#but here was Bruce and Jason doing just that

[prlssprfctn]

Tim: Okay, we will just keep it in a secret for a while...

Dick: Oh, how hard it can be, anyway?

Damian: Right. No one wants to remember this.

Jason, spawning behind their backs: You suck at being secretive. What's up?

Dick, giggling nervously: A-ah, Little Wing, uh—

Jason: Well? Whatever it is, I am going to find it out one way or another.

Tim: Promise not to freak out? It is about Bruce.

Jason, crossing fingers behind his back: Promise.

Damian: Father had found himself a new love interest. And it is unbecoming.

Jason, confused: Uh, alright? Why would I care—

Tim, blurting out: It is Joe Chill's daughter.

Jason: Who tf—

Jason: ...Joe Chill, like Martha and Thomas Wayne's killer Joe Chill?

Dick: ...Yeah. That one guy.

Jason: ...

Jason: Yeah, honestly, the fuck I expected when I asked him to kill Joker... He can't even avenge his own ass. Not just that. HE DATES HIS DAUGHTER?

Damian: ...My mother is literally right here.

Dick: Or auntie Selina.

Tim: And Clark. Or even Oliver. Or even Hal—

Jason: I am so *not* joining family dinners anymore.

Dick: Yeah... Anyway, B asked to keep it away from Alfred for a while.

Alfred, ominously appearing in the dark corner of the room: It is a little bit late, gentlemen.

Boys: (nervous gulping)

Alfred, surprisingly calm: Of course, we shall not blame children for sins of their parents. I believe this woman could be better than her father ever was.

Alfred: I am happy for master Bruce. Of course.

Alfred: By the way, do you, boys, prefer poison or bullet?

Dick, nervous: Hey, I am pretty sure the poor girl—

Alfred: Who said anything about the lady?

Tim, whistling: Well, Cass would be delighted to inherit a cowl so soon...

Jason: Okay, you all, let's all just do whatever we think Thomas and Martha would like us to do in this situation...

Dick: Yeah, they probably would be happy for—

Alfred: Thomas would choose a gun.

Boys: (nervous giggle)

Dick, whispering: I'll message B to leave the town.

Tim: Ask him to hide at Kent's. Maybe he can still be saved.

Jason: I'll message Mama Cat. Someone needs to fuck his brain back.

Damian: ...I rather not bother mother. Either way, she will kill Father faster than Alfred will.

[gothamite-rambler]

Harley: All right, everyone, this has been a great family session today!

Jason and Dick were sitting in between Bruce on a plush red leather couch in Harley's makeshift office, which doubled as her living room. A plate of muffins sat enticingly on the coffee table.

Dick: You have a lot of plants in here.

Harley: Well, I’m dating Ivy. What did ya expect? Now, back to the session. Bruce, what have we learned today?

Bruce: That I probably shouldn’t have run tests on my kids that left them paranoid.

Dick: Tim still hasn't forgiven you for that.

Bruce: Well, he couldn’t be here today, and I pay—

Harley (snapping her fingers): Bruce.

Bruce: Right. I also learned it’s okay to not always be right… and that the world doesn’t revolve around me and my intellect.

Harley: And?

Bruce: I may have a slight God complex.

Jason (chuckling): Slight? Okay.

Harley: And?

Bruce: I shouldn't force my beliefs, which are completely correct, upon my kids.

Harley: I'm gonna let the middle part slide, but good. Last part?

Bruce: Don't date your child's therapist… Why do you keep telling me that whenever Jason or Dick is brought up?

Harley: I have a strange feelin’ you’ll do somethin' that stupid, then Jason will turn into a mini Joker with Grayson havin' to be Batman and fight him.

Dick: I’m sorry, what?

Harley: Yeah... yeah I stay thinkin' about that. It just... feels so possible!

Jason: He would totally fuck my therapist too. That all made sense. Good looking out, Harley.

Harley: (prideful) It's just my job.

Jason: Who would win though? I'd beat his ass and then take over Gotham as the Joker? You can be honest, as long as I win in that world.

Dick: It’s delusional thinking like that is why you’d become a mini Joker. You’d be defeated every time we fought.

Jason: That’s funny you think you can beat me. The jackass who raised us couldn’t even do that.

Dick: Yeah, but who was there for you when said jackass threw a weapon at your neck?

Bruce: Can you both stop calling me a jackass? I’m a normal man who has made, very limited, mistakes.

Harley took a seat, clicking her pen to jot down more notes as the three men continued to bicker.

Bruce: And Dick would defeat you, Jason, but then his huge heart would make it difficult to protect the city on a regular basis.

Dick: I was you for months while you were gallivanting around as a teacher! And don’t you think it’s odd you’d date your kid's therapist?

Bruce: No… I'm Batman. Why wouldn’t I?

Dick (covering his face): What does that even mean?

Jason: That is not a defense!

[ofbatsandballads]

Yay! I’m so glad you take requests. Feel free to decide if you want to write this or not, it’s fine either way :)

So, I was thinking about Jason dating civilian!reader, and her coming home all disheveled and horrified. Since she knows about him being Red Hood, she can confide in him. She had just killed someone for the first time, whether it was an accident, self defense or whatever, you decide.

I was just wondering how Jason would handle this situation since usually he’s the one doing the killing.

Thank you <3

oh, this is amazing food for thought. I actually think he’d be the very best person to come to in such a situation because he has experience with killing. who’s gonna understand you better than him? literally nobody. had something similar to this in my drafts but now my mind is whirling in a whole host of directions. excellent prompt, nonnie!

jason todd x f!reader. warnings include graphic depictions of violence and killing (in self defense), attempted and failed sexual assault, the aftermath of both events (reader’s in shock), hurt/comfort. this one’s got heavier subject matter so please do mind the warnings, folks. i did way too much research of the Gotham Knights map for this, but it’s my favorite depiction of the city so so be it. also reader and Jason live in the Belfry bc i said so (personal hc that i may or may not elaborate on some time). and one last thing! the romanized Arabic at the end is “حياتي ” which translates to “my life”. I love the idea that Jason picked up Arabic terms of endearment from Talia calling Bruce just about every one she could.

Jason wakes up to soft afternoon sunlight shining on his face. He grumbles out a gravelly hum and scrunches up his face in protest against being awakened when he was sleeping so nicely. He reaches out to find the comforting warmth of his beloved beside him, to pull you in and bury his face into your hair so he can hide from the morning for a bit longer.

All he finds are cold sheets and an empty pillow.

He bolts upright. Something’s wrong. You never, never wake up before him. He doesn’t even register the way that the sudden abundance of light stings his eyes. He takes stock of his surroundings, his training executing on autopilot. The open layout of the Belfry lets him get his bearings in seconds. He doesn’t see you anywhere from the bird’s eye view of your loft bedroom. There’s no smell of food in the kitchen nor any mess that would indicate you’d been working in there. The living room space, fully visible below, is empty too. The only enclosed space in your home, the bathroom that’s just around the corner from your bedroom, is dead quiet. No running water, no sweet singing, no familiar coughing from swallowed toothpaste. And without so much as leaving your bed, Jason’s already come to a conclusion that sends his heart pounding and dries his throat. You’re not here.

He’s up and grabbing the 9mm taped under your bedside table in the span of a few breaths. He moves through your home methodically, like he’s clearing one of Gotham’s criminal hideouts. There’s no sign of a struggle. Nothing’s been disturbed. He’s not surprised by this—barring Wayne Manor, the Belfry is the most secure building in Gotham. That’s precisely why Jason had moved you both here once you decided to live together. He checks the coffee table and sees that your phone and wallet are gone. A different type of fear takes over now. One that makes his heart ache. What if you’ve finally had enough, finally seen that he’s not good enough for you, not worth sticking around for? It makes him sick. He swallows hard and tries to clear the blistering thought from his head. No, that’s not you. You’re not cruel. You’re kind and gentle and loving. You wouldn’t hurt a fly. And you wouldn’t hurt him.

The sight of gears turning in his periphery catches his attention. He sees the cables pulling and the security panel go green, and he’s running to the elevator doors damn near ready to pry them open. He hastily tucks the 9mm into the waistband of his pajama pants, easily within reach if he needs it. Relief floods him when the huge metal doors grind open and he sees your pretty face on the other side. Then his heart drops when he realizes that that pretty face is scraped and splattered with blood.

Your hair is tangled and wet, dripping dirty water down your neck and staining the bright red of his your favorite hoodie. Your hands, which shake as they reach blindly towards him, are stained crimson and battered too. But it’s your eyes that haunt him. You look broken.

“Jay,” you croak out, unable to summon anything but a plea for the one person who can keep you safe.

The tears fall from your eyes at the same time that you collapse into Jason’s arms. He drags you inside and locks down the Belfry. Jason wants to panic but feels a strange sense of calm about himself. As loathe as he’d be to admit it, he finds himself falling into Bruce’s habit of assessment and action.

“Baby, what happened?” he asks, voice steady and assured.

You don’t even hear him. You’re digging your hands into his shirt, clinging on to him like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to Earth. He may very well be. He feels you going rigid and cold and he knows he has to get you stable before you descend further into shock.

“Listen to me,” he says firmly, adding on and enunciating your name for emphasis.

That sparks some semblance of lucidity. Jason hasn’t called you by your name in months, much preferring you be his baby or his sweetheart or his doll, or simply his. If it jars you back to reality, so be it.

“I need you to tell me what happened,” he demands gently.

It all pours out of you like a flood.

You’d woken up early by chance this afternoon. Normally you’d just close your eyes and snuggle closer to Jason to catch a couple more hours of sleep, but you wanted to do something nice for him. So you’d gotten up and gone to Lemay’s Flower Emporium in Gotham Heights. You’d bought him the prettiest bouquet of red and pink roses, so big that you had to hold on to it with both arms. The taxi ride from the Heights back to Coventry Station went fine. You were almost home. So close that you could see the clock tower where your heart was sleeping peacefully.

Then you stopped at Commerce Avenue Station. You just wanted to get him some pastries from the little bakery tucked away on 3rd Street that you both love. It was a decent walk; you knew that. You also knew that Jason wouldn’t want you to go out of your way by yourself. But it was morning and you were a grown woman and you could handle yourself, right? Well, that’s what you thought until a pair of hands clamped down on your shoulders and yanked you violently into a side alley.

Jason had prepared you for something like this. You’d spent countless evenings with him teaching you self defense techniques in the training area of your home. None of it mattered because the man that had you by the shoulders slammed you so hard into the brick wall that all your thoughts went hazy. Before you could regain your footing, you were shoved to the ground. The bitter sting of your palms scraping open pierced through the fog, as did the crushing weight of the vile man on top of you. Fear shot through you as the man started tugging at his belt and you realized that this wasn’t intended to be a mugging. You tried to scream but a grimy hand clamped over your mouth, hitting your head against the ground and soaking your hair in dirty rain water and blood.

Your eyes darted around in search of someone—anyone. But no one was coming. You felt fingernails scratch against your stomach as clammy hands curled into the waistband of your sweatpants and suddenly you saw your savior. A brick from the damaged alleyway laid within reach. You didn’t even think when you grabbed it, when you swung it as hard as you could into the side of the man’s head. The corner hit his temple and he crumbled to the side. You rose to your knees and hit the man again. And again. All you could remember were Jason’s firm instructions: if someone makes it a choice of you or them, you make sure that it’s you no matter what it takes.

“I don’t r-remember anything else,” you sob into his chest. “There was so much blood, Jason. And his head—oh, God.”

Jason shushes you gently. He holds you tight in his arms like he’s terrified that if he loosens his grip even slightly, you’ll fade away on him.

“Don’t think about it, baby. You did what you needed to do. You protected yourself. I’m so proud of you.”

“I killed someone, Jason. I killed someone.”

You look at him wide eyed—afraid, horrified, guilty. No. Jason won’t have that. You will not feel guilty over some lowlife scumbag who wanted to hurt you, who probably would have killed you. Jason can’t even stomach the thought. He wants to put a bullet into whatever’s left of that predator’s head. No, the only shame in you killing that man is that you got to him before Jason could.

“I need you to listen to me,” he says, repeats your name again for emphasis. “You. Did. Nothing. Wrong.”

“Someone’s dead because of me, Jay,” you argue, gripping him tighter as your panic rises.

“Baby, do you know how many people are dead because of me?” he asks. “Far, far more than I’d ever want you to know. Do you think I’m a monster, honey? That I did something wrong?”

He knows it’s an apples to oranges comparison. But you’ve used this same tactic on him so many times that he also knows it’s effective. Every time he demeans himself for something, you ask if he’d treat you the way he treats himself for the same thing. The answer is always no.

“No!” you reply emphatically. “You protect people. You do it to keep people safe.”

“You did it to keep yourself safe.”

“But—”

“No buts. Or ifs. No ands, either, just in case you get any ideas,” he says lightly, brushing a speck of blood off your cheekbone.

You smile at his stupid little comment and he feels the tension in his body release just slightly. As long as there’s light back in your eyes for even a moment, he knows that you’ll be okay. He picks you up, lets you cling your arms around his neck and bury your face in his chest as he carries you to the bathroom upstairs. He runs you a bath and, after asking repeatedly if you were okay with it, undresses you and washes the blood and grime from your body. He wraps you in a big fluffy towel, dries and brushes your hair, and tends to your injuries before he bundles you up in his comfiest hoodie and pajama pants. He soothes you when your tears make their return and never leaves your line of sight because he knows he makes you feel safe.

The thought gnaws at him throughout the day. It outright scalds him as he lies in bed with you after deciding to skip patrol. He’s failed you. Failed to protect you, failed to ensure nothing harms a hair on your head. He’s failed at taking care of you, the one thing that matters more to him than anything else. He’s seconds away from spiraling into self hatred when your sweet voice comes calling, soft and pleading.

“Jay…please stay with me,” you say softly.

Your eyes are clear and focused again. You squeeze his waist tight where your arms are wrapped around him, like you’re physically trying to anchor him in place in your bed. The look on your face says that you know exactly where his mind was headed. You see right through him. It makes him feel more vulnerable than anything else, and it surprises him how much he loves the feeling. And Jason, as always and for eternity, can’t bring himself to deny you. So he pulls himself together and shoves all his self loathing down. He can deal with it later—you need him more right now.

“I’m right here, hayati. Not goin’ anywhere, I promise.”

He kisses you gently and feels some of that self hatred wash away when you chase after him for more goodnight kisses. He feels it dissipate even more when you fall asleep in his arms with a soft smile on your face. It’s all but forgotten as he drifts off too, safe in the knowledge that you’re here with him, that he can feel your heart beating pressed tight against his own.

[fandomismylife]

Ok so I currently don’t have enough little things that are now cannon in my batfam world to make a list right now, so here is how Evil Baha Blast was born

Duke, talking to Jason: so Jason, how does the… *looks at him cautiously*

Jason, confused: what?

Duke: the, Evil Baha Blast? Work?

Jason, looking at Duke with absolute bewilderment: … do you mean the Lazarus pit?

Duke: yeah.

Jason: *starts laughing HYSTERICALLY, and fall out of his chair onto the floor*

Duke, trying so hard not to laugh: am I aloud to laugh at this?

Jason: *starts laughing harder*

Duke just settles for laughing quietly and trying to cover it, but failing miserably, while Jason laughs for another ten minutes. Afterwards they both think Bruce walked in at some point, but neither of them actually know.

[chaoticwriting]

FENTON CRIME FAMILY 4

-Wayne Manor, Gotham-

Damian straightens out his shirt a little as he stands in front of his siblings. He doesn't know why nor would he admit that he is a little nervous right now. They are currently at the theater room waiting for whatever Damian has prepared for them. Except for Dick and Jason, all of the siblings are here.

Tim: Would you explain to us already why you want us here?

Damian: Silence Drake. I am gathering my thoughts here.

Steph: Ugghhh, just tell us already. I am already close to cracking up Cass to confess who she is hanging out with.

Cass: No you aren't.

Steph: Yes, I am.

Duke: Umm, guys. I think Damian is ready.

Suddenly the lights turn off and the projector starts to show a slide show.

Damian: So, I thank each one of you for making time to come to this meeting today.

Tim:*Whispering* Oh wow, he must really need our help if he even thanks us for just being here.

Damian:*Glaring at Tim* As you all are aware, I am going out on an outing the day after tomorrow. Although I am sufficiently trained in proper dressing up, I would like to have a second or maybe third opinion.

Steph: You mean fifth opinion? Cause there are like 4 of us here.

Damian: It is a figure of speech, Brown. I'm sure you are not stupid enough to not know that.

Tim: I think he is trying to insult you but that sounds like a praise to me.

Duke: It's because you are a weirdo. How about we get back on track? So, what do you want our opinion on?

Damian turns the slide and a selection of clothes appears.

Damian: I need you to give me your opinion on which set of clothes are the most suitable for my outing.

Cass: What is the specific criteria for the selection?

Damian: I want the clothes to flesh out my features more.

Duke: As in making you look more handsome?

Damian: Yes.

Tim: Why do you need to look more handsome? I thought you are just going for some outing?

Steph: Shit! Don't you see it, Tim? He is going on a date. Look at those clothes. Those are the clothes that he only wears if there is a special occasion.

Duke: You are going on a date? With who? Does Bruce or Alfred know?

Damian: I already told Alfred about my outing. I am holding off on informing father of this event until there is any further progress. As for who, it is none of your concern.

Tim: Wait. Then why do you want our opinion on what you wear?

Damian: Because all of you have experience in relationships before. I would have invited Grayson if not for his fashion sense.

Duke: Fair warning, though. I am not good at these clothing things. It is usually Isabella that chooses my clothes.

Damian: Of course I know that. But given you are in a relationship with Ortiz for a long time already, I would assume her sense of fashion has already rubbed off a little on you.

Steph: Wait, so we are just gonna ignore that he is going on a date? Aren't any of you curious?

Tim: I already got her files. Name is Dani Fenton. 15. No school. Lives in the Bowery. Her sister is the therapist that Bruce is seeing. Has a brother. Her internet history is very clean. Like super duper clean. Almost tailored to make it seem like that.

Duke: Chances it is forged?

Tim: Likely. But I can't seem to find anything about her. Whether it is physical or online.

Cass: Are you sure she is safe?

Damian: Yes.

Steph: I'm not gonna stop you from romancing her but considering who you are the son of, we might need to prepare just in case.

Duke: Oh yeah. Hopefully she isn't anything like that. The last thing we need is another rogue in Gotham.

-Crime Alley-

Red Hood: So, why do you want to meet?

Spectre: I have information that you might want.

Spectre (Ellie) throws a file with a big red 'SECRET' on it onto the table. Red Hood picks it up and opens it.

As he flips through the pages, his breath becomes more ragged. His eyesight slowly turns more green and he could feel his blood pumping at a higher rate as his anger slowly builds up while reading the file.

Especially when he reads the part where they are part of the government. How dare the government do this? Not only are they killing people, they also label them as non living.

Red Hood: What do you want me to do with this information?

Spectre: It is up to you really. Since you are technically a hero, I decide to give this information to you first. However, do know that if you wish to take action, please do it quickly. A lot of "people" wish to have a piece of them.

After Spectre says that, she stands up from her chair and goes out of the room. Red Hood watches as the young gang leader leaves his office. Eyeing the file, he will call the Outlaw tomorrow. There is a government base to be blown up.

[boyfridged]

leslie does not appear in the post-crisis crime alley intro. in her stead, there's another older woman whose work is thought to be altruistic, one with potential to transform the lives of the desperate and condemned (from such a young age, too) -- ma gunn. of course, soon we learn that her charity is but a ruse, and she uses her reputation and position to exploit those most vulnerable. here it is -- the cynical 'subversion' that will become the staple of the post-crisis batman for years to come.

but arguably, despite the appearances, it is not ma gunn who truly takes leslie's place in the narrative. that place being, of course, both the symbol of the hope of the crime alley and a counterpoint to batman's philosophy. it is, instead, the main character of second chances -- jason. jason, whom bruce meets in the same alley his parents died, but who makes bruce laugh upon their first encounter. jason, who has a strong sense of justice, despite it not quite aligning with bruce's -- jason who does not care about what bruce thinks of him being a thief, jason who insists it does not make him a crook; jason who has no care for the label of 'criminality' in itself (just as leslie, who insists that talking of 'criminals' in the alley is non-productive and that in targeting them, bruce would just prey on those unfortunate). jason who is to become gotham's light as robin, but who also is tied to its darkest place.

there is, of course, a problem here -- jason is a child. and so, what was seen as a genuine challenge to batman before -- the lack of care for the 'criminal' label, is now seen as a corruption of the youth that can be "treated" like all disease that crime is (and can be also used as an excuse for the child endangerment - by collins and so, by bruce whom he writes too). and surely, soon enough, without much commentary from the narrative itself, after a timeskip, we are introduced to jason whose background is of very little relevance. as a child, and as robin, he is (for a time) malleable. he believes in batman just as dick grayson did. until starlin takes the run over, and jason is to become a 'challenge' again -- but this time there is no authentic consideration for the politics and societal reality behind it. the conflict that leads to aditf is first and foremost one around bruce's role as a parent, and less so about his strategy. and even in the garzonas' case, there's this confusion -- jason's complaints are not about the system, but about their efficiency. it's all back to batman's theoretical framework. and when jason comes back from the dead, year after -- that is what happens with the red hood modus operandi too. all of this a direct reference to competence of batman, jason's background becoming a stereotype it was supposed to go against.

thankfully, before all that happens, and quite hurriedly post-crisis, someone (barr) realises leslie needs a comeback -- and it is the best she was ever written, her voice clear and strong. my beginning... and my probable end is, to me, a batman thesis. here we have bruce wayne, loving -- and here we have all of bruce's flaws exposed. leslie's first ever complaint post-crisis is about jason's role as robin, and so she becomes a cassandra, but it's so important to pay attention to their relationships. "you're doing it for yourself" is what leslie says, and she is right in believing it is not jason who needs robin. and jason, there, on a hospital bed, between them -- this is what his role in the narrative becomes. a consequence of a grand idea of batman that leslie was always against; but also someone who's life stretches in between these two beliefs, someone who came all the way from being so like leslie, only for him to become so entangled in vigilantism that there's hardly any reference to any of it left. and leslie was there, to see.

how both of their stances get stereotyped; how their initial roles get delegated into villainy or (in case of leslie) pettiness, is in a way a litmus paper for the condition of batman's comics. and it's just absurd how we never get to see them together after jason's resurrection; how the two most important characters of the crime alley cannot be afforded to share narrative space. that is, of course, because it would mean a confrontation of what jason was, and what he became.

[axetivev]

~ Warning! Batkids are Bruce and Reader's Biochild!

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids who would be the one who would and picked up Damian who got detention/suspended because Bruce was too busy.

"So you're telling me, you suspend my son, Damian Wayne because he protected his friend..?"

"W–well. Mr. Wayne... in this school, we don't—"

"Oh so you don't allow nor teach violence but allow harassment? Racism? You know what. Damian, call Bruce. You're changing schools."

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids who would force Tim to go to bed. No is not an option. And would never be. Then, Papa!Reader would lecture Tim about sleeping.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids who would read them bedtime stories. And they'll have to agree with one, which led to fights (unfortunately).

"Pa! Can we get a bedtime story?"

"Of course, what do you guys want?"

"Oh! Oh! How about a story about..."

"Tim, you've requested yesterday!"

"Ca–Cass! At my defense—"

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, where papa!reader hugged and gave Dick lunch money who was becoming Robin for the first time. In the end, this became a routine as the Robin legacy continued.

"My love, Dick can do it... Y–you don't have to—"

Papa!Reader who gave Dick his money. "Shut it Bruce! My poor baby can't fight crime empty handed! Are you really gonna buy him something when he's hungry!?"

Year later...

"..."

"M/N—"

"Here, Damian. Here, 100 bucks! Spend it for something useful, m'kay?"

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, when Jason died, he drowns into depression. Struggle—unable to move on. He felt himself being a failure of a dad. To a level to skip meals.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, after Jason was back alive. He was crying. Hugging Jason as tight as he could to his 6'0 son. He can't, he can't lose another child.

"Forgive me for everything, Jason."

"Pa... I'm here. Really, I'm fine now... I'll be extra careful next time."

"Please be... I don't want to lose you and others again..."

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, who would secretly bring the kids out if Bruce grounded them. But when he was the one who grounds them. No one. No one can save them.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, who have boys and girls time. For boys, he'd basically spend his time with the boys (basically, Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Duke) and the girls (Stephanie, Cass).

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, who would work in Arkham Asylum while his kids were looking for him from afar to make sure he was safe. The kids would usually switch but of course they'll fight about it.

"Hey! It's my time to look over pa!"

"Cut it Richard. You've done that last week."

"C'mon! Why don't you guys let Duke and Damian!?"

"FUCK YOU CASSANDRA!"

"OH FUCK YOU!"

Meanwhile Papa!Reader who watched from afar while drinking his tea.

"Kids these days..."

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, when his birthday rolls around, the kids would give him something. It could be a father—son/daughter time, or them spending their money to buy him something—anything. They'll basically spoil you, because you deserve it!

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, who would be his literal bodyguard. Even after Papa!Reader told them he's alright. What can I say? Your kids are too loving. Even too clingy sometimes.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, where the kids would argue to Bruce about who should have "Papa time" first. Being neither Dick or Damian who leads and Tim gathers information and key details others would light the fire even more. While Papa!Reader tried to calm the kids while Alfred just smirked to himself.

"Well, father. At our defense. Papa spends more time with you. He would prepare you for work; tidying your tie as you go to work, as Batman. Papa helped you with gathering some information with Barbs."

"If not. You two would cuddle on the couch from day and night!"

"Therefore?"

"Therefore, we deserve our own papa time!!!"

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, where if there's a parent brave enough to say something horrible to his kids, Papa!Reader won't hesitate to break them mentality. This also applies if some soul dares to speak to you horribly. The kids would casually show no mercy.

—Papa!Reader and his Bio!kids, when Bruce looked at every single child of his. He would look at Papa!Reader, eyes staring at your very soul as he towered you.

"I want more kids."

"Bruce, we literally have 7 kids, multiple dogs, a cat, a cow, and many others. We have—"

"That's not a question."

[roses-and-revolutions]

Wayne Manor is cursed. Like really fucking cursed. It's overwhelmed by years and years of curses. And due to all the curses compounding throughout the years, it's gotten to the point that even being near the manor is a hazard to somebody's life. Bruce, begrudgingly, calls in the JLD to see if they could do something about it. And they can!!! But it'll take between a few weeks to a few months (Bruce: A FEW MONTHS!!!) to get rid of at least most of the curses.

Ok, Bruce can deal with this. He'll just have move to his penthouse at the top of WE. What he didn’t expect was for the rest of his brood to follow him.

Bruce: Alfred, Duke, and Damian are no question. I even understand why Tim would follow me here, but the rest of you? ...Stephanie? Why? Don't you have your own homes? Safe houses???

Dick, Jason, Stephanie, Cass, and Barbara: *staring at Bruce incredulously*

Dick: You know we live at the manor like... 80% time right?

Stephanie: *stuffing her face with Alfred's freshly baked cookies* Yeah what's so different about this?

Cue WE's employees and just Gotham, in general, witnessing first-hand the insanity that is the Wayne family.

[mint-zed]

I understand the drakes were bad parents trope but I raise you this,

Tim has teenage girl syndrome.

————————————————————————

Janet: sweetie are you sure you don’t want to join us on our next dig?

Tim: why would I ever want to do that

Janet: *sigh* alright just know you can join us whenever and we will come home if you need us.

Tim: whatever mom

Later

Tim: why do you never bring me on your digs?

Janet: 😐😑😐

————————————————————————

Tim: dad Im bi

Jack: hi bi Im dad

Tim: why do you hate me

————————————————————————

Tim: I don’t understand why you guys hate bruce so much

Janet: Tim we do not hate bruce

Jack: he has partial custody over you, we hang out together regularly, why do you think we hate Bruce?

Tim: I just don’t understand

————————————————————————

Tim: I am going to report you to cps!

Jack: sweetheart please you cannot drop out of school

Tim: You are the worst dad ever! *storms off to his room and slams the door*

Jack: why on earth did I think having a kid would be a good idea?

————————————————————————

Bruce: Tim why are you still here please go home.

Tim: my parents hate me

Bruce: Tim please they just wanted to hug you

Tim: I don’t understand how you’re able to side with them

Bruce: *calling tims parents* please come pick him up

————————————————————————

Jason: cmon tim please get in the car so I can drive you home

Tim: no I have to do this jason I can’t live with them anymore

Jason: tim for the love of god can’t run away just because you’re parents banned you from having caffeine

Tim: you don’t understand Jason they took away my life blood I can’t go back home! I have to have it, I will die without it.

Jason: why are you like this?

————————————————————————

Jack: I love my son so much he’s so smart look at all these cool photos he took

Tim: No one appreciates me :(

[arandomao3user]

Jason: Who are you? What are you doing here?

Tim, in all his three apples tall glory: I love her now, 'm Tim Drake.

Jason:

Jason: We can do the funniest s#%$ ever with this.

---

Jason, Bruce, and Tim at the dinner table:

Jason: So. B.

Bruce, sleep deprived, not paying attention to his surroundings: Yes, Jaylad?

Jason: Notice anything...

Jason, looks to Tim: Different 'round here?

Bruce, slowly looking up:

Bruce, looking at Jason:

Bruce, looking at Tim:

Bruce, looking back to Jason: When did Dick get here?

---

Jason and Tim, reading detective stories (Yes, Tim read old Detective stories, it is canon, Tim Drake: Robin):

Bruce, walking past, pausing at the doorway:

Jason and Tim, slowly looking up:

Bruce, slowly blinking:

Bruce: Hm...

Jason: Something the matter, B?

Bruce, looking to Tim, suspiciously: Did I...

Jason: Yes?

Bruce, already walking away: Never mind.

---

At this point Bruce assumes his accidentally adopted another kid and didn't wanna be rude and ask who Tim was, and he doesn't for a week and a half exactly before, at dinner, he remembers Tim was the next door neighbors kid-- HE HAD PARENTS! Did he kidnap another kid? He wasn't sure, but he'd get to the bottom of it...

(Tim continues living there for two more weeks before Bruce actually asks Tim wtf he is doing there, and he to accepts the answer of "I live here now" and just keeps him, because Jason needed a friend anyways.)

Tim Joins The Batfamily Early AU where Tim goes next door and just goes inside. He finds a room that looks like it’s not being used, puts his clothes in the drawers, and connects to the WiFi.

He stays out of the way for the most part but whenever anybody asks what he’s doing there, he says, “I live here now.”

And it works, every time. There is no follow-up questions. He’s either welcomed or left alone. It’s great.

It takes several weeks and more than one shared meal together before Bruce is like, wait a minute.

[prlssprfctn]

AU, where Bruce accidentally gets de-aged (physically and mentally), and the first person he bumps in is... Red Hood.

To Jason's defence, he didn't connect the dots at first. He was just patrolling around his usual turf, thinking of nothing in particular, when he saw a small child in a ridiculously serious suit, sulking around Crime Alley. He looks distraught, and considering that he looks rich, it is no surprise - that is not a place for him. So, he is either lost or something happened, right?

He takes the helmet off, as he usually does when he is dealing with kids (they got scared easily) and carefully approaches a brooding baby.

'Hey, shrimp. Where are your parents at?'

That said shrimp turns around, his big blue eyes looking confused and lost, and Jason thinks he looks awfully familiar.

'I am not shrimp,' he protests instantly, pouting at him. 'And they are somewhere... here. We just left the movie theatre together!'

Jason glances at the abandoned movie theatre, back at the little rich boy with a familiar frown, and it clicks. This is his fucking dad. Suddenly, a kid - but it is fucking Bruce Wayne, for sure.

'Was watching Zorro by any chance?' Jason still asks, just to be sure that he is not going insane.

Bruce - and it must be him - beams at him.

'Yes! This is a great movie, by the way.'

Oh, hell. At least, he didn't witness his parents' death just yet. Jason wasn't sure he would be able to deal with his father being so small, and mourning his mom and dad. He would probably cry himself at some point.

'Hey,' Jason calls out for him slowly, squatting down; God, who would've thought that this little shrimp would become so tall and big in the future. 'Aren't you... You must be Thomas's kid, right?'

Okay, yeah, Jason is going to lie to this kid. Because there is no way he manages just to steal Bruce as a stranger to bring him back home; it is still a kid, even if it is his father. Right?

'You know my dad?' Bruce tilts his head, little fingers tugging on the hem of his jacket; suspicious.

'You could say that,' Jason nods. 'Alfie... I mean, Alfred called me. Asked me to pick up a kid, since Thomas and Martha got an urgent call.'

Fuck his life and stupid life choices. What the hell he was even doing? He looked like a mugger; or like a psycho. But Alfred was his best bet - he could call him, after all; ask, well, support his idiotic made-up story.

'No one calls Alfred Alfie but my dad,' Bruce pouts in a very, very spoiled manner.

'Well... I do. We served together in the army,' he blurts out.

His armour, apparently, is enough a proof for the kid to nod slowly.

'Okay. But you gotta take off your strange mask first,' Bruce folds arms on his chest.

...???

Did this kid just agree for an unknown man to take him home? Like this? Who could've thought that this pouty child would become the most paranoid man alive in the future?

'Uh, why?'

'So I can remember your face and do an identikit, if you turn out to be a bad guy,' Bruce smirks stupidly. 'Duh.'

Jason is going to cry. This kid is so cute.

'Yeah, duh,' Jason huffs, but despite his better judgment takes the domino mask off as well. 'Go on, take your time. My identikit should be the prettiest, shrimp.'

Bruce... gawks at him. His eyes are comically wide now, mouth open, and then, he jumps a little closer to him - oh, God, he is jumping when excited? - putting his hellishly cold hands on Jason's cheeks.

'Woah. You look like dad.'

'Uh,' Jason nods awkwardly, and because he is an idiot, adds a joke: 'We are brothers, actually. Just don't talk much.'

...Apparently, little Bruce can't take jokes. Because he lets out an adorable gasp, and throws himself on Jason as if they knew each other for ages now.

'Uncle? That's so cool. You look like Zorro!'

Damn this little kid, and this stupid family. Damn Joe Chill and the night he killed this kid's parents. Damn it all. Bruce might be an asshole sometimes, but he was so... cute and innocent.

'Thanks, shrimp,' Jason slides a domino mask back on, picks up little Bruce with one arm, and grips a helmet with another. 'Come on, let's go home. Alfred will make your favourite tiramisu.'

'You know my favourites?!'

Jason sniffles.

'Yeah. Yeah, I do, kid.'

If he gets so emotional over this kid, he has no idea how worse Dick is going to be once he finds out.

Oh, this is going to be one hell of a night.

[ladyrosemone]

History does not remember blood, it remembers names

Using Google Translate here, sorry for any spelling mistakes or inconsistencies 🗣‼️‼️

Tw: allusion to child prostitution, prostitution, death of a secondary character, abandonment of minors, allusion to negligence.

It wasn't always like this, you know.

You weren't like this when was younger, when mom would put you hair in those cute braids or dress you up to match her on dress-up Wednesdays, or even when she taught you how to put on makeup instead of buying the bike you wanted, one that you friend Michelle had. It was metallic blue, with white streamers hanging from the handlebars, and you still remembers it clear as the sun because that was the first time you felt envious of something foreign.

You was never blind to injustice, you saw it every day; at school when the teacher took you away recess because some brats weren't silent, at home when mom didn't give you dessert for some stupid reason, but the most recurrent one was the one that took the bread out of their mouths.

You understood it when you turned nine, when you woke and you beloved mother decided it was time for contribute to the household; On you birthday she took you to a fat old man, whom she said was his boss, he dressed you the way her mother dressed on a Wednesday and a Thursday and a Friday and a Saturday and a Sunday and she put so much makeup on you that you eyes burned.

She didn't want to do it, she wasn't going to do it, but when your boss comes to your home to demand protection money and sees you child, what else do you do but make things easier?

That's what adults love most.

She was not a bad mother, she was loving and protective, affectionate and self-sacrificing, but she was also a woman desperate to fulfill the most basic needs of a human, to eat and sleep safely one more night, and if she must use her little girl for that, may God forgive her on his last day.

And you loved her too, but not enough to intervene when you saw being pulled into a car, or asked her boss for help when others did, and you'll be damned if you refuses to be taken to the police station to take a statement, poor baby.

"Is in shock" they say that word a lot, even now "Leave in a foster home, there is no room in orphanages"

Like divine intervention, an old but royal gentleman like a general entered his life.

Alfred Pennyworth took you to a large house one day; He apologized for taking a while to find her, saying that he would never have expected that a child of Bruce Wayne would have been born in a prostitution ring and lived there for eleven years.

Suddenly you had a father and a brother, but it was like you didn't have them at all.

Bruce not a father, never a father was distant, like one of those men who only rented you to pretend to be a therapeutic doll, and Richard was...annoying, angry, lashing out at everyone all the time, a brat who left you without dessert because of his tantrums.

But you were good at something, at pleasing; It was never touched, thank God, but you're observant and you've learned a few tricks to cajole people.

That didn't work in them, not until Jason Todd came along.

He was better than Richard without a doubt, and for a few years he was you best friend; two peas in a pod, vanilla and chocolate, brothers of everything but blood, and for a time you found home in him.

And then Joker took him away.

You were never interested in being vigilante, dressing up as a traffic light and running across the roofs at night, but in those years you wished could have gone with him, to be a Robin just so you could avenge your brother.

Shortly after, Tim Drake arrived, Bruce's shadow, his little chameleon copying his movements, his gestures, his personality and you hated him with every part of your being.

At that time you stopped trying to bond with Bruce, you would never be his son, and quoting what he said;

"I don't have time, not now, not for you"

But yes for Barbara, yes for Stephenie, yes for that spawn of hell with whom you share blood, and yes for her adored daughter, Cassandra.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back, finding out that Jason, your brother Jason, had come back to life and never came to you, the only person who has entered your heart besides your mother, had abandoned you, betrayed you.

And then a metahuman arrives and they open the doors to him as if it were nothing?

Well, fuck them.

Although in reality, it was not your plan to return to your origin, who would have thought that finding your old friend Michelle in an alley after being thrown out of a van on the verge of death was going to give you the biggest reward in Gotham.

Loyalty.

Unlike you, Michelle did not have a millionaire father who claimed her like a carnival puppy, and her fate was no different from that of her dead mother, but she had contacts, people who knew things about more people and that a third spectator like you could use.

And if you learned anything in that damn mansion, it was to sweeten their words, caress egos and say what they want to hear, you learned to deceive and pretend, to disguise your intentions and attack without killing.

You learned to be a snake instead of a bat.

And like sweet karma, divine intervention or whatever you like to believe, starting your business from the brothel where your mother sold you by giving that fat bald guy to his enemies and taking his place, wasn't a bad way to start his story.

"Don't you think that's a brutal origin story?" You ask, looking with amusement at the infiltrated man now slowly bleeding out on your rug, Is it considered a fur rug if it's the skin of the past boss?

—Liar —he mutters in pain, writhing in pain and under the gaze of that cruel woman— You killed them in cold blood! Your poisonous tongue made us destroy ourselves from within! Two-faced whore!

“I always like how creative they get when they’re dying” you reply, leaning back in your leather swivel chair, because no animal cruelty for you, you are not a monster “Anyway, I hear Ivy needs test subjects for her new fragrances, but I think you’d make a better fertilizer, Michelle dear”

Your right hand opens the door, where two men grab the traitor and take him out while he continues screaming, varying between cursing her and crying out for mercy "I hope it helps Pamela before the hyenas eat him"

Now you're Gotham's super predator, and your heart is hungry.

[miraculousshitandgigles]

Writing isekai fanfiction is fucking hard like what magic should I give that bat family and it's like oh you should give this power. I'm only doing one person right now and I'm still struggling. "Jason what power should I give you" "maybe the all blades" "hit that's to weak" "well your fucked I guess"

Because if it was Dick it would be just string 90% time Naruto string style, fairy tail string magic, black clover the string grimoire. It would enhance his base ability enough has enough shit I could probably go far.

Damian tamer easy

Tim I probably just throw every magic item at him that wasn't op and see what I could get away with.

Cass bats just bats

Bruce bats or shadows

Duke has powers just buff them

Jason what am I supposed to do besides find some way to buff the all blades to something reasonable and if anyone who knows shit about the all blades it their barley anything on them.

Thank you for listening to my ted talk here some honorable mentions

Babs technopath

Luke technopath but he has to be touching it

Stephanie chaos

[hoetachi]

HAPPINESS OVER EVERYTHING (H.O.E) — J. TODD

suggestive themes

I hope she don't think, that I think that she's some kind of hoe

A SOFT KNOCK graced the dark oak and he already knew whom it would be. without words being exchanged, he heard the chambers turned followed by a slight creak. there you were… in your newest ‘outfit’. off the record, this was your skimpiest outfit by far (which he loved a little too much by the slight tent in his slacks) and just knew you were getting tipped well for it.

jason relaxed a bit in the chair, umbrella twisting lazily between his fingers whilst keeping his shielded eyes on your figure. a mischievous smirk graced your glossed lips as you pressed your back to his door, which he picked up on the chambers turning again. you locked it.

time for your scheduled ‘cat & mouse’ game.

you pressed yourself free off the oak and switched your hips towards his desk. “5th time this week, doll” he pointed out as you inched closer. you now was right before him leaning over, pushing your breast together slightly whilst your perfume invaded his senses. sweet as ever, a scent he’ll never get a enough of.

“they say you pickin’ favorites mista hood” you finally spoke, your hair falling over your shoulders while you stared at him doed eyes. he always liked how you said ‘mista hood’ with your slightly hidden brooklyn accent. you don’t know it, but you’re the only one who’s allowed to refer to him as that. for everyone else it’s either ‘boss’ or ‘sir’

he exhaled, “i don’t do the favoritism bullshit.”

“then what do you do?” you asked, circling his desk. ghosting your hand over the nape of his neck, if he didn’t achieved the self control he currently had, he would’ve shuddered from the ghost of your touch without hesitation. he sees why bruce stayed up on those rooftops now, the mere thought about going against your own code for desire was a thrilling experience

“i treat people how they deserve to be treated” he stated curtly. he was never the one to sugarcoat the truth, that’s what most of the staff secretly disliked about him.

if he wanted to say ‘fuck off and rot in ditch’ he had nothing holding back, absolutely no remorse. he knew everything about everyone who worked under him and knew majority of them weren’t kind people in their day to day, so why would he treat them how he would like to be treated if they were mere scum?

“so if they wanna act like gossiping schoolgirls, i wouldn’t take their comments seriously”

“is this why you’re lingering in my office instead of… displaying your talents?”

you finally made it back before and leaned again on his desk. you pretended to think about for second. how cute you are “maybe… maybe not” another cheshire smirk graced your lips

“so.. how do i deserve to be treated, mista hood?”

“i’m letting you avoid working right now for one. two between you and i, i pay you more than your coworkers out there, even though you’re here less” he chuckled at your face at the little jab towards your absence around the lounge

“you know why though” you rolled your eyes at the jab. he loved to push your buttons, your reactions were just the cutest thing to him plus he knew you couldn’t really stay mad at him.

“how’d your exam go?”

“i feel that i definitely scored the lowest on it. im way too over my head with this veterinarian thing”

he used the hook of the umbrella he’s been twirling with to pull the strap of your bikini top and snapped it back, causing a yelp from you. you dropped your head and pouted as you rubbed the suddenly aching spot between your breast, however the same hook tilted your head up.

you were meant with crimson lens and from the looks of it, he wasn’t too happy with your comment. “don’t say that. do i look like i hire idiots?” he questioned coldly, you parted your lips to answer but realized it was a rhetorical question and thought best to not say anything. “you passed that entrance exam with flying colors, which is amazing considering there’s an 9% acceptance rate so don’t dare discredit that mind of yours”

“are you intelligent!?” he raised his voice, causing you to straighten your back with a flinch before nodding your head rapidly, “say it y/n!” he raised his voice again, “i’m intelligent” you said rapidly, making you stand up straight with your gaze falling to your feet. he mentally scolded himself for his outburst. he knew better to always watch his tone with you knowing you already get enough shit while on the clock from the others. “im sorry for yelling,” he apologized

“it’s okay, mista hood” you reassured, giving him a sheepish smile. “i just don’t ever want to catch you beating up yourself. you’re a good woman” he complimented with a much softer tone

“hmph, some woman i am” you huffed, twirling the end of your hair between your fingers unamused

his brows knitted at your comment, “what did i just say, y/n?” he scolded

“i know i know im sorry, but cmon mista hood. look where i work at?”

“it’s a fixer upper… i see potential still” the last part more for himself than the actual lounge. he’ll give credit to cobblepot, he took good care for the place but it was better under jason’s ownership.

“no man wants a woman who flirts their way into their pockets” you whispered whilst looking out the tinted window towards the vip section. the urge to cup that pretty face of yours and have those hypnotized eyes on him and him only came in droves. the fight with temptation around you could make him weak than any fight with the toughest rogues in gotham.

“speed dating ain’t workin’ out for you?”

“after the compliments and pleasantries, they don’t quite stick around once the question of what i do shows face” you joked half heartedly. no matter how much of a front you put on, he knew you wanted someone to take care of you and not just try to take you home for night

“doesn’t sound like men to me”

“then what does it sound like?”

“boys trying to play big man. someone’s way of paying the bills shouldn’t define them, so don’t let them define you. this is temporary, y/n just like those boys”

“you definitely know how to flatter a lady mista hood” you smiled softly, walking around his desk and he scooted back some to make some space for you to hop up on his desk to sit

he shrugged, feeling a bit more relaxed with you closer to him. “i’m just telling the truth”

“or maybe the truth is, you’re a really good ladies man..” there was a sudden glint in your eyes and he knew it was finally time to test how strong-willed he was against his own desire

“y/n…” he warned once you brushed your leg against his

“am i toeing the line?” your voice dripping in playfulness and your eyes shadowed with seduction, he was more than thankful for the tints on goggles how he had to close them to control his urges. how did the old bat do it with the cat for so long is all he could think about. you two barely even touched and he already so bothered

disregarding his caution, you continued your pursuit of him. “i would expect you of all people to love a bit of risk every once in a while”

“don’t start something you can’t finish” that was his second warning for you

“you see, mista hood, that’s the problem”

“you won’t let me finish. got me thinkin’ you may be into edging” you moaned, pulling in your bottom lip. he almost put together how sweet the actual melody of your moans would sound and that alone practically put him closer to the edge

“i don’t mix business with pleasure”

“it didn’t seem like a problem with liz and all the other girls” he watched again as you tried to your best not to roll your eyes at the name. liz wasn’t nothing to him nor others, if he had a rough night, he knew they’ll do anything to get even a smudge of the attention that he gives you

“they throw themselves”

a pout formed on your face and god, he could’ve been putty right in your hands. “am i not throwing myself hard enough?” you batted your lashes towards him.

“you’re better than that, doll”

you giggled as you placed a hand over your chest dramatically being flattered, “you think too highly of me, mista hood”

“i do, but who can blame me of thinking of you”

“and that’s your other problem too” he watched as you smirked. pushing yourself off of the desk, you moved the umbrella aside and decided to find a more comfortable spot to sit. you slowly sat yourself on his lap, making sure he had the perfect view of your arched back before looking over your shoulder with an innocent expression. “is this spot taken by chance?” throwing your legs over his knee, really settling against his tailored suit. you were going to be his second death for sure

he exhausted exaggeratedly, you’re the only woman he has set of rules for himself.

he can’t touch you. you can comb your fingers through his hair, acrylics scratching his scalp comfortingly and he has to fight the urge to nozzle into your touch.

he can’t taste you. he’s tempted every time you leave a glossy kiss on the corner of his mouth because knowing your love for toeing the line, he’s just curious how’d you react if one day he just captured those plump lips and explored that sweet mouth of yours and pull a moan from the depths of your core

you’re completely right

you’re his biggest problem

part 2?

[jubileesstuff]

Here is my take on the Batfam deaging trope:

Jason gets hit with a magic spell from a new villain that the Justice League is hunting down. He gets deaged 7 years old, a time before he met Bruce. Of course, Bruce is in an instant on Jason's side, the new Witch Villain completely forgotten. Jason is like, 'What am I doing here? Where is my mommy?'. 

Oh, how are they going to explain all this to Jason? Bruce brings a crying and confused Jason to John Constantine and Zatanna; both of them are like, 'Eh, no clue, never saw something like this before.' They try to help Jason, but nothing works. Jason stays this young.

This brings a lot of chaos to the manor.

Jason, who only knows Bruce from TV and newspapers, wants this mother back. Dick is a crying mess because his little brother is now actually a little child and has to grow up again. Damian is annoyed by the crying from Jason (he is also salty that he isn't the youngest anymore, but he will not admit that). Tim sees this as a chance to be a cool older brother; he takes Jason skating and to arcades with Dick. Tim also wants some blackmail material. Duke is like, 'You're telling me this little angel is Red Hood?' Cass, Barbara, and Stephanie are like, 'Aww, look at this little angel.' They're the best older sisters.

Bruce loves it; finally, he can reconnect with his son and give him a better childhood. Alfred is just like, 'Eh, there is weirder stuff going on in this house sometimes.'. He totally spoils Jason.

He starts to feel more at home with the time going by. He starts to call Bruce 'Dad' after 2 months. They again try to find a spell to get Jason back to his normal age. Nothing works.Bruce isn't really mad about that; he loves Baby Jason. Every time Jason has a nightmare, he comes to Bruce and cuddles with him. Sometimes Baby Jason falls asleep on Bruce when he is working in his office. Bruce has so many pictures of Jason sleeping or playing in his office. When Bruce has online meetings, he lets Jason play under his table or on the floor next to him. Most of the time Jason reads books. He talks so much about them.

Jason is such a great child that even Damian plays with him. Jason and Damian start making a comic about books Jason read. Jason tells Damian the story, and Damian draws it for him. Bruce melts from cuteness.A year after the whole incident, Jason turns back to his actual age. He was visiting the zoo with his family, and when he went to the toilet as an (now) 8-year-old, he came back out as a 21/22-year-old. Everybody misses Baby Jason, but no one will admit it. Jason remembers everything that happened. He also misses being a child. He loved it when the others would cuddle with him, when Bruce would hold him when he had a nightmare. He misses the soft attention.

[storm-and-starlight]

farewell, wanderlust

I don't know if I'm ever gonna finish this fic or even even really post it, but just like Meteoric, here's a section that I think stands well alone and that I really quite like. Dick finds Jason post-Bruce's "death" in Final Crisis. Operates off of UTRH movie canon.

Dick had the courtesy to find him in person, plainclothed, appearing out of nowhere at a tea shop Jason still stops in at, sometimes. It's one of the places Alfred buys from, a sharply astringent Earl Grey -- Jason, he'd said, low and soft at his shoulder, and Jason had turned on his heel and left without paying, boots thumping oddly on the cobblestones (Old Gotham, god, he hates this part of the city, pretending like the battered streets and ancient buildings are somehow charming, pretending it's someplace sweet and touristy and safe, pretending like it hasn't got just as much rot as the rest of the place -- Scarecrow attacked this street six months ago, gassed half the market, and now all that's left of that is a handful of signs in various shops saying "respirators sold here!"), chilled to the bone even in the summer swelter. The city had already recovered from the alien invasion or zombie apocalypse or whatever-the-fuck-it-was that had the League all over the place a week ago; the rest of the world might still be reeling, but not Gotham.

Jason! Dick had said, loud and surprised, and then gentler, cut to carry, Jay, little wing-- and Jason had frozen where he stood, middle of the street, crowd splitting around him like a running river until Dick had found him again. He'd been dressed in civvies: black tee, battered leather, worn jeans, perfectly nondescript. Hair a wild tumbledown mess, windblown and ragged. Hadn't slept in at least three days, but he'd had a bright-burning clarity to his eyes; Nightwing, clinging on to sanity when the rest of the world's gone mad.

Jason hadn't seen him this close up in years -- he'd been a shadow at Bruce's heels, a bright figure against the skyline, always at least arms-length and the barrel of a gun distant.

He was-- so much shorter than Jason thought he remembered.

Don't, Jason had said, sharp -- there's a gun under his jacket and Dick's here in civvies and this is Gotham, after all, what's a little mid-street-weapon-pulling to a native, and Dick had said We need to-- we should talk.

So talk, and Dick had flicked a glance out at the heaving crowd around them and said not here. At-- do you remember Wilhelm? and Jason does, only a single bright flash of a memory but still there despite the holes the Pit ate in his head -- Dick, younger and shaggy-haired and larger than life, dangling one-handed from the talons of the saddest damn gryphon Jason's ever seen, grinning up at him; "second-best hiding spot in the city, little wing" -- and he jerks his head in a nod.

Midnight, Dick had said, and swirled back into the crowd before Jason could even acknowledge that, gone again in the current of humanity.

He'd paid for the tea, too, the bastard.

---

He arrives at Wilhelm's corner at sixteen minutes past the stroke of midnight -- there was a church here once that still rang the hour every hour, Westminster quarters marking out the passage of the night. It's gone now, nineteenth-century masonry apparently not up to the task of surviving an earthquake (a goddamn earthquake, what the fuck) but he can still hear the ghost of it, echoing over the years. All through this hour, Lord be my guide. Wilhelm's still standing, leaning gloomily over the street, but the gap between his wings is empty -- even the replacement's too big to fit, now. Nightwing's waiting on the roof instead, a dark shape silhouetted against the orange sky, lantern-light bleeding the color from his insignia. Batman's nowhere to be seen.

"Jason," Nightwing says when he lands beside him, heavier than any Robin has a right to be.

Jason snorts. "What happened to no names in the field? The old man leaves for a week and all the rules go out the window?"

Dick-- flinches.

Jason pauses. Bruce is still off on League business -- another day, another dollar, another planet-ending threat -- and he hasn't come back yet, leaving Nightwing and Robin to keep an eye on Gotham. He'd assumed it was just-- cleanup, like usual after shit like this goes down, or maybe he was off in space chasing down the guy who did it, but this is-- this is Dick naming him Jason, full-formal, not the name he took to scare the shit out of Bruce or the tattered remnant of a childhood he can't even remember.

"What happened?"

"Bruce--" Dick says, and falters, and stops. 

There's a siren in the distance, wailing away; the rattle of old and ill-maintained ventilation systems; the clacking rush of the train going through. The ghost of ringing bells, long-gone and buried; the salt-sting of the Pit in his eyes; grave-dirt under his nails and on his tongue -- all through this hour.

"How?" he says, and the helmet flattens it, turns it into just another electronic snarl, but he hears the scrape of a shattered voice anyways.

"Darkseid," and well, okay, Jason does have to admit that motherfucking Darkseid probably is one of the only people who ever could have done it. The Joker sure as hell wasn't fucking going to.

"Are you..."

"I-- saw the body." Jason's silent for long enough that Dick says "Jay," reaching out for his shoulder -- Jason twitches back and away, sharply, and Dick's hand drops limply back to his side.

"So he's dead, then," and it rings flatly in the air, the blade striking, the hammer coming down. "The fuck am I supposed to do about it?"

"Jay--" Dick says again, but Jason's got salt under his tongue and the Pit in his blood and he can feel the anger rising. "What, I'm supposed to-- say I'm sorry? Sit politely at the funeral? Come home? Have you forgotten that I'm not fucking one of you anymore?" The warehouse, the Joker, the gun -- I would have done nothing but search the planet for this pathetic pile of evil, death-worshipping garbage and sent him off to hell! -- Batman, walking away.

"Jason," Nightwing snaps, sharp and furious and Bat-vigilante to the bone, and then he sighs and he's right back to Dick Grayson again, trying to carry the weight of the world and not quite managing. "Jason, I-- you deserved to know."

He can hear what Dick's not quite saying underneath: you were Robin, once.

You were still his son.

The silence echoes.

"Alfred?" Jason asks, eventually, when the seethe in his blood isn't quite so strong.

"He's... holding up," Dick says carefully. "Better than I was, at first, but..." He rolls his wrist outward, a restless motion. "You know how he is."

"Yeah."

The Gotham quiet -- which isn't actually quiet in any sense of the word, just a constant background hum of trains and traffic and police sirens and the odd intermittent scream -- filters back in. It sounds different than it used to, though maybe that's just the brain damage. He misses the bells, every hour on the hour -- he can hear Alfred's voice humming Big Ben's prayer along with the chimes of the Manor clocks. All through this hour Lord be my guide, that by Thy power no foot shall slide. A good prayer for Robins, he'd called it, if you're going to be running about on rooftops in the middle of the night, and Jason had never quite believed the way Catherine once had but he'd still sung along at midnights, fleet-footed and sure on the spires and skyscrapers.

"I'm sorry," he says, at last.

Dick doesn't look at him. "Me too."

---

The dawn finds him still awake, leaning over the chipped counter of his latest base with a mug between his hands -- Earl Grey with rosemary and rose, an indulgence, a memory -- the warm golden haven of the Manor kitchen with all the windows black-backed mirrors in the predawn darkness, Jason bleary-eyed and up entirely too early and Alfred as crisply put together as ever, pouring water over tea leaves and letting the steam curl sweet and sharp up into the air -- it had been special, somehow, though now he can't remember why. The smell of the tea Dick paid for is the same, even all these gaping years later -- black tea and rose and bergamot, sweet and sharp -- and he closes his eyes tight, trying to shut out the salt in them still.