wounded children in a city that took everything away from them, learning to overcome their trauma and become more than their darkest fears. The concept is that we start in a Miller-Like Gotham: Dark, gritty, noir, but with Jason and Bruce working together, healing each other, you see Batman and Robin and Gotham go in a different direction.

Their mission going from "Eradicating Crime" to "Making Gotham the greatest city in the world."So, while we start off with a pragmatic Batman and a darker Robin, over time, they become their archetypical selves--their greatest selves, as Gotham goes from grayscale to popping with color.

We see a Jason shaped by his life on the streets, without parentage, without mentorship, who would like for nothing but to show the world that they don't matter as much as they made him feel like he doesn't matter.

He's angry, violent, he's... exactly like Bruce.

And Bruce sees that. And for the first time in his life since his parents' murder, Bruce takes the leap and lets a person into his heart. Jason is a problem child, of course. He quickly takes advantage of Bruce's extended absences in the night to sneak off and take on the 2-Gang much to Bruce's chagrin. Once Jason finds out he's Batman, he demands to be taken with him, to be trained. Bruce is extremely reluctant, but between him sneaking out while he can't be around and him being alongside him where he can keep watch...

Bruce makes a risky decision. And that's how The Dynamic Duo is born. Jason's suit in this universe is actually a gift from Kal. It is made of impenetrable Kryptonian fabric in order to give him a layer of protection while out in the field.

On a greater meta-textual level, this story is about childhood naiveté and how it's necessary to the superhero genre.This Batman does not become the Batman we know until he gets a child's perspective. Until he finally reopens the door to the grieving child in his heart and finally lets him free. He goes from a man hell-bent on punishing the evils of the world to a man dreaming of a better one and making it happen.

All because one day, in an alley, he saw a lost boy...And wasn't afraid to show him that he was loved.

So broad strokes: We gradually go from Frank Miller Batman to Adam West Batman in one story!

Now on the design front, Batman is wearing a relatively classic costume paired with a Dracula collar for extra flair.Jason's Robin costume is a mix of his debut suit with Robin OYL and Red Robin, to give him a pop color feel, while keeping him in line with the pulp noir feel.

And yes, Jason is the first (and hopefully only) Robin Bruce will have. In a way, we'll get to see how he would've turned out if he wasn't in Dick's shadow and wasn't taken from the world too soon.

A Jason that could actually heal from his rough upbringing.

Not my idea, Art and Pitch comes from here: https://x.com/FitMarshmellow/status/1772322750796865885

[trincketbox]

Jason Todd as a Trans (ftm) allegory

Written by me, a trans man

[this edit was made by me, original picture it's Dan Mora's sketch]

TW gender disphoria, (implied) transphobia.

Im not saying his story was written with this perspective in mind, Im saying *death of the author (*the reinterpretation of artistic creations by the public both as a community and aa individuals, and how this goes far beyond the creator's original message on mind) is a very real thing.

This narrative resonated with me, a trans man, and my experience as such. Maybe out there is another transmasc person who caught themselves invested in this character the same way as I, and maybe they'll read this post and be happy to found out they're not alone on these feelings.

Without further addue, let's begin.

The second Robin, and the feeling of not fitting

Every trans person first memory of perceiving oneself as somehow different (and how) it's particular to each.

Some realize pretty young, some older. Some always have this lingering feeling of not belonging but become conscious of it later in life.

This feeling its present trough all of Jason's life. First, when he first arrives at the Manor. Later, when he starts operating as Robin. Then when Tim "replaces him", and so on.

Usually labelled as the black lamb of the family.

Tragedy is always, first, born off love

Jason's death and resurrection is written as a tragedy (no shit, Sherlock). But there, to be a tragedy, there has to be hope first. There has to be love.

Now, this varies from version to version, but a general consence is that Jason Todd was loved by Bruce Wayne, regardless of how much their relationship might change and twist on the future; Jason Todd was a good kid, regardless of how he might be portrayed as recless. He was a traumatized, angry kid who wanted to make things better. Who wished for bad guys to not hurt people anymore. Who wished to change the system for better, and took the matter on his own hands both as a child and as a young adult.

This

This right here

Was a loved, brave, bold, sensitive, mischievous, smart child who would latter come back like this:

Demanding justice, demanding damnation for al the pain he went through, demanding retaliation to the monster that set him off this world.

And all these requests fell to the ears of Bruce Wayne, Batman. The man who took him in as a scared, bold litte child that beated him in the cold of the night in the alley where his parents died. He stole his car tires, he's a child and he stole his car tires and he made Batman laugh.

That Perception doesn't change with his rise from the dead.

What changes is Bruce's view of him now.

Now, this depends on the writer, but on the start of Jason's "coming back to Gotham to fight Bruce" arc, there is the accusation of him coming back wrong.

Of him being better before

Of something being wrong with him since the start.

The implications of his physical change as wrong in comparation to his younger self.

I find Jason's body dismorphia due to The Lazarus Pit™ very interesting,but in this case Im not referring to it as a comparation with body disphoria (even through, he does get the feeling of your body changing in ways out of your control and the trauma that surrounds it).

Im talking about Bruce's view on all of this.

Luckily, if you're trans and had supportive parents, you won't know these things by first hand experience, but many, many people do.

And Jason gets it.

Jason Todd its womanhood™ coded

This is, partially, one of th main reasons why his fanbase consists on a large part of fangirls.

Repressed rage upon the injustices you go through all your life, and once the last drop falls, said rage is weaponized. Seen as dirty, as over the top, as dangerous.

Your older self being compared to your younger self, being asked (directly or indirectly) where that sweet child™ went.

Being striped away from your body autonomy (murder, torture, resurrection against his will, whatever is going on in Batman Gotham War).

Being labeled as the most sensitive. Sometimes in a good light, sometimes not.

The burning weight of still loving parental figures that hurted you.

Topping it all, it's implied through many instances he's a feminist (yes, Im aware this is also heavily influenced by fanon interpretations of the character, but you can't deny it's still heavily implied).

All of these issues almost universal (however not exclusive) to AFAB people life experience.

There is this recognition in these wounds. "He gets it", you feel, he gets it.

He gets it in a similar way transmasc individual have an undeniable insight of these issues. He gets it in a way that feels genuine, familiar, personal.

Lastly but nor least important,

He gives me gender™ vibes. That's it, that's the argument

Over all, Jason Todd its a multifaceted, complex character. He's morally grey, his temperament ranging and mutating with each reinterpretation. Some core issues stick, others don't.

I do not hold the one and only right interpretation of this character.

We can al agree, nevertheless, that even through he's not canonically trans,

Jason todd would be a great trans ally, fighting by our side, in name of our rights, our pain but also our pride.

For that's what heroes do.

[bitterrobin]

another thing that’s so interesting about Damian is that, by virtue of being the youngest family member and one of the newer Batman characters introduced (2006), his perspectives on other people and their histories will always be skewed. He exists past focal points and events. He wasn’t alive to know Dick as a child or a teenager in those transitionary periods, the aftermath of Jason’s death, to know Tim as any younger than 17, he barely interacted w Bruce enough to really absorb the meaning of his parents death - or any of the parental deaths of the family. He wasn’t there for Bruce’s death until during/after the funeral. He wasn’t there for Nyssa’s torturing of Talia, and caught in the whirlwind of Ras’ resurrection but never grasping the tumult of Talia’s concerns and fear.

Damian can only ever experience a person after their monumental events have changed them. He only knows a Bruce that barely acknowledged his existence, one worn down by years and years of pain and death and the smallest of triumphs. He only knows the Tim that has been warped by grief, the one that lashed out and matched Damian’s insecure vitriol. He only knows the Jason that resurrected, the one that shot him point blank and antagonized every conversation. He knows Cassandra as the heir worshipped and beloved, not the girl who made herself a hero despite everything. He knows Stephanie as the girl reshaped, the girl cheery and hardworking - not the girl who considered revenge and murder and lay bruised in a hospital bed. He learns from others in quick conversations. They never sit him down and explain their histories, their mythic lore. He knows people from how they are perceived by others, filtered through the lens of his own unmoored world.

[forwards-beckon-rebound]

just finished watching under the red hood and oh boy i have some thoughts.

warning: spoilers for utrh the movie obviously, a very long and not particularly coherent rant, i have not read the comic yet because i heard jason gets treated even worse in it but i’ll probably get around to it soon

first of all, i didn’t realize how violent it was, especially considering it’s a kids show. not only that but how callously jason just kills people. like i was aware but i kind of assumed that he did it when it was necessary. but sometimes he kills people when he could just incapacitate them. i think it adds another layer of complexity to his character, like i see why he’s an anti-hero bordering on villain to some people and not just a misunderstood hero.

not that i don’t stand by his points about killing the joker, but i do understand why bruce wasn’t exactly eager to welcome him back with open arms (i still think he could be a better father though).

ON THE SUBJECT OF BRUCE AS A FATHER. it physically pains me to hear him never acknowledge jason as his son. jason’s always his soldier, his partner, his fault. thank god jason never heard the shit bruce said because i would rage if i were him. you can’t call somebody your partner if you don’t see them as your equal. and how could jason be his equal? he was a child. at best he is his son. at worst he is his ward. either way, no child wants to hear that they’re a mistake. not their death, not the way they were raised or trained. just their whole existence. like thanks bruce, you really know how to make amends with your children.

and on that topic, there’s this theme of like oh was jason always destined to be a criminal? like was there truly nothing bruce could’ve done to stop him? it literally broke my heart when jason said maybe he was always the monster under the mask, like to hear him give up on himself like that made me want to cry. i hate this idea of this life being his fate. especially since bruce was like oh yeah he was stealing my car tires, he was raised to be a criminal and all that. i don’t think the writers meant it in that way but for a billionaire who also breaks the law to say that a child who grew up poor was always meant to be a criminal rubs me the wrong way. like i don’t think he has the moral high ground to say some of the things he says because jason did make a point when he talked about how joker has killed way too many people for batman to let him go.

anyways, do i think murder is wrong and what jason did was reprehensible? yes, although the becoming crime lord thing to control it in gotham was very smart. but is it so bad that he couldn’t have just come home? gotten therapy and had a semi normal life again? gotten to kill the joker as a little treat? no. he was like, what, 18 or 19 during the movie? and also traumatized and in desperate need of therapy? i’m not excusing his actions but when you grow up fighting these violent criminals and also being tortured and killed by one, it certainly blurs the lines. so i understand, and i think there is still redemption for him.

and the real villain of the story is the gotham criminal justice system for never doing anything about crime alley or keeping people like the joker from breaking out of arkham every week.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Let Sleeping Cats Lie

by Bluestrasa When he sees the name, he forces himself not to do a double-take and waits to confirm it on the next page. “Selina Kyle,” Helena murmurs the name aloud. She finally stops flipping the pages and stares at her original birth certificate. Her mother is listed as one Selina Kyle, right there in bold letters that make Tim’s brain feel like it's about to melt out of his ears. Red Hood meets a violent child on a quest for revenge. Robin meets a strange girl searching for her family. Catwoman can't stop finding the same little stray who's always getting into trouble. Batman just wants to know what the hell is going on in his city. All Helena wanted was to find out who ordered the hit on the family that raised her and then to kill Santo Cassamento. How it spiralled out of control so fast after she accomplished one-half of that goal she doesn't know, but she'd like it to stop now. TLDR; The universe where in her first year as Catwoman, Selina Kyle gave up her baby instead of tracking down the father and everything is different. Words: 2851, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Series: Part 2 of Run with the Cats, Hunt with the Bats Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Huntress (Comics), Catwoman (Comics), Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M Characters: Helena Wayne, Helena Bertinelli, Jason Todd, Tim Drake (DCU), Selina Kyle, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson Relationships: Selina Kyle & Helena Wayne, Bruce Wayne & Helena Wayne, Tim Drake & Helena Wayne, Jason Todd & Helena Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne & His Children, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Helena Wayne is raised as Helena Bertinelli, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake is Robin (DCU), Teen Helena Wayne, Selina Kyle Loves Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne Loves Selina Kyle, they are dysfunctional tho, Gotham City-Typical Violence (DCU), Implied/Referenced Torture, Revenge, Murder, Blood and Violence, Breaking and Entering, Vigilantism, in all shades of grey, Foster Care, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Medical Inaccuracies, probably, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Parent-Child Relationship, Sibling Bonding, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Lazarus Pit Side Effects (DCU), Miscommunication, Secrets, Work In Progress, Other Additional Tags to Be Added via https://ift.tt/lK7f8cw

[rosiiclouds]

OK SO I GET TO INFODUMP ABOUT MY OWN KNOWLEDGE OF THE DC COMICS SO YIPPEE YOU CANNOT ESCAPE ME

so basically, we’re starting with batfam and the multitudes of robins there is, bc it’s one of th e most confusing thing there is.

The favorite, the classic, Richard Grayson (otherwise known as dick but I. I can’t, I just can’t-)

Orphan, pretty sure his parents died in an accident with their circus act, but idr, I think it also kinda had to do with the joker? Again, don’t remeber

afterwards Bruce adopts him and he becomes Batman’s first sidekick, Robin. He’s the Fun robin, the classic, the quip-er, the silly, a literal twelve year old child fighting crime. Everyone loves him. Everyone has heard of him.

In his teen years, he gets a little more unique, no longer JUST being Batman’s sidekick, but also being a part of the teen titans (after being inspired by the Justice League, Batman’s own superhero club.) he ends up being a bit more rebellious in his own way, and even rejects the Robin mantle, and becoming Nightwing (there was also a Discowing at some point but shhhhhhh)

he also ends up moving out of Gotham to Bludhaven in his adulthood.

then we move onto The Second Robin, also a fan favors.

2. Jason Todd, aka, the guy who has a white streak in his hair.

yea the white streak actually has a lot of plot importance lmao

Jason’s parent also died, completely forgot how, probably another Joker thing-

Bruce takes him in, and he becomes the Next Robin.

Things are good (ish, I mean it’s dc) for a while, but THEN

The Joker Decides To Be a Little Silly (derogatory)

he kidnaps Jason, and Batman… idr if he just doesn’t care or plain just can’t find him, but he doesn’t come to rescue Jason until the very last minute.

Jason is sitting there, thinking Bruce with save him, clinging to that idea, all the while being TORTURED and eventually BRUTALLY PIPE MURDERED BY THE JOKER

I also think the building might’ve blown up at some point but I might be misremembering, or mixing two different canons idk.

BUT THEN

Jason ends up getting revived Due To Stuff I Never Rememebr (something about a Pit, it was green, looked like nukulaer waste).

and he doesn’t remeber SHIT other then being pissed at both the joker and Batman.

so he tries to kill both as (which yeah, Batman didn’t even kill the joker after, just kinda threw him in prison, which he quickly broke out of again. Thanks Batman.), he also now goes by Red Hood, and he gets guns! :D

but you see.

The Next Robin.

3. Tim drake.

rich parents hated and neglected him, he then got adopted by Bruce.

I’ll be honest, I don’t know as much about Tim, but I do know that when Jason came back, he felt betrayed (bc at some point he regains his memories but shhhhh I don’t remeber when) and like Batman replaced him, which is no fault of Tim ofc, but Jason doesn’t know that, and tries to take revenge on both of them

eventually, Jason gets stopped, again I don’t remeber exactly how since a lot of what I know is from other people, not all the comics, but jason eventually leaves them alone and stops trying to kill everyone.

Tim Needs A Fucking Break, so he decides to get a little Silly (not like joker) and goes away for a few years and leaves being Robin behind, (also I think aorund this point he gets his Spleen taken by Guy Who’s Name I Forget But In The Dark Knight Trilogy He’s Played By Liam neson.)

durring this time we get our Fourth Robin, Stephanie Brown.

4. Steph!

she and Tim date at one point but we all decided to side step that so we don’t talk about it nope we do not not right now that is a can of worms we do NOT have time for

Stephanie was raised by this Ofher Guy I Always Forget Name Of, and was trained to be an assassin to both accompany him and take his place. Eventually, she breaks away from him, and joins Batman. She becomes Robin for a while, and has Imposter Syndrome. I love her so much she’s so fun.

after Tim comes back, he takes the Robin role again, and so she’s kinda left without a role, until she is offered the title of Batgirl after Cassandra Cain becomes her own thing (iirc. Also don’t get me started on batgirl it’s a lot, it deserves its own post/ask)

also at one point I think she kills herr dad but there’s no harmonica solo (/ref).

THEN.

5. Damian Al Ghoul/Wayne.

Bruce’s biological son.

he was raised by his mother, (who Jason fucked I think) and grandmother (who stole Tim’s spleen) to be an assassin (AGAIN, this has happened so many times wtf-), and on a mission, he’s assigned to kill Batman.

……..

HES FUCKING EIGHT FUCKING YEARS OLD

he’s I think the youngest Robin too.

anyways he tries to kill Tim. Bc my man can’t fucking catch a break.

and then Bruce adopts him.

and makes Tim give up the mantle of Robin. So Tim gives Robin over to Damian. And it’s one big fucked up family that has a canon Fluff Fic on Webtoon.

there’s also ofc Barbara and Katie and cass and duke but first I need to tell you what Tim did right after Damian becomes robing.

Tim 1) takes o r Wayne enterprises, and 2) keeps doing vigilante work under, get this, the name of RED ROBIN.

I’m not joking,

he’s named afer a fucking restaurant.

tumblr isn’t letting me put images but omg.

he danced around on trade mark to get hit with the next.

so that’s the robins. (Abridged ofc)

how old was everyone .

How old was Tim during the million attempts on his life

HOW OLD WAS JASON WHEN HE DIED

[rhiaemrys]

So, I've been trying to identify who would escalate a prank war to Kevin McCallister levels in the batfamily and I've come down to Three (3) options. By all means feel free to have a (fun) debate about it, though. This is just my opinion.

Option one, the most understandable: Damian Wayne

Damian was effectively raised as an only child while also being told to be The Best. Of course he's chronically unable to back down once challenged and so no matter who started this, Damian will attempt to end it. It's an easy way to prove himself their betters while also being super petty. Also, he desperately want's to prove to Jon that he's not a stick in the mud. Also also, his brothers are insane and there's no telling what the next prank will be and who will be caught in the crossfire. Might as well make sure that any revenge is premeditated.

Option two, the wildcard: Cassandra Cain

Cass is also an only child. She was also raised to be The Best and is stubborn as hell so of course she gets involved in what she sees as a fun competition with her family. Her image of retaliation is skewed, though so she always ends up going slightly overboard. Not enough for anyone to get mad, but it's suspicious that it's always enough to make the person ticked off, yet not murderously enraged. She's also a little shit who can get away with anything with Bruce if she looks innocent enough. It drives her brothers up a wall because there's no evidence to prove she DID do it. Cass knows exactly what she's doing and she's not afraid to do it.

Option Three, the Actual Kevin McCallister: Tim Drake

Listen, okay. I had to put him here. On top of being an only child I swear to god this kid was obsessed with Home Alone. He absolutely would take the opportunity to MacGyver some shit to torture his siblings, bonus points if it hits Bruce too. You cannot convince me he didn't booby-trap Drake manor at some point while his parents were globe trotting. He doesn't have any excuse of pride about challenges, he's just a malicious actor here. Tim fears no retribution or god, he's nearly been killed several times and it hasn't stuck so why would it start now. You attack, and he attacks back a thousand times harder. You attack Tim and practically sign a waiver allowing him the freedom to ruin your costume or civilian lifestyle.

Cut here before the explanations of those who don't escalate (Need to emphasize here, they still may participate but they don't make it worse) because this has gotten out of hand

Reasoning for others to not be included:

Duke: He's unhinged yes, but he's not batshit insane. He fully understands that if he escalates, someone is going to make a murder attempt. He doesn't want to be the next Tim, that's not a position he wants to willingly put himself in yet. He'll contribute or join a team, but ultimately Duke can be found in the one Neutral Zone, Alfred's kitchen, watching with bemusement as his siblings attempt to turn the Manor into a war-zone. If pranked, he'll prank back, but not escalate. Also people feel a little like kicking a puppy when they prank him. Duke weaponizes this and uses it to get out of bullshit or pull off bullshit scot-free.

Stephanie: Maybe she's on a team. Maybe she's a free agent. She doesn't want anyone to target her specifically because then she truly has to be paranoid. Instead, she's always helping with pranks, making everyone indebted to her and thus allowing her to be the only safe person other than Alfred.

Barbra: I just. I cannot emphasize how much the family leaves her out of this. She will find a way to get back at you and it will end your idea of pranking her again. Unlike Alfred, who was universally known to be off-limits, she knew that someone would try something because all of that family is made up of little shits. This meant that she has to shut it down once it starts. She is immune. Inevitably someone will push the envelope and Babs will remind them that she control's their tech and information systems. She will however, assist if a prank gets particularly nasty and someone needs to shut the war down. Typically she's recruited by Alfred or Bruce to end the war where it stands once it starts to get to the Property Destruction Level.

Jason: He was asked not to participate by Alfred and Jason willingly obeys only Alfred. This is specifically because of one incident when this happened with Tim, Dick, and him. Back when he and Tim were getting along somewhat and Dick had somehow pissed both of them off, they escalated The War. It ended with three new craters in the warehouse district, The Riddler so traumatized that he completely avoids doing Rouge Activities when Red Robin and Red Hood are on speaking terms, and Dick stuck in a box on his way across the country. Instead, Jason enjoys being on Stephanie's side of aiding whoever is funnier. He is not off limits though. Oh dear god he is not off limits. He is the victim of so many pranks. He just cannot retaliate. In turn, he turns into a snitch for this event, and only this event. Jason will alert Alfred of any destructive pranks. He will let Alfred know of birdies staying up too late, of birdies jumping off buildings because superman will catch them, of birdies doing general dumb ass restricted shit. Jason will make the pranker's life a living hell.

Dick: Dick matches the energy of the prank. He's petty so it will always be perfectly organized so that it causes maximum damage while never managing to be something one can reasonably escalate against. (For example, Tim once hid all of Dicks cereal in increasingly impossible places and swapping the boxes so they were labeled wrong. In retaliation every single one of Tim's coffees became decaf. They're the exact same flavor, but the caffeine content is so low it barely counts as coffee. Tim didn't notice until he went on a case bender and passed out thirty hours in despite drinking eight cups of coffee. This was weeks later after the war ended. There was no retaliation. Tim still has no clue how Dick got in, out, AND made the perfect replica) Damian learned at the feet of the master, but unfortunately has too much localized anger to play it to perfection like Dick can.

Cullen and Harper: They don't live at the Manor. They refuse to participate. They'll help small scale, but they're both sensible enough to know that anymore makes them targets.

Bruce: I don't need to explain this. He's tired. He doesn't want to be here. He never actively participates and yet always ends up in the crossfire. Can people please stop pranking each other on patrol? Must you dye Tim's suit neon pink? It's really not conducive to being the cities silent protectors.

[starsonistlove]

A list of things I know about mcu from mostly fandom.

As a person whose only watched 5 out of however many mcu movies, none of the series, and consumes far to much fan-content. (The most recent film was released 2016 for context).

Probably in the wrong order:

The 40s(-ish): - Steve Rogers was a sickly scrappy menace who always picked fights, he's best friends with Bucky Barnes - Bucky goes to war, Steve follows eventually - Steve volunteers for experiments so the army will actually accept him and becomes no-longer-sickly scrappy menace, with extra muscles - Steve might be in love with Peggy, or possible Bucky who knows - Bucky falls off a train, he is now the dead - Steve crashes a plane and becomes the capsicle

The early 2000s(Potentially) - Bruce Banner gets radio-fied and becomes the sweetcorn man, he is not pleased and nor is someone called Ross -Natasha Romanoff Little addition tm is stolen/sold to the red room becomes ballerina-esque deadly assassain - Clint Barton is a shield agent, when told to kill Romanoff, does not, they are now both agents - Tony Stark; alcoholic party man with far too much brain is kidnapped and tortured, designs fancy suit and escapes, becomes iron man, changes his company for the better. Lots of trauma and character development to follow - Loki finds out he's adopted, his subsequent villain arc is either very drama queen vibes, or well deserved. Currently unclear. - Thor.... I know nothin

2012(Mayhaps) - Events of the avengers film(I actually watched this one) Loki might of been mind controlled during this? - Thor returns to Asgard - Team moves in with Stark - Fanfic writers like this moment in time Post- The Avengers (Fuck if I know anymore) - Stark(and Banner maybe?) do a thing with Jarvis and something called ultron and it's bad. - Maximoff twins exist, they are bad and then good and then Pietro is dead and Wanda is (????) - Spider-man - Barnes is alive and he just shot Romanoff - The government does not like the Avengers (It might be Wandas fault? OR Tonys? OR steves????) - Hulk in spaceHulk inspaceHulkinspace Gladiators? - The accords are bad, Someone teach these adults to communicate better please - Airport fight, ant-man and falcon exist, Stark just blackmailed a child - Barnes murdered Tony's parent but he was mind-controlled - Stark needs better friends (so do most of these people) - Barnes is now in Wakanda? -Fanfic writers do not like this moment in time (But they do like all the angst and fix-it potential) -Spider-man destroys several things including a ferry because he is a disaster child doing his best, Stark do better - Spider-man is pjs has a horrible first date, benches a building and crashes a plane, this is traumatising, but good job Parker -Hela destroys asgard, or mayhaps twas her little brothers -A wild Thanos appears, he;

Murders Loki and most surviving Asguardians Almost kills Stark and crushes a building Sacrifices his daughter cause he's a dick Kills vision fights Strange Spider-man Stark and the guardians on another planet Snaps and kills half the universe

- Stark invents time-travel and they save the blipped after 5 years - Big final battle led by Captain America - Stark snaps and dies - Rogers time-travels (no one is happy with this) - Falcon is now an American bird (people do like this) - Spider-man is betrayed by a fishbowl and has a bad time - Spider-man has more of a bad time, this time with multiverse theory

I can't think of anything else rn.

[ao3feed-birdflash]

Villains Aren't Born (Darlin' We're Made)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/6X2Z4K0

by Mercury_n_Jem

He stared at the blinking cursor on his screen, his mind effortlessly wandering away from the apartment.

“...other news, Gothamites will be gathering in Robinson Square tonight to honor Nightwing, on the three year anniversary of his death.” Vicki Vale said. “For those unaware, Batman’s former sidekick was murdered overseas—”

Jason turned the TV off. It was starting to distract him. It would be hard to track down Dick or find out what happened to him if he hadn’t been seen since his ‘death’. Someone had to know something. That was always the case when it came to anything. Someone knew something.

OR

When Jason returned to Gotham, he wasn't expecting a lot of things. New siblings, a dead brother. He also wasn't expecting to find himself in the crosshairs of a dangerous mercenary known as Renegade. But when Renegade proposes they work together to kill Batman, Jason has to do everything to protect his father from whoever is under that mask.

Words: 1721, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010), Batman - All Media Types, Teen Titans (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Alfred Pennyworth, Wally West, Slade Wilson, Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley, Roy Harper, Bernard Dowd, Kon-El | Conner Kent, Selina Kyle, Damian Wayne, Assorted Other Side Characters

Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson/Wally West, Selina Kyle/Bruce Wayne, Bernard Dowd/Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Roy Harper/Jason Todd

Additional Tags: Minor Character Death, Major Character Injury, Canon Temporary Character Death, Torture, Implied/Referenced Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Dick Grayson is Renegade, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake is Robin, Wally West is Kid Flash, Damian Wayne is Not Robin, Protective Dick Grayson, Villain Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Semi-Mute Wally West, Due to aforementioned character injury, Big Brother Jason Todd, Protective Jason Todd, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd-centric, Dick Grayson-centric, Slade Wilson Being an Asshole, Bruce Wayne's C+ Parenting, he's trying, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne's Parent, Lazarus Pit Side Effects (DCU), Psychiatrist Harleen Quinzel, Angst, Angst with Unhappy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, But also, Hurt No Comfort, Unhappy Ending, Psychological Torture, Jason Todd and Damian Wayne Meet in the League of Assassins

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/6X2Z4K0