#batfam ages

[erinwantstowrite]

hi hope you’re having a good day because mine got infinitely once i read that chapter! that ending is going to be a permanent feature of my late night thoughts just wondering how the conversation would go LMAO

for the ask(s):

is this chapter the first time peter called dick dad? i have pretty bad memory and can’t think of another scene & dick’s reaction to it definitely makes me think this is the first time it happened

did peter even realize he called dick dad? he doesn’t acknowledge it in any way so i wonder if it was a subconscious thing

on the topic of my bad memory im not sure if you ever actually said even vaguely what age ranges the batfam are in. i was thinking about tim specifically and it got me snowballing. i think you mentioned cass being somewhere in her early 20s in her intro chapter? i read that a while ago though so i’m not too sure.

this is the first time he called him 'Dad'! he didnt know whether or not if he should/wanted to, so he avoided using Dick's name/calling him anything. and he did NOT notice that he called him Dad :3 it just slipped out because he was excited. Dick definitely noticed and that's why the car lurched like that- he was super surprised

i have the ages listed out somewhere on here but Tumblr hates me and often time trying to search for a post is like trying to search for a ghost 😭

Alfred- immortal

Bruce- 42

Dick- 29

Jason- 23

Tim- 18

Cass- 18

Steph- 19

Duke- 17

Damian- 14

Peter- 14

[deadly-kalopsia]

writing out my understanding of the batfam ages because i’m bored

i’m basing literally all of this starting around their ages based on tim because that’s literally the only ones i know for sure and it’s easier this way

when tim is first introduced, he’s 13 (for some reason i always think he’s 12 but no, he’s 13) we know that tim was at the circus when dicks parents died when dick was 8. tim was stated to be 3 at the time of the flying graysons death) (i’m aware that in one comic it claims that he was like 7 but that makes literally no fucking sense so i’m ignoring it)

this means that when tim is 3, dick is 8, making dick 5 years older than tim making, meaning that when tim becomes robin dick is 18….which doesn’t really make sense. so let’s loop back to this later.

jason dies when hes 15, around 6 months later, tim introduces himself and has his first technical debut as robin at 13, making their age difference around 2 years. tim is born in july, and jason is born in august, it’s safe to say that their age gap is 2 years and a few months. jason is introduced at age 12 right after dick leaves/gets fired as robin at around age 18/19, making him around 6 years older than jason.

so at this point we have

tim-13 (stated age at first introduction.)

jason- 15/16 (depending on when he dies)

dick- 21/22 (relative to jason, not tim)

back to tim being at the circus at the night of the flying graysons death, if tim is 3, then with dicks age relative to jason, dick would have had to been around 12 at the age of their death, NOT the 8 that was previously stated. this would make dick and tim’s age gap around 9 years. personally, while this messes up the ages stated in the canon i’m referring to, this is probably the best age that i can come up with and still have tim be at the circus and be around toddler age (old enough to remember what happened because of the trauma of it)

bruce is stated to be somewhere between 12-15 years older than dick, meaning that he’s somewhere between 21-24 years older than tim. this means he was around 24-27 when he fosters dick. (personally i meld this to whatever fits what im trying to talk about)

cassandra is assumed to be jason’s age, so we’ll call her also 2 years and some months/3 years older than tim.

when damian is introduced at 9/10 and at the time tim is 16 making their age difference 6-7 years. this is constantly changing due to dcs lack of letting tim age but still aging damian up (damian is 14 right now and as far as i know tim is still 17.)

unfortunately i don’t know very much about duke (which is an absolute tragedy that i will be remedying asap) but im pretty sure he’s 4 years older than damian, making him 2-3 years younger than tim.

alfred is ageless and i don’t care what you say dc, that man is alive.

so for my age differences relative to tim in what im gathering as my current canon (very very loose) we have:

alfred: ageless. (probably around early-mid 70s?)

bruce: 38-42

dick: 26

cass: 19/20

jason: 19/20

tim: 17

duke: 14/15

damian: 10/11

that’s all we have for bruce’s canonically adopted/fostered children (THAT I KNOW OF PLEASE DONT KILL ME)

a couple others that i didn’t include but know, stephanie is a year older than tim, making her 18 to tim’s 17, and like wise, babs is a year older than dick, making her 27 to dicks 26.

i think my math maths but please let me know if it doesn’t, i did it in my head and have not slept.

[voshaduan]

Bat-family ages in Batman: Wayne Family Adventures

In Batman: Wayne Family adventures, Damian’s age is given as 9 (Ep. 13) and Jason's is given as 19 (Ep. 53).

Bruce’s age is not given, and neither are Steph’s, Tim’s, Cass’s, Alfred’s, Barbara’s, Duke’s, Harper’s, Jim’s, Kate’s, Luke’s, or Selina’s.

According to Ep. 35, Dick became Robin 16 years ago (from current time in WFA), and according to the WFA wiki, Tim figured out Batman and Robin’s IDs at age 9. By adding the typical age Jason dies at (15), Dick’s usual age when Bruce takes him in (8 or 10), and how old Bruce typically is when his parents die (also 8 or 10), along with the typical age ranges of the Bat-family members compared to each other and their apparent ages in the webcomic, we can use some (dubious) math to extrapolate the (at least general) ages of the Bat-family at certain points on the timeline.

Ages of Bat-family members when…

Bruce's parents died: Alfred Pennyworth - late 30's or early 40’s, Jim Gordon - 24 or 26 (figure that looks like Jim seen among background police in Ep. 132 of WFA), Bruce Wayne - 8 or 10 (typically when it happens), Kate Kane - Kid, 13 or under, Selina Kyle - Kid, 13 or under, Barbara Gordon - Infant or 2, Dick Grayson - Not born yet or infant.

16 years ago when Dick became Robin (WFA Ep. 35): Alfred Pennyworth - 40’s, Jim Gordon - 34, Bruce Wayne - at least 18 (would have to be a legal adult to take in a child), Kate Kane - late teens or early 20’s, Selina Kyle - late teens or early 20’s, Barbara Gordon - 10 or 12, Dick Grayson - 8 or 10 (usually how old he is), Luke Fox - at least 4 or 5, Jason Todd - 3, Cassandra Cain - 1 or 2, Harper Row - 1 or 2, Tim Drake - Infant or 1, Steph Brown - Infant or 1, Duke Thomas - Infant or 1.

Damian was born: Alfred Pennyworth - 40's or early 50's, Jim Gordon - 41, Bruce Wayne - at least 25, Kate Kane - mid or late 20’s, Selina Kyle - mid or late 20's, Barbara Gordon - 17 or 19, Dick Grayson - 15 or 17, Luke Fox - at least 11 or 12, Jason Todd - 10, Cassandra Cain - 8 or 9, Harper Row - 8 or 9, Tim Drake - 7 or 8, Steph Brown - 7 or 8, Duke Thomas - 7 or 8, Damian Al Ghul-Wayne - Infant (newborn). 

Jason became Robin: Alfred Pennyworth - 40's or early 50's, Jim Gordon - 41 or 42, Bruce Wayne - at least 25 or 26, Kate Kane - mid or late 20’s, Selina Kyle - mid or late 20's, Barbara Gordon - 19, Dick Grayson - 17 (most likely since he's typically not living at the manor at this point and you can be emancipated at 17), Luke Fox - at least 12 or 13, Jason Todd - 10 or 11, Cassandra Cain - 9 or 10, Harper Row - 9 or 10, Tim Drake - 8 or 9, Steph Brown - 8 or 9, Duke Thomas - 8 or 9, Damian Al Ghul-Wayne - 1 or 2. 

Tim figured out Batman and Robin’s IDs: Alfred Pennyworth - early or mid 50's, Jim Gordon - 42 or 43, Bruce Wayne - at least 27 or 29, Kate Kane - late 20's or early 30's, Selina Kyle - late 20's or early 30's, Barbara Gordon - 19 or 21, Dick Grayson - 17 or 19, Luke Fox - at least 13 or 14, Jason Todd - 12 or 13, Cassandra Cain - 10 or 11, Harper Row - 10 or 11, Tim Drake - 9 (according to WFA wiki), Steph Brown - 9 or 10, Duke Thomas - 9 or 10, Damian Al Ghul-Wayne - 2 or 3. 

Jason Died: Alfred Pennyworth - 50's or early 60's, Jim Gordon - 45 or 47, Bruce Wayne - at least 30 or 32, Kate Kane - 30's, Selina Kyle - 30's, Barbara Gordon - 22 or 24, Dick Grayson - 20 or 22, Luke Fox - at least 16, Jason Todd - 15 (typical age he dies), Cassandra Cain - 13 or 14, Harper Row - 13 or 14, Tim Drake - 12 or 13, Steph Brown - 12 or 13, Duke Thomas - 12 or 13, Damian Al Ghul-Wayne - 5. 

Currently in WFA: Alfred Pennyworth - early or mid 60's, Jim Gordon - at least 40's but probably 50 (going off of when he's present in GCPD, and his greying hair), Bruce Wayne - at least 34 but likely early 40's, Kate Kane - 30's or 40's, Selina Kyle - 30's or 40's, Barbara Gordon - 26 or 28 (a few, probably 2, years older than Dick), Dick Grayson - 24 or 26, Luke Fox - at least in his 20's (MMA Fighter, definitely an adult compared to the other kids), Jason Todd - 19 (given in Ep. 53 of WFA), Cassandra Cain - 17 or 18, Harper Row - 17 or 18, Tim Drake - 16 or 17, Steph Brown - 16 or 17, Duke Thomas - 16 or 17, Damian Al Ghul-Wayne - 9 (given in Ep. 13 of WFA). 

[discocactusblogs]

Here's a timeline for the Jason Todd Redemptive fic I'm working on, it's official title is There Is Beauty In The Way Of Things (TIBITWOT):

Alfred Pennyworth Age Timeline:

Alfred is recruited into MI6 at 20 and Bruce is born that same year.

Alfred's father, Jarvis, dies when he's 24 and he steps in as butler at Wayne Manor.

Alfred is 28 when Bruce is orphaned and he cares for him.

Alfred is 45 when Bruce becomes Batman.

He's 51 when Dick is adopted.

Alfred is 53 when Dick becomes Robin.

Alfred is 57 when Jason is adopted.

Alfred is 59 when Dick becomes Nightwing.

Alfred is 64 when Jason dies.

Alfred is 65 when Cass becomes Batgirl.

Alfred is 66 when Tim becomes Robin.

Alfred is 67 when Damian comes into the picture and becomes Robin.

Alfred is 68 when Tim becomes Red Robin.

Alfred is 69 when Jason becomes Red Hood.

Alfred is 70 at the start of the story.

Bruce Wayne Age Timeline:

Bruce is 8 when his parents die.

Bruce is 25 when he becomes Batman.

Bruce adopts Dick Grayson at 31.

Bruce is 33 when Dick becomes Robin.

Bruce adopts Jason Todd 37.

Bruce is 39 when Dick becomes Nightwing.

Bruce is 44 when Jason dies and meets Cass shortly after.

Bruce is 45 when Cass becomes Batgirl.

Bruce is 46 when he takes Tim as Robin.

Bruce is 47 when Damian comes into the picture. Bruce is 48 when Tim becomes Red Robin.

Bruce is 49 when Jason becomes Red Hood.

Bruce is 50 at the start of the story, etc.

Barbara Gordon Age Timeline:

She's 18 years younger than Bruce.

Barbara is 7 when Bruce becomes Batman.

She's 15 when Dick becomes Robin.

Barbara becomes Batgirl at 18.

She's 19 when Jason is adopted.

Barbara is 21 when Jason becomes Robin and Dick becomes Nightwing.

She's 26 when Jason dies and shortly after becomes paralyzed and becomes Oracle.

She's 28 Tim becomes Robin.

She's 29 when Cassandra proves herself worthy and takes up the Batgirl mantle.

She's 30 when Damian is brought in and Tim becomes Red Robin.

She's 31 when Jason becomes Red Hood.

Barbara is 32 at the start of the story, etc.

Dick Grayson Age Timeline:

He's 3 years younger than Barbara and 21 years younger than Bruce.

Dick is 4 when Bruce becomes Batman.

Dick was 10 when his parents die and Bruce adopts him.

He becomes Robin at 12.

Dick is 15 when Barbara becomes Batgirl.

He's 16 when Jason is adopted.

He later becomes Nightwing at 18 and Jason becomes Robin.

Dick is 23 when Jason dies and Barbara becomes Oracle.

Dick is 24 when Cass becomes Batgirl.

Dick is 25 when Tim becomes Robin.

Dick is 27 when Damian comes into the family.

Dick is 27 when Tim becomes Red Robin.

Dick is 28 when Jason becomes Red Hood.

Dick is 29 at the start of the story, Cass becomes Orphan, and Steph becomes Batgirl.

Cassandra Cain Age Timeline:

Cassandra is 6 years younger than Dick.

Cassandra meets the fam when she's 17 and Barbara becomes Oracle.

Cassandra is 18 when she becomes Batgirl.

Cass is 19 when Tim becomes Robin.

Cass is 21 when Damian comes into the family, becomes Robin, and Tim becomes Red Robin.

Cass is 22 when Jason becomes Red Hood.

Cassandra is 23 at the start of the story, when she becomes Orphan, and hands over the Batgirl mantle to Stephanie.

Jason Todd Age Timeline:

There's a 3 year gap between him and Cassandra, 7 year gap between Dick and Jason and 10 between he and Barbara.

Jason was 9 when Bruce adopted him.

He becomes Robin at 11, when Dick becomes Nightwing.

He tragically passes away at 16 and gets resurrected 6 months later.

Jason is 17 when Cass becomes Batgirl.

Jason is 18 when Tim becomes Robin.

Jason is 20 when Tim becomes Red Robin.

Jason is 20 when Damian comes into the picture and becomes Robin.

Jason becomes the Red Hood at 21 after completing training with the League Of Assassin's.

Jason is 22 at the start of the story, Cassandra becomes Orphan, and Stephanie becomes Batgirl.

Tim Drake Age Timeline:

Tim is 3 years younger than Jason and 10 years younger than Dick.

He becomes Robin 2 years after Jason's death.

He's 15 when he becomes Robin.

Tim meets Steph at 16.

He's 17 when Damian is brought into the family.

Tim is 17 when he becomes Red Robin.

Tim is 18 when Jason becomes Red Hood.

Tim is 19 at the start of the story.

Stephanie Brown Age Timeline:

Stephanie is 15 when she meets Tim.

Steph is 16 when Tim becomes Red Robin and Damian becomes Robin.

Steph is 17 when Jason becomes Red Hood.

Stephanie is 18 when the story starts and she becomes Batgirl.

Damian Wayne Age Timeline:

He's 7 years younger than Tim, 11 years younger than Jason, and 18 years younger than Dick.

Damian is 10 when he's brought to Bruce and becomes Robin.

Damian is 10 when Tim becomes Red Robin.

Damian is 11 when Jason becomes Red Hood.

Damian is 12 at the start of the story.

Note:

This is just the ages I have for them in my head. It's not at all meant to be canon compliant and really they're just my own head canon ages for them.

I'm also working on a timeline for my Blue Lantern OC, Milena.

[annoyinghyperandtired]

I fucking love this interpretation of things lmao

Considering how much Jason didn't care about anyone but Bruce during his revenge rampage, and how ridiculous everything was before he eventually came back to the family, it probably took him a stupid long time to realize he wasn't the second oldest child

---

Jason: ...And as the second oldest- Tim: Third oldest. Jason: Huh? Tim: Cass is, like, seven months older than you? Jason: Jason: SINCE WHEN??

[notrobinsomethingworse]

Imagine Damian forming a plan to catch Santa Claus. He’s written a letter, accumulated some traps, and stayed up all night just just to do this. He absolutely denies believing in him BUT what if the man does exist???

Dick intercepts the letter, like the good big brother he is, gathering the forces. Tim disarms the traps, Dick and Steph both get the presents, and Jason dons a fat suit and climbs down the Wayne manor chimney (Dick owes him big time).

It’s all worth it seeing the absolute astonishment of Damian’s face when Jason starts gobbling down the milk and cookies set out (and avoids swallowing the tracker hidden inside both items) before grunting up the Chimney.

They fein all knowledge of the incident in the morning. Bruce gets an absolutely earful from Damian about “increased security on Christmas Eve.”

[mostly-imagines]

Sugar on the Rim vol. I

bruce wayne x afab!reader

aka the billionaires new friend

warnings: implied that reader is a virgin, age gap (bruce is older than reader), mentions of sex, smut in next part

You twist the stem of the wine glass around between your fingers slowly. Your chin rests atop your knees as you stare vacantly at the tiny puddle left of the drink. You could go refill it, but then you’d have to go back out to the main room and man…you really do not want to do that. So you’ll sit here, swiping your tongue across the bumps of the roof of your mouth as if it's a fascinating new discovery.

The creak of hinges has you shooting upright, your back thumping against the stair step behind you. You’re not immediately sure how to act as though it’s normal that you’re sitting in the stairwell outside the fundraiser rather than in it, fraternizing with old and new money alike. You freeze, trying to relax your posture so it doesn’t look like you’re alarmed at the sight of another person, but not so relaxed that you look as bored as you are.

Your neutrality stutters when you glance up to find the host of the fundraiser. The billionaire host of the fundraiser. Bruce Wayne, the billionaire host of the fundraiser. Your posture straightens right back up and your mouth snaps shut as you make eye contact.

Should you stand up? 

No, he’s rich, not royalty. 

You are in his house though—

He looks you over contemplatively, “I don’t know you,” It’s not accusatory, rather he says it like it’s something interesting.

You perk up at that, immediately formulating reasons to justify your presence. “Oh, uh, no—” the words nearly spill out of your mouth all at once. You clear your throat, “I’m just a plus one for my boss—”

“Who’s your boss?” he asks, relaxed. 

“Arthur Mullins.”

He looks to the side, squinting, “Mullins…he’s the executive at Williamson Industries, yes?”

You nod and he returns the gesture, slower, like he’s processing through something. “I’m Bruce,” he says warmly after a moment, holding his hand out to you.

You nod before you can even think to get any words to come out, “I—yeah, I know,” you accept his hand, shaking it as you tell him your name.

There’s a slight glint in his eye when he hears your name, and he repeats it quietly to himself. “A pretty name.”

“Oh, it’s just…” Just your name. But rather than fill him in on that fascinating tidbit, you let the sentence die off.

He smiles kindly anyway, “What are you doing in here? Party’s out there, or so they tell me.”

“I…I’m hiding in here,” you admit sheepishly.

He leans in towards you slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret—so am I,” he smiles at you like it’s easy.

Your grin matches his, “It’s your party,”

“That’s why I need to hide.” He tilts his head, “Doesn’t give you much of an excuse though, does it?”

“I don’t know anybody here.”

He puckers his bottom lip contemplatively, “Your boss.”

You shake your head, “I’m just his assistant. I’m pretty sure he just brought me as a precaution in case he needed a designated driver.”

He laughs at that, “Based on the way I’ve seen Mullins’ attempts to operate, his assistant would have to be a hell of a lot more important than just a designated driver.”

Well, he’s certainly right about that. Your boss doesn’t exactly “have it together” per se. He’s an unorganized man with little to justify his importance in Gotham, so he tends to insist on taking on more responsibility than he has any business having. Not to mention, he’s a bit of a try-hard and you’re constantly left to sweep up the pieces of his reputation that he shattered himself. Not to say he’s necessarily unprofessional, he just will do anything and everything to prove he belongs in any given space. It’s honestly a bit exhausting to watch. It’s more exhausting to try and convince him that the exchange went well afterwards.

You nod slowly, eyes on his shoes. “Mr. Mullins has…a unique approach to business. It does usually leave me fairly busy, I’ll give you that.” You take a quick deep breath, plastering on a fake smile. “But that means I occasionally get to go to fancy parties where I don’t know anyone, so..”

“Well then it sounds like you’ve got it all worked out,” he ribs, “Or don’t you agree?”

You smile coyly, “I would never be so bold.”

“I don’t mind boldness. For example, the reason I came in here is because he spotted me.”

You laugh at that, “Mr. Wayne—”

“Bruce.”

“Mr. Wayne,” you suppress your smile as you pause, choosing your words carefully. “I think he’s just networking.” He doesn’t have the money to give.

He nods surely, “He’s definitely just networking.” He really doesn’t have the money to give. You allow just the faintest wisp of a smile to adorn your face as you look down again.

You check the time and realize that you’ve been hiding away for too long and that if he hasn’t already, your boss will notice soon. You sigh quietly to yourself, “I should..”

He turns his head to the closed door where the chatter can be heard from beyond, sighing in defeat as he shakes his head looking back at you. “So should I.”

You feel a bit insecure as you stand, the gown you’re wearing is pretty but it is very much affordable and you’re sure someone as wealthy as Bruce Wayne would know the difference.

If he does notice he makes no deal of it, motioning you forward gallantly to walk ahead of him.

He follows after you, hands behind his back. “Would it be rude of me to ask you to distract him while I run for the bar?”

It’s busy, even for a Sunday afternoon, and you have to sidestep past someone nearly every step you take. You stick next to the windows of the line of boutiques down the road, trying to balance window shopping and not bumping into other pedestrians.

You're in a nicer district of Gotham, truthfully an area you don't quite belong in. So far you’ve only managed to find a couple shops that weren’t several ranges above your budget. 

A call of your name has you blinking rapidly and turning around as if you’re lost. It doesn’t take long for you to pick the six foot two billionaire out of the crowd and it’s only half a second longer before you realize he’s walking towards you. A few people collide shoulders with you as they move past thoughtlessly, no regard for the personal space of the idiot that stopped in the flow of traffic.

You let him approach a couple feet closer before you ask him, “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Wayne?” The presence of his figure in front of you allows for a break from being bumped into, as he seemingly makes for a far more easily seen and intentionally avoided target.

He sways a bit, “Bruce. I’m not sure yet,” he looks down to the couple of bags you’re holding, extending his hand out. “May I?”

It takes you just a moment to move past your surprise at the request, allowing him to hold them for you. “Are you in a rush?”

You shake your head quicker than you meant to, “No, I—not at all,” he gestures his head forward, allowing you to walk before him.

You traipse ahead in silence for a moment before deciding against biting your tongue, “What exactly is it you’re not sure about?”

He raises his voice a bit so you can hear him over the crowd, “Whether or not you’ve got plans on the 19th.”

You look back at him, “What’s on the 19th?”

He stops with you as you admire a set of jewelry inside a window display, “We’re hosting a gala for something or something else, hopefully less boring than the fundraiser.”

You blink, “You’re inviting me?” He nods. “Why?”

“I could use someone who wants to be there even less than I do.”

He said it so casually it takes you a second to even register his meaning. You blink, face contorting defensively, “That’s not—” you can barely make out the smile on his face as he continues on walking.

You shake your composure back together and trail after him, rushing to catch up. “I don’t think Mr. Mullins would be very happy to hear that I’m attending a business gala without him.”

He shakes his head as he scans over the crowd, “He can’t fire you for that.”

“He’ll try.” He would. A petty little man, he is. 

He scans across the rows of clothes leisurely. “Well, then he can speak to me about it. Besides, it wouldn’t be for business.” And then he just lets that sentence linger.

It takes you a moment to recover from those words and begin to start processing the world around you again. After a few more feet down the sidewalk he pulls you gently to the side by your lower arm, out of the rush of traffic, and looks at you dead on, “What do you think?”

You try not to waver under the weight of the eye contact, “I don’t…uh, I don’t really have…” you look down, hoping to get the message across without actually having to say the words.

He glances into the store window next to you and raises his eyebrows, “Well then I’d say we’re in the right place.”

You can’t manage to tell him that this store is definitely far too expensive for you, walking through the door as he opens it for you, albeit apprehensively.

Well. Up close window shopping is more fun anyways. 

The spotless white of the floors and walls has you intimidated, and just as much so by less by the no doubt designer clothes lining the walls. The saleswomen all look pretty highbrow themselves, hair up in tight buns and uniforms chic.

You only break from gawking at the store to look behind you at Bruce. You note the way his eyes roam around blindly, looking for something and clearly having no means to narrow down where it might be. You take one more glance around, immediately finding the women's section with no such difficulty. 

“This way.” You say, nodding your head over to the left. He recovers nicely and lets you lead the way towards the section of dresses. You peer back at him, “You don’t seem like someone that does much of his own shopping.”

Thankfully, he laughs at that. “Well, special occasions.”

You keep your gaze ahead this time, asking as casually as you can, “Is this a special occasion?”

He hums in consideration, “I’d say so.”

You stop upon approaching the dress section, taking in the immediately stunning display of options. 

“What are you doing up here anyways?” you ask, hand brushing across a particularly plush dress.

“Ah, I was headed to a meeting.”

“Oh,” you frown, looking at him. “Don’t you need to go?”

He shakes his head with a puckered lower lip, “No.”

A few seemingly heiresses roam down the aisle mindlessly, not caring much that you’re in their path. 

Bruce sees them before you do, knowing well that they were not going to excuse themselves. “Sweetheart,” he nudges you gently to the side, closer to him as the group passes. His hand remained open-palmed and flat as he guided you to the side, seemingly very careful not to touch you with uninvited boldness. Though you’re quite shaken by the chivalry of the gesture, a brazen touch wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world.

As your arm brushes against a rack of clothing your gaze follows, met with something rather appealing.

Bruce is quick to notice you admiring the sleek black dress that looks like something you’d see a model wearing on a runway. “You like that one?”

“It’s nice, yeah,” you murmur, not really thinking. You flip the price tag over and your face drops. “It’s $800.”

He nods thoughtfully, “We can find a nicer one,” he says, though it’s clear he knows exactly what your problem with the price tag was.

“I can’t—” you restart, “I would never have a reason to wear something this nice again.”

He shakes his head coolly, “That’s alright.”

Your shoulders drop and your head tilts seriously, “It’s not, though.”

“You like it?” He looks you in the eyes, his own searching for a truthful answer.

“I mean, of course, but it—”

He nods affirmatively, “Then we’ll get it. Problem solved.” He turns his back to the rack, casually observing the rest of the store goers. “Pick your size.”

Apparently not one to argue, you thumb through the row until you find one that should fit. 

You sigh, realizing that you’re running out of time to mention that you don’t have $800 to spend on a dress. “I can’t—”

“You don’t need to,” he says simply as he takes the dress off the rack and drapes it across his arm, making his way towards the salescounter.

You try to stop your mouth from hanging open as you follow, “It really is okay, I don’t need—”

His grin cuts you off, just in time for you to hear him mutter, “Sweet girl..” to himself. You stop right in your tracks, feeling very thankful that he’s not looking at you right now because you’re certain the look on your face would give you away.

He still doesn’t face you as he calls out, “Come on,” as he continues on.

Obviously you’re not stupid. You know what type of intentions a billionaire playboy must have with a younger girl that he doesn’t even really know. However, if said billionaire is offering to buy you a pretty dress…no, you’re not sleeping with him because he bought you a dress—of course not—and you’ve made absolutely no promises to do so, so what’s the harm in letting him? Really?

And yeah, maybe it’s a plus that he’s not bad looking, but how is that your fault?

You stand a bit awkwardly next to him as he puts his card in the machine, not even glancing at the outrageous number, and declines the offer for the receipt.

As you exit the store together and stand at the doors as he hands your original two bags back to you along with the new shiny black one that on its own looks like something people would pay for.

“You will be there?” he asks, eyes more hopeful than you were prepared for. 

You nod, gesturing the bag up, “Well you just bought me the dress.”

He shrugs that off, “I would’ve bought you the dress anyways.”

You linger in the midst of the ado wearing a dress that you feel far too overshadowed by, fidgeting with the half empty wine glass in your hand. Unfortunately, this time around you were invited by the host of the event and it would be extra rude to run away and hide. That doesn’t stop you from considering it, though.

A hand sliding across your lower back has you momentarily startled, and for reasons you couldn’t quite verbalize, you’d naturally assumed it was Bruce. The disappointment rings strong when you turn around to be met with the sight of an even older man, who looks considerably wine drunk. 

“Hello there, Miss.,” The words themselves are polite but the salacious smile on his face and the way his eyes have no trouble roaming your body gives you a solid idea of what this conversation is going to entail.

“Hello,” you fake a polite, tight smile and shift your attention to the rest of the room. 

This does nothing to deter him, as he takes a sizable step back into your line of sight. “Having a nice time?” 

The man is clearly from money, if his attire didn’t give it away his attitude sure did. There’s an heir of entitlement around him, like he’s inherently deservant of your attention—a quality you were notably surprised to not have found in Bruce. 

You give him your faux-smile again, this time tighter but half a second longer for the sake of politeness. A rookie mistake.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, gesturing to the bar.

“I’m okay, thank you,” you say, gesturing your wine glass up.

A momentary flash of irritation crosses his face, but to his credit, he does a better job recovering from it than you would have expected. Though, that’s not really saying much. “Well, pretty little thing like you shouldn’t be all alone here,”

“I’m afraid you’re mistaken,” Both of your heads snap to the side, finding a much more welcome surprise than you’d previously received. 

Your counterpart's posture straightens immediately, “Mr. Wayne,” he fawns, “What a lovely event you’ve thrown. I’m sure the Bernsteins will be appreciative.”

Bruce hums, eyes narrowed slightly. “You are…”

The man startles and rushes to finish off his sentence, “Alexander Watson, senior executive to the accounting department for the research wing of the company.”

He nods slowly, no recognition actually present in his eyes. “Ah. The research wing of the company that just blew fifteen million dollars on prototype self-operating cell phones.”

You’re trying hard to fight the smile creeping up on your face.

“What exactly is a self-operating cell phone?”

Watson’s face drops, hurrying to justify his approval of the proposal’s funding. As he rambles, Bruce’s gaze lowers to where Watson has once again placed his hand on your hip, though he’s not close enough to you for it to rest fully or naturally. You don’t know him well but you can say confidently that he doesn’t look pleased. 

He looks back up to Watson, attitude challenging. “Surely you’re not poking around where you’re unwelcome?”

Watson stutters at that, blinking and shaking his head quickly. “No, no, of course not! I was just hoping to provide the young lady with some company. That’s all.”

“And so you have.”

“I—,” about two steps behind in this conversation, Watson finally decides to retreat, “Yes, good evening, Mr. Wayne.” He bows his head and shuffles away back into the crowd.

“Mr. Wayne,” you smile knowingly, turning to him. “How are you?”

The hardness of his gaze fades quickly as he takes in your appearance, quite liking how you wear the dress you’d picked out.

“Things are looking up,” he smiles, “You look lovely.”

 “Thank you,” you glance over to where Watson has made his way to the bar, likely about to down an entire glass. “Mr., uh, Mr. Watson makes quite the impression.”

His smile turns a bit sullen, “You know last year he tried to convince the board that battery-powered battery chargers were going to be the next big thing?”

You blink, tilting your head, “Thought you didn’t know who he was.”

His eyes are fixed on the wall as he tugs the corner of his lip down, knowing he’s been caught but not really caring. “I’m sorry to have been away for so long, it seems everyone needs my attention at these things.”

“At the gala that you threw? I’d imagine so.”

He rolls past that smoothly, “You’re having a good time?”

“I am,” you say with a confirming head bob.

He regards the room with a numb expression, “You know, I think I’m getting bored with all of this.”

You smile at him, brow furrowed, “It’s only been an hour.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “It’s only been an hour?” He’s exaggerating his surprise to make you smile, and it works.

“I think we should go,” he says lower.

You stare at him, bemused. “You still have a whole room full of guests.” 

He shrugs, “They’ll filter out on their own eventually.” 

He clocks your hesitation easily, accurately noting it to be more out of politeness than actually wanting to stay at the party. “What, you’re not ready to leave?”

You look around at all the mostly old, posh guests, disinterested small talk evident all across the room. You take a breath, “Alright, yeah. Let’s go.”

He smiles and leads you out a side door and through a corridor that’s significantly longer than you’d expected. 

“Do you always ditch your parties this early?” you ask, following closely.

He makes a sharp right at the next doorway, “If I can manage it.”

You look around at the high wooden ceilings and grand furniture. “Aren’t some of them friends of yours?”

He shakes his head, “My friends aren’t here.”

You frown at that, “Then why do you throw them at all?”

“Why did you show up last weekend?”

You nod slowly, understanding. “It’s your job.”

He returns the nod, adding, “Only difference is, there’s not a chance in hell you get paid enough for the work you do for Mullins.”

For the sake of maintaining your wishful facade of professionalism, you’re going to not acknowledge that incredibly accurate statement. Instead you smile politely and continue on walking. He seems to get the implication, returning it with an even brighter adornment.

“Well, money’s money,” you say wryly.

His smile fades a bit, “You shouldn’t have to worry about things like that.” 

You shrug, “A day in the life,”

He looks sullen upon hearing that, with more sympathy than you’d have expected from someone of his stature. He’s done nothing if not surprise you, though.

“Here,” he says, taking hold of the handle of a glass door. It opens to a garden, lit up beautifully by the moon and outdoor light. A fountain sits in the middle, water rhythmically gushing out of the top and trickling down the sides. The bite of the Gotham night air burns at your cheeks a bit and you find yourself thankful the dress you’d chosen is so long.

Bruce leads the way to an expensive marble bench positioned nicely in front of it, allowing you to sit first before following suit. Your hands find a place in your lap, clasped together awkwardly in an attempt to find warmth through contact.

It takes Bruce less than ten seconds to stand, remove his suit jacket, and drape it over your shoulders before sitting back down. The material is thicker and warmer than you would’ve expected, surely reminiscent of the perks of being owned by a billionaire.

He doesn’t look at you to acknowledge the grateful expression on your face, simply carrying on like it didn’t happen. “Was hoping it was warmer,” he murmurs.

Your focus momentarily goes to the icy cold stone of the bench under your thighs, initially finding it uncomfortable before deciding the coolness actually felt quite soothing. You remove your gaze from the gray stone and turn your head to find Bruce already focused on you.

You start to say something, though you’re not sure what it would’ve been, when he brushes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down.

Well, he certainly knows what he’s doing, doesn’t he?

His eyes stay on your lower lip as he murmurs, “You’re a pretty girl, you know that?” 

God, he’s a professional.

You look up at him and refrain from saying anything, waiting to see if he follows it up with something that will make you regret agreeing to coming out here with him.

He doesn’t.

You shift, moving your hands off your lap to rest on the stone under you. “You can’t just do this—”

He smiles and lowers his chin to look you in the eyes, “Then what can I do for you?”

“You—” you blink rapidly, “Stop it.”

His coy beam persists, “Stop what?”

You raise your gaze up to him ever so slightly, a pouty expression across your face that you’re trying to sell as serious. “You’re trying to make me nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” He tilts his head down further, a ghost of a smile echoing on his lips, “I don’t mean to, sweet girl.”

Your eyes drop to the ground, biting your tongue. “Yeah.”

His simper grows, “I’m serious. I’d hate to scare away a new friend.”

You laugh at that and he perks up a bit at the sound, “What? We’re not friends?”

You cock your head to the side, “You’re the one who said none of your friends are here.”

He hums, “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

“You think so?” You should probably stop flirting so much. 

“Yeah,” he leans in a bit closer, “I do.”

“Why’s that?”

“Maybe I want to be your friend,” his hand finds a place atop yours. 

Your eyes flicker across his face as he closes in, “What if I don’t want to be yours?”

His eyes are on your lips, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

You take a slow deep breath, “Your intentions are blurry.”

He smiles lightly, amused. “We’ll have to clear that up then, won’t we?” His lips are inches away and his voice is soft as he says, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

You look up at him eyes wide, barely processing his words as you nod. He gently grasps your jaw in his hand, tilting your head up. His other hand finds the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you with intention. Your hands hover in the air for a second before holding onto his forearms. 

He breaks the kiss only to give you another sweet one right after. Your mouths remain close when it’s over, eyes still shut, trying to catch your breath. You stay like that for a moment until he kisses you once more on your cheekbone before pulling away. His hands drop to rest on your knees, the weight of them gentle.

He hums lowly, “Sweet thing..”

Being under the heaviness of his gaze leaves you feeling vulnerable. It’s starting to get you concerned with the potential levity and implications of kissing him. The expectations.

“You…” you stare down at where his hands meet your skin, not quite sure that you actually meant to start that sentence. 

“What?” he frowns, brow pinched. Your chin lowers further as your mouth forms a tight line. He shakes his head, “No, it’s alright. What is it?” he asks gently.

It takes a surge of willpower for you to get the sentence out, “You just want to sleep with me..”

He frowns harder at that, pulling back a bit. “No. I’m…” he sighs, “I’m not trying to lure you in just to toss you out right after.”

That makes you look up again. His voice has a sincerity to it that you weren’t prepared for. 

He continues, “I would like to, yes. Yeah. You’re beautiful, of course I would, but..” he looks down at his hands before looking back up at you, “No, that’s not the most important thing to me.”

You break eye contact again, thinking over his words. If that’s not the most important thing to him, what is? You can’t think of what else he could possibly want from you, a billionaire who could have anything he wants..the only thing you could have to offer in his eyes is sex. 

Right?

He exhales, “If you want to leave, I’ll call you a car. No hard feelings.” He nudges your chin up gently so you’ll look at him, but he gives you the freedom to fight against it if you wanted to.

You let him move you.

“I don’t want to leave,” you tell him, looking into his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want,” he says it like it’s automatic. You physically can’t help but roll your eyes at the corniness of it. He doubles down, though, “Seriously. Anything.”

You smile in disbelief, shaking your head.

“Alright,” he returns your smile, straightening, “Here’s what we’re going to do. Do you need a ride home?”

You blink at him, “I’m going home?”

“You are,” he nods softly, “Do you need a ride?”

“No.”

He nods again, more like he’s working through something in his head. “Okay. You’re going to go home and think through what you want. If you decide you want to, come back here next Saturday.” he stands up, extending his hand out to you, “Then you can let me know what else you want and we can get to work on that too.”

You start to shake your head, “I can—” 

He drops his chin seriously, “Think on it.”

You relent easily, taking his hand and coming to a stand.

“Alright?” Again, his question is genuine. He does really want to know if you’re on board with this plan. 

Already going against his request, you agree without a thought, “Okay.”

He starts to lead you back over to the garden door with a head nod and a kind smile.

It ultimately was not a decision you had to think very hard on.

You’d considered every scenario of how this could play out and none of them ended with regret as far as you could guess.

You’ll still admit though, there was one scenario you had missed, apparently, which is why you were immeasurably confused when you showed up and he invited you to play chess.

He’s not wearing a fancy three piece suit this time, but his clothes are still very nice. With the sunlight peeking through the windows, you’re able to see the manor more clearly than you had been the other night. It really is a beautiful home, clearly very old and charmed, but there’s a lot of little details of character and history scattered around. There’s portraits and photographs of his parents from when he was young and furniture decorated with trinkets all throughout, kept absolutely spotless and dust free. Everything is neat and tidy but there’s still traces of the house being lived in with the patched throw pillows and worn carpets. Still, it’s very, very placid.

You’ve met new money plenty of times over the course of dealing with countless businessmen for Mr. Mullins but old money is something entirely different. You don’t really have a frame of reference here. New money is almost always brash and demanding, they like things done quickly and correctly the first time around. They’re usually not very interested in hearing what you have to say (even if it would save them a lot of trouble) and prefer it when the assistants women keep their mouths shut. Bruce has proven to be very different from these standards already and you’re not sure where to begin with placing new ones.

You’re about halfway through a second game, and while you’re not awful at chess, you get the impression that he’s easing up on you considerably.

You sit on the floor in front of a short coffee table, the game having no clear lead so far.

“I think this is stressing me,” you mumble, no actual weight behind your words.

“It’s just chess,” he says, not looking up from the board.

You watch him move his knight forward as you ask, “And that’s all we’re doing?”

“As it stands, yes,” he looks up at you, though you don’t return his gaze.

“Yeah,” you sigh, sliding your rook, “But later?”

“Later?”

“Well, you said...” you meet his eyes, “You said you wanted to sleep with me.”

He nods slowly, “I do. Is that alright?”

You consider it for a moment. You already knew that, if you really weren’t okay with it you wouldn’t have come here. And yeah, the idea makes you a little shaky, but in a good way.

“Yes,” you tell him, moving your queen forward two spaces.

“Are you sure?” he presses, moving to sit on the side of the table rather than behind it.

You do the same, sitting on your knees. “Yeah, I just..” you shift your weight, eyes wandering. “I’m not…overly experienced.”

He just smiles at that, like it’s endearing. Your words didn’t quite convey your meaning but your tone did. In any case, he understands the implication. “That’s alright, sweetheart. I’m not going to throw you in the deep end.”

You nod, looking down again.

“You’re nervous,” he comments.

“No, I’m—I mean, maybe,” your voice is barely a murmur by the end of the sentence.

He’s quiet for a moment, observing the way you fiddle with your rings. “What if we get you something pretty to wear? Something that makes you feel pretty. Whatever you want.”

He fishes his wallet out of his pocket, opening and pulling out a lump of cash without even looking. He holds the money out to you wordlessly and you can see from the bill on the outside that it’s at least a couple hundred dollars.

You shake your head instantly, “I can’t take that.”

He doesn’t put the money down but his eyes turn to begging. “Please. I just want you to feel good.”

“Bruce—”

He wavers a bit at that but it’s more of a falter than you’ve seen from him before so it’s easy to take notice of. “What?”

He shrugs barely, “I like when you say my name.”

Your eye contact holds for a moment and your resolve starts to shake almost instantly.

You exhale, “I’m not taking more than a hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Bruce.”

He smiles and picks out some of the cash and pockets it, handing you the rest. You don’t comment on the fact that it’s a hundred and fifty more than you’d agreed on.

You look down at the money in your hand like it’s a foreign object, shaking your head. “I don’t even know what to get.”

His thumbs start to rub reassuring circles by the bend of your knees, “Anything you want,” he tells you. “What do you like? Silk, lace, cotton, anything.”

You look up, tilting your head at him with a furrowed brow. “It doesn’t matter what I like, th—”

“It only matters what you like,” He says seriously, lowering himself to meet your gaze. “I’ll love it, no matter what you pick. Don’t worry about that.”

You lean forward a bit instinctually, “Okay.”

His eyes scan across your face in something that you can only recognize as awe.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” he says, voice even quieter.

Your eyes go to his mouth and you can only manage a nod, lips already parted.

He moves forward not a second later, kissing you with more fire than you’d gotten to see the other night. His hands grab at your waist, squeezing lightly as you hook one hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

You hear the clatter of chess pieces falling over as he moves nearer to you, large frame leaning over you. You push up on your knees, meeting his lips up at his level. His hands caress around your hips as the kiss gets deeper.

You just start to fumble with the hem of his shirt when he takes your hands in his, pulling them away before breaking the kiss.

“Easy, sweet girl,” he smiles, nudging you back with little force.

You groan, “Why?”

He barks out a laugh at that, stroking your hips again. “I’m not fucking you for the first time on the floor.”

“Then let's go somewhere else,” you nod up towards the stairs.

He shakes his head, that soft smile still playing on his lips. “Not tonight.”

You sit back on your heels again, frowning.

He brushes your hair back, murmuring, “No. But for now, I'll kiss you ‘til you can’t think if that’s what you want.”

You really hope you didn’t perk up at that as much as you think you did.

part two

🌾🌽 i heard a rumor that if you like without reblogging your crops will be cursed but hey what do i know 🌾🌽

[sreppub]

super random dick and jason doodles

[azrail-has-a-vendetta]

Jason: how old are you again Tim?

Tim: seventeen

Jason: I thought you were seventeen last year?

Tim: ……

Dick: oh they won’t let him age!

Jason: wtf who’s they?

Dick (93 years old): (◐‿◑)

Jason: whO THE FUCK IS THEY?!

[azz-modeus]

If I had a nickel for every time I drew Tim insisting that Jason is a good person I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot but it’s sad that it’s happened twice.

anyways have some de-aged Tim angst

[melmov]

Making plans with your very much younger sibling

[gothamundernightlight]

I know we as a fandom don’t talk enough about the Batkids acknowledging how old Bruce is getting, but something I think we talk about EVEN LESS is the Batkids acknowledging Dick getting older.

Like Dick is pushing 30 in canon at this point, and realistically cannot do the same things he was doing as a kid. There is a reason a lot of athletes retire young, and Dick’s life has been brutal on his body, so eventually it’ll catch up with him.

Imagine if you will some random new JL/Titans recruit meeting Nightwing and asking “Is it true you can do a quadruple somersault?”

And Dick has to wince and say “I used to, but not anymore.”

Imagine the Batkids hearing that? Imagine everyone who saw him grow up hearing Dick acknowledge he is getting older and can’t do the same things he did in his youth. Imagine how they feel about their own age. Imagine the grief Dick must feel at knowing he’s losing the gifts his parents bestowed upon him, and the fact he’s out-aged them both.

Imagine Bruce painfully acknowledge (in his head because it’s illegal for him to emote aloud) that not only is he getting older, but his first child, his SON, is now the same age he was when Bruce took Dick in.

Imagine Dick picking the smaller option out on ice cream trips because his body can’t handle sugar the way it used to, or eating less in general because his metabolism has slowed down.

Imagine the Batkids sparring and Dick has to tap out because he can’t keep up with them all for as long anymore. Like he can’t keep still do a lot, and handle himself in a fight, but he is not showing off with flips the same way he used to.

Imagine the day one of the Batkids spots gray hair on Dick’s head, or realize that the lines on his face are just a little deeper than they used to be?

Babs keeps calling him the Boy Wonder as a private joke, but the boyish charm that Dick once had has since faded. He’s a grown man, and while at heart he still is the kid that brought light back to Gotham, his outside reflects the life they’ve lived and shared together, which didn’t just pass by in the blink of an eye.

And Jason pretends he doesn’t care, but realizes that Dick isn’t the same 16-year old kid that Bruce put on a pedestal. That he, out of all their siblings, saw Dick the most when he was in his prime, and that his older brother is just a little more fragile than he used to be.

And Tim thinks back to the days of him stalking Batman and Robin before, pulling out those old photos and realizing just how much Dick has aged. When did that happen, he wonders, and how much more will Dick change as he gets older?

Cass, Steph, and Duke acknowledge that Dick Grayson grew up, and left behind a legacy for them to fill, but they’ll always wonder what he was like when he was younger, and wonder how much longer he’ll be around. Bruce has been doing this vigilante schtick for 20+ years, but will Dick still be doing this when he’s Bruce’s age?

Damian takes it the hardest. He can’t look at Dick without thinking of him as the same Grayson who was his Batman, but the truth is, he’s not the same. His old portraits of Dick bear witness to that, with each one just a little different because time is not frozen to Dick the way it is with Ra’s and Talia. Damian privately grieves everyone he comes to care about in advance because death has surrounded him his whole life and eventually despite Dick’s promises that he’ll always be there for Damian, a day is coming when that promise will be broken.

But yeah. Older Dick Grayson. I have thoughts on this.

(Anyways don’t mind me. Just coming to terms with being the same age canonically as my childhood hero.)

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC John Constantine's How To: Ghost Kids (pt.2)

[<- part 1]

"Oh, yeah," John jerks his head up like he just remembered the fact people are supposed to have names at all. He gestures to the kids, pointing to each of them as he introduces, "Daniel, Daniel, and Danielle."

This time, all three kids flip him off simultaneously. Bruce clears his throat, trying to figure out if Constantine is messing with him and, if so, in which parts. Since, so far, everything the man has said sounds like a poor attempt at pulling his leg.

"I don't think they like those," he cautiously says, and the kids whip their heads at him, nodding furiously. Bruce can't help but be just a little enamored with the way they behave.

"Of, sod off, at this point I don't care what they like," John straightens up with a dismissive, albeit weak, wave of his hands, and rubs his face, "They are menaces. Sometimes by accident, but mostly on purpose. Their grandfather thought it would be easier to handle them if they were not teenagers, and while I agreed with his reasoning at the time, I-" he glances at the kids, who all have displeased grimaces of various levels on their faces, "I have been made to reconsider. I swear that ancient bitch is laughing his ass off wherever he is now."

The kids suddenly grin. They are not very friendly, nor polite smiles - if anything, they look a bit nightmarish. An old grandfather's clock in his study makes a very loud ticking noise.

"See?" John whips his head to look at said clock, the expression on his face bordering on insane. His eye twitches.

If Bruce doesn't do anything now, he might become one of the very few people who managed to witness John Constantine, the Laughing Magician, have a meltdown. So he sighs and decides to solve the problems one at a time.

Which means that no matter how alarmed or suspicious he is, his first move would not be to interrogate either the man or the kids.

"You can sleep in one of the guest rooms, I trust you can find it on your own," he tells John, almost softly, as he catches the girl from slipping away from his lap, "Is there anything I need to know about children before you fall unconscious?"

John slumps with relief, so obviously that Bruce almost smiles. Hardships of raising - or, watching, for that matter - kids, he understands.

"Yes," he breathes out with an air of exhilaration and turns to the kids again, pointing to the middle child, "Danny is the original. He is from this dimension and timeline, that is. Dan," he turns his finger to the older boy, "is in the wrong timeline, he's Danny's future evil self redeemed into older bratty brother. Dani," he switches to the girl, "is Danny's clone, made by his arch-nemesis of a godfather. If she starts melting at any point, wake me up immediately. If any of them start floating, sprouting tentacles, speaking to walls in static, or glowing, don't."

Bruce looks down to the kids. So, definitely metas, that would explain the government trying to get them... Or, no, it wouldn't because he is fairly certain no government is going to blatantly ignore the Meta Protection Acts.

"Don't let them raise the dead, and if you give them food, make sure it doesn't have a face. If you find more than three of them, it means one of them has duplicated, don't worry, they will absorb it back later. Absolutely don't let them touch any guns," Constantine is backing down to the door as he speaks, his gaze flickering from the kids to Bruce and back every second. Like he is leaving a ticking bomb in Bruce's lap, and not three children. "Danny is, comparatively, the most responsible one, the other two are up for any dubious trouble they can get to at any moment. Oh, and their memories are wonky because of de-aging, they remember some things but not others, so if they say something particularly disturbing, it's most likely some random piece of knowledge they managed to keep."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. He did get the part about the kids being, well, abnormal in the matters of their origins, but the disjointed set of rules and advices doesn't help as much as Constantine probably thinks it does.

"Allergies, preferences, ages they were before?" He tries to get at least some more info down before John disappears through the door. Actually, maybe he should send someone to handcuff the man to the bed lest he disappears completely.

"None, but don't let them eat cutlery. Danny likes space, Dani has a thing for exploring, and Dan likes violence." The older kid stirs in Bruce's lap and says something in the direction of Constantine. No sound comes out, but the man seems to get what he's trying to say anyway, "Okay, yes, that was rude of me, sorry. Dan likes... exercise," he ends up with, and that placate the boy enough to slump down and cross his arms. John sighs, "They were seventeen, fourteen, and twenty respectively. Now," he snaps his fingers, and suddenly Bruce can hear the girl - Dani - humming a tune under her breath. So, he lifted the silence spell, it seems.

"Good fucking luck," John wishes to Bruce, earnestly, and all but vanishes away.

Bruce sighs and looks down to the kids.

"Are you hungry?" He tries, and all eyes are on him at once, attentive and unblinking.

"Fruitloops," Danny says, and while Bruce is positive that's the name for a cereal, he gets a feeling that's not what the kid meant.

[ghostofthephantomzone]

I love the idea of Feral Child Danny just randomly biting one of the bats because they’re in his Alley. Like, Dick is just trying to follow a criminal and suddenly Danny just latches onto his leg and refuses to let go.

Update:

Love this idea by @sabrieterrhisken,

Also part 2 is available.

[sanguinesmi1e]

When Danny Phantom appears in the Batcave, everyone expects he's there for Jason. Whether to cleanse him of Lazarus water, or pull him into the afterlife it depends on the person, but what no one expects is that he's there for Tim.

Meanwhile, Danny doesn't mind dealing with some ectopoisoning while he's in the neighborhood, but the real reason Clockwork sent him to Gotham is to retether Red Robin to the time stream so he can finally age to adulthood. He has spent way too long as a teenager, and no one seems to be noticing.

[mx-heinous]

De-aged Bruce, bored and wants to start shit: Hey, Tim, was it? I noticed that you kinda look and act like a mini-me. Are you one of my bio kids?

Tim: Nope, I'm actually Janet and Jack Drake's son

Bruce: And? Doesn't refute my statement

Tim: What? Bruce, that's impossible. It's not like you–

Tim, realizes what Bruce was implying: Son of a bitch, you didn't

Bruce: *smirks*

Tim: Seriously?! My mom?!

Bruce: Your dad's a good kisser, too, by the way

Tim: *gags* I did not need to know this

Batkids: *wheezing in the background*

Tim: Why, why are you telling me this?!

Bruce: *goes closer* Because it hurts you