#dc request

[nightwingsgirlfriend]

the babies (dick grayson & bruce wayne) (please don't flop this took a stupid amount of time) (i used a different pen and im not a fan switch back to my bae 😒) (i looove dick grayson as robin)

[ashrayus]

more of them lets goo!!!!

[starspilli]

dc cowboy doodles & wips !

[abisalli]

some digitalised bad doodles from my sketchbook :)

[stealingyourbones]

Danny is a coffee shop owner in Gotham and is repeatedly attacked by the GIW. Danny can (mostly) handle his own but he’s in the Bats’ city.

The help is greatly appreciated. The vigilantes have incorporated his small business into their patrol path. They even stop in to grab some coffee or a pastry. He thought he’d get to know this cities heroes as Phantom but instead they become friends with Fenton

[gilverrwrites]

I love imaging Dick, Tim, and Damian sneaking around trying to meet Jasons new gf because they just wanna be involved in his life and they know if they they leave it to Jay they wont meet her u til they're married with kids 😭

AND ‘omg us meeting Jason’s siblings when’

AN: Ngl I love this idea too, its so shitty of them but they have the best of intentions.

Damian

A boy no older than 14 with eyes that pierce the soul was not what you'd expected to find on Jason's couch the very first time he'd left you alone there. Jason had to dip out unexpectedly early, and had promised you run of the place until he got back so you'd slept in as long as you could and were on your way to make breakfast when you're greeted by the hell-child.

Once your initial fright wears off you realise you recognize him from a photo Jay had showed you which makes you feel slightly more at ease.

“Good morning? Damian right?” You offer as you pass him, be-lining for the coffee machine, you're gonna need caffeine if you're meeting any member of Jay's family for the first time. “Can I get you anything?”

“Alfred says it's unbecoming to sleep past 9.” Besides the initial glare he'd graced you with as you emerged from the bedroom, he doesn't even look up at you, his eyes glued to the pages of a book. Like brother like brother, you guess.

“Oh, well. Good thing Alfreds not here then.” You add a small laugh, trying to inject some humour to the situation. Damian does not respond in kind. “Is that a no? I think there's some chocolate cereal around here somewhere.”

“What do you do for work that allows you to be in my brother's home in the middle of the day?”

Jeez this kid is no-nonsense. “Or I could make pancakes, I make really good pancakes.”

“And tell me what exactly are your intentions with my baby brother?” Baby?

“I think there's some chocolate chips around here somewhere. Jason says you like chocolate. Chocolate pancakes?”

“Do you always avoid questions?”

“Are you always so intense?”

He slams the book closed and you nearly jump on the spot. He finally looks at you, really looks at you and as you stare back his features begin to soften slightly.

“I’ll have a coffee.”

You're certain from the sly look on his face that he's probably not allowed coffee. He certainly doesn't need any. But screw it, he's not your kid and if it gets him to like a little, you'll take the risk.

So you pour two coffees and join him on the couch. His questions do not cease until Jason returns about an hour later. He couldn't care less about the coffee, but he does care about Damian breaking in to interrogate his partner and immediately kicks Damian out.

Dick

Dick finds out about your existence from one of Damian’s letters, and he's subtle but pushy about meeting you. Not that you're aware. He keeps ‘dropping by’ Jason's apartment ‘just to see his lil brother’, no other reason but is told to get lost or downright ignored anytime you're there, until he decides to cut out the middle man and turn up at your home instead.

“Let me tell you, you are a hard person to get a hold of.” He informs as he invites himself through your front door.

“Um, hello Dick?” As you stare at his lush hair and sculpted abs you wonder what Alfred feeds these boys.

“Yep! I can't stay so I’ve gotta make this quick.” he gestures for you to come closer, speaking in a playful, conspiratorial whisper. “Jay doesn't know I'm here.”

That would be why he can't stay, Jason is due at your door any minute now.

“But you two seem to be getting pretty serious and I think it's important that we all get to know each other. You following?”

You nod, and he gives you the perkiest, most genuine smile. That or he has that exact look practised to a T. From what Jay tells you, either is possible.

“So, Barbara and I, that's my wife” You nod once more, you're aware of Barbara also. “have booked a table at Casa Gotica for Thursday night. We need you to get Jason there without letting on that it's a double date.”

“I don’t know.” you finally give your nodding head a break. “Jay and I don’t lie to each other.”

“Right. I can't begrudge that. Very glad to hear he's picked an honest one.” He takes a moment to straighten his thoughts, but his moment is cut short but the echo of Jason’s combat boots approaching your door. Dick’s eyes rapidly scan the room for a secondary exit before he settles on an open window. “Don't think of it as lying, think of it as omitting the truth. Whatever you have to do just be there for 6.30. Oh, and it's great to meet you!”

“You too.”

“Thursday, 6.30!”

Before you can agree he’s gone, presumably scaling the side of your building as Jay steps inside.

Tim

Tim was actually the first to be aware of you and your relationship with his brother, however, the very real possibility of being gutted by Jason for snooping in his personal life was too high for him to make a move.

But you seeking him out is a different story; or rather, you being the first to say hi when you bump into each other in line at the grocery store is different. It would be rude not to respond to your attempts at initiating a conversation.

“Hello, hi, are you Tim? You don't know me but I’m Jasons partner. Its so great to meet you.”

“I know who you are.” He states rather ominously, eyes darting around behind you. “Is he here?”

“No, but he's picking me up after.” His shoulders visibly ease.

“Cool cool cool.” He’s suddenly much more personable. “So, I hear you're into…”

That chatting doesn't dry or lul at all as the queue dwindles and both buy your groceries. He waits with you until you get confirmation from Jay that he's on his way. He's easily the chillest sibling you've met thus far.

When Jason arrives he gets out of the car to open the boot and passenger door for you as always, but not before he thrusts his phone in your face. “Where is he?”

Displayed on the screen is a selfie of Tim with you in the background, you absolutely do not remember it being taken.

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[bet-on-me-13]

Danny has to work off his Sentence

So! Danny isn't the King of the Infinite Realms. And he is not above the Law.

Sure, he has many friends in high places, and he did defeat the King in single combat, but that doesn't mean he is above the Law in the way The King would be.

And unfortunately for him, Walkers Laws do actually have some backing.

Not all of them. Some are just laws he placed over his Lair and surrounding Territory, which he is really nitpicky about, but the Big ones he touts are the Laws of the entire Zone set by the First King. Don't Tresspass on Lairs without an official challenge, don't End a Realms Being without permission, Don't bring Humans into the Zone without permission, etc.

And Danny has broken quite a few of them, meaning Walker is entirely in his rights to put him away for a few Thousand Years. Thankfully, there is an alternative.

Since Danny wasn't wanted for any major crimes, Walker offered a different path for him. Danny was still one of the Strongest Ghosts in the Zone, and as the Portal was technically his Grave he had full authority to use it however he liked, so if he ran a couple of errands for Walker, he could consider his Sentence served.

All he has to do was round up a few of the Trouble Makers that had escaped his grasp by virtue of being in the Living Realm, and he would forgive his previous crimes.

So, Danny took him up on the offer. It was better than being constantly hounded by Walkers Guards. The fact that he could beat them easily was moot, it was extremely annoying and he wanted it to stop.

So he was given his First list of targets, and went on his way.

Ra's "The Demons Head" Al Ghul, for Tresspassing on Ghost Zone Waste Dumping Grounds

Solomon Grundy, for continued use of copyrighted poem, requested by copyright holder post mortem

Vandal Savage, for failure to notify the proper authorities about his absence on the day of his intended death

Jack "The Joker" Napier, Special Request by 1000+ Ghosts for purposes of Vengeance, Torture, and general Catharsis.

...interesting list...maybe he should have this through a bit more...

[secretsandwriting]

heyyyy ryyyyy <333

since ur requests are open i thought id go ahead and ask if you're mayhaps open to anything for batmom? i don't have a completely solid idea but maybe smn like batmom has been getting threats or maybe hate or smn from somebody and everyone's reactions and how they get hella protective?

obv no pressure and you definitely do not have to write this

hope you have a great day bb

Heyyyyy, so this grew hands and wrote itself, I hope you enjoy it. It did end up with a lot of backstory.

Earned Position

5.3k words

You knew this would happen. Once your relationship with Bruce got out there would be an influx of love and hate. You also knew that everyone else knew that as well. It was common knowledge than anyone around a celebrity of sorts would experience that. 

Of course you did the normal things, turned off most notifications and only looked through areas online you knew would mostly be safe. You blocked tags and and only followed people you knew or ones who didn’t post about drama. 

When you did stumble onto hate, you moved on. If someone kept sending you nasty messages you blocked them, when they made other accounts to keep sending the same things, you changed your settings so only those you followed could message you. 

It wasn’t something you wanted to deal with but it was something you could handle. Something you started mentally preparing yourself for when Bruce’s attention on you lasted more than 4 dates, even more so when you caught yourself daydreaming about him.

You were not going to let random bitter people on the internet destroy your happiness like they did their own. Your family however, wanted to destroy what was left of your haters' happiness. Something you were trying to curb, but trying to tell a family of vigilantes who considered you the best mom in existence not to destroy your haters was like talking to a brick wall. Over the years, you had gotten used to it. It barely even registered anymore. But there had been a recent influx of the hate and while it didn’t bother you, it bothered the rest of your family. None of them could stand people talking bad about their mom.

While you hadn’t been there while the older ones were young, the second you had introduced yourself to them, you had taken a very important role in their lives. None of them realizing it at first. All of them had gotten used to the random women Bruce brought home that it took a little while for them to realize how important you were. 

Dick wasn’t sure at first. Thinking you were just another girlfriend that wouldn’t last long. So he didn’t really interact with you much. Ignoring your existence when it wasn’t too rude, or at least obviously rude. Until one night when he was staying at the manor and had a nightmare about his parents death. 

Bruce had an open bed policy. As long as there was still room for him, his bed was open. A policy he had started when Dick had gotten old enough he was worried he wouldn’t be allowed to go when he had a nightmare. Bruce had always reminded all his kids, that nightmares don’t go away just because you’re older and that needing comfort wasn’t something they would outgrow. 

The thing was, you were there. Girlfriends didn’t mind when children did it but they never liked it when his adult kids did it. The shaking in his hands and the way he saw them fall in the darkness of every blink told him the only way he was getting any sleep was with someone. 

Hopefully he could just slip into Bruce’s side and leave before you woke up. That was the plan until he found Damian on Bruce’s side and you had been pulled closer to Bruce taking up what was left. You moved a little and Dick took that as his sign to deal with it himself until he heard you whisper his name. He hummed so you knew it was him and not some random stranger standing over Bruce’s side of the bed. 

“Nightmare?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on.” You lifted the blanket next to you, “Bruce told me you guys come here when you have nightmares. There's plenty of room over here for you.” Dick hesitated for a second before giving in. He needed sleep anyway. You weren’t when you said there was plenty of room, Dick had most of your half of the bed. Once he had settled on his side, facing away from you, he felt you pull the blanket over his shoulders. 

“Night Dick, sleep well.” For some reason, that was what did it. Once the tears started they didn’t stop. Silent sobs made him shudder and he felt one of your hands gently rubbing his back. “Oh Dick.” There was no pity in your tone and he found himself rolling over and curling into you. Your chin resting on his head while you rubbed his back. 

The next day, he followed you around like a puppy. Your side of the bed became his favorite when he had nightmares and it wasn’t long before he turned to you for general comfort over anything.

Jason met you at his grave. Neither of you exchanged words, but he caught something in your gaze he didn’t quite understand. He also wasn’t sure why you were at his grave either, he didn’t know you when he was younger. 

When he saw the Gotham News post about Bruce and Your 2nd anniversary, it brought more questions than answers. Why were you at his grave alone? Let alone longer than a few seconds. It was an odd way to gain more of Bruce’s affections. 

Every Tuesday you would be there, leaving flowers and talking softly to the stone. Every time you left, you would smile and nod, the look in your eyes he couldn’t figure out was still there. Every time he would strain to heat what you were saying and only be able yo a few words here and there. 

6 months into it, the routine changed. You brought a blanket and Basket with your usual flowers. You did what you normally did with the flowers but instead of talking to the stone you waved him over. When he didn’t move, you stopped what you were doing and looked at him. 

“Jason Todd, I have been keeping your secret for 6 months. Helping me spread this blanket and having lunch won’t change it.” He stared at you while you waited expectantly. Eventually when he could get himself to move, he came over and helped. He sat down where you motioned for him too, all while trying to figure out how you knew.

“Bruce mentioned this used to be your favorite when you were younger so I asked Alfred to teach me how to make it. I hope it's up to your standards.” He looked at the plate of food you handed him. It was almost overflowing with food, all of which reminded him of the good times back at the manor before he died. “Alfred also sent your favorite cookies when he heard I would be eating at your grave.” The bag of cookies was placed next to the basket, within easy reach.

“Why?” Was all Jason managed to choke out around the lump in his throat.

“I decided early on in life, no matter who I was with, I would love their family as my own. My grandfather hated my grandmothers side and it caused a lot of pain in all the generations. I decided I would never do that to another family.” Jason found himself back in control enough to start eating. 

“So when I started dating Bruce and he told me about you, I decided to treat you like you were my own. Even though I had never met you and you were dead. Most of what that meant was keeping your grave clean and always making sure there were fresh flowers. While I did that, I would tell you everything that was going on.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Your eyes, they may be a different color but they looked too similar. So I did a little digging and found pictures of your biological pictures to place the face shape it matched. I think however you look more like Bruce then either of them.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“As much as I would love to. It’s your choice. You’ve been keeping this to yourself for a reason. If I can help you get to a place to tell them, I would love to. But I won’t say a word until you're ready. However, I would like to keep having lunch with you.” 

A year later, Jason reintroduced himself to the rest of the family a lot calmer than originally planned and was glued to your side anytime he felt overwhelmed that night. Every Tuesday after that, lunch was scheduled.

Tim was nervous when it came to you. He was still living in the manor so he saw you more than the older two. You always seemed nice and respected his privacy but Bruce was always with you so you obviously would. 

It was when he wasn’t around that worried Tim. Bruce attracted golddiggers and they were always mean when Bruce wasn’t there. When you were given a copy of the key, Time braced himself. 

Of course he knew that if he told Bruce anything that happened like that, Bruce would break it off. He had always told them that they came first. But he also knew that Bruce liked you a lot. All the other ones Bruce liked a lot that turned out to be horrible, he broked it off. Tim had seen how it had made him upset and he really hated doing that to him. Maybe he could deal with it for once. 

So when Bruce left for a business trip, Tim was Expecting the worst. What he didn’t expect was for you to knock on his door and ask if you could join him. When he agreed and stepped back so you could come in. He expected you to go to his bed or his desk chair not, the oversized bean bag on the floor.

“I have a question for you but you can’t tell Bruce yet.” Here it comes. “What would a funny way to tell him I know he’s Batman?” Tim wasn’t expecting that one. “I was thinking a lot of batpuns but his paranoia is too bad for that.”

“How did you figure it out?” You walked him through your process and didn’t say anything as he wrote parts of it down. Once you finished explaining the process for Bruce, you explained any way it was modified in figuring out their identities.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Red Robin.” Tim found himself getting excited. 

“You know those notes you leave him in his office?” You nodded. “You should leave those in the Batcave.” You considered it but your thinking was interrupted but Tim shouting. 

“No! One night when we’re all in the cave, you could bring some snacks!” 

“You just want snacks when he’s lecturing you don’t you?”

“Maybe..”

“Alright, but you have to tell the others so they can tell me what snack they want.”

So Tim slowly and carefully went through all his siblings, letting them know you figured it out, Bruce didn’t know, and what the plan is. Every time he relayed a snack to you he’d watch how carefully you’d write it out to make sure you had it correct or look up recipes if you couldn’t find it in stores. 

Two weeks later, Tim was the one who sent the signal in the middle of a lecture everyone was receiving and he got a front row seat to see Bruce’s face when you walked in and handed out snacks before giving him a kiss and telling him to be nice and leaving. 

Any other worries were left in the dust when you helped him win the nerf war for the best seat in the home theater. He thoroughly enjoyed his spot next to you while Bruce swore revenge from the other side of the room.

Damian treated you politely but that was it. His mother was still alive and he didn’t want another one, one was more than enough. Not only that, but you were weird. 

One time when you were over, you found one of his report cards. Immediately you were praising him. He didn’t understand why, he had basically failed one of his classes with an A-. You should be disappointed like his mother would be, not hanging it up on the fridge and telling people not to touch it. Definitely not taking him out for ice cream and calling him so smart. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he walked past it, but he still was. 

When he was practicing his violin and Messed up, you were supposed to tell him to stop failing, that he should be better. Not smiling at him and telling him he’s making good progress. You should be telling him that he should have memorized that piece in a day. He shouldn’t be feeling any pride when he finally does memorize it, it took him 4 days to learn it.

When he was struggling to learn a language, you were supposed to tell him to work harder. He could do better, after all, he already knew so many. Instead you just smiled and recommended a break to refresh his mind. 

When he snapped at you in Arabic, he expected you to be upset since you didn’t know what he said and it was obviously not something nice. Instead you set the rule that if he was going to use Arabic to speak to you when upset, that he had to teach it to you and if what he said wasn’t something you had learned yet, he had to tell you in english. When he told you what it meant, you didn’t even get upset. He definitely shouldn’t be as excited as he was when you actually started learning. 

So many more little things piled up, leaving Damian confused. The differences between how you and his mother treated him was so big he didn’t know how to process it, he liked you and all the little things made him happy in a way he hadn’t really felt. But he still loved his mom, When he had enough of it, he asked you to stop. He still wanted to love his mom. Once again, you did something you weren’t supposed to.

“Oh Damian, I’m not trying to replace your mom nor am I trying to make you feel like you can’t love her or she doesn’t love you. Your mom and I show our love in different ways and its ok for you to love or like both of us. You mother loves you and she will always be allowed in your life if thats what you want.” You weren’t supposed to do that, but Damian was really glad you did.

Barbara wasn’t sure how you would react to her. She wasn’t just Bruce’s kid. She had a loving family she went back to every night. Most people weren’t really a fan of that, one of Bruce’s past girlfriends had some strong and hurtful things to say about it. 

When you took her for a day out, she found herself warming up to you but still waiting for the other shoe to drop. One of the new places you had planned to go, didn’t have wheelchair access. Like all the other girlfriends who had done this, she expected you to be annoyed that your plans had to change or you would just leave her outside while you shopped. 

You didn’t seem to notice her hesitation, just looking at what was next on your list and starting the trip there. When Barbara stared a little longer at a new movie that was in theaters, tickets and snacks were bought and you listed to all the lore she told you about before it started.

While it had been a nice day, Barbara wasn’t convinced. One day was easy to fake. Sure she had lots of fun, but Barbara was used to fakes when it came to Bruce’s girlfriends. Of course she wasn’t complaining about you being nice, she just wasn’t sure how long it would last. 

“Did you hear about that boutique?” She looked up from her food to look at her dad. “That new one that you tried to go to with Bruce’s girlfriend? Well there was a report that it didn’t meet the Americans with Disabilities act and the boutique is in trouble. People are speculating they’ll have to close down.”

Later that night, Barbara looked into it. They were in trouble, pretty big trouble from the looks of it. Towards the end of the article she found the name of the person who reported it, she wasn’t sure who she was expecting. Not you for sure but the Name Y/n L/n took her by surprise and filled her chest with feelings she couldn’t describe. 

The boutique ended up closing but a new one opened. Once it was open, you were the first to ask her to go. That weird feeling came back when she wheeled herself up the ramp and through the door you held open for her. Later that night, in the privacy of her room. She decided she liked you. 

Steph seemed like she liked you, she acted like she liked you, she didn’t really like you. Sure you were nice, Bruce loved you, the others were warming up to you, but she wasn’t sure how to feel about you. So she stuck with not actually liking you but pretending to. 

So when she was around you, it was all smiles and jokes. She wasn’t a big fan of it all but she did it because she knew you were important to Bruce and that was enough of a reason for her. She knew Bruce and the others could see through the act but as long as you couldn’t, that was enough. 

When Bruce announced he had to leave for a business trip right before she could hand him the parents visit for one of her AP classes, something the new teacher liked doing. She tucked the paper away. When Tim gave her a questioning look, she shook her head and later swore him to silence. 

Every time she heard someone mention their parents were going, she felt a pang of jealousy in her chest. Every time Tim mentioned bringing it up to you, she swore him into silence again. It wouldn’t be the first time no one showed up for her. She was however thankful you wouldn’t be at the manor as much so she didn’t have to pretend to like you.

When the day arrived, Steph was not having a good day. School dragged on slowly. Slower than normal. When school finally ended, she had to sit in the classroom and watch everyone else that was in her class leave and the parents of her classmates show up while no one was there or coming for her.

Someone sat in the seat next to her, she expected another family member of one of her classmates. Definitely not you. She couldn’t return your smile, too unsure of how you found out, the fact you actually showed up, and how she felt about you being there. You leaned a little closer so that the others in the room wouldn’t easily overhear. 

“I know I’m not your parent and someone you just pretend to like so if you want me to leave I will. But I figured someone was better then no one. Oh, and Tim wanted me to tell you he didn’t spill. Your teacher called the manor because no one had RSVPed for you and I answered it.”

That night, as Steph showed off all her hard work to you, the charade fell. She actually enjoyed her time with you and the boost of pride as you oohed and ahhed over all her projects and listened to her explain all the little details. That night, Steph realized, she didn’t need to keep pretending. She liked you, until she found out you didn’t like her favorite show but a nerf war solved that. 

Cass could tell you were different then the other girlfriends, your body language as you interacted with all of them showed it. However that didn’t mean she knew how to interact with you.

She had learned that she was fairly hard for new people to interact with. She also knew she had trouble interacting with people she wasn’t fighting. So it wasn’t a surprise when it started rocky. 

What was a surprise, was when you found out she was still having trouble reading and writing, you stepped in to help. Well, that wasn’t the surprising part, a lot of girlfriends did that. The surprising part was the amount of patience you had when it was only the two of you. 

When one method didn’t help, you tried another. Never once did you snap at her or call her a name. Everytime you got frustrated you would stop and look at her, say something along the lines of “If I had as much trouble with this as you do, I wouldn’t want to keep trying. You're doing absolutely amazing! I’ll keep looking for other ideas, but for now, lets take a break and get a treat.” 

Cass wasn’t sure why that always made her feel better, but it did. Every treat you brought was something you made just for the tutoring sessions and it always reminded her of what Alfred had told her once. “Something made with love for you will always taste better.”

And when a method that made it a little easier to learn was found, Cass found herself smiling along with your cheers. Bad days where she couldn’t seem to make any progress were always met with the same excitement, cheers, patience, and treats that all the others were. 

Cass still wasn’t sure of what to think of you exactly, but she knew she liked you and that you cared about her.

So when Tim saw the new rise in hate, a sibling meeting was called. They all went through each site, blood boiling as they saw what people were saying about their new parent. Plans were made, declarations of war were ready, and anger fueled all of them. Bruce could tell something was going on, but he wasn’t sure what it was and as long as it didn’t get out of had, he wasn’t sure if he had the energy to deal with it. 

War was declared in an interview by Steph. The lady was asking questions when the topic switched to Bruce, then you. The reporter was clearly trying to subtly find some dirt on you and Steph was not going to stand for it.

“Oh yeah! Y/n! She’s the best!” She put on her best press face. Trying to hide her anger over the hidden intent. She didn’t have to lie or act when talking about you but the change in the lady’s face going to disappointment when she didn’t get anything she wanted was making her look very punchable. 

“She’s always showing up for us and making sure we’re doing ok. If Y/n and Bruce were to break up, I think most of us would go with Y/n.” The way the lady kept trying to get anything really got on her nerves and Steph decided she needed to get out of there before she started using the lady’s face for target practice. You wouldn’t like that.

Cass was the first one to resort to violence. They had asked a thinly veiled question, basically asking if you were a golddigger. So she punched him in the nose and leaned down to flip the camera off. She hated interviews already but that made it so much worse. She hoped you wouldn’t be too upset with her punching the guy though.

Jason, surprisingly enough. Did not get violent… physically. He did however curse one out and threaten him when the reporter implied you were forcing them to say nice things. When the reporter kept pressing Jason broke his mic and told him if he ever heard him talking bad about you again, a broken mic would be the last of his worries. Jason knew you would be disappointed but he had held back, he didn’t shoot the guy like he wanted.

Tim threw his coffee at one reporter because he heard them say you were nothing but a regular person who didn’t deserve any attention. He then took over her segment, threatening the company to air it or he would make sure they went bankrupt. Once he finished his threats, anything he said was praising you name. Telling everyone how amazing you were and how much they all loved you.

Barbara made it a point to bring up everything you did for the community when they tried to throw some shade at you in an interview. She had documents to prove it and hacked their systems to add them into the interview so they couldn’t claim it was fake. She also made sure to run over his foot when she left. 

Dick punched a reporter when they tried to ask him what you were really like behind closed doors. He told them the truth, that you were just as good, kind, patient, and loving behind closed doors as you were out in public. He didn’t throw a punch until the reporter disregarded that as asked again because she couldn’t be that good. Dick knew a lecture would be coming once you saw, but he would rather sit through a lecture then let anyone tarnish your name.

Damian spent 10 minutes cursing and threatening a reporter in Arabic when they asked him if you had ever hurt him. When he was done, he told them in english, that if he ever got asked that question again, he would impale them. He knew you were going to make him sit down and translate everything and the general response you would give but he didn’t care, no one speaks bad about either of his mothers.

Bruce figured out what was going on after Steph’s interview. He saw the ones where they assaulted or threatened the reporters and made sure his lawyers were on standby to keep the kids out of trouble. After all, he had seen more than they had. 

He had watched as you tried to connect with Dick early on, how you worked hard to try and get somewhere. He had woken up before you when Dick had come in that night and heard how you handled it. He had woken up the next morning to find you holding Dick close, like you were trying to protect him from the nightmares. He had seen how you never turned Dick down when he wanted comfort, no matter how serious or silly the matter, and he had heard your excitement when you told him Dick liked you.

Bruce had seen the way you never missed a visit to Jason’s grave, on a visit of his own, he saw how much care you showed the stone marking it as his lost son. While he hadn’t been sure why it was alway the same time on Tuesday, he didn;t mention it. He felt the way you would sob in his arms after each visit, a year after the tradition started, you always said you had promised not to tell and he watched as you kept that promise even if it tore you to pieces. Once the shock and tears wore off for a little bit, he could see the trust that Jason had in you.

He heard the way you questioned if you should have a key to the manor, you didn’t want to make Tim uncomfortable in his own home, or how you questioned if you should visit while he was gone. Not wanting to stress Tim out when there was no reason too. He saw the way you and Tim grinned at each other when you brought snacks down for all the kids he was currently lecturing. He head the excitement in your voice as you told him about the tour Tim had given you of the Batcave and the shared laughter as you and Tim worked together to win the nerf war.

Bruce saw how you worked to give Damian the affection he didn’t think he needed. He felt you crying in his arms upset over the fact Damian thought you would be angry because he made a mistake or struggled in a class. He heard you practicing your Arabic as you got ready for bed and he watched as you stress paced over whether or not you said the right thing to him about his mother. 

He saw how angry you had been when you came back from your day out with Barbara. He had heard your call with your lawyer as you tried to figure out what to do. He saw you going through the laws and making a list to make sure your lawyer didn’t miss any. He heard about the movie you didn’t particularly care about and the lore you remembered in case of another because you wanted Barbara to have someone she could tell all of her favorite things too. 

Bruce saw the pictures you had taken from the school night. He heard all the details from you as you praised Steph’s work. He saw the way Steph stopped acting around you and the silly arguments the two of you would get into for fun. He heard the way you would listen to her as she verbally worked out her problems. He saw the way Steph looked for you in a crowd, the way she knew you were there but not where you stood exactly, the thought of you not being there never crossed her. 

He saw the way you stayed up late, researching different ways to teach reading and writing. He heard the patience and kindness and you worked with Cass. He saw the way you always made a treat just for Cass to have after each lesson because you wanted to reward her hard work. He heard the way you cried for Cass when she had a bad day and got frustrated with herself because you knew she was smart and you wanted her to see it too. He heard your celebrations when Cass made any progress, no matter the size. 

Bruce heard, saw, and felt the way you worked hard to have a relationship with his kids. How you had mourned for their losses, celebrated their wins, and felt their pain. He saw the way his kids blossomed under your care, growing to be better and more confident in themselves. The way you cared for them as if they were your own flesh and blood. So when he was asked about his kids behavior, he said as much. 

“Y/n has worked hard to be accepted by them. She’s given so much of her time, effort, patience, and love and never wanted anything in return. She always shows up for them, no matter what the occasion is, big or small, it doesn’t matter. If they want her there, she’ll be there. Everytime they need or want her, she’s there. She never judges them and treats them as if they were her own blood. Of course their upset and lashing out, people are insulting the woman who has cared for them more then most of their biological mothers.”

Later, a clip of you scolding Bruce and all the kids went viral. While you were scolding them over their behavior and making the kids who had reacted with violence or threats write apology letters because asking mean questions does not make it right to respond badly especially when its someone just trying to start drama. Everyone one noticed that there was no actual bite to your tone and no anger when they all refused to stop acting like that. In fact, there was a small soft smile on your face as you shook your head at your family.

[yannawayne]

not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

SYNOPSIS: You get kidnapped and Damian snaps. TAGS: Graphic Depictions Of Violence! Genderneutral! Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Kidnapping, Childhood Trauma, My Mother is the Worst Woman Alive and I'm her Favorite Son, Damian is Eighteen.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

YOUR PALMS WERE PRESSED tightly against your eyes, wrists raw and burning from the rope that had bound them just minutes ago. Sobs slipped from your lips, eyes bloodshot, and mouth parched dry.

The rotting smell of the warehouse was an assault on your senses—an acrid mix of trash, harsh chemicals, and the faint tang of gunfire that lingered in the air.

There was a hushing in your ear as you leaned against a cloaked figure—Batman. Bruce. 

His hand rubbed at your back, firm and steady, a grounding presence amid the chaos. His cape, dark and imposing, wrapped around you like a shield, blocking out the violence unfolding just in front of you.

Shadows danced erratically on the walls as Robin moved with lethal precision. Bodies fell unconscious, thudding heavily against the concrete floor. Blood splattered. Screams echoed. Each punch landed with a sickening crunch, bones breaking. Crates and debris were scattered haphazardly, wood and concrete slamming onto the floor. 

Damian couldn't see anything but red.

His vision was tunneled, focused solely on the next target, the next blow, the next scream. 

A swift roundhouse kick sent one assailant crashing into a stack of crates, the wood splintering under the impact. One punch connected with a jaw, the sickening crunch of bone breaking echoing through the air. Blood sprayed on his fist. Another one rushed toward him, brandishing a knife, but he disarmed the man with a swift twist of the wrist, jamming the blade into the attacker's palm. The man screamed, clutching his arm as red streaked his skin.

Damian's eyes flickered with a dark satisfaction as he watched the thug stumble backward, clutching at the wound.

One last man remained. One who had lunged at him from behind, grappling onto his back. Damian scowled and surged backward, driving both himself and his attacker into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man's grip loosened, a pained gasp escaping his lips as the air was knocked out of him.

"Fool," Damian spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"

The thug whimpered, trying to scramble away, but Damian was relentless. He twisted sharply, dislodging the assailant and slamming an elbow into his ribs. The man crumpled against the wall, clutching his side, his eyes wide with fear and pain.

"You think you can touch those I care for and get away with it?" Damian growled. He didn't give the thug a moment to recover. He swung a powerful fist into the guy's face, the impact sending a spray of blood and teeth into the air. 

"F-Fuck you, man!" The man yanked a gun from his waistband, but before he could even line up a shot, Damian’s foot kicked out, sending the weapon flying through the air. The gun clattered against the concrete with a deafening clang. With a snarl, Damian lunged forward, grabbing the thug by the collar and slamming him into the ground.

"H-Hey! Mercy! Mercy! I'm a-already down!" the assailant wailed, his hands clawing at Robin's uniform in a desperate plea. "The Bat don’t kill! You—you ain't gonna kill me!"

Damian's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl.

"I'm not Batman," he spat, the tone amplified and darkened by the modulator. "Every breath you take is a mercy I choose to grant. By the time I'm finished, you'll be begging for death."

He raised his fist, the tension in his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. The thug’s eyes widened in terror, his pleas growing frantic as he braced for the blow. However, just as Damian’s fist was about to land, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, grabbing onto his hand with a vice-like grip. Before he could react, Batman—Bruce—had tackled him, pinning him firmly against his chest. 

“Robin,” Batman’s voice was firm, concern barely concealed. “That’s enough.”

Damian's struggle was fierce, his body thrashing under his father’s strength as he roared in fury.

“Let me go!” he screamed, his voice raw with anger. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to them!”

The anger engulfed Damian like a stormy ocean, dragging him beneath its violent waves. Visions of his mother’s face, his grandfather’s form, and accusing shadows surged from the depths, all condemning him. Damian’s cries erupted into a raw, guttural scream, gradually dissolving into ragged gasps as he battled the relentless tide.

Though Bruce had shaped him into a hero, a beacon of justice, and his family had offered him a fragile semblance of belonging, Damian was still his mother’s son.

The violence and anger roiling within him were like roots twisted deep within his soul. There was not a thing that could purge the primal rage and pain that had taken root before his first breath.

When he finally broke through the surface, baptized in blood and weighed down by sins that clung to him like chains, he sought you out with an urgent, almost desperate need.

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

Your hands were carefully peeled away from your eyes, and you met soft emerald eyes through a veil of tears. His hands moved to unlatch his cape, the soft fabric pooling around your form. His lips, speaking in his mother tongue, murmured a soothing litany of comfort, Arabic endearments flowing like silk. He pressed your head against his chest and you found refuge in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Bruce watched the scene with a pensive look. His son's body had dwarfed you, broad shoulders and strong muscles enveloping your form like a shield. His head was tucked into your hair, his hands raking all over your tense and sweaty skin.

Damian had momentarily shed the hardened exterior he so often wore—a soldier with a heart that, despite its armor, occasionally revealed cracks. This was a side of him that often surprised people.

Because Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

He was all sharp edges. Poisonous, scalding words that could sear through the thickest armor of patience. Rough, nearly violent in his touch, like a blade pressed against skin. There was no gentleness in his movements, no softness in his gestures, only the relentless precision of a trained killer.

From the earliest moments he could walk, his life was an unending series of tests, each more grueling than the last. Each cut and bruise was a lesson. Failure was met with harsh punishment, success with silent approval. Affection and praise were as rare as mercy. 

The League’s doctrine was ingrained in him: emotions were vulnerabilities, attachments were liabilities, and loyalty was owed only to the mission and the League. His purpose in the League of Assassins was clear—to be the perfect instrument of their will, a living embodiment of their principles. 

Emotion was his enemy, a weakness to be purged.  He was taught to suppress his feelings, to turn them off like a switch. Pain was an illusion, fear a phantom to be banished. He learned to compartmentalize his thoughts, locking away his humanity in the deepest recesses of his mind. 

By the time he reached ten, he was a finely honed instrument of death.

A living weapon in a world that knew no peace.

It had taken Bruce eight grueling years to begin undoing the damage. And even then, he had barely scratched the surface.

Then there was you.

The trembling, warm-faced student Damian had introduced during his senior year—his partner for a science project, he said. 

At first, the interactions were subtle—a fleeting glance here, a hesitant smile there. But as time went on, it became impossible to ignore the way your presence began to soften the sharp edges of Damian's demeanor.

Bruce had seen you both fall for each other over the months. And he saw hope. 

You were the opposite of every lesson Damian has ever been taught.

To him, you were soft, in every sense. Soft movements, soft features, soft voice. Everything about you exuded comfort.

You made something he had always pushed down and shut away come to the surface.

You made him feel things—things he should not.

When you touched him with your soft hands, everything in him burned. The gentle brush of your fingers against his skin ignited a searing heat, a raw and unfamiliar longing that clawed violently at the walls he had worked so hard to maintain. Each touch chipped away at the concrete barriers of his training, breaking them down and leaving him exposed, aching for something he couldn’t quite name.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

Mania. Drake had called it, a wild obsession of his that could consume and devour.

Damian's arms encircled you like a lifeline, holding you close as though he feared you might slip away. His lips brushed against your temple, warm and tender, while his biceps pressed firmly under your chest, anchoring you in his embrace. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and the lingering residue of fear. 

And yet, amidst these odors, there was an underlying, almost imperceptible hint of Damian’s cologne—Arabian oudh. It was rich and smoky, with notes of aged wood, a faint earthy sweetness, and subtle undertones of leather and spice.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, the fabric of his suit brushing against your cheek.

A Crush. Todd had chalked it up to puppy love, something that would eventually fade with time.

He lifted you effortlessly from the floor, his strength evident in his smooth, controlled movements. The way he adjusted his hold with such care to ensure your comfort spoke louder than any words could.

Warmth enveloped you—Damian had always run hotter, like a human furnace. On sweltering days, his clinginess (no matter how much he denied it) had been a nuisance, his heat making you feel as if your skin might melt off. But now, that same warmth was a comforting embrace, a welcome shield.

Infatuation. Grayson had suggested, thinking it was just a fleeting, intense passion. But there was something deeper in the way he looked at you, something that felt permanent and unshakeable.

“I am here. I am here, beloved," he spoke to you lowly. "It's alright now."

Love. His father called it.

In an instant, everything seemed to collapse around you. Tears welled up and streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed into his chest, each shudder of your body sending waves of anguish through him. Damian’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of you. 

He has seen suffering—he has inflicted suffering. But this was different. Your pain was a torment he was helpless to alleviate. 

Face twisted in guilt, he pulled you tighter against him, as though he could hold the world’s pain at bay if he just held you close enough.

A hand tapped at his shoulder, and he flinched, turning to see his father.

“The Batmobile is just by the docks. We can—”

“They're in shock,” Damian scowled. the fire back in his eyes. “Do you honestly believe they're in any state to be moved at this moment?”

Bruce’s gaze was firm. “Damian, we don’t have time to—”

“They need to be stabilized first,” Damian cut in sharply, his tone brooking no argument. He turned abruptly, striding towards the exit. “If you want them to survive this, we need to take care of them properly, not rush them into a car. I shall be outside.”

Without waiting for a response, Damian moved swiftly, the clatter of his boots echoing as he stepped into the cool night air with you. Once the warehouse door closed behind him, he turned his full attention back to you, his hand gently brushing your tear-streaked face. 

He moved to press his forehead gently against yours, the warmth of his skin meeting yours in a tender connection. He could offer no verbal comfort anymore; words seemed woefully inadequate. Your cries gradually subsided as you drew comfort from his presence.

Love.

He lifted his hand to the side of his face, pressing a button. As his mask retracted, his eyes met yours. Damian knew that more than anything else, you loved his eyes.

Time and again, you found yourself drawn to them, unable to tear your gaze away. They were hypnotic—an exquisite blend of emerald green, green as vibrant as the leather cover of his sketchbook, flecked with gold and streaked with brown paint.

His eyes were windows to his soul, offering the only genuine glimpse into the depths of his emotions. In them, you could see his anger burning like a stormy sea, joy dancing like sunlight on rippling water, embarrassment flitting like a shadow, and pain etched as deep as his scars.

At times, his eyes grew gentle, revealing something much softer—something that made your heart swell and your knees feel weak. A love so pure and unexpected that it could melt the coldest of hearts.

Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

But in these soft, fragile moments he shared with you, where his heart beat in sync with yours, Damian found an unexpected calm. It was in these rare interludes, away from the brutality and darkness that defined his world, that he could truly be himself.

Here, he was not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

ao3: yenwayne

NOTE: I want to delve into the line I wrote: 'Damian is still his mother’s son.'

It's just to show his trauma, I despise Talia with all my guts.

Talia's control over Damian is a textbook example of manipulative conditioning at its most extreme. In psychological development, early experiences and parental influence are crucial in shaping one's self-concept. From his earliest days, Damian was deprived of a normal childhood. His personality, thoughts, and desires have all been sculpted by the League of Assassins from day one.

His anger, protectiveness, and sense of duty are manifestations of this—a child raised to be a killer, now struggling with the fragments of a humanity that was never fully allowed to blossom.

I'm not saying he hasn't changed!!! He has turned into so much more than the weapon they intended him to be. He is genuinely good. But the impact of such deep-seated trauma cannot be easily overlooked or resolved. It’s not something that can simply be swept under the rug or fixed overnight.

So, this was my attempt at capturing his character! I’m very open to constructive criticism since I’m new to the fandom. Please be kind and gentle with your feedback :)

[dclovesdanny]

Dcxdp

Biofam 4/5

Maddie didn’t speak to her father, as did her sister. Unfortunately, that made it hard for them to contact their favorite uncle, but when they left at eighteen, they both agreed it was for the best. Even after they found out the old man was dead, they didn’t reach out, unsure of what they would say.

That was then.

Now, with shaking hands covered in ectoplasm,(god her baby was hurt, she had been hurting her baby, THOSE BASTARDS IN WHITE HURT HER BABIES) she dialed the number that she had never managed to forget.

“Hello, who is this and how did you get this number?” The British accent soothed a part of her she hadn’t noticed was tense.

“Uncle Alfred.” Maddie could barely choke out his name, hands still shaking. “I need help.”

[porcelian]

TRICKS, TREATS, & TOGETHER

PAIRING: jason todd ✗ gn!reader ;

SYNOPSIS: going treat-or-treating with your boyfriend and his little brother ;

ANON ASKED: “ Idea: Jason and Reader take Damian trick-or-treating and get mistaken for as his parents. ”

WARNINGS: none ! ;

WORD COUNT: 0.7k ;

NOTES: i regret keeping up with the “” ..

── .✦ MASTERLIST ; NAVIGATION.

THE EARTHY SMELL OF PUMPKINS WAFTS IN THE AIR. The manor is covered in decorations, inspired by the festive season of fall and the ‘spooky’ feeling of Halloween, as Dick puts it. Small ghost and orange-white candy cut-outs hang from the ceiling, spiderwebs and pumpkins littering the floor.

Speaking of pumpkins, Jason’s hand is covered in it. Mandatory ‘pumpkin carving’ session, Steph said. He tries to grip the makeshift knife to finish carving the angry triangle eye of the pumpkin, but his efforts fall short again.

He was hesitant to join in on the festivities, but after you were invited, you practically dragged him over to the manor.

“Seriously, Jason?” Tim deadpans, looking over Jason’s poorly carved pumpkin.

“It looks so miserable,” Duke says, stifling a giggle.

Jason playfully grins as he flicks pieces of pumpkin at them. “Good to know my struggle is entertaining for you guys.”

You chuckle, the sound a sweet melody to his ears.

You were with Alfred, baking his signature desserts that everyone knows and loves. The sweet smell catches the attention of everyone near the table; Steph already looks ready to pounce for the first bite with Cass right behind her.

You walk in with a plate full of cookies, little ghosts painted on them with frosting. The silly faces remind Jason of his family's failed attempts at carving them.

Tim stands up, waltzing near the plate. “I’ll take this one. Looks like it’s calling my name.”

"Excuse me? I literally saw it first." Steph’s cheeks puff up.

“You saw it, but I claimed it. There's a difference.”

Before either of them can grab a bite, you sneakily hand one to Damian.

He stares at the offering before taking it in his hand.

“C’mon, taste it. It’s a special recipe that Alfred and I came up with.” You smile.

Damian takes a bite, pouting before a small smile forms on his face. “It is acceptable.”

“Told ya.”

A chorus of groans comes from the rest of the family. Jason chuckles as he moves closer to stand beside you, wrapping an arm around your frame.

“Losing sucks, doesn’t it?”

“You lost too, Babybird,” Dick playfully rolls his eyes.

“That’s what you think.” You hand him the second cookie, which he bites into, looking all too satisfied.

“Halloween doesn’t seem all too bad,” Damian comments. “It is my first one, and I am satisfied with it.”

That catches your attention. “Your first Halloween? Have you ever gone trick-or-treating?”

“No, I have not.”

You turn to face Jason, an unspoken request hanging in the air. He looks at you, then at Damian, a soft smile forming on his lips. “Guess we’re going trick-or-treating, then.”

Damian looks at both of you, a faint hint of surprise in his eyes. “That seems rather childish.”

“Oh, c’mon,” you laugh, ruffling his hair gently. “It’s all part of the experience. Besides, you’ll be with us. It’ll be fun.”

Jason smirks, wiping his hands clean of pumpkin bits. “I’ll get my jacket.”

*****

The three of you stroll through the streets of Gotham, the night alive with the chatter and laughter of kids dashing between houses. Damian, dressed as a mini vigilante—because, of course, he refused to wear anything else—keeps a straight face, but there’s a lightness in his step that betrays his excitement. Jason walks beside you, his hand finding yours, and you can’t help but grin at the relaxed atmosphere.

As you make your way from house to house, collecting candy in the little pumpkin bucket Damian insisted on carrying, a couple of neighbors smile warmly at the three of you.

“Such a cute family!” one older woman comments, handing out candy to Damian. “Enjoy the night with your little one.”

Both you and Jason freeze for a moment before bursting out laughing, much to Damian’s annoyance.

A faint pink blush covers Jason's cheeks, one you notice as you intertwine your fingers with his—a silent promise. Someone just referred to you and him as parents, as a family. The thought brings him a solace he didn’t think he could feel.

“We are not—” Damian starts, but you quickly pat his head.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll get you more candy,” you tease, winking at Jason.

“Should’ve brought the Batmobile stroller,” Jason adds, grinning as Damian glares up at him.

“Both of you are insufferable,” Damian mutters, but there’s no hiding the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as the three of you continue your night.

© PORCELIAN﹕ I do not give consent for my writing to be posted or used on any other platforms without my permission and proper credit.

[jaythes1mp]

Shallow

Yandere Batfam x Merfolk Reader ♧romantic♣︎

Aquaman, Aqualad, Mera, and any other underwater hero’s and creatures don’t exist in this.

||-→ I tried to make each pov a different style of writing ||

There was something so captivatingly beautiful about observing the humans from below the surface, as they went about their daily lives, traversing the Metro-Narrows Bridge. The elders had always warned you to keep your distance from the world above, but you couldn't resist sneaking glances at the peculiar, moving metal boxes zooming across the streets, or the striking figures donning vibrant spandex who soared through the skies at night.

The bridge, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, cast an ethereal light across the water of the river. This sight, enhanced by the night, would always catch your attention, especially when they appeared. Moving in and out of the shadows, darting around or simply standing on the railing, lost in their own worlds.

You had grown fond of observing them as they soared through the night sky, reminiscent of the graceful movements of swans. Their elegance was effortless, seemingly defying gravity as they traversed the air. It was in those moments, watching the sky people glide past, that you were struck by the rawness of their beauty.

You never dared to come too close to the surface during the day, the haunting tales from your pod serving as a constant reminder of the horrors that existed above the water. But the night was a different story; it’s when you were more willing to take risks. The darkness provided the perfect cover, shrouding you in obscurity as the humans slept.

Though you supposed that the real reason you continued to venture up to the surface was because it was the time that they emerged, gliding through the air and gracefully traversing the buildings. Their shadows, illuminated by the silvery light of the moon, seemed to dance in perfect harmony with the night. Always seeming to captivate your attention in a way that no underwater creatures could.

However, on this particular night, you noticed something out of the ordinary. One of the usually lively land creatures was sluggish and listless, moving with none of the fluid grace that you had come to admire. A deep crimson liquid seeped through the fabric of his suit, spattering across the spandex and staining it a dark, ominous hue.

You cautiously approached the surface, swimming closer than you had ever dared to before. Slowly, you emerged, peering just above the water's edge.

You couldn’t see the human clearly, obscured as he was by the sizable drop between the bridge and the water below, but the scent he carried was undeniable. There was something utterly alluring about his aroma. It was a stark contrast to the familiar scents of salt and oil you were used to underwater. You haven't come across anything even remotely similar to it before.

The land dweller was undeniably beautiful.

A loud crash shattered the silence, jolting your attention back to reality. Your gills flared out in alarm, and in your surprise, the soft bioluminescent glow of your tail dimmed down, a natural response to the potential threat.

You backed away, submerging yourself down into the safety that the depths of the water provided. Your gaze fixating on the figure in the distance, decorated in his familiarly vibrant red and yellow attire. This one hastily making his way to the blue-clad human's side, concern decorated across his face, his actions imbued with urgency. Mask torn from his face.

With a heavy sigh, you turned your back from the scene unfolding above, releasing a flurry of bubbles that rose to the surface. Your pods stern warnings echoing in your mind, a constant reminder of the dangers that lay in the world above.

You make it no more than fifteen feet before a thunderous splash shatters the silence, the seawaters ripples rolling across your skin and triggering an involuntary shiver, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your tail instinctively sprung into action, propelling you back with a rapid, powerful flick.

With a sudden movement, your arms encircled the man's sinking frame, securing a firm grip on his sides. Your eyes widening in shock at the contact, your webbed fingers digging into his flesh, anchoring him in place.

For a moment, you paused, studying him. Your eyes absorbing every little detail. From the man's soft, almost spongy flesh under your touch, how soft and almost squishy his land dwelling arms were, how they seemed to just give way to the touch of your webbed fingers. Then to the way the baby blue suit of his that clung to him, was torn and tattered, ripping away underwater. Your gaze lingering on the deep red liquid seeping out of his torso, staining his skin and leaving a trail of ominous scarlet. And then, your gaze travelled to the two bizarre, elongated limbs extending from his waist. A stark contrast to the streamlined grace of your own tail.

His lips parted, releasing a stream of bubbles, each one ascending to the surface before vanishing from sight. You watched as his body suddenly went limp in your arms, reminding you of the dire situation you had inadvertently involved yourself in. With a powerful flick of your tail, you swiftly propelled yourself to the surface, bringing him up so that he could breathe. Your gills flared out, working overtime to filter oxygen from the water while you waited, your hearts hammering in your chest.

When the human made no attempt to improve, limp and unresponsive, you couldn't suppress the deep hiss that escaped from the back of your throat. Your grip tightening around his frame, your tail coiled tighter around his legs, an attempt to stabilise and bring some form of response from him. Your eyes grew large in desperation as you shook him back and forth, each movement growing more frantic with the passing seconds.

You directed your attention to the deep red liquid that was oozing out of his abdomen, its thick, almost oily consistency spreading out in little waves around you in the water. Coming out in shallow pulses. You tilted your head slightly, noting that the fluid's flow didn't seem natural. It felt wrong, a gut feeling of sorts. You hastily reached for the pouch tethered to your hip, pulling out a woven bundle of seaweed and a salve prepared by the elders of your pod.

You delicately began to layer the salve over the gaping wound, taking care to press the woven seaweed into the lesion. The salve, a rich green and purple, had a cooling effect as it made contact with the human's skin. A crucial aspect due to its high iodine content, which helps to close the large gash. As the ointment came into contact with the blood, it began to congeal and bind the tissue together, halting the bleeding.

However, you were acutely aware of the human, who remained unresponsive. His chest, which should've been rising and falling with each inhale, lay still. A sudden panic clutched at your hearts, threatening to overwhelm you. You weren't sure what the proper human anatomy was, but it was abundantly clear that he needed to breathe.

You placed a webbed hand on his chest, the flesh there surprisingly firm. You pushed down, then up again, attempting to mimic the breathing motions you had seen him and others do. Your heart pounded in your chest as you pleaded for him to respond, a silent mantra running through your head. With urgency, you placed a firm grip on the back of his neck, tilting his head back, the gills on your neck flaring out to pull in as much oxygen as they could. Your tail coiling tightly around his waist to keep him afloat.

Despite the pressure you exerted, there was no response from him. His chest remained still, no signs of life. Your breath hitched at the sight, a sense of desperate desperation washing over you. You were frantically trying to keep his head tilted back while the water was washing over his face, the cool liquid creating small ripples that mirrored the urgency of the moment. His body remained motionless, unresponsive to your frantic attempts. You could feel the pressure building in your own chest, your gills working overtime to extract oxygen.

In a final, desperate attempt, you lean in closer, positioning yourself to allow your webbed fingers to forcibly pry open his parted lips. You took in a deep breath and expelled it through the opening, pushing every ounce of air you could manage into his unresponsive lungs.

You repeated the action multiple times, exerting every ounce of effort to force air into his trachea. Each breath, heavy and laboured. You finally pulled back, allowing yourself a moment of respite. Your breaths came out ragged and sharp, a stark contrast to the steady, undisturbed water around you.

As he remains unresponsive, his body frighteningly limp, your body goes slack, a wave of disappointment washing over you. Reluctantly, you release your grip on him and let him go, his body now floating eerily close to yours. You close your eyes tight, trying to swallow the lump in your throat that was rapidly forming.

You flinch at the sudden and unexpected contact, your eyes fluttering open. An alarmed hiss escaped once again through your lips, more out of surprise than anything else. Just as you were about to submerge yourself underwater, a firm hand grasped your shoulder, its grip strong and unwavering.

"Y-you're...alive.", you stuttered out, a mixture of disbelief and awe laced in your raspy voice. The hand on your shoulder felt firm and real, a stark contrast to the nightmarish scenario you had just been a part of.

“Nightwing?” Red Robin's voice cuts through the quiet night, bouncing off the empty alleyways. Frustrated, he takes off his comms, readjusting them to try again for the sixth time in the last ten minutes.

"Dick, come in," he practically growls out, tapping on his device with a little more force than necessary.

“Where the hell are you?” he mutters, staring up at the tall buildings. Dick’s always late, but this was getting ridiculous. With a sigh, he leans back against the wall, crossing his arms as he waits.

A low, familiar voice crackles on the other end of the comms. “Stalker.”

Tim rolls his eyes, recognising the voice immediately. It was too late in the night to put up with him. “Jason.” he sighs, “What do you want. Have you heard from Dick?”

“Not a word.” The response is curt, and the annoyance in Jason’s voice is obvious. He rarely joined in their patrols, preferring to stick to his own methods of dealing with things.

Tim lets out a frustrated huff, tapping his fingers impatiently against his arm. Of course Dick would pick now to go radio silent.

He ran his fingers through his hair, closing his eyes for a moment to let out a frustrated groan. He was stressed enough as it is, none of this was helping.

“You’re patrolling the Narrows?” Jason’s voice breaks through Tim’s thoughts, pulling him back to reality. He looks around, taking in the surroundings with a frown. The Narrows was never a good place to be alone.

“Yeah.” he responds, not taking his eyes off of the shadows. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to know, Dick’s nowhere to be seen. In or out of uniform.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and Tim can practically hear the smirk in Jason’s voice.

“Need backup?” he offers, amusement clear in his tone. The elder boy mocking him.

Tim scowls, shaking his head even if he knew Jason couldn’t see him. “No.” he replies curtly. “I’m not a child, I can handle this myself.”

“Sure, kid.” Jason’s response is just as dismissive. “I’ll come check on you in a bit anyway. Make sure you haven’t gotten your ass kicked.”

Tim’s scowl deepens at Jason’s reply, not appreciating the offer of help — or the nickname. “I don’t need a babysitter.” he grumbles. “I’m going to find Dick, and I don’t need your help.”

There’s a pause, and Tim can practically hear the eye roll from Jason. “Whatever you say, Replacement. I’ll be there soon.”

“No—” Before Tim can protest, the comms go silent. Damn it, Jason.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, biting at the inside of his cheek. The last person he needed to see right now was Jason. The last time he’d come face to face with the man, things didn’t go so well.

Tim grits his teeth and pushes himself off of the wall. He had better things to do than get into a fight with his older brother. Like finding his other older brother.

With a huff, Tim starts walking, making his way through the narrow alleys of the Narrows. It’s quiet, eerily so, and his instincts are on high alert.

Everything feels off. The air is still, and he can’t shake the feeling of being watched. His breath stutters in his chest, but he pushes the feeling down. He had work to do.

“Dick?” he calls out, his headset’s blinking green light signalling the message going through. He glances around cautiously as he moves. “Nightwing, come in. Can you hear me?”

There’s no response, and Tim tries again. Nothing but static. His shoulders tense, the unease growing in the pit of his stomach. This wasn’t like Dick. The man was always on top of communication.

Tim continues forward, his footsteps quick and light. He keeps his eyes scanning the shadows around him, but the silence is deafening. Where the hell is he?

A muffled crunch breaks the silence, and the boy freezes, his breath hitching. It was faint, coming from somewhere off the alley in front of him. His heart rate quickens, and he carefully shifts on his feet, trying to pinpoint the source.

There was something across the street. Someone.

Tim squints, his eyes trying to make out what it was. It was too dark to tell. Damn it, why can’t Dick be here to deal with this..

He’s too used to working in a team, having the security of someone else there to watch his back. The someone’s in question usually being Batman or Nightwing.

He steels himself, slipping into a fighting stance and taking slow steps forward. He can’t let his guard down, not now.

As he moves, the shape across the street shifts. It’s still far away, but from the size and height, he could tell it was definitely a figure.

His comms device beeps, startling the boy and nearly causing him to stumble. He quickly scrabbles to check it, hoping for some sort of answer or communication.

“Red.” Jason’s voice comes through, static breaking up some of the message. The device was clearly reaching a limit. “Can you hear me? Dick’s in trouble.” The voice, as crackling as it was over the broken comms, sounded dishevelled and panted. Jason rarely called for help.

With a final glance at the figure across the street, Tim’s eyes flicker back down to the comms in his hand. Jason found him.

“Where are you?” he asks, not wasting a second as he sets off at a sprint. He didn’t care what kind of trouble Nightwing had gotten into, he just needed to get there.

“Don’t worry about me. Get to Metro-Narrows Bridge.”

The urgency in Jason’s voice has Tim’s heartbeat racing. He doesn’t question it, just continues sprinting. He knew the bridge, and knew it was far.

“...” he grits his teeth. “I’m on my way.”

Tim hits the wall with a pained gasp, eyes squeezed shut as he doubles over coughing at the impact. His vision swims. Shit.

He lets out a sharp gasp, the breath knocked out of him as he’s smashed against the hard bricks. The pain doesn’t have time to register, as his mind is sent into a panicked frenzy.

He sucks in a low breath, trying to clear his head and figure out what the hell just happened. There’s a shuffle of feet, and the distinct sound of metal being unsheathed.

The attack was too precise, too sudden. He grunts, trying to push himself back away from the wall, but a large hand keeps him pinned.

His head finally stops swirling, and he can focus on the large figure in front of him. Not good.

He’s a towering wall of a man, arms bigger than Tim’s head. He’s muscular, clearly built like a brawler. The metal that had unsheathed was a knife, the sharp, gleaming blade being held firmly in the man’s large hand.

“No more running.” the man growls, his other hand still keeping Tim pinned against the wall.

Tim glared up at him.

He’s been in situations similar to this before. He’s fought and won against opponents bigger than him, more experienced than him. He needed to stay calm, and assess the situation.

With a pained grunt, he pushes against the man’s arm, struggling to break free. The man just leans closer, his breath hot in Tim’s face.

The smell of smoke and old alcohol fills Tim’s nose, making him want to retch as the man sneers at him. “Struggle all you want, kid.” he drawls. “You’re coming with me one way or another..” Tim clenches his jaw.

He analyses the situation quickly. His equipment was in his belt, but pinned tight against the wall left him with very little mobility. He had to find a way to get away swiftly, before the man could do him any serious harm.

Tim’s mind races, trying to work out a way to get himself out of this. He’s too close quarters to the man, and any attempt to get away would lead to him getting a knife in his gut.

The man’s grip tightens, making him gasp as the knife is held closer to his skin. His eyes darted around, searching for anything useful. He would have to time this right. “Stop squirmin.’” The man’s gruff voice rang out.

Tim ignores him, grunting as he struggles against the hand pinning him. There had to be something he could use to—

A gleam of something metal catches his eye, and he glances down, spotting a metal pipe sticking out of an open garbage bin. It wasn’t much, but it might be enough.

Tim takes in a shallow breath, his mind racing for a second. “Why are you doing this?” he asks, trying to keep the man talking and distracted.

“Don’t try any shit, sidekick.” He tightened his hold on the boy, using his other hand to get out a walkie-talkie from the pouch on his chest.

Sidekick? Tim’s teeth gritted, a spark of anger flaring up in the back of his mind. He wasn’t just a sidekick.

Tim’s eyes glance down again at the pipe, trying to calculate his next move. He watched as the man brought the walkie-talkie up to his mouth, his heart rate increasing as he prepared to act.

“I got a bird out here,” the man grunted into the device, keeping his eyes fixed on Tim. “Found him in the-“

He barely had time to react before Tim acted. With a sudden burst of strength, he jerks forward, wrenching himself free from the man’s grip. He immediately drops down, grabbing the metal pipe and brandishing it like a weapon. Flinging it into the man’s hand that held the radio. The impact caused him to drop it, as he let out a cry of pain, stumbling back.

Tim didn’t hesitate. He quickly used the momentary opening of shock and pain to his advantage, striking the man hard in the stomach with the pipe. The man grunted, his hand instinctively going to where he’d been hit.

He wasn’t about to give the thug any time to recover. He brought up a leg and kicked out fast, nailing him hard in the knee. The man yelled out again, staggering back.

He raged, stumbling forward and landing one hard punch against Tim’s face.

The younger boy’s head snapped to the side from the hit, the force of it knocking his mask askew, cracking and splitting as he reeled back. His vision swims from the impact, but he can taste the distinct taste of blood in his mouth.

He stumbled back, bringing a hand up to his face and cursing, blood seeping down his face.

His head hurt. A lot. That one hit had left him dizzy, and his cheek stung like hell.

The pain is enough to clear his mind though, and he refocuses on the man in front of him. His lip is split, and his cheek feels like it’s on fire. His mask hangs half off of his face.

Tim grits his teeth, glaring at the man with a new found fire in his eyes. He wasn’t going to let some random thug take him out.

The perpetrator lets out a huff, spitting out a glob of blood onto the floor next to him. An ugly sneer plastered his face, and he stepped forward, reaching down for the knife that had been discarded on the ground. “You little shit.” he spat. “I’ll make you pay for that.”

His eyes flickered down to the knife held flimsily in his hand. He needed to get out of this. The man was bigger and definitely stronger, but obviously nowhere near as experienced as Tim was. He’s surprised that the thug had even managed to get in a decent hit to his face.

His mind is too preoccupied, caught up in the whirlwind of thoughts, and he fails to notice the man’s approach until the moment he's already upon him. The thug's fury makes him careless and ill-prepared, the sound of his stumbling footsteps betraying his presence due to the injury on his knee.

Tim quickly raises his arm instinctively, attempting to shield himself as the man’s towering frame comes charging at him. He’s tackled to the ground in a single swift move, the impact crushing his ribs against the concrete floor.

His back hits the ground, the air getting knocked out of him for the second time that night. The man’s weight pinned him to the ground, the air leaving his lungs in a loud gasp as he struggled.

The man had the knife clutched in his hand, the gleam of the blade reflecting the lights of the city as it was raised up, aimed to strike.

Drake nearly sneered at the sight. He’s an amateur. Over confident in himself and relying solely on force.

Tim’s eyes darkened, his glare locked on the man above him. He was not going to be defeated by some two-bit mugger.

He kicked out at the man, aiming for his still injured knee. The man grunted as he took the kick, shifting off balance for just a second.

It was enough of an opening for Tim to react. He pushed up on the man, using the momentum to roll them both over, switching their positions and taking the top. He wasted no time in smashing the man’s head against the ground, knocking him out stone cold. Blood pooling down against the pavement.

He paused, breathing heavily as he stared down at the man. His lip stung as blood still trickled down his face, the adrenaline in his system beginning to wear off.

Tim sat there for a moment, letting out a hiss of pain as he lifted a hand and gently touched his split lip. He gingerly moved his fingers through his hair, grimacing as he felt the beginnings of a bruise on the side of his face.

Dick was still in trouble. That was the thought at the front of his mind, the reason he was out here and why he had to get to that bridge.

With a wince, Tim pushed himself up, staggering for a moment as a wave of nausea passed over him. He was pretty sure he’d developed a minor concussion from being thrown into the wall.

Everything ached, and his body was screaming at him to just stay down. He ignored it. Nightwing was his priority.

He swayed for a moment, his vision going white around the edges as his head spun, before he managed to stay standing and start moving again.

He didn’t think, he just ran.

He’s still panting as his feet hit the concrete, his body protesting the movement. The nausea from his concussion was becoming very real, and he had to stop to take a deep breath to steady himself.

Fuck, he was going to throw up, wasn’t he?

Tim bit his tongue and started running again, forcing himself to push on and ignore the pain. He had to keep moving.

The cold, night air hurt his lungs, but he didn’t stop. Not even as the pain from the beating began to make itself known with each hard footstep against the concrete. He had to get to the bridge.

He kept going at a brutal pace, ignoring how his vision swam and how every breath he took just made him feel like he needed to puke.

He’s not sure how long he had ran, his mind focused entirely on just moving. One foot in front of the other, he just kept going.

As he rounded the corner, he noticed the bridge in the distance. His eyes widening, watching Dick stagger back against the railings edge.

Tim stumbled for a moment, but pushed himself back up, keeping himself moving forward. He could barely see straight, but nothing else mattered. Nightwing’s tall and dark silhouette was leant against the night light of the bridge. Even from a distance, he could see the blood on Dicks skin, staining the side of his face, his suit’s front ripped open, a large gash in his abdomen pooling out onto the ground.

Tim’s speed quickens, every muscle in his body crying in protest but he continues on. All he could focus on was the sight of Nightwing. In the low light, he could see Dick’s shoulders moving with each heavy breath, looking seconds away from collapsing.

In a desperate attempt to save his mentor, Tim lunges forward and grabs onto Dick's arm. However, the fabric of the torn and damaged suit simply tears further under the force, causing Dick to slip free from Tim's grasp and fall into the dark, ominous water below.

"NO—!" The cry escapes Tim's mouth in a choked rush, the sound filled with anguish and fear. With a desperate burst of energy, he lunges forward, his hand reaching out in a desperate attempt to cling to Dick's suit, to anything that would keep him from falling.

But it was too late. He was too late.

His heart hammers frantically against his chest as he gazes down into the dark depths below, his eyes wide and searching desperately for even a glimpse of Dick in the river's deep murky water.

His breath hitches, a silent sob wracking his frame as he slumps over the edge of the bridge, his hands shaking as he brings them up to his face. His blood-slick fingers thread through his hair, his eyes wide as they stay fixed on the dark water where Dick had fallen.

The sound of a vehicle approaching in the distance catches his ears, but he doesn't acknowledge it. He doesn't turn to see who it is or check to see if it's a threat. He just keeps staring down into the water, the sound of the river below the only thing he can hear over his panicked breathing.

Jason came to a crashing halt at the side of the bridge, the panicked urgency in his voice clear. He stumbled off his bike, nearly falling as he yelled out.

"Where is he--” His hollow eyes darted around at their surroundings. "WHERE IS HE?!"

Dick.

Tim's eyes widened as Nightwing's head broke the surface of the water, his body floating limp against the current. He's alive.

His shoulders tense as he quickly scrambles to his feet, his body protesting in pain with each movement.

The relief he feels is quickly drowned out, however, as he notices the large bioluminescent tail wrapped around his older brother's lower half, keeping him from crashing with the harsh currents. 

Jason quickly approached the bridges railing, his heavy boots thudding loudly against the concrete, his heart racing thunderously against his chest, deep sapphire eyes following Tim's wide gaze down into the water. As he saw the sight in front of him, his eyes widened in disbelief.

He gripped the rough stone ledge, leaning over to get a better look at his brother. "What the fuck is that?" The older boys voice cuts through the ringing in Drake's ears.

Tim couldn't respond, his eyes glued on the large tail, his jaw slack. He took in the sight of the long powerful appendage wrapped around his brother's waist. It was beautiful. The long black scales seemed to glow a soft purple even in the dim moon’s light, as if the creature attached was glowing itself. The bioluminescence was something that one could only describe as ethereal.

Tim's heart raced as he took a step closer to the edge of the bridge, his eyes darting around, trying to catch a glimpse of the creature. He couldn't believe his eyes. Neither of them could.

Tim's mind reeled, trying to comprehend what they were seeing. His heart was pounding, his breath coming in short gasps as he tried to process the situation. He knew that he should be scared. His mouth was dry, his tongue felt heavy and thick as he finally managed to speak, his voice low and shaky. "I..I don't know." He croaked. 

A ragged breath escaped his lips as the sea creature met his gaze.

He was frozen as he locked eyes with the creature. His mouth went dry, everything around him seemed to disappear into the background. The only thing he could focus on was the deep piercing eyes peering up from the darkness of the river.

Everything about the creature was attractive – its long shimmering scales, bioluminescent glow, and even the large dorsal fin along its spine.

The flutter of the creature's gills when its eyes met theirs didn’t go unnoticed by the brothers. Jason's lips parted into as much of a smirk as it could given the situation.

The Mer's features slowly disappeared under the surface, as it made a sudden exit. Both of the boys' eyes flicked towards the water, but the sudden gasping from their elder brother drew their attention away once more. 

Dick was struggling, coughing up water as he attempted to pull himself up and out of the water. His large hand was grasping desperately to the creature's shoulder, as he pulled himself up.

Tim's heart leapt into his throat as he watched Dick gasping for air, his body shivering as he struggled to grapple himself out of the water. He was so focused on his older brother's struggles that he almost missed the flicker of glowing purple as the creature’s tail disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Tim moved forward to help Dick, but a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned to see Jason with a grimace on his face.

"What are we going to do?" Tim asked, his voice filled with worry.

Their conversation was cut short, however, as Dick's coughing subsided, replaced by a strangled gasp for air, his eyes wide and frantic. 

"I'm fine," he rasped, his hands trembling as he tried to pull himself up onto the bridge, his body shaking violently. His sharp ocean eyes focused on the crushed seaweed-looking salve used to treat his wounds.

Tim was about to respond when they heard a shuffling from the water, the faint sound of something scratching against the concrete. Tim's gaze snapped down to the water, his heart starting to pound against his chest.

Jason had already stepped back and drawn his weapon, his eyes fixed on a spot in the water a few feet below them. The sound of sloshing water echoed around them again, the dim light from the moon making it difficult to see anything except the faint bioluminescence.

And then, you were gone.

This is the result of the poll -> link.

Don’t judge my random fighting scene with Tim I was trying something out🦖🦖

All likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged!

I rewrote everything, so I apologise that this took so long to come out💚

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

@errorunfound1

Yandere!neglectful!Batfam x mom!reader

Wayne Manor had always felt vast, but to you, it was more of a void than a home. It was easy to get lost in its endless hallways, in the constant hum of life orbiting Bruce’s nocturnal mission. You married him for love, despite knowing the weight of the life he led. You accepted his scars, his mission, his world. But what you hadn’t expected was how little space there would be left for you in it.

Bruce was always out, chasing shadows, leaving you to navigate a family that seemed determined to keep you at arm’s length. You poured your heart into them—Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian—but your efforts were met with indifference at best and disdain at worst. You had been a mother in every way that mattered, yet the coldness you received in return made your heart ache.

“You don’t have to act like you care,” Jason sneered once when you tried to patch him up after patrol. “We both know you’re just here for him.”

Tim barely acknowledged you unless it was necessary, his head buried in his work. Dick’s smiles, once genuine, now felt like politeness masking discomfort. And Damian, always the sharpest, had no qualms about cutting you down. “You’re not my mother,” he’d said, his words a dagger that twisted in your chest.

Bruce never intervened. When you tried to tell him, his responses were dismissive. “They’ll come around,” he’d say before disappearing into the night. But they never did.

So, you stayed quiet, swallowing the hurt, letting it fester.

One night, you stood in the empty dining room, staring at the cold, untouched dinner you’d prepared. The clock ticked on the wall, counting the hours Bruce was late. Again. You could hear the faint hum of voices from the Batcave below, the family gathered around him while you sat alone.

It wasn’t anger that bubbled up this time. It was resignation.

You left that night, not with a dramatic goodbye, but with a simple bag and a note left on the kitchen counter.

“I love you, but I can’t keep losing myself in a family that doesn’t want me.”

The days without you passed unnoticed at first. Bruce buried himself in his work, assuming you needed time to cool off. The Batkids carried on as usual, their lives too busy to miss the quiet presence you’d once provided.

It was Alfred who noticed first—the meals left uneaten, the flowers on the windowsill wilting. “Sir,” he said carefully one evening, “she’s not coming back.”

Bruce stopped mid-step, his expression flickering. “She just needs time.”

But days turned into weeks, and the absence became impossible to ignore. The manor felt colder, emptier. Jason snapped more often, his temper flaring at the slightest provocation. Tim’s focus wavered, his mistakes piling up in a way they never had before. Damian trained harder, his strikes sharper, but there was a new tension in him, an unease he wouldn’t voice.

“She left us,” Damian said one night, his tone sharp but brittle. “That’s on her.”

“No,” Dick said quietly, guilt heavy in his voice. “It’s on us.”

Bruce found you three weeks later, living in a modest apartment far from the grandeur of Wayne Manor. The door was locked, but that had never been an obstacle for him. He let himself in, his imposing frame filling the doorway as you stood frozen in the kitchen.

“Bruce,” you said, your voice tight.

“Come home.” His tone was soft but firm, the same voice he used to give orders in the field.

Your laugh was bitter, hollow. “Home? That place hasn’t felt like home in years.”

His jaw tightened, the only sign of his frustration. “You belong there. With me. With them.”

“I belonged there once,” you said, your voice breaking. “But I spent years trying to love a family that couldn’t love me back. Do you even realize how much it hurt, Bruce? To be invisible in my own home?”

He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. “I didn’t see it. I should have. But I’m here now.”

“Too late,” you whispered, tears spilling over.

But Bruce Wayne was not a man who gave up easily. His hand reached out, brushing against yours. “You think I’ll let you go that easily?” His voice dropped, a dangerous edge slipping into his tone. “You’re mine. You always have been.”

You pulled away, shaking your head. “You don’t love me, Bruce. You love control. You love having someone waiting for you. But I won’t be that person anymore.”

The silence between you was heavy, suffocating. His eyes bore into yours, and for a moment, you thought he might let you go. But Bruce was nothing if not persistent.

“You’re coming home,” he said, his voice soft but unyielding.

Before you could respond, his hand shot forward, pressing a syringe into your arm. The sharp sting was followed by a wave of dizziness, and your legs buckled.

“Bruce,” you gasped, your vision swimming as he caught you.

“It’s for your own good,” he murmured, his arms cradling you as darkness pulled you under.

(A/n: this is why I don't take money 😅 writing shi asf 😔🔥 chat did I cook or am I cooked?)

[regonold]

The new wayne sibling concerns his family danny the new sibling can get anything you just have to ask the thing is no one can figure out how like it started small like tim saying god I'd kill for [hyper specific coffee brand he got one time 2 years ago from a coffee shop on a mission] and the next day danny places the coffee down infront of tim

Now danny refuses to answer how or where he got it from but the others of course have to experiment and so they start experimenting like they mention more and more obscure until eventually damian asks for a legendary magical sword and danny doesn't doesn't have it in the the usual 2-3 days they think it's bust but Don't mention anything

(Can't exactly reveal you were doing experiments our new brother and taking advantage of him as well)

Until a week later daimian wakes to a gleaming sword of legends on his bed

Meanwhile danny who is freshly traumatised is going if i prove myself useful they won't throw me out right?

[stealingyourbones]

Amity Parkers are super good at dealing with superhero and villain battles, getting out of the rubble, helping others get out, etc.

This doesn’t shock anyone. There’s so many cities that consistently deal with superhuman battles that millions of people around the world are used to it and know what to do during a battle. Hell, there’s even government standard safety drills in schools about villain attacks now.

They didn’t stand out for a long long while among crowds of other city goers trying to flee a battle scene.

That was until a green glowing android appeared out of nowhere defeating heroes and villains alike because their abilities were rare enough to be hunted by this mysterious newcomer. So far no known weapon is able to hit the being while intangible.

That is until one unassuming citizen pulls out a strange wrist ray contraption that seems to actually stun the creature for a few seconds.

NOW all eyes are on these citizens that once lived in Amity Park