#and it made me want to draw damian

[nevlartery]

20. Comfort

[ID: A black and white sketch of Dick Grayson sitting in a tree with a frowning Damian]

[harveylikestoart]

Playlist cover for funsies 🫶✌️

[idreamofneonsheep]

Words aren't wording? Draw some of batman's child army instead

Featuring my inability to draw both starfish *and* children

From top left: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Cass Cain, Steph Brown, Carrie Kelley, Damian Wayne, Duke Thomas, and Jarro (Bruce's favorite child)

[eyesthecolorofarson]

Three hours ago Damian went MIA.

He was supposed to be on patrol but three hours twenty-six minutes and forty-five seconds ago he veered off route and hasn't answered any texts, calls, or alerts since. Luckily he hadn’t turned off his tracker so they could see he was on the seventh floor of a children’s hospital in the upper west-side.

Tim would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. Damian had been disappearing more and more often lately, but this was the first time he disappeared on patrol. Behind him Bruce was losing his mind, muttering to himself nonsense Tim didn’t bother trying to understand.

He was at the Batcomputer, hacking into the hospitals seventh floor emission room cameras and flicking through them to try and find Damian. Dick was at his left, scanning the footage for any clue of their brother’s whereabouts. Jason had his feet kicked up on his right, pretending like he didn’t care, but he was watching just as intently.

Case was trying to get Bruce to sit down and actually breath, Steph was still on patrol and Duke was dead to the world. He was pretty sure Alfred knew where Damian was going and probably had a good clue as to where he was now, but if he wasn’t saying anything Tim knew better than to ask.

Finally, they got something. Well, a bit more than something. Ok, a lot more. It was a double room, with a standard bed in front of the door and a crib across up against the wall. To the left of the standard bed were two nightstands. The first one had a light show projector shaped like a UFO, a phone charger, laptop, several fidget toys and a kalimba. The second was empty and the crib had a collapsed gate inside it. Next to the bed was a couch with a few bags sitting next to it.

In the standard bed was Damian, drawing in a sketchbook he knew wasn’t his just from the stickers on the cover. But next to him, cuddled up to him, was a girl. She was African with gold eyes and curly baby blue hair in a bob. The ends of her curls faded into multiple colors, giving the impression of a rainbow and blue sky. She was wearing a hospital gown, and Damian was wearing….a shirt that said ‘cotton candy club’ in pastel blue purple and pink with cartoon cotton candy???

The computer told him her name was Lydia Lippet, who’s family, friends and nurses nicknamed ‘Fireworks’. She was sixteen and suffered from the genetic disorder AIP–Acute Intermittent Porphyria.

He, Dick and Jason stared for a second. “Uh, B? Cass? We found him, but—Well, your not going to believe this.” “O. M. G! A girlfriend! He has a girlfriend! Oh how could we ignore the signs!?” Dick cheered as Bruce and Cass rushed to the batcomputer. They all watched as the girl-Lydia-snuggled closer to Damian, who smiled and pulled her closer by the arm around her waist.

Bruce watched silently, almost gaping. Cass just smiled. Jason took a picture then started texting so fast Tim worried he’d break his fingers. “Tim, rewind the footage and find out when Damian entered.” Bruce said, sounding confused and a little worried. Tim rewinded until he found the moment Damian, as Robin, entered through the large window.

They watched as he stared at Lydia for a minute, his eyes wide and trailing all over her. Now the crib was next to the bed and the gate was open, and the area between the beds had a blanket and all sorts of baby stuff laid out and the couch was under the window. The baby gave a little gurgle and he jumped like he didn’t know it was there. Lydia sat up and looked towards him. “Damian.” She sounded breathless, a little rough with a thick Gotham accent. “Lydia.” He sounded almost heartbroken, rushing to her side.

“What—Is this why you haven’t been answering your phone? Have you been here for two weeks? What happened?” Lydia laughed sadly. She scooted over and patted the bed, making Damian paused. He looked to the door and the nurses window then back at her. “Can I change before we speak? I don’t—“ he stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m not going to leave you.” Dick ruined the moment when he ‘aww’ed. Jason told him to shut up.

Lydia nodded and motioned to a possum-shaped plush backpack on the table across from the cradle. “I ‘ave some shirts and pants in Moonstone. The bathrooms that door.” Damian grabbed the shirt they’d seen him wearing and a pair of pink pajama pants. He was in and out in less than five minutes, which was a new record. Getting out of costume took time.

Lydia giggled softly. “Ya’ look great.” Damian huffed. “I could say the same about you.” She giggled again and hugged him as soon as he got in the bed. He stiffened for a second before relaxing and practically melting into the hug. Damian sighed and whispered, “I missed you.” Lydia hugged him tighter. “Missed you more.” They pulled back and stared at each other—

And Lydia burst into tears.

Unfortunately a nurse walked in right as she threw herself onto him and cried. The nurse stood dumbfounded as she watched Damian Wayne shush and comfort Lydia. He noticed the nurse and leaned forward. “Please leave. And don’t let the press know. For her,” he motioned to Lydia then behind him, “and the infant’s sake.”

The nurse nodded and quickly left, and Tim pulled up another camera. Thankfully the nurse kept to herself and even put a ‘do not disturb’ sign outside of the room and closed the blinds on the door and nurses window. He kept that camera up just in case but focused back on Damian and Lydia.

She was talking as she cried. “I-hic-I wanted to call ya’—“ she choked on her tears and Damian pulled her to his chest. “You don’t need to explain,نجم شمال, just let it out.” She shook her head. “I—Jazz—“ She bit her lip and looked at the cradle. The baby, Jazz, gave a tiny coo and Damian seemed to understand.

“Ok, breath for me, in and out slowly. Just like that.” In five minutes she was calm again, cradled against Damian’s chest as he ran his hand through her hair, lightly pulling a strand on his finger than letting it bounce back. Lydia had her eyes closed, a content expression on her face. “Thank you.” She whispered, opening her eyes and gazing up at him.

“Of course.” He whispered back, continuing to play with her hair. Dick was silently screaming, jumping up and down. Bruce had sat down and was watching intently. Cass was jumping with Dick. Tim was trying to piece together how long this has been going on. Damian started disappearing about two and a half years ago, so they’d definitely had time to get to know one another.

“Five years ago,” Lydia started, “I was diagnosed with AIP—Acute Intermittent Porphyria.” She pressed a button on the side of the bed that made the back end start to raise. “It’s a rare genetic disorder that has a lotta stupid triggers,” she continued, “like infections, hormones, and sunlight. Well, those are my triggers.”

“AIP sucks cause’ it’s not only rare, but symptoms and triggers are so different b’tween every person. Don’help that a lot of them are asymptomatic. It took like, a whole year in this hospital to get diagnosed.” She chuckled sadly and leaned against the bed when it was raised all the way up.

“What are your symptoms?” Damian asked softly. She huffed and put her ear to his chest. “It starts with a lot of vomiting. Like, not like there’s a lot of vomit, more like I vomit everything. Food, applesauce, pills, even water comes up in less than five minutes. Sometimes thirty seconds.”

Even water? That wasn’t good, and he could tell Damian was thinking the same thing from the way his eyes narrowed. “Then the pain starts. Abdominal pain so bad that it hurts ta’ breath. Talkin’ becomes unbearable, much less moving. And—moving.” Lydia stopped and sniffled, raising her hand. Or, trying to. A little below her neck her hand stopped and began shaking, like it was stuck in place.

He was confused for a second, but then he took in the way her hand was curled into a fist, how her fingers twitched but then returned to the same position, the tears filling her eyes. “You can’t move your hands.” Damian realized. He sounded horrified. “And if talking hurts, then singing—your instruments—“ He looked around the room before looking back to her. “Your legs as well?”

Lydia nodded sadly, letting her hand drop. “My body can’t get the nutrients it needs, so it takes it from my muscles.” She tried to open her hand with her other, but that hand was stuck in a fist too. “My body is cannibalizing itself. We’re lucky we caught it early this time. The last time it started attacking my bones.”

“You can’t sing.” Damian said again. “You can’t dance, play your instruments, draw. You’ve lost your music.” Lydia nodded again, biting her bottom lip. She took a shaky breath before continuing. “Another thing that happens is that—well, all this starts ‘cause m’body doesn't have an enzyme that it’s supposed to. And that causes it to produce another, really bad enzyme.”

“All this—we don’t really know why this is happening since it hasn’t happened with many other people with AIP, but—um.” She took another deep breath, looking Damian in the eye. “My kidneys are shutting down.” At Damian’s expression she backtracked. “Well, they were, but now their not! But their in real bad shape and that ain’t even talkin’ about my liver or appendix which by the way? Did’ya know all this could cause my appendix to burst?”

She smiled weakly as Damian immediately began fussing over her. Asking if she was in pain right now, pressing different parts of her stomach and asking if it hurt, if she’d drank any water, if she could. It was honestly really cute. He and Jason shared grins as Dick and Cass began talking about stories they could tell her, how they could introduce themselves. Bruce sat silently, looking stunned but a little pleased.

“This attack isn’t as bad as last time,” She reassured him, “and it’s nowhere near as bad as the first.” There was a story there, a sad one from the way she said it but she didn’t continue and Damian didn’t push. Jazz began babbling loudly and crawling around the crib. Lydia smiled.

“That’s Jasmine, but I call her Jazz. Baby’s ain’t suppose’ to room with anyone older than one but she needed to be emitted badly so they asked if she could stay with me. Obviously I said yes. Hiya lovebug!” Jazz squealed and sat up, clapping her hands. Damian watched as Lydia cooed and played peek-a-boo with her blanket, Jazz babbling like crazy.

“Uh oh,” Jason snorted, “I know that look.” He was right—they'd seen that face more than once. Usually before Damian brought home an animal he realistically shouldn’t have been able to find in New Jersey. Damian stood up and went around the room, putting on bright red shoes and a pastel rainbow puffer jacket and picked up the possum bag. “What’cha doing?” Lydia seemed amused. Probably because her fashion style looked a little ridiculous on Damian.

“Im going to your apartment and collecting things I know you'd like to have. And while you are not capable of using some of them such as your instruments and sketchbooks I’d enjoy practicing your art style and learning a new instrument. Jasmine would also enjoy some entertainment, no?”

Lydia stared for a few seconds before her eyes filled with tears. She used her shoulder to wipe her eyes and motioned Damian forward. When he was within reach she pulled him down by his shirt to hug him. She whispered something in his ear that made him smile and say something back before leaving through the window. Tim sped up the footage until Damian returned, which was an hour later. The bag didn’t look to be full, and thinking about it, how was he supposed to fit instruments and sketchbooks in a backpack that size? He gave the backpack to her, took off the shoes and jacket and got back into the bed, smiling as she gasped.

She reached in and pulled out the kalimba from before which was wider than the bag and a colorful hip-chain with six rainbow stars, each one with a clip on the bottom connected to a ribbon that seemed to be a backwards rainbow. The first three ribbons were wrapped around and holding small poké balls, while the other three were empty.

Lydia positioned her hands on the kalimba before playing. Even with her hands, which took her a minute to get into the right position, she played it beautifully. Damian listened to the upbeat song for a moment. “An Irish jig?” Lydia nodded. “The Butterfly by Tommy Potts.” Jazz squealed at the song, clapping her hands and crawling around her cradle.

Lydia smiled and continued playing, asking Jazz if she liked it when she was done. Jazz screamed and babbled happily, bouncing in place and waving and clapping her hands. Lydia looked in the bag again, this time pulling out a flute longer than the bag?? Tim looked between his siblings and father as they took in the footage.

Jason began laughing, probably at Bruce’s face. “The brats girlfriends a meta! An unknown meta in Gotham!” Bruce, who had unfortunately taken off his cowl while watching the footage, looked simultaneously devastated and confused. “She could be a magician!” Dick said, patting Bruce on the back. “Maybe it’s like Mary Poppins or Hermione Grangers never ending bag!”

Damian gave her a look, but Lydia said she needed to exercise her lungs. He huffed, but helped her raise her hands. The next song she played was very different from the one before, and Tim recognized it immediately. “That’s Isabella’s Lullaby from The Promised Neverland.” Dick and Jason nodded, Cass doing the same from her seat next to Bruce. Bruce looked a little confused before Cass signed to him ‘anime’.

Jazz made a ‘whoaaaaa’ sound and listened intently. Damian was listening as well, and as the first verse ended he began to sing.

‘Let me sing a lullaby

As you close your eyes

And as your drifting off to sleep

How I hope that the dreams that find you

Are bright’

Damians voice was surprisingly nice, slightly deep and his accent a bit more pronounced. He had an arm wrapped around Lydias waist and his eyes closed. He looked calm.

‘Love can we meet again soon in the bluest of skies?

Where a tomorrow waits for you and I

So hold me tight one more time, but don’t say goodbye

‘Cause I know that I’ll see you on the other side’

Lydia had her eyes closed too, swaying slightly to the tune. Jazz looked mesmerized.

‘I will think of our song when the nights are too long’

Damian opened his eyes and gazed at Lydia

‘I’ll dream of you for that’s where I belong

Love, can we meet again soon in the bluest of skies

Only, in my dreams, do we meet again’

Damian’s voice ended on the same tune as the flute, and when the note ended Lydia opened her eyes. They locked eyes and stayed that way until Jazz squealed. Damian blinked rapidly for a few seconds before blushing, Lydia laughing even though her face was turning red as well.

“You’ve gotten better.” She leaned into him as Damian huffed, looking away but pulling her even closer. Damian was going to retort but the door opened again and two people entered. One was a black women shorter than Damian with greying thick curly hair similar to Lydias pulled into a large bun, and the other was a tall heavyset white man with a receding hairline and grey beard. The computer told him they were Laura and Logan Lippet, Lydia’s parents.

They had styrofoam take out boxes and a drink carrier. They stopped when they saw Damian, but then continued on. “Hey Damian!” Mr.Lippet said, putting the boxes on the table. “Was wondering when you’d show up.” Mrs.Lippet and Lydia laughed as Damian smiled, accepting Mrs.Lippets hug. “When’d you get here? Or how’s a better word.” She laughed and handed a box to Lydia and sat a drink on the nightstand.

“Garlic pasta!” She cheered, kissing her moms cheek. “I just came back after, uh. I broke into your apartment again, but only to collect Lydias things.” Mr.Lippet threw his head back and laughed as Mrs.Lippet smiled and shook her head. “As to how, don’t worry about it.” The Lippets laughed again. “Did you see the brownies Liam made?” “Yes, he added pistachios this time.”

“They seem weirdly chill about a billionaires son breaking into their house and getting into their daughters hospital room.” Jason commented, Tim and the others agreeing. Lydias parents had expected Damian to not only show up, but eat their food when entering their house? Either Damian was closer to these people than they thought, or the Lippets were a little crazy. Judging from the records he was seeing, it looked like the latter.

“That’s weird,” Tim hummed, “there’s records of her meta gene, but for some reason we didn’t get an alert.” Usually every time a meta was documented in Gotham they would be sent an alert about it through a not-so-legal chain system Babs set up. But even though Lydias meta gene was reported when she was three, they’d never gotten an alert. Well, now that Tim was looking, they had. But it’d been deleted very recently.

Apparently her ability was ‘Art Manifestation’. Tim didn’t know what that meant, but he had a feeling they’d find out. He brought up the file next to the camera where the Lippets and Damian were talking and laughing. Damian was holding Lydias drink just out of reach, laughing as she tried to grab it with her teeth. “Use your hands,” he taunted her, “it’s physical therapy!” Her parents roared with laughter as Lydia began hitting him as best she could. She was laughing with them.

A little while later Jazz's parents came in with a nurse. They had the normal reaction to seeing Damian Wayne cuddling with Lydia. “Hey Joseph, hey Ariana!” Mr.Lippet called to the stunned couple, “This is Damian, Lydias boyfriend.” Damian greeted them as politely as he could with Lydia teaching him how to use the portable loom she’d apparently forgotten she had in the possum bag.

“Their dating!?” Dick gasped. “Isn’t that what you said?” “I was joking! Oh my god, Damian actually has a girlfriend!” Jason laughed again and Dick began panicking. “Oh we were supposed to spy on their first date! And mess with Damian about it, figure out her favorite things so we could tell Damian, oh my god we missed seeing them on Valentine’s Day!” Cass patted his back. ‘There will still be valentines days to see and things to bully Damian about. I do not think they’ve had sex yet.’

Bruce choked. “Cass!” She gave him a confused expression as Jason laughed harder. Dick continued to sulk. “I don’t wanna know about that stuff…..I hope he at least tells us about their first date.” “I’m more interested in how they met. Lydia seems pretty forward so far.” Jason snorted. “You think she asked him out?” Tim shrugged. “You think Damian would’ve?”

Apparently Jazz was getting moved to Boston Children’s Hospital for further treatment. Damian and the Lippets helped her parents pack up Jazz’s toys while Lydia tried to persuade them to let her help. “I can stand!” She whined. “But you can’t for a long time,” her dad responded, “and while your stretching has helped a lot we don’t want you over exerting yourself and getting hurt.”

“Has she been seen by physical therapy?” Damian asked. Her mom huffed. “She’s supposed to see them every day, but just like last time we’ve only seen them the first day. They come in, tell us she’ll be seen every day and then we never see them again!” Damian gave an unpleased ‘Tt’ as he folded Jazz’s blankets.

In a few minutes they were ready to leave and the Lippets cheerfully said their goodbyes, Damian doing so awkwardly. After they left Lydia reached over and opened her computer. “Now it’s horror movie time!” The Lippets laughed as Damian raised an eyebrow and sat next to her. “You couldn’t watch them before?”

“Not with Jazz in the room,” she muttered, switching between scrolling and typing. “Don’ wanna traumatize the baby. Y’all feeling like a thriller or gore?” Her dad looked over her shoulder from where he was standing. “Damian, you ever seen ‘Someone Marry Barry’?” Mrs.Lippet snorted as Lydia groaned.

“We are not watching a romcom.” “Why not?” Her dad whined. “Netflix just got like seven new more!” Damian smiled as Lydia argued with her dad. He seemed more relaxed with them than he did at the manor. Lydia and her dad got into a slap fight. It felt weird to watch normal people play fighting. Usually when they play fought it’d involve actual weapons and strategies to find the best place to tickle.

But Lydia and her dad were normal people. They slapped each other harmlessly, without worrying if they’d accidentally hurt them. Lydia shrieked with delight as her dad grabbed her and shook her around, chanting ‘Romcom, romcom, romcom!’ “Alright alright alright!” She giggled, “we’ll watch one horror one romcom, how’bout that?” Her dad agreed and pulled the table from across her bed to the foot of the bed. He then moved the crib to the position they’d first seen it in.

While Lydia found a movie Mr.Lippet moved the couch from under the window next to the bed. He and Mrs.Lippet settled on the couch, Mrs.Lippet with crochet and Mr.Lippet with his own computer. “We can watch the Evil Dead series! They just made a new movie!” Lydia said excitedly, showing Damian a movie screen that he’d seen trailers for. Damian tilted his head.

“How will we watch a series when we’re switching genres?” “We watch one, watch one of dad’s shitty romcoms, then the second movie, and so on!” Mr.Lippet snorted, “Just for that I’m going to make your Roblox avatar ugly.” They all laughed. “Hey! Don't do that! I can’t fight back, we’re watching movies!” Her dad playfully rolled his eyes and muttered “hang on,” and began typing very fast.

“Lydia, turn on the TV.” She did. They waited as he typed very fast for a few minutes before the hospital TV glitched, blacked out and then showed Lydias computer screen on Prime. They cheered. “What the fuck?” Jason said, “How the hell’d he do that?” Tim shrugged. “I’m not surprised,” Barbara’s voice came through over comms, “He’s the configuration manager for TSA, and before that he was IT, and before that he was CIA, and before that he was Navy Seal. He’s on the no fly list because he used to be a spy in the CIA.”

Oh. “And he lives in Gotham….why? Does he have any connection with any rogues?” “He was born in Michigan, Laura in Texas, and they married in Virginia and then moved around a lot because of the military. They were in Hawaii before they were deployed here at the harbor, Logan retired, and they had Lydia and her brother Liam. They’re Irish twins, she’s October 15th 2007 and he’s the 17th 2008. No connection to any rouges other than accidentally meeting Scarecrow in civies and telling him to go fuck himself for his bad parking.”

They all laughed as Lydia used the hospital remote to choose the first Evil Dead movie. Then she pulled out another computer and handed it to Damian, and pulled her computer off the table and into her lap. She typed a little, then gasped. “Hey! That’s not nice!” Damian laughed as her dad retorted, “Calling romcoms shitty isn’t nice! Enjoy your skeleton!” Damian snorted. An actual snort.

Was he dead? Hallucinating? Dreaming? Or did he actually hear Damian Wayne snort? “Well, I approve.” Jason laughed as Lydia and Damian began playing Roblox with her dad. “She’s making him laugh, he’s relaxed, he gets along well with her parents and her parents are apparently super cool with all his weirdness. I think we’re looking at the future Mrs. Wayne!” Honestly? He wouldn’t mind having another new and weird addition to this family.

[fareehaandspaniards]

Damian's little brother Jiri

Jiri appeared in my head completely by accident, when I was trying to analyze why Damian is so loyal to Micolash. I had a variant of the idea - that Damian and Micolash share a common thoughts, ideas, philosophy, but to me it would not be enough, because then they are connected purely by business connection, and according to my headcanons - these two are intertwined by secrets, long-lasting friendship, love and faith in Kos. But how did Damian decide for himself that he would follow Micolash anywhere all his life, give him his best years of life and sacrifice everything just for him?

According to my headcanons Damian was a librarian in Byrgenwerth. He graduated from college, but he couldn't become a doctor, and he didn't want to go back to his home estate. When he met young student Micolash, he saved him from the rector's wrath out of the goodness of his heart (a little accident because of Micolash's curiosity). And so their friendship began. But there was something about the black-haired slightly unstable and very intelligent young man that tugged at Damian's heartstrings.

Thus came Jiri, Damian's late younger brother, whose image he holds deep in his heart and loves, even twenty and fourty years on from his death. He was supposed to be just a boy mentioned a few times in the fanfic, but the more I built up the image of Jiri and the circumstances of his death, the more attached I became to him. In the end, I decided to make a separate post for him. I doubt it will resonate strongly with those who subscribe to me - after all, Jiri is just my OC, albeit one that directly influenced who Damian became in the end.

And yet, the boy is too important not to write a post about him, at least for myself. Because when I write fanfic, I forget little details about him and it would be nice to have a peek somewhere. Well since there is also drawing, why not post xd

Jiri is a very ambiguous child. At first I wanted him to be 4, but after working with his image I came to the conclusion that 4 is too young for him to be the way I see him. So he is 6 (almost 7) at the time of his death. This is very important, because at 6 years old he already has his own views on life, his own opinions, the "whys and wherefores" period is over and now the attempts to interact with the world around him begin - in Jiri's case it is a rebellion against the world around him. Damian was 7 at the time of his death.

Jiri contracted consumption when he was very small, almost a newborn. Medicine in Yharnam at that time was quite terrible - the discovery of the properties of blood had not yet happened, and people were treated with herbs, a kind word and prayers to the old gods (And I believe they were. I'm pretty sure the Grand Cathedral, the Cathedral Ward -are all just remodeled cathedrals of the old Yharnam faith. It's just that Laurence and Willem were perfectly able to sweep away the former faith thanks to blood magic and the furor it caused). The doctors diagnosed that Jiri was going to die, sooner or later. Euthanasia was suggested. But the parents refused. I see Damian's mother as a cold and pious woman, living by rules and obligations, and his father as a strict but gruff man. But whatever they were, they were humans. And they did not want their youngest son to die, and at that time they still believed that he could survive.

The years passed, and Jiri grew up. He was very weak, sometimes the disease receded and sometimes it worsened. While he was very young, he was even mobile - he played at age 4 with the neighborhood children and Damian, listened to his mother's stories. He was an imaginative boy - in games he liked to build and break most of all, finding the most inventive ways to destroy. And despite the fact that Damian was a year older than him, Damian was an absolute crybaby as a child. He was very afraid of people, afraid of contact, and so all conversations with other children were taken over by Jiri, who was very responsible about meeting new people. He always introduced Damian first and then himself, and Damian would hide behind him or his mother.

Jiri always wore dark clothes. And slept on dark linens. So the stains from his bloody cough were less noticeable, and it saved his parents money (there was really a lack of money) for laundry and new underwear (by the way, white underwear and clothing is a very expensive thing, which historical fantasy authors often forget :/// It's a symbol of wealth, because white gets dirty very easily. And if you wear white clothes, you can afford to replace them. And when I see a "poor" character wearing white shirts, I just…. …. ……………….)

Jiri was a very perky boy, open, friendly. And his parents had mixed feelings about him. On the one hand - they were happy to have him. But they knew he wouldn't live long. And both were very afraid of the pain of losing him, to which they had condemned themselves. Damian and Jiri also had many older brothers and sisters. Besides the two of them, there were six other children in the family, two of whom died before Jiri.

When Jiri's disease began to worsen around the age of 5, his mom started telling him stories about angels. That one day he would fall asleep and be visited by angels. They would play with him for ages and he would be fine. She told him that only the best people go to heaven, so he should behave well. But she couldn't explain to her son why his older brother Damian (whom he called "Dami") wouldn't follow him. Jiri began to be afraid of angels. Afraid of the frescoes in the cathedrals. He began to wonder what death was. And through the efforts of his mother, who merely wanted to ease his waning life, he began to think that death was a good thing. Jiri even became cruel. He didn't hurt any other child, but he was cold in heart when someone died… And sometimes he tried to kill himself. He watched insects, animals die. He believed what his mom said and convinced himself that everyone would be okay in heaven. This scared Damian and his older brothers and sisters a little (a little, yeah).

Jiri had a rabbit. He was given it when his illness worsened, because Jiri loved rabbits very much and in all the games with other children he was always a bunny. Jiri believed that his rabbit was a miracle. The best there is. But his father often joked that rabbits were better served for dinner. He wasn't a bad man or heartless, he was just of a simpler disposition, to him a rabbit was food, and dogs or cats were pets. Jiri took great offense. And one day his rabbit, which had accidentally escaped from the house, was mauled by the yard dogs. And Jiri saw it. Another little trauma on his heart.

Jiri saw death. Jiri knew he was going to die. Jiri feared it to the point of tears. But in all this his sunshine and light was always little Damian. Damian was never rude as a child, on the contrary - he was very shy and very fond of reading. So he often told Jiri stories from books. After all, Jiri had never been taught to read - no one saw the point in it. The small circles under Jiri's eyes, his thinness, curls and intelligent eyes, his unusual thinking, though sometimes cruel - all this imprinted in Damian's heart an image that would later burn brightly when he saw Micolash.

Damian loved Jiri with all his heart. All his life he remembered how as a little boy he could not help him or realize that Jiri was dying lying in his bed. Damian played toys for him and told him stories. And then, as an adult, he dreamed of turning back the clock and saving him, even though he knew that Jiri would have died anyway.

They were bound together by true brotherly love. And Damian visits Jiri's grave even as an adult scholar at the Mensis School. He left his family, hiding from them in Byrgenwerth, and never wanted to see to his relatives, tho occasionally visiting them. They all died when the curse of the beast began, when the horrors started in Yharnam. But it is Jiri that Damian cannot forget and let go. And his little tombstone stands out very much among the others which are abandoned in the cemetery near Hemwick.

If Jiri had grown up, he probably would have joined the Powder kegs. I see the grown up version of him looking like the painter Karl Brullov,

I don't know why. He would be a very interesting person! Open-minded, bright, perhaps one of the inventors like Archibald… And of course, a heretic. With his mind - he wouldn't like the idea of contacting Great Ones, but still would try to do it himself.

But these are all idle thoughts, for if Jiri had stayed alive - Damian's life would have turned out very differently in my vision. He wouldn't have gotten a wound on his heart, wouldn't have tried to forget his family by hiding behind his work in Byrgenwerth, wouldn't have suffered so much and wouldn't have followed Micolash with SUCH a passion, seeing him not only as a brilliant scientist, but also as his angel and little brother.

My little rabbit king Jiri :'(

[erinwantstowrite]

Halloween AU!!!

hey so. i put SOOOOO much effort into this au and for what? at least it ended up looking cool? anyways Halloween is my favorite holiday and i just HAD to make something for them!

i had a LOT of ideas for what everyone would be, but i really wanted to stick to a certain theme cause it's based around Halloween. i knew i had to have a vampire, werewolf, and a witch. cause like... obviously. iconic Halloween stuff!! but i took some liberties with everyone else and i think they turned out pretty cool!!

Jason was originally a fox shifter (which i still love and might draw art for some day) but i went with a bear in the end. is that because i thought about tiny bear cub Jaybin and wanted to cry? yeah. yeah it is. i KNEW Steph was going to be my werewolf though i started doubting myself when i went to draw her. turned out to be my favorite drawing on here which makes sense cause she is my light my love my daughter my will to live and all that jazz

Tim was actually gonna be a harpy but thank god i didn't go for that in the end. Duke was the one that was a bitch and a half trying to figure out BUT!! comments on the post asking what y'all thought led me towards Psychic so THANK YOUUUU everybody that commented!! (specifically those who thought of ghost!! Duke and Tim ended up being a perfect duo in this au)

Babs was pretty easy to figure out what I wanted for her. I read somewhere that they are seen as protectors of forests/ are considered spiritual authority figures and also.... she looks cool as fuck. Did not expect how easy it was to find a ref for a deer in a wheelchair though? I can never find the right hand or face angle reference but that was super easy???

For Bruce there was literally no question he HAD to be human. it's literally so funny that everyone who knows Batman thinks he's a spooky vampire but he's human. his first son, however?????? THAT'S the vampire. I knew Dick had to be a vampire too. A little nod towards that one comic run but in my au nothing bad happens ever 🥰 Damian also being a bat shifter is very on purpose because how funny is it that he's a bat man. Literally not a single person in the League thinks that Bruce is telling the truth about being human. Bruce you are NOT beating the secretly a vampire allegations.

adding in Jay's hilarious joke it's so fucking funny:

Alfred is actually a demon. I CAN NOT remember who made this post so if someone can help me find it, it would be appreciated!! because this was inspired by them!!! but somewhere i saw someone talk about Alfred being a demon that Thomas and Martha made a deal with (i think it was for an au idea?) and I just HAD to put it here. Alfred looks so human and everyone expects it, but he's definitely not. I put the ??? because it's so fucking funny. see if you can spot the 1 hint i put on his drawing that something is amiss!!

Peter is from an alternate dimension still, but it is not a world of creatures like him, it's just the same as LoF canon except Peter grew some extra limbs and eyes. He finds that it's actually pretty easy to fit in with the Waynes. Hard to feel like a freak when a guy can turn into a fucking bear, or your dad is a vampire, and the teenagers in the family are trying to summon ghosts or make potions.

additional doodles for this au:

i am still debating whether i am going to draw something for this au or write a oneshot, but i DO want to do something with these for Halloween

[radiance1]

Damian opened the door to his room and walked in, the door slipping shut behind him as his brother jumped down from his shoulders to the floor and smoothly slipping into a stretch before moving over to and jumping onto their bed.

"We're going to be living with father." Damian stated, not that he needed to.

"Mrroow." Was his answer.

Damian frowned, tilting his head to the side a smidge as he walked over to the bed. "Are you not pleased?" He asked, watching as Daniel rolled over onto his back, paws hanging in the air as he huffed. "Father is a great man, it only makes sense that Mother would send us to him one day. I believed you had already expected this."

"Meow."

Damian's frown shifted back to his neutral scowl, before humming in acknowledgement.

"Ah, you are upset that you won't be claiming the inheritance?" Damian snorted, crossing his arms as he looked down at his younger brother. "You lost the battle, dear brother. Naturally, the title of Robin falls to me." He stated, uncrossing his arms and slipping off one of his gloves to flick Danny on the nose.

It was Daniel's turn to snort, before he snagged a finger between his teeth and bite down hard enough to draw blood.

Damian's eyebrows furrowed the slightest bit.

Daniel looked up at him innocently as he licked the wound he made with his tongue.

Damian sighed.

"You're lucky you are rather adorable, little brother." He said, moving his fingers to rub beneath Danny's chin. To which he let out a content purr as Damian's expression settled back to neutrality.

"How do you want me to refer to you?" He asked after a few moments, causing Danny to look up at him curiously from where he was laid out, his brother's hand over his stomach. Damian tilted his head slightly. "Brother-in-arms, or my brother?"

"Miao."

"Pick one, Daniel." Damian stated, pausing the belly rubs to look at his brother before resuming when a paw patted against his wrist lightly. "I am not allowing them to refer to you as a simple pet."

Danny gave him a flat look, before huffing.

Damian hummed.

"You're right," Damian nodded. "Being underestimated would be useful against Father's false children. It would do well to have more cards to pick off our competition." He said slowly, looking into Danny's eyes. "But are you certain? There is a chance they would believe us."

Danny reached up to swat Damian's cheek lightly with his paw, a look equally as flat as the first being sent his way.

"Hm." Alright, Damian would give him this one. "You're right, if even Grandfather and Mother doubts that you truly are my brother, then the chances of Father believing so are low."

Daniel let out a smug purr, happy that Damian saw his way.

Damian let out a sigh.

His brother truly was lucky that he was the most adorable creature Damian had ever laid his eyes upon. Of course, his little brother was undeniably the cutest before his death, yet coming back as a cat (that as far as Mother, Grandfather, and the rest of the League were concerned. Was merely a pit creature that had taken a liking to their heir)?

Well.

Damian wasn't one to complain about his brother's return.

No matter what form he takes.

[zealouswitchwerewolf]

Tim didn't know what had made him decide to give Damian another chance. If he had to guess, he'd say it was a collection of small moments instead of one big life-changing one. The way Damian was gentle with the animals at the farm, taking care of them in any way they needed without waiting to be asked or caring about dirtying his clothes. It was about the secret smiles Damian got when he thought no one was watching. How he helped the Kents around the house with excitement, delighted to learn new skills instead of annoyed at being put to work. He saw his need to be of use even when no one required it. He was so small. He had seen him struggle to reach things all around the kitchen while trying to help, too shy to ask for a stool, too stubborn to give up.

He was just a kid. A kid with assassin training and a lifetime of trauma but a kid nonetheless. Looking back to his early days at the manor, he could see the insecurity in his actions against Tim. The way he had acted out of fear instead of real aggression. Bruce hadn't helped. Too busy with Jason and the league and Batman to raise a child, or the last 4 for that matter. Damian had received no reassurances of his place in the family. No way to know if he would be allowed to stay without carving a place for himself. Tim understood it better now that he had seen the inner workings of the league. The realization had come gradually but it had stayed on the back of his mind, making him feel like he was missing something. It had gotten him to pay more attention to the kid.

That was how he had finally seen what was bothering him. It was in the small gestures. The minute flinches he displayed every time he was shown affection, the way he seemed to lean towards any kind of friendly touch for the first few seconds only to step away from it as soon as he realized what he was doing. Tim could see his walls were up almost all the time, even while knowing he was in a safe space. At first he had thought it was because of him. Eventually he realized it was another part of his training. That's when he realized Damian still felt like every single moment was a test of some kind. The uncertainty around his undefined position in the family still preventing him from relaxing, even now that he had Robin.

The kid was desperate for affection and clearly touch starved but couldn't let himself lower his guard enough to get what he needed. Hugs didn't help either. It opened him to too many attacks and he could not relax while knowing he was vulnerable in more ways than one. He could see the kid's anxiety skyrocket whenever the Kents initiated one. He hoped it was different with Dick, the two of them had formed a deep connection. Either way, it wasn't enough.

It got worse when the Waynes had their falling out. Tim knew the hero community had decided to shield him but it didn't stop him from keeping informed. He was well aware of the moment things blew up on their face after they realized Bruce's words were just that. Hollow and not backed by Bruce's beliefs. His love was very much conditional and his affection given sparsely.

It was something that wouldn't change unless Bruce put some serious effort into maturing his emotional intelligence and realigning his priorities. Tim didn't see it happening any time soon. He had finally accepted there was not much he could do about it. Not really. He had been trying for years at the expense of his health and sanity and the best he had accomplished was giving him a superficially happy family with such a fragile foundation that it had taken just one small blow to tear the illusion apart. He couldn't fix someone that didn't think there was anything wrong with his current way of life. Leaving was one of the hardest things he had done but he didn't regret it.

That said, he still felt partially responsible. He knew Bruce's mess was his own and Tim shouldn't have to be there to clean it. Dick and Jason were all grown up and perfectly capable of making their own choices. Cass, Steph, Barbara and Duke had all moved on and found communities where they fit in with people they cared about out of the family. They were thriving. Damian, however, was still a child. He didn't have as many options or enough experience in interpersonal relationships to know anything was wrong to begin with or how to go about changing it. Tim couldn't let his little brother suffer without at least trying to help. He had decided to intervene.

It had taken him a few days to determine the best approach. He wanted Damian to know he had options and to show him how healthy relationships worked. He wanted him to be able to relax and let down his walls when he was around people he trusted, even if Tim was not included in that list. He did not want to interact with the rest of the Waynes. With that in mind, he had settled on a plan and gotten to work.

He had started small. He had talked to the Kents. At first it was just Martha and Jonathan present. He had explained the situation and his theories on what would help Damian. He had told them to find a balance to provide affection to Damian through touch without making him feel vulnerable or exposed to an attack. He had then asked Jon, with Ma and Pa's blessing, to start inviting Damian to the farm more often and for shorter trips. He had then started working on his own relationship with Damian.

He approached it slowly, being nearby without being perceived as a threat. Sitting close enough to count as company but not to touch if either of them extended their arms. Working on his homework or his projects without putting on headphones or making himself unapproachable. Keeping his body language open and inviting. Letting Damian be the one to decide if he wanted to interact and do so on his terms. Eventually, the kid took him up on it. It started with small gestures, Damian sitting closer and working on his drawings while Tim kept doing homework. Bringing him snacks or drinks if he got up to get his own.

After a while, they started talking as well. Damian was hesitant at first. Tim had seen him try and talk and had decided it counted as the first move and asked about his pets. It was easier from then. They talked about the farm, the Kents, Tim's independent projects, his major, Damian's drawings, his upcoming events. Damian had told him Bruce demanded his attendance at a gala later that week and Tim had given him tips and tricks to survive Gotham's elite. They still tiptoed around the topic of their family. Damian didn't talk about them, even if he mentioned their name every once in a while. Tim didn't push.

Eventually, Damian had gathered the courage to apologize about his early interactions with Tim. Tim had accepted the apology and taken it as an invitation to start a bigger conversation about healthy relationships and family dynamics. Damian looked thoughtful and sad. Tim had taken it a step further and made him promise to come to him if he ever felt unsafe in his current situation. Damian had looked perplexed and ready to snap his walls back up. Tim had given him enough examples and details to show that he was being earnest and had managed to extract the promise.

Now, Damian was at his door with too many bags to only be visiting but too little to contain everything he owned. Tim couldn't say he didn't see it coming. He had still hoped to be wrong.

The next few months went by quickly. They settled into a routine and Tim made sure to establish clear expectations and well defined boundaries around their arrangement. He started looking for houses, taking Damian to see the more promising ones. He knew his little brother would want to have his animals back with him and they needed more space than the apartment could provide. He bought enough psychology books to fill up a small library. He showed most to Damian. Some he kept to himself. He talked to Ma constantly, trying to make sure he was giving Damian everything he needed to thrive and grow knowing that he was loved. That he mattered. It was nerve wracking. It was worth it when Damian led him to his room, proudly showing his decorations and waiting for Tim's approval. The trust in his eyes was the best compliment Tim had gotten in a long time.

As they got used to living together and relying on each other, Tim kept adding new things to their routine that he thought would benefit Damian. He bought him materials for his art, clothes meant for comfort more than usefulness, things for his pets. He offered to teach him photography, Damian agreed and offered to teach him different drawing techniques. He started introducing Damian to new people, partly to ensure he had more people in his corner if Tim wasn't available but also to expand his bubble of trust and work on de-isolating him after all the years he had spent mostly alone in the manor. He started with people Damian already knew and trusted. Cass, then Steph and Duke, then Kon and Bart, then J'onn, Diana, and Clark, then Zatanna, then some of his university friends, and so on.

He took note of who Damian seemed to click with and arranged more outings with them. He wasn't expecting Damian to connect with everyone but he wanted to give him the option to do so and enough people for Damian to interact without any expectations outside of getting to know them for a bit. Only a select few were allowed inside their house. Tim's priority was for it to be Damian's safe space and he wasn't going to jeopardize that for anything. Only people that had earned Damian's full trust got to visit them in their sanctuary. Everyone else met them outside. It was a good system.

He also enrolled Damian into school, silently transferring legal guardianship of the boy to himself after he had gotten his permission to do so. He didn't think the bats had noticed yet. Bruce was still trying to get to Tim in any way possible (Tim saw his repeated attempts on his security systems and kept an eye on the times he tried to get people to give away his information). Dick had gone back to Bludhaven after the latest screaming match and wasn't aware there was anything out of the ordinary happening. Alfred had contacted Ma Kent to inquire about Damian's safety (his words, not Tim's) then had continued with his duties as Bruce's butler without doing anything else. He cared in his own way, just not enough to take a stand against his ward.

Life kept going. Damian's 13th birthday came and went, they spent it with the Kents and visiting Damian's animals. They moved to a bigger house and Tim started looking at blueprints to build something to house Damian's pets closer to the boy. As they moved in, they decided to turn the living room into a shared study for them both. On one side Damian's painting materials and all his drawings, on the other a sturdy table with comfy seats and enough space for Tim to work on his latest project. They included a couch and a few other places to sit and spend time together. They turned a smaller room into a game room with a big TV, board games and different consoles. They turned the rest of the rooms that weren't their own into guest rooms for the Kents and the few others allowed to visit. Slowly they started filling the walls with their own decorations. Damian's drawings of Titus and Alfred, Tim's pictures of the city and Damian's pets, a few of the ones they had taken together on their excursions. Damian lamented leaving all his old art projects behind but when Tim offered to get them he decided to just start new ones.

Damian's first big drawing in the new house had been a surprise to Tim. He had insisted on covering it whenever he wasn't working on it, making Tim promise not to take a peek and being careful not to show it to him whenever he added to it. Tim was curious but he wanted to respect his little brother's privacy and let him do things on his own terms. It took almost a month to complete. Damian had finished it while Tim was out of the house. By the time he had come back, Damian had been waiting impatiently at the door and had led him to their study as soon as he was within reach. Once they were there, Damian had started fidgeting before hesitantly turning his finished painting so that Tim could finally see it.

Tim felt his heart fill with warmth. It was a painting of him and Damian standing at the Kent's farm. It was breathtaking. Damian had managed to capture the welcoming essence of the Kent's while keeping the focus on him and Tim and their closeness. It felt more like a candid picture of them than a portrait. Full of life and love. Tim felt a few tears escape his eyes as he pulled Damian close and hugged him. Later that day, he got it framed in a design both him and Damian approved of and hung it up in the center of their living room. Even as Damian's collection grew and the walls started filling with art from both of them depicting their adventures, it remained his favorite.

Bruce comes back from the dead and wants to make things better. Bruce comes back from the dead and Tim was the one who brought him back, so it's obviously Tim who'll know best how to help him reconnect with everyone.

It's Tim who should give him advice on how to bond with Dick. Dick has always been his idol, after all. Tim would know best how to bring him back, and he does. He gives good advice and the two of them begin to get closer.

So Bruce asks about Jason, too. Asks about how to bring his son back into the fold and Tim wished for a brief and brutal moment that it weren't so obvious who the favorite was.

Tim told Bruce to give Jason his space, to loosen his rules, and make it clear that no matter what the Red Hood did, no matter what the Batman believed in, Jason was always welcome. Bruce would always want him.

It worked. Bruce wasn't surprised. Tim was a special sort of bitter.

Bruce asked again for Damian and Tim had to push down his anger. "That boy tried to kill me," Tim wanted to say. "I hate him and I want you to hate him too so that I can remember a time when we had something in common," Tim didn't say, but he got close.

He instead told Bruce how Damian liked art and animals and loved hearing stories of the wonders of Batman.

He told Bruce just how much Damian loved being Robin. Told Bruce to tell Damian what a good Robin he was.

God bless or maybe damn him, but he did and it worked and Tim wanted to start screaming and clawing at something because that would have never worked if Tim tried it and it wouldn't have stopped Damian from cutting his line--something Bruce did not and would never know about.

Bruce asked about Babs. How should he make sure she knew that she was a part of the family? They they loved her and not just for the work she did?

He asked about Steph. How should he make sure she knew that she was more important than his rules and that, if something else should go wrong, she didn't need to run away?

He asked about Duke. He never got the chance to get to know him before leaving--not as well as he wanted to, at least. How should he let him know that he was just as much a son as everyone else? That, whether or not his parents woke up, he'd always be welcome?

He asked about Cass. How should he show her that he loves her even though he has nothing to teach her? How can he convey how much he cares about her, his first daughter?

Bruce gets brought back from time and he makes things better. He brings his family back together by following Tim's advice.

And Tim?

Tim brings his dad back from the dead and Bruce changes, becomes a better father.

Bruce changes, but not everything can.

That, Tim thinks, is why Bruce never calls Tim his son.

[luludeluluramblings]

Socialite!BatSis!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Hi! I don't know where the fuck this came from. But, it has plagued me for months. Inspired by Labour and the Fruits by Paris Palmoa, Please Don't Cry for Your Daughters Eve by Lydia the Bard, and Curses by the Crane Wives. This my attempt at being dark, so either this fucks you up or I fucked up. Apologies for both.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Implied assault, neglect, yandere themes at the end

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

You got the Wayne looks, the Wayne charm, the Wayne name, but you’re fragile. Bruce would tell you. Damian would tell you. (Not so kindly.) Everyone in the manor would tell you.

But, charm and good looks still have their uses. And, everyone in the family despises all the galas they need to attend.

So, when Bruce offers to take you to one, you up the charm, you dress your best. You use your finest manners and all the proper ways your Momma raised you to your advantage. And, you flourish.

You can tell from the slight smile Bruce has on his face on the way home. The hint of pride in his eyes at your job well done.

You can’t help your family or Gotham as a Bat. But, you can help them as a Wayne.

The socialite. That’s your roll. Not a bird, not a bat. A little social butterfly. Drawing the public attention away from the things that go bump in the night.

You like your role. Sure, you're not bounding over the Gotham skyline saving people from muggers and insanely themed villains. But, you're helping your family, and that's what matters to you.

At least, that's how it starts.

It was special to you in the beginning. Going to charity gala's and events with your father, Bruce. No one else in the family enjoys going to these events. It was your own personal father and daughter bonding time, in a way.

But, as you got older the pressure started and the distance between you and the others grew.

You were a music box ballerina. Spinning in place to the same tune over and over again while sitting on a dusty shelf. And, Bruce would wind you up to dance every time he need his social butterfly to charm Gotham's public.

Soon you had a whole team of faceless people picking out your dresses, changing your style, cutting your hair. You couldn't be anything less than a vain air-headed heiress, because that was your role. Brucie needed someone to follow in his footsteps, not Batman.

The dresses got more expensive, the flashes got brighter. The diets got stricter.

And, the distance grew farther.

And, then Bruce stopped going with you to the galas.

You weren't upset the first time. Or, the second time. Or, even the third time.

It was the fourth time that things started to crack.

Sure, Batman was needed. Sure, there was Justice League business. Sure, there was a patrol that ran late. Sure, there was a breakout at Arkham.

But, the fourth time, when you found him and the rest of the family laughing in the cave, it really didn't feel like they were focusing on the good of Gotham while you were struggling to smile sweetly at men twice Bruce's age wanting to take you home.

Still, you powered on. Kept doing your part. You were making the family proud afterall.

Right?

It was the ninth time it happened that you broke.

The nineth time you had gone to a gala alone in an expensive dress you didn't pick, one that showed off way too much skin. One that seemed to tell everyone in that grand ballroom that you were up for the taking. One that just barely hid the bruises from their fingers and palms under the fabric.

You wore that placating smile and that dress all the way home. With a driver you didn't know at the wheel of the car Bruce sent for you. The backseat empty even if you sat on it.

When you got home, you walk in on something that made each cracked piece of you ache.

Apparently it was game night. Everyone that mattered was playing Mario cart of all things.

"Look at that Cinderella’s back from the ball." Jason was the first to notice you standing in the doorway of the room. And, his words burned.

Cinderella. Cinderella. Back from the Ball.

"Hey, glad you’re back. Hope you had fun." Dick didn't even glance at you as he spoke, took focused on beating Stephanie who had her tongue sticking out as she concentrated.

"God, those galas are so boring, I don’t know how you do it." Duke says in passing. It would be meaningful if he hadn't said the same thing the last six times you had come home.

Tim and Damian were also playing the game, with Tim occasionally nudging Damian to mess him up. Like typical siblings.

Barbara was in the room as well, a book on her lab to read. Only you could tell she hadn't read much, judging from where her book mark was located.

"Good job." Bruce says absentmindedly. You can't even tell if its directed at you or at the blueshell Damian just managed to hit Dick's racer with.

Words don't even leave your lips as you exit the doorway, pieces of you falling to the floor as you wobble to your room.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

The clock striking twelve in your mind as you feel the rotten pumpkin sinking in your gut and the magic wearing off.

You don't notice that Cassandra seems to hear it too as she watches you. Like she can hear the shards falling to the ground. And, she's unsure if she needs to warn the family that something just broke down the hall.

As you enter your room, taking in the fancy decor. It feels disgusting. The magic is gone. It's all rotten and you want it gone.

Cinderella. Cinder. Cinder.

Your tear the fabric of the dress as you take it off. Tears falling down your cheeks s you struggle against the fabric and clasp. Expensive gemstones falling to the floor as your finally rip it free.

There bruises under your dress. Finger prints on your bones. And, you're choking on air as the fabric rubs your skin as it falls to the floor. The fabric ripples like water and you hate it. You want the opposite of cool rippling water. Water drowns, and you need air.

Your skin feels to hot and each bruise burns.

Cinder. Cinder.

You're Cinderella and you crave ashes. You need air, but smoke will do instead.

Instead of letting it lay on the ground like it's dead, you throw open that grand window in your room and chuck it out the window. Watching as it flutters and falls to the grass in a heap, the breeze doing nothing to cool your anger on and underneath.

It’s not enough. Not enough. It's not going to be enough.

More. Cinderella. Give it more.

Your closet door was cracked when you left for the gala tonight. Now you break it the rest of the way and grab each hanger carrying a pretty dress in a bag and throw it over the ledge.

Still not enough. Needs more ash.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

You break you dresser as you rip out the drawers. The wood splintering as you throw it out the window and on to the pile of dresses on the night dew covered grass.

You want to throw more, but you chest is heaving and your hands are shaking. Instead you stumble out of your room with just the bruises on your skin and towards the kitchen. You don't even hear the pans and cabinets doors slamming as you search for the matches.

Before you can find your light, you find a bottle of fancy wine. One that reminded you of the smell of this night.

You grab it, not caring that another bottle falls and shatters by your feet. Drawing attention, but not yours, as you finally find the matches and wobble out the door towards your pile of soon to be ash.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

You're laughing as you shatter the bottle on to the fabric. Lighting up a single match and then throwing the entire box at it the pile.

It catches light quick and the air around you finally matches the heat under your skin.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You can barely hear Bruce's voice from behind you as your laugh. Turing to face him and the rest of the family's horrified faces at the sight of you.

You can barely restrain the giggles.

“I’m Cinderella. Cinder fucking Ella.” You spin like the little figurine you are. Like the pretty paper ballerina before she burst into flame.

Bruce rushes towards you, words spilling from his lips as terrifying thoughts fill his head at the sight of the bruises illuminating your skin.

“What happened tonight?”

“You would know if you had been there. But, you weren't. You never are.”

“Listen, you said you liked the galas-“ Excuses, excuses. You made enough for him and the rest of them in your own head that you don't want to hear more spoken out loud.

“I did! I did! But, that was when I had my father there to keep me safe.” You mock, spinning out of reach and looking at the flames.

They don't last long. The wood from your broken dresser drawers the only thing keeping the fire going. The expensive fabric not lasting long at all. Pretty things rarely ever do.

“But, no. I’m just another little one of your pawns in this family. Only you didn’t fuckin’ train me on how to fight off wandering hands. You taught me that I just had to grin and bare it.” Bitterness trips from your lips as you wipe of that sweet tasting wine from the night off your mouth.

“What happened?” His voice almost shakes. Almost, but not quite. You were the fragile one. The paper ballerina. The little Cinderella of the family.

You weren't suppose to break under his care.

But, was there any care if he let you fall from the shelf after he so haphazardiously placed you on it between uses?

“I’m not a whore.” You whisper to yourself. Words that had been dying to say to the hands that touches to tonight. Words that you wanted to shove down the throats of the strangers that pinched your skin, that gripped you too tight and too close.

“I’M NOT A WHORE!” Instead you scream it at him. Uncaring if you don't look pretty and perfect while doing it. Uncaring if your voice cracks from the way the emotion bubbles from your chest.

Startling enough, Bruce wraps his arms around you. Like he was trying to shield you. Like he was trying to keep you safe. Like he should have done. It feels awkward and tight. Your arms pressed tightly to your chest at an awkward angle. Your legs giving out at you sob and scream at him.

“Don’t touch me. Don’t you touch me. Let me go— I don’t want you to touch me.”

“I’m sorry. I’m— I’m so sorry.” His whispers over into your hair as he clutches you close. So close that you feel more bruises forming on your skin.

Cinderella. Cinderella.

“I’m not—" Your voice breaking as you wail. Like the child you are in his arms.

Through your tears you watch Dick turn away, followed by the others. Cass lingering to brush your hair back as Bruce holds you tight.

You don't see his fist clench so tight his knuckles turn white.

You don't hear the silence in the cave as Jason changes out the bullets in his gun.

You don't feel the chill in the air as Damian scouts out the fancy house.

You don't feel the fear of God that Tim puts into grown men as that watch their wealthy drain to zero before their eyes on screens.

You don't watch as Barbara makes a few calls and plants evidence of crimes that can't be covered up.

You don't see Stephanie ripping out teeth.

You don't see Duke letting Gotham go dark as terror reigns for that one long night and day.

You just see Bruce, holding you close and apologize over and over again while Alfred puts out the flames behind you.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Yeah, I love the thought of Reader being the one to be the Socialite Wayne while everyone does vigilante stuff. But, interacting with Gotham’s elite would suck so much and so many things could go wrong.

A/N: Apologies if I missed the mark with it or if it’s all over the place.

A/N: I just really loved the imagery of standing in front of a fire of expensive burning dresses while screaming at Bruce naked as the day you were born much to the rest of the family’s horror.

[timmydraker]

Tim who does crochet.

It’s Dick who is given the first gift, long before Tim is Robin and even before he knows who Robin is.

It was simply because he was a kind kid who had been there to witness something horrible and wanted to comfort the poor boy he saw sobbing off two lost loved ones.

Little Tim walked up to Dick with the crochet elephant that was admittedly a little funky looking and held it up to him without making eye contact. He had hidden the small plushie from his parents lest they disapprove of his hobby, just like they did with drawing and skating.

Dick had beamed happily and held onto the toy, saying it was so cute and how Tim should be so happy to have it.

Tim had frowned and shook his head, “It’s for you, Mister Grayson. It’s Tifa.”

Never had Tim seen someone so in awe of his creation as he did in that moment and it made him beam just like Dick had been.

Once Dick took the little elephant into his hands Tim had bolted away.

Bruce was next, being gifted a big fluffy jumper on his first birthday after loosing Jason. It was a soft, light green with too long sleeves that went over his ass. It was big, far too big, and thick enough that it might even be too hot in autumn.

He didn’t wear it for a while, mainly because he ignored the big wrapped present Tim had left in his room out of guilt and shame and even a little frustration.

When he opened it up he put it on and promptly broke down, finding the feeling more similar to a hug than he thought something non-hug could get.

He wore it in front of Tim once to show he appreciated it and then wore it whenever he was injured.

Steph got a few things, mainly tops and one big blanket that he gave her after they reconnected when she came back. It had been his way of saying he forgave her and wanted to be her friend again without using words.

Cass got a big poncho with a hood that was rainbow, bright and loud while still capable of hiding her when she felt she couldn’t be seen.

It took a long time for him to make Jason anything after he came back. When he did, him and Tim avoided each other for over a year until Tim overheard Alfred talking to Bruce about how sad it was to not see his two bright boys getting along.

Alfred had been pouring tea with the pot he made a kettle warmer snug with Lilly of the Vally on it when he said it.

So, Tim had searched through his old photos of Jason’s Robin and made himself recall those old ideals and awe. He made himself remember what Jason also had ripped from him and, while it wouldn’t change or excuse how Jason had brutalised him, it made him understand him more.

He decided that instead of joining to Jason and having a heart to heart, that he should do what all bats did and start off without saying a thing.

He makes Jason a blanket that took him over a month of a floral book cover of Jane Ire.

Tim was relived when it was done and simply left it laid out on Jason’s bed in his latest hideout with a note that said,

“I know little about Jane Ire, maybe you could tell me about it sometime?

~ Tim. D.”

Jason had sent him a text a day later to say he could send him a copy with his annotations if he wanted.

It wasn’t long after Tim had read the book, taking twice as long with all the notes Jason had left in it, that he was then left to make something for Damian.

Naturally, he didn’t want to at first.

Also naturally, he got bored and wanted to make another animal after seeing Tifa again. She was cute, but a little munted with age.

He took one look at Titus and promptly made a plan to create him with crochet. He wanted to give it to Bruce after he was done, but he’s only an asshole when he finds it entertaining.

At heart, he’s a kind boy, so he gives it to Damian.

When he gets an actual, verbal thank you from the new Robin, he makes Alfred the Cat and Ace, then finally Bat-cow and Goliath.

The best thing he’s made, according to Duke, is Signals first ever fan made merch that he wears nearly all the time.

Kate says that wrong because the leg warmers he made for winter patrols have apparently saved her life.

Salina would say it’s actually the cat pawed mittens he made her when he was twelve and never told Bruce about.

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

Reverse Blossom (Yandere Batfam x Neglected! Poison Ivy‘s Daughter! Reader)

Chapter 4

A/N: i‘m back from my trip!! And seeing elephants for the first time was amazing!! Also I want to thank all of you guys for your love and support 🩷. I will answer all of you now. By the way my inbox is open for asks, request, anything!! I have the next 4 chapters of blossom reverse already prepared just need to edit them:) also if you want to be on he taglist the post is here.

I decided to give Y/N green eyes since she is the daughter of Poison Ivy, but if that bothers you try to imagine them as a different eye color. In a few chapter she will be wearing contact lenses.

He remembered the first time he met her.

It had been late. The manor was quiet. Bruce and Alfred had just returned from Gotham’s south ward, where Pamela Isley had finally been subdued—again. But this time, she’d left something behind.

Or rather, someone.

A toddler. Two years old. Big green doe eyes. Wrapped in a pale green cardigan and a layer of silence.

She stood behind Alfred’s leg, clinging to the fabric with both hands. Dirt smudged her face. Vines clung to her shoes like they didn’t want to let go.

He hadn’t known what to say at first.

But then she looked up at him—eyes wide, curious, cautious. He felt his heart soar.

He crouched.

Soft smile. Gentle voice.

“Hey there, Little Flower.”

She blinked, then giggled.

That was it. That was her name. “My Little Flower.”

The one who would follow him for years to come.

⸻

A few weeks after that, everything changed.

Bruce got stricter. Patrols got longer. Dick’s time at the manor became fragmented. Split between being Robin and trying to figure out who he was outside of the mask.

And somewhere in the middle of that chaos, she kept growing.

She started knocking on his door with drawings.

“Dicky, do you wanna see what I made?”

“Can you help me with this book? It’s about flowers and I thought you’d like it.”

“Do you have time for me today?”

And every time, it was—

“Not now.”

“Maybe next time.”

“Sorry, kiddo. Busy.”

Always busy. Always trying to protect Gotham.

Trying to live up to Bruce.

Trying to survive the weight of the Bat.

And then Jason died.

And the manor stopped feeling like a home.

Dick left. Blüdhaven became his distraction. His escape.

He told himself he was doing it for his own mental health. That Bruce was spiraling and Gotham was suffocating and—

And she was fine.

Alfred was there. Bruce would keep her safe.

He had no idea she’d wait for him to come back everyday.

No idea she started leaving her drawings at his door instead of knocking.

(Y/N)

She’d stopped knocking after the the tenth “maybe next time.”

She’d stopped drawing for him after the 20th.

She told herself it was okay.

Dick was busy. He was Robin. He had villains to fight. Gotham to protect.

She was just the quiet girl in the hallway with too many flowers in her hands.

If he wanted to spend time with her—he would.

That’s what she believed.

Until Tim came.

And Dick was there. Teaching him, praising him, sparring with him in the cave while she sat on the stairs with a book in her lap and a smile she kept forcing to stay in place.

Until Damian came.

And suddenly Dick was everywhere.

Taking him to movies.

Letting him win at arcade games.

Buying him snacks.

Sparring, laughing, teaching.

She’d ask:

“Can I come too?”

“Maybe next time.”

“I promise, sweetheart.”

But there was never a next time.

One night, she and Damian fought. Badly.

She didn’t want to remember what he said. Or how he made her cry.

But what hurt more was when Dick had found them—

And scolded her.

“What did you do to set him off, Little Flower?”

“He’s still adjusting. Try to be patient.”

She had just stood there.

Her hands were scratched. Her lip was bleeding.

Damian hadn’t even apologized.

And Dick hadn’t asked what happened. Didn’t care if she was fine. No one had.

He just assumed.

Because she was always the easy one. The quiet one.

The one who could be told “next time.”

(Dick)

He remembered now.

Her outside the cave door. Watching while he trained Damian.

Sitting crisscross on the hallway floor, pretending to read while her eyes never left him.

Waving at him from the garden window when he pulled out of the driveway.

He remembered saying “I’ll make it up to you.”

And then never did.

Maybe he hadn’t ignored her out of malice.

Maybe it was fear.

She was soft.

Delicate.

Too sweet for the blood-soaked world they all lived in.

He told himself he was protecting her by keeping her out of it.

But now…

Now she was disappearing before his eyes.

He stood alone in her room a while longer.

Just breathing.

The air smelled faintly like soil and old petals. The kind of smell that came from a garden that hadn’t been touched in too long.

He looked at the empty desk.

The clean corners.

The lifeless gray sheets.

His hands curled into fists—then relaxed.

“She’s still the same girl,” he told himself.

Just quieter. Just older. Just waiting for him to show up again.

He could make this right.

He just had to be present now.

He’d take her out this weekend.

To the movies. Or the bookstore—she used to love stories about mythical plants.

He could show her around Blüdhaven, take her for ice cream, walk her through the park.

Anything she wanted.

He’d ask what music she listened to now.

What books she liked.

If she still knew how to braid flower crowns.

He’d be a good brother this time.

The good brother.

Because she was still his Little Flower.

And she hadn’t wilted.

Not really.

Not yet.

He just had to reach her in time.

_____

The cafeteria buzzed with laughter and noise, trays clattering and chairs scraping against tile. Y/N walked in with a calmness that looked effortless—but only because she’d mastered it.

Her hair was pinned back neatly today. A soft cardigan over her uniform hugged her shoulders. Her smile was sweet, polite. The kind that melted teachers and made her friends giggle and call her “an angel.”

It wasn’t real.

But no one here needed to know that.

⸻

She spotted Damian at his usual table across the courtyard—half-shaded, slightly elevated, surrounded by boys who wore smugness like an accessory.

She hadn’t approached him in almost a month.

Not since she came back.

And even now, it twisted something sharp in her chest.

But she needed a cover.

She needed someone to relay the lie.

⸻

“Wayne,” one of his classmates grinned, nudging Damian with a cocky elbow. “Look who it is. Thought your baby sister forgot we existed.”

Damian looked up lazily, already annoyed—until his eyes landed on her.

For half a second, his face flickered.

Surprise.

Then nothing.

Just that familiar sneer curling on his lips.

She stood in front of the table with her hands folded in front of her skirt, like a model student waiting to speak.

Her smile was gentle. Practiced.

Too practiced.

“Hi, Damian,” she said softly. “Can I ask you something?”

He didn’t answer at first.

His eyes ran over her.

Slow. Quiet. Calculating.

Her tone was too even.

Her smile too polite.

She wasn’t trying to sit. Wasn’t looking at him with adoration like she used to.

He didn’t like it.

She cleared her throat lightly, still smiling.

“I have an after-school activity today. For a group project. I’ll be back by seven or eight, but I’m going with a few friends, so I don’t need Alfred to pick me up.”

Damian’s expression didn’t change.

“That’s it?” he said finally, voice flat.

“Mm-hm.” She nodded sweetly. “Just let Alfred know for me, please?”

There was a pause.

“You’re lying.”

The words were quiet. Not loud enough for the others to hear. Just for her.

Her smile didn’t waver. Although her heart stopped. She has always been a bad liar and Damian had always been too clever.

“Please,” she repeated. “Tell him?”

He stared at her.

She stared back.

And that was when it really hit him.

She wasn’t asking like she used to.

Not with hope. Not with that little-girl eagerness she used to wrap around him like a ribbon.

She was just… managing him.

Like one more problem to solve.

His jaw clenched.

"Fine,” he muttered. “Whatever. I’ll tell him.”

She beamed—too perfect—and turned without another word.

He watched her walk away.

She didn’t look back. Didn’t smile or thank him. Didn’t hesitate.

Just floated back to her group like she had never been at his table at all.

His classmates cracked a few jokes, tossed around stupid theories—“You think she’s got a secret boyfriend?” “Maybe she finally got tired of the prince of darkness”—but Damian barely heard them.

His eyes didn’t leave her.

Not for a second.

She was hiding something.

He didn’t know what.

But it unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

There had always been a softness about her that grated on him.

But now that it was gone?

He found himself trying to figure out where it had gone.

And who had taken it.

She left the building last.

Her friends waved at her from the school gates, their usual chorus of laughter and affection echoing behind her.

“See you tomorrow, babe!”

“Text me the homework!”

“Don’t forget your scarf!”

Y/N smiled, waved, nodded.

Every move was practiced.

Perfect.

Painless.

She slipped the scarf higher up her neck once she turned the corner, tucking her hair into the collar and pulling the fabric loosely over her head like a hood. She walked fast. Quiet. Unseen.

By the time she reached the end of the block, her expression was gone.

Fear. Nervousness.

The bus ride took fifty-seven minutes.

She sat near the back, eyes low, hands folded around the burner phone she had bought with the cash Alfred had given her for food to buy for herself on her birthdays. She never did buy herself food.

The phone’s battery died somewhere around Midtown, but she knew the route by heart already.

She watched the buildings change.

From clean stone and glass to chipped bricks and graffiti-covered fences.

The bus hissed to a stop at the corner of 57th and Arlen.

She got off.

The sidewalk was cracked. A neon sign flickered overhead in a language she didn’t recognize. A man stood outside a liquor store with three missing teeth and a cigarette barely lit.

She kept walking.

The address was scrawled on the inside of her wrist in faded pen.

The building was narrow. Old. Smelled faintly of mildew and paint thinner. But it had three locks on every door and no visible mold, so that already made it better than some others she’d seen online.

She rang the buzzer.

A moment later, an older man—mid-sixties, gray hair slicked back, jacket too big—opened the lobby door with a metal key in hand and a clipboard under his arm.

He stared at her.

“You… uh…” His eyes flicked up and down. Surprised. “You’re the one who scheduled the 4:30 appointment?”

“Yes,” she said quickly, adjusting the scarf and deepening her voice just a little. “I’m Emilia—Emilia Forenzi. I am… exchange student. From Italy.”

The man blinked.

Her accent was soft, light, vaguely musical. A touch of Rome, stolen from too many foreign films.

“You’re Italian?” he asked, skeptical.

“Yes.” She nodded. “I study here. I am almost eighteen. I know I look young, but it’s normal. In Italy, we… age well.”

“…Right.”

She smiled, sweet and slightly nervous. “May I see the apartment, please?”

He looked down at the clipboard, then back up. Something in her tone—her posture—seemed to relax him. Soften him.

“Fine. Come in. But I usually don’t deal with minors, alright? No funny business.”

“I understand.”

She followed him up three flights of stairs.

The apartment was small.

One room. Tiny kitchen. Cracked tile in the bathroom. Rust along the radiator. A smell of something faintly sweet and rotten in the walls.

But the window opened.

The lock worked.

The shower had water pressure.

It was… doable.

“Like I said,” the landlord muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he handed her a small application form, “this neighborhood’s not too bad if you keep your head down. But it’s still Gotham. You get a pretty girl living alone, some eyes are gonna notice.”

She swallowed. “I can handle.”

He looked at her again. “You sure you’re almost eighteen?”

“Yes,” she said immediately.

“You don’t got ID?”

“In Italy,” she lied. “I forgot to renew it before flight.”

“Uh-huh.” He frowned.

Then handed her a pen.

"You’ll need a signature. From a parent or guardian. Permission form, you understand? Legal reasons.”

She froze.

The air felt suddenly too cold.

“…P-permission?” she repeated.

“Yeah.” He gave her a look. “You’re a minor. No signature, no keys. Especially not in a place like this.”

She stared at the form.

Blank lines. Parent signature. Emergency contact.

All the things she didn’t have.

All the things she couldn’t ask for.

Her hands tightened on the pen.

“…I—I will get it,” she said softly.

The man nodded. “Alright. You get that, bring it back here. I’ll hold the place till the end of the week. But no signature? I can’t help you.”

She nodded again.

But her chest was hollow.

The girl smiled at the man and said her goodbyes. Not missing the worried frown he sends her.

As she walked back down the stairs, scarf tight around her throat and hands curled into fists inside her sleeves, she realized her pulse was shaking.

She had no one to sign for her.

She had no one to ask.

____

Damian Wayne | The Manor |

The main hallway was quiet when Damian walked in, dropping his bag onto the bench near the entrance.

The manor always had a certain weight to it after sunset—an old, cavernous silence that clung to the walls like shadows. But today, something felt off.

More than usual.

⸻

He tugged at his uniform blazer, unbuttoned it, and turned the corner—only to pause at the top of the main staircase.

Someone was standing at the bottom.

Dick.

“…What are you doing here?” Damian asked, tone flat.

His brother was leaning on the bannister like he’d been waiting for someone. His hair was slightly messy, still in his travel jacket, eyes distant and too focused for someone just home from Blüdhaven.

Dick looked up, blinking as if only just realizing Damian had spoken.

“…Hey.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

“I could say the same to you.”

Damian rolled his eyes and descended the stairs. “I live here.”

“Yeah, well… I’m visiting.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “You never just visit. You’re either gone or calling Alfred at 3 a.m. for muscle cream.”

Dick gave a weak smile but didn’t defend himself.

He was still watching the front doors.

Still waiting.

Damian paused halfway down.

“Who are you waiting for?”

“Y/N.”

Damian blinked. “…Why?”

Dick scratched the back of his neck, his smile faltering. “Just… thought I’d talk to her. Spend some time. I stopped by her room earlier. You know, just… realized I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Damian tilted his head slightly. “She’s not here.”

“I can see that.”

“She said she has a school project. After school thing. With her friends.”

Dick frowned. “That so?”

“That’s what she told me,” Damian said coolly, but something in his voice betrayed the fact that he didn’t fully believe it.

And Dick caught it.

“…You sound like you don’t buy it.”

Damian didn’t answer.

Instead, he walked past him toward the kitchen.

Dick turned, following him with a look.

“She used to come home straight after school, right?” he asked. “She’s not the type to hang around malls or… sneak out.”

Damian stopped. His jaw tensed.

“She doesn’t lie,” he said.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “But she did.”

Damian didn’t respond.

⸻

It was 6:56 now.

Dick checked the clock.

Still no sign of her.

And the longer the minutes ticked by, the more wrong it felt.

He didn’t want to be dramatic. Didn’t want to jump into full protective-mode. But something about it nagged at him.

She always came straight home after school.

She always told Alfred where she was.

And now?

“Maybe we should check in,” Dick said quietly.

Damian’s expression didn’t change.

But his eyes darkened.

_____

Her fingers were stiff by the time she reached the manor gates.

The walk from the bus stop had been longer than she remembered—colder too. The wind had picked up along the hillside, numbing her ears and flushing her cheeks, and even though the streets had mostly emptied by that hour, she had kept her scarf high and her head down.

The apartment application was folded tightly in her backpack, zipped into the inner lining where no one could see. Her heart hadn’t stopped pounding since she’d left the landlord’s office. Even now, it beat against her ribs like it didn’t know she was safe yet.

She gripped her key in cold fingers and slipped it into the lock.

The manor door creaked open.

Warm air met her instantly. Familiar. Scented with faint woodsmoke and something rich from the kitchen. Maybe Alfred had made stew.

She exhaled, stepping in—

And froze.

At the top of the stairs, they were waiting.

Dick and Damian.

Both standing.

Both silent.

Damian leaned slightly on the banister, arms crossed. His expression unreadable, sharp eyes fixed on her like they were dissecting the very air she brought in with her.

Dick stood taller, hands in the pockets of his jacket, brows pulled in a worried line. Not angry. Just… tense. Focused.

Like they were both watching for something.

Her heart jumped.

She hadn’t expected to see him.

Dick.

Not yet.

Not this soon.

In the previous timeline, he hadn’t returned from Blüdhaven for months. By the time he had, she would have already faded into the walls. By then, he didn’t notice her until it was too late.

So when she looked up the stairs and saw him standing there beside Damian—older, taller, all soft concern wrapped in blue and black—her breath caught.

And then—

“My Little Flower.”

Her body jolted. Eyes wide.

That name. That name that hadn’t passed his lips in years.

She flinched before she could stop herself.

Dick’s brow creased. “Hey—what’s wrong?”

She shook her head quickly, lips tugging into a reflexive smile. “Nothing. I just didn’t know you were home.”

“I just got in. Wanted to surprise everyone.” His voice dipped softer. “Especially you.”

That made her stomach twist.

He hadn’t said that in years either. Not even before she died. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t even spoken that softly with her in years.

Dick came down a few steps.

Damian followed silently, slower, more calculated in his movements. His arms weren’t crossed anymore. His hands were at his sides, but stiff—ready.

“Where were you?” Dick asked gently, the kind of warmth that would’ve made her melt when she was younger. Or if she was her true fourteen-year-old self.

She swallowed. “I told Damian earlier—group project. We were at a friend’s house. We lost track of time.”

Damian’s eyes sharpened.

He took another step.

“You don’t do group projects,” he said flatly.

She looked at him.

“I do, actually. For history class. Ms. Varela assigned one yesterday.”

“Who?” Dick asked, tilting his head.

“Uh… Maya,” she said. “Her name’s Maya. She lives near Gotham Heights.”

Damian’s stare was unrelenting.

“You didn’t mention that earlier.”

“I forgot,” she said quickly. “I was rushing.”

“Which Maya?” he asked. “Last name.”

YN hesitated.

Too long.

“Rossi,” she said.

Another lie.

Another crack in the glass.

Dick’s smile was still there, but it looked strained now. Forced. He was trying to believe her. He wanted to. His little flower would never lie to him.

But his eyes flicked to Damian for a second—and that moment said more than anything.

They didn’t believe her.

She felt it like heat crawling up her neck.

“I texted you,” Dick said. “We tried to call.”

“I didn’t see,” she replied, pulling her bag closer. “Phone died on the bus.”

“You took a bus?” Damian asked.

“Yeah. It was fine.”

“That area’s not fine,” he said, voice sharper now. “If you were really near Gotham Heights, you shouldn’t be walking around alone.”

“I wasn’t alone.”

“Then tell me where exactly you were. Street. Building number.”

She hesitated again.

The silence was too long.

“I don’t remember the street,” she said. “We just followed Maya from school.”

Damian stepped closer.

He was still a full step below her on the staircase, but somehow he still felt like he was looking down on her. Maybe due their height difference.

“You’re lying,” he said, quiet, razor-sharp.

Her breath caught.

Dick’s hand rested lightly on her slender shoulder. “Hey, let’s not jump on her. Maybe she’s just tired. It’s been a long day.”

But even his voice had changed now. The warmth was still there—but underneath, there was a thread of doubt. Of tension.

They weren’t backing down.

They were watching.

And she knew—if she gave them one more chance to press harder—

They’d start digging.

She smiled again. Soft. Rehearsed.

“I’ll go change. I still have some homework to finish.”

She stepped past them before they could answer. And neither of them moved.

But their eyes never left her.

She shut the door behind her faster than she meant to.

Click.

Locked.

She didn’t usually lock her door.

But everything was too much.

Her pulse was still high. Her fingers trembled just slightly as she set her bag down and crossed to her desk.

The room smelled like earth and blooming flowers. Familiar. Safe.

But wrong now.

Everything was wrong.

⸻

She plugged in her phone, the screen flickering back to life after a few long seconds.

Six missed calls.

Three messages from Dick:

hey, just checking in ☀️ you good?

miss you, little flower 💙

come talk to me when you’re home? 🍯🌼

Her stomach turned.

He hadn’t texted her in years. Not even once during the worst of it.

He used to leave her on read for days, weeks.

And now—he was texting her with emojis?

He was calling her Little Flower again like it hadn’t been buried years ago with every broken promise.

For a moment—just a moment—her heart ached.

Because maybe… maybe this was what she’d wanted back then.

Just a message. Just a moment of attention.

Just a brother who remembered her.

But it was too late.

And it felt wrong.

She didn’t know what was changing the past.

Or why they were suddenly looking at her again.

But it wasn’t for the right reasons.

It wasn’t love. Not really.

It was something else.

Something colder.

Something that made her skin prickle even when they smiled.

She stared at the screen a few seconds longer, then set it facedown.

Her mind was still spiraling.

What if they started tracking her phone?

What if they were already suspicious?

What if they tried to dig?

She stood and moved to her door.

Unlocked it just enough to open it a crack.

Alfred was walking past with a tray, heading toward the dining room.

“Sweetheart?” he asked, pausing when he saw her. “You’re not coming down?”

She gave him a soft, tired smile.

“I still have to finish that group project,” she said.

Alfred hesitated. His eyes searched her face, gentle and a little too knowing.

“I see,” he said quietly. “Shall I bring your dinner up, then?”

"Please.”

He gave her a little nod.

And left.

⸻

The dining room was set.

Empty seat at the end of the table.

Same as always.

Dick sat quietly across from Damian. Neither of them had touched their food yet.

Their eyes met once.

And something passed between them.

Not words.

Not questions.

Just quiet understanding.

They were both thinking the same thing:

She was hiding something.

And they were going to find out what it was.

taglist:

@justwannabecat

@c4xcocoa

@cosmicyuk1

@galaxypurplerose

@nisarelle

@exactlynumberonekryptonite

@holderoflostmemories

@runaaclou

@noclue-0

@devils-blackrose

@delias-stuff

@wizzerreblogs

@charlenexoxo1

@staarflowerr

@sleep-7372

[iydiamartinx]

DRAWN TO YOU

Pairing: Damian Wayne x Reader

divider by: @cafekitsune word count: 972 synopsis: You get curious about what Damian is drawing. a/n: I low key feel like I fucked up the ending cause its so cheesy lol. Also again aged up Damian Wayne cause of the romantic subplots if you squint

The early morning light slanted golden rays through the tall windows of the library room, casting a warm glow across the usually dim room and making it feel brighter, more open. The manor was hushed, save for the distant clatter of Alfred preparing a late breakfast for the house’s more nocturnal residents, the occasional muffled footsteps of Duke pacing in an upstairs study, and the quiet mutters from Damian beside you.

Damian sat cross-legged at the far end of the couch, a sketchbook balanced on one knee, pencil in hand. His brows were furrowed in concentration, his bottom lip caught gently between his teeth as his hand moved in quick, practiced strokes. You’d been watching him on and off between scrolling on your phone, finding the soft sound of the scratches of his pencil on paper oddly soothing.

“What’re you drawing?” you asked eventually, nudging his ankle with your foot.

“Nothing,” he replied a little to briskly, not even looking up.

You arched a brow. “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“It’s not ready,” he said flatly, tone clipped and guarded. “It’s… unfinished.”

You smirked and leaned a little closer, craning your neck to peek over the edge of the page. In one swift motion, Damian tilted the sketchbook away, , shielding it against his chest..

“Don’t,” he said sharply.

“Why not?” you teased, lips pulling into a pout. “You never let me see.”

“Because,” he muttered, still refusing to meet your eyes, “it’s rough.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. You knew Damian well enough to recognize when he was hiding something. He rarely ever got flustered. Or if he did, it wasn’t an emotion he allowed to be seen so easily. But right now, it was obvious from the way he avoided your gaze and the flush of red creeping up the tips of his ears. Whatever he was drawing, clearly meant something to him.

So, you waited. Pretending to drop the matter and go back to scrolling on your phone casually. You patiently waited for him to relax. And when he stood to grab the eraser he’d left on the coffee table…

You struck.

Quick as a flash, you snatched the sketchbook off the couch and jumped to your feet, dancing just out of Damian’s reach. He lunged for it, but you were faster, already backing away with a triumphant grin.

“Y/N—don’t—!” he exclaimed, his voice rising—not in anger, but in something far rarer for him.

Panic. Pure, wide-eyed panic.

You grinned. “I just want to see. I’ve caught glimpses of the landscapes you paint, and they’re amazing. You shouldn’t be embarrassed about a ske—”

Whatever you were saying died on your tongue the moment your eyes dropped to the page.

You froze, your breath catching.

It wasn’t just a quick sketch or a casual doodle—it was a detailed portrait of you.

He’d drawn you the way he saw you when you weren’t looking. Curled on the couch, phone in hand, a faint smile tugging at your lips. The way your hair fell over your shoulder. The slope of your jaw. The softness in your expression. Every line was purposeful, every shadow carefully placed. There was a quiet reverence in the way he’d captured you—it made you feel as if you were something precious to him.

You looked up slowly, heart pounding. “Damian…”

He stood rigid a few feet away, arms crossed tight over his chest. His jaw was clenched, but his eyes—his eyes were uncertain, almost vulnerable.

“It’s not finished,” he muttered, gaze dropping. “The hands aren’t right. The shading needs—”

“Damian.” You said his name again, softer this time.

When he finally met your eyes, you crossed the distance between you and held the sketchbook gently to your chest, like it was something fragile. “This is… beautiful.”

Damian didn’t answer. He stood stiffly by the table, arms crossed, expression tight with embarrassment judging from the flush on his cheeks.

“I’m serious,” you said, voice soft now. “I didn’t know you looked at me like that.”

He glanced up—just once. And then looked away again. “Tt. Of course I do.”

You closed the book carefully and stepped toward him, smile tugging at your lips. “You’re really talented, Damian.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he muttered, arms folding across his chest in a defensive habit.

You shook your head gently. “You didn’t. Not even close.”

When you reached him, you rose up on your toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek—just enough to send the flush returning to the tips of his ears. His hand twitched like he wasn’t sure whether to grab you or cover his face.

“Next time,” you murmured, “just ask if you want to draw me. I’m happy to pose for you.”

He studied you for a moment, brow still faintly furrowed. “You’re not just saying that?”

Your expression softened. “Damian. I mean it.”

You held the sketchbook out to him, and he took it slowly, fingers curling around the edges with a careful touch.

“You’re the only thing I want to draw lately,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Your chest fluttered, warmth blooming behind your ribs at the quiet sincerity in his words.

“Then draw me,” you said, gently. “However you see me. I want to know.”

He didn’t answer, but something in his posture softened as he sat back down—just enough for you to lean in and rest your head on his shoulder. Watching in contentment, as he opened his sketchbook again, pencil already in hand. 

And so the rest of the morning continued to pass in a peaceful silence, sunlight warming the room as you continued to watch him and the way his pencil moved across the paper. Steady and careful, drawing you in the only way he knew how— like you were the only light to his darkness.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hiiii

Can you do something about the batboys (specially Tim and Damian cuz they are my fav)?

With a reader who loves hugs, like A LOT

And it is simply spontaneous to want to hug.

Dick

He loves your spontaneity and your hugs.

He finally has someone who can eagerly accept his out of nowhere hugs by reciprocating with your own hugs.

You have a hug off to see who can hug the other the most as it never fails to make both of your days better, and it acts like a really good pick me up when you both need it most.

Dick could stay in your arms forever if he could and hopes that you feel the same as it acts as a way of communicating without the usage of words. Dick can convey how he felt to you in certain situations throughout all types of hugs possible.

Tight hugs for when he thought he wasn’t going to come back home to you, or when he fears that you wouldn’t love him anymore or for times where he just needed to feel you against him.

Soft, gently, comforting hugs for when he feels like being more affectionate with you, maybe even playful and or wanting to just show you that he cares about you as while he’s a charmer, meaningful words tend to fail him on multiple occasions.

Protective, ‘don’t touch them or else’ hugs where he keeps a tight and firm grip on you as he pushes your head into his neck while he poetically cocoons you in his arms as to keep you out of sight of anyone he thinks is no good for you.

Other then them, dick will always await for you with open arms almost instinctively, knowing he’s going to get the best hug of a lifetime as thought you haven’t seen each other in a long time and not five minutes. Dick just loves you and your spontaneous hugs.

Damian

Fight instincts are strong in Damian.

So when you first try to hug him, his sword was drawn within inches of your face as fast as you could blink. He’d never hurt you, no. It’s just that his body was tuned to react within seconds to any potential danger against him, and unfortunately his mind made him think that your hugs were threats.

So once he realises what he had done on impulse, he apologise and sheathed his sword and tells you that he’s not yet use to your kind of affection due to his upbringing and that he’ll try to become accustomed to it eventually; Which he does but his response to your hugs is rather stiff and almost robotic but you were more then happy to take what you get, and if this is the most he can do right now then you’ll accept it.

However when he does start to get use to your hugs and doesn’t feel like he has to draw his sword every time, but he tends to melt into your touch like a stray cat being shown love for the first time. He closes his eyes and burrows his head into your neck as he tightened his grip on you, as though you’d vanish if he were to ever let up his hold.

He doesn’t want you to hug him in public, he’s not comfortable with it as he would when you’re hugging him in private, but he couldn’t fault you if you were to hug him after an highly emotional moment where you thought you’d loose him, Damian understands but he just prefers to have you hug him in private overall.

It also lessens the teasing potential for his brothers and he gets the alone time with you like he so wished for.

Tim

Finds comfort and reassurance in your hugs.

Seriously your hugs are what Tim needs after a long and arduous mission alongside his brothers and sisters.

He doesn’t even flinch at how out of the blue your hugs are, he just accepts your hugs no matter what and will sigh heavily as he practically falls asleep in your arms.

Please help this man get some proper sleep for once in his life, the detective stuff can wait, it’s not going to go anywhere anytime soon just please take a break.

He’s more then reciprocal of your hugs and appreciates the love you pour into them as they help ease the worries within his head as he rests his head against yours, allowing himself to slow down and appreciate what was in front of him.

Your hugs -despite their spontaneity- have a calming affect on him and they worked wonders for when he needs sleep as his mind tends to keep him up at night. So now with you it’s a bit more bearable as you would cradle his head to your chest, letting him focus in on your breathing and your heart until that’s all the last thing he remembered before drifting off to sleep.

Jason

It takes Jason some time to get use to your spontaneous hug feasts. At first he flinches and almost shies away from your hugs as he doesn’t acquaint any physical contact as soft, or warm or comforting like you did. In fact he viewed it as the opposite.

So it takes time for Jason to become comfortable with your spontaneous hugs and once he stops flinching and shying away from them, he grows addicted to your hugs and awaits each and every time that you decided he looked like he needed a little hug or cuddle.

He -much like Damian- would melt into your hugs, tighten his grip on you and would find that everything fades away the moment he’s in your arms; His mind clears of all stress and all he can think about was how perfect each and every one of your hugs were every single time.

He also never wants to leave your embrace, ever, he just refuses and claims he needs five more minutes in your arms and would groan in annoyance if you were to attempt to pull away.

‘Stop moving away from me.’ He’d groan. ‘You wanted to hug me so hug me!’

You chuckle at him whenever he got like this but oblige to his wishes regardless as you didn’t have to heart to stop hugging Jason when he’s practically clinging onto you like a koala bear. So you just remain where you are until five minutes become a full day and you and Jason are shuffling towards the bedroom together to cuddle until you feel asleep.

Needles to say Jason grows to love your hugs however they come and when they come, for they help him get through the day.

Bruce

He’s not use to your hugs yet either and it takes him just as long-if not longer- as Jason to get use to them overtime.

His muscles would tense and that’s about it.

He’s use to being hugged by the likes of Jason and Damian and Dick when he got older but your hugs were different then theirs, and sooner or later Bruce had developed a sixth sense for whenever you’re going to hug him, and would smile to himself whenever he heard your footsteps and little giggles before bracing himself for you hug.

‘You heard me didn’t you.’ You’d always ask and without hesitation Bruce replied with in a playful manner; ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about my dear.’ Which only made you pout as you tightened your grip on him while burrowing your face into his broad back.

There would even be times where you’re about to hug him, but Bruce moves just in times as you were going to hug his waist and stares at you for a bit before opening his arms and letting you run into his chest. He doesn’t mind your hugs now and then when he’s not busy as he doesn’t like neglecting you for his work; So he tries to at least let you get all your hugs out while you could before he had to indulge in his work that takes up a huge amount of his time.

Like Damian he likes to have you hug him in private, he’s a well know public figure and Gotham isn’t exactly safe and so he prioritised your safety above all else. So while he’ll interlock his pinky with yours or have your arm locked in his in public, he’ll let you hang off of him as reward in private while he rests his hands over your own in means of keeping you there.

Alfred finds it sweet seeing Bruce be affectionate with you and probably has a picture where Bruce is embracing you fully, his head resting atop of yours while your face was smothered against his chest, your face bearing the widest smile possible in comparison to Bruce’s face of calm serenity.

[prettealolilol]

i like to think about the duality of the kids about people shipping Bruce with anyone, because the guy has been elected as the most handsome man in the country for years, has this whole playboy Brucie persona and is often seen with someone at his arms (men and women)

on one side, they'll be like "ew god no, i do not want to imagine dad like-" and "oh my god some people actually ship Bantman and Joker wtf ??" and they'll do their best to filter every social media to avoid any thirsty or shipping content about Bruce

when the press ask them about it, they be like:

Tim : "Would you like it if I asked about your thoughts on your dad cheating on your mom with his secretary ? No ? Then mind your own business." when the dad was in fact cheating with his secretary and now everybody knew because Tim was live when he answered

Jason, pulling out a gun : "i swear to god i'll shoot the next person who asks me this and then i'll shoot myself. Ugh, do i look like i fucking care about the old man's sex life ?"

Dick, smiling uncomfortably : "i don't really live at the manor anymore and i barely see him with my job so you know..." when it has been in fact a week he's been sleeping at the manor after patrolling with Batman

Damian, frowning as usual, looking at the guy who asked him as if he did not have a brain : "Father is careful in not mixing his carnal activities with the family life so i do not have any hindsight on his sex life. i do not wish to know regardless." the journalist is taken aback by the explicit answer of this ten year old, while his brothers are trying not to laugh behind him (Jason was not hiding his snickering)

on the other side, you cannot tell me those guys are not the biggest shippers in the world

like Jason would want Batman to date Wonder Woman just so she could be his step mom. i strongly believe the guy has a ao3 and tumblr account and is very much active on both. he definitely reads batman x green lantern fics just to annoy Bruce (even though his dad has no idea, but still gets shivers when Jason is reading one)

Dick and Duke both ship SuperBat although for different reasons. for Dick, that's his uncle there, he was there when they met and saw them as they slowly became best friends. he strongly believes they are made for each other. Duke just think it would be super cool (no pun intended) if the Superman and the Batman were dating.

Stephanie just likes to roll with it, some days she feels like shipping superbat, others she'll be more into batcat, or batlantern. she's pretty volatile and doesn't really have a favourite, but when she gets into one she's all in. she'll be arguing and insulting people online who disagrees, sharing crazy theories...

Cass doesn't really care, she'll listen to any of her siblings ranting about their thoughts (especially Steph) and juts find it adorable (and funny how much they care)

Tim probably ships superbat because they are completely opposed, and he finds the parallels really interesting. he definitely writes fics (Jay reads his fics and they exchange about it without knowing it's each other)

Damian doesn't really see the point. but he has drawn of few fanart (Jason tried to bribe him with money once and Damian had to remind him of his inheritance) when Bruce benched Tim and him and he ended up drawing some batlantern that Tim printed and plastered all over the manor. Bruce had to restrain the access to the printer (Tim hacked into it the next day)

Barbara, although she doesn't really ship, is the one you go to if you search some content, she'll find you the most heart wrenching, 200 thousand words, slow brun, angst/comfort fics you'll ever read (the type of fic that changes you deep into your soul). she still likes debating with the batkid

Regardless, if there's one things they all agree on, it is Bruceman (love those fics were the batkids just go along with it). like it's hilarious but the fans make some pretty good points and they are in fact impressed. it's also the safest ship as it would not happen in any situations so they don't have to worry about their dad being stolen

[aangelinakii]

BIRTHDAY WISHES.

— happy birthday, you better enjoy your present.

summary : it's your birthday and a crushing damian decides to gift you something. let's just hope he's not ratting himself out here.

requested !

breathe, damian, it's just a day; they're just a person.

he'd been saying it in the bathroom mirror this morning whilst splashing some water on his face and attempting to style his hair a little better today.

at one point, tim had attempted to come inside as he was staring at himself, knuckles white as he gripped the basin, and damian was quick to slam the door on his forehead, and attempt to ignore the shrieks of pain coming from the hallway.

damian had been crushing deep for you, which he'd realised one ap physics lesson as he sketched the profile of your face in his notebook. you were just friends, and of course he knew that, but there was something about you that made his heart pound, and, evidently, draw you on his pages.

he didn't want to risk spending any money on you, since he didn't carry cash and people would raise some eyebrows if he went around the manor asking for money; if he used his card, his father would see and ask what he's doing buying from that flowershop downtown.

and there was no chance he'd just skip over it and not get you anything — it wasn't that he was trying to impress you, a little bit but not really, it was more so just expressing himself. express, not impress.

the reason he was so nervous about giving to you what he'd made was definitely your reaction.

"what the hell is this? you're a weirdo, you're crazy, you're this, you're that."

despite knowing you weren't that type of person, damian was anxious to be shamed; but at least he'd be showing you his art, instead of hiding it away in his drawers for not another soul to see.

at lunch, the two of you sat at your usual bench in the courtyard, soaking up what sun gotham was offering today — not too mild, not too cold.

whilst you spoke about how your day had gone so far, damian found himself zoning out, your voice becoming a drone in the back of his mind. it wasn't personal — well, maybe it was, considering it was you he was so nervous about.

since realising that his feelings for you were more than platonic, each moment spent with you was like spent back with his mother; he was holding something back, but also doing everything he could. the only difference between here at gotham academy and the league of assassins was that he wasn't learning to kill anyone, just trying to muster up courage to reply to your question.

"what, sorry?" damian asked, finally looking away from his hands to you, where you seemed to be looking at him expectantly.

a light chuckle passed your lips, and a round of chills run up his forearms. "i asked how your day has been, though? since mine clearly can't get any worse."

"any worse? how? it's your birthday."

but damian had definitely had his fair share of horrid birthdays, even going to far to forbid his own one from being celebrated at the manor; the most he lets anyone do is give him a present if they have one and walk off immediately, he doesn't want any singing or stupid sayings.

you hesitated, and damian realised quickly that you had already done all the talking about your day, and stammered on his words to respond to your first question. "uh— yes, no, my day's been alright. i have criminology after lunch, which is quite good." he was trailing off task. "anyway! it's your birthday, right? i mean, of course it is, i just said that... i got you something."

he immediately dove into his backpack, intent in avoiding the stare he could feel boring into the side of his head.

when he found it, it was exactly where he'd carefully slotted it in that morning, tucked in his hardback criminology textbook so it wouldn't crease.

the moment he pulled it from his bag, he could sense your polite confusion from here. "aww, how cute, dames, you got me a crim textbook," he could imagine you thinking, but then when he found the page, your entire demeanor changed.

carefully, damian plucked the piece of paper from where it sat and passed it gingerly to you, closing back up the textbook.

"damian, it's..." the words brushed past your lips in a whisper, sending another wave of chills prickling along his skin. thank god for the navy blazer gotham academy forced them all to wear, or else the jig would be up.

silent, he waited in aching anticipation for your response, his knuckles aching now from cracking them so much in the gap of silence. it was something he did to soothe himself — this time it seemed not to be working as well.

fragile in your fingers, you stared down at your graphite features, wondering where he'd got this angle from; there wasn't any pictures of yourself that you knew of, facing you so head-on, so close and raw, yet so filled with love. in fact, you didn't even know your face could be shown so happy. and then the moment flashed like a billboard in your mind.

after school the other day, you and damian had made a stop-off at the library on the way home, where you'd been hoping to grab a book to aid you in one of your classes, but, inevitably, you'd been distracted by the children's section. how come their area got to be all colourful and filled with fun activities? how come the rest of the library was so drab and dull? well, it did its job, anyhow.

but, laughing away with one another, you'd tucked yourselves into the kiddie-sized reading nook, knees pulled up to chests, shoes mushed against one another, no doubt scuffing them, grins ever-green in the presence of the other.

well... if that was the case, you must've looked really good that day.

before he could have time to brace for impact, you leapt up and engulfed damian in a hug so tender he could feel his heart begin to hammer from behind the cage of his ribs.

"thank you, thank you, thank you!" you grinned into his ear, giving him one final squeeze, pulling away by the time damian could even think around raising an arm to reciprocate.

hot, hot fire ran up the back of his neck, and he brought warm fingertips to brush along it — hopefully it wasn't as red as it felt like it would be.

"this is... better than anything i could ever ask for." your voice went from excited to quiet, more real, and damian felt something swell in his chest.

it only caused damian to smile something soft, and wedge his hands beneath his bottom to hide their tremor from your eyes. "so you like it?"

"like it?" you repeated with a laugh. "damian, i love it."

[pomegranatelifethis]

New sibling

Damian rolled his eyes when he heard Bruce bring home someone who was “in need of help” again. He saw this attitude of his father as a weakness. When Bruce called Damian into the living room, Damian shuffled in and saw a little girl standing in the middle of the room.

Little Y/N stood in the middle of the room, wearing worn-out clothes and an old plush bear clutched tightly in her arms. Her eyes were filled with tears, but she wasn't crying. Damian turned to Bruce with a contemptuous expression:

“What is this now? Do you bring home what you find on the street now?”

Bruce gave him a stern look but did not answer. Y/N took a step back as Damian tried to understand why his father had brought this boy. Damian's cold gaze made the little girl even more introverted.

“Her name is Y/N,” said Bruce. “He'll be safe here.”

Damian laughed sarcastically. “This kid can't survive here. This place is too dangerous for him.”

Y/N bowed his head when he heard these words. Bruce looked at Damian sternly. “He's a Wayne now. You need to understand this.”

Damian frowned and muttered sarcastically as he quickly left the room:

“Being Wayne isn't always a blessing.”

One night, as Damian was walking down the hall, he heard a muffled sob coming from Y/N's room. He paused, remaining in front of the door instead of continuing. He knew he shouldn't go in, but as the sobs stopped, his own past came to mind.

When he entered the room, he found Y/N wrapped in her blanket, crying. When the little girl saw Damian, she immediately tried to compose herself. But tears were still streaming down his cheeks.

"What are you doing?" Damian asked, his voice unusually soft.

Y/N muttered without looking up:

“I'm sorry… I was trying to be quiet. I know you don't want me. But I have nowhere else to go…”

Damian's eyes were narrowed. These words revived the feeling of abandonment he felt in his childhood. At that moment, he saw the little girl's loneliness as the same as his own loneliness.

“No one will send you away from here,” Damian said involuntarily. “But I won't see you cry again. You must be strong.”

Y/N turned his eyes to Damian. He nodded, surprised but grateful. As Damian left the room, he realized that his desire to protect this boy was slowly taking over him.

Damian swore he would never leave Y/N alone again. One day, Y/N gave him a small drawing. In the drawing, Y/N and Damian were standing side by side. Damian took the picture in his hand and examined it for a long time.

“Is this me? "Did you draw me this short?" he teased, but he couldn't hide the slight smile on his face. Y/N smiled shyly.

Damian took the picture and took it to his room. He put it next to his bed and said to himself, “He is my brother. No one can touch him. Nobody can take him from me, he thought.