#im tagging it as batmom

[cheeseboi420]

Of A Feather - Chapter One Preview

A/N: hi everybody!!! I am super duper stoked to present u all with the first 2k words of Of A Feather, aka the "what if Jason's bio mom didnt SUCK" fic. Im hoping to have the full chapter ready for publishing in the next week or two! Big thanks to everyone who's talked to me abt this fic so far, and an ESPECIALLY big thanks to @jayladfanpage for basically being my jaybin encyclopedia while i work my way through this fic!!! This warning will be more applicable in future chapters but it should be noted that this fic is NOT canon compliant and does significantly change/recontextualize a couple things about Jason's background, but you the audience get to find out about all that in real time alongside Jason lmao!! Anyways, without further adieu, please enjoy this preview ❤️

TW: mentions of drug use, teen pregnancy, allusions to underage sex

You expect this evening to play out like the one before it. And the one before that. And the one before that. Your routine hasn't changed in the last 13 years. Why should it? It serves you well enough, keeps you alive and… Well, that's about all it does for you. Not that you're looking for more! For the most part, you are… content, maybe isn't the correct word. Complacent fits a little better, but still isn't wholly accurate. You're content in the knowledge that your boy is safe and loved, somewhere far away from the trouble that chases you. You're complacent in your own quiet misery. The longing and loneliness had been a bitter pill to swallow those first few years of running, but after this long you've learned not to complain. God knows no one would listen if you did.

You've got a shitty box pizza in the oven. This will be your dinner, tomorrow's breakfast, and tomorrow's dinner. You won't particularly enjoy any of the meals, but they'll sustain you well enough. These days, food brings you little, if any joy. Meal times are a chore to slog through before the distraction that work brings or the sweet embrace of sleep. You look forward to, more than anything, going to bed. Not because you're tired (though there is a bone deep weariness that permeates- that no amount of rest could ever fix) but because bed means sleep, and sleep means dreams, and dreams mean a chance to hold your baby again.

You don't dream of Jason every night, but every morning, you wake thinking of him. Is he still asleep right now? Having breakfast? Is he eating well? Is he happy? Is he happy? Is he happy?

By the time you push your way through breakfast most mornings the cacophony of thoughts revolving around your son quiets to a dull roar in the back of your mind. It's better that way, you think. If you thought about him as much as your mind seemed to want you to, you'd never get anything done.

Life carries on, you suppose. However dreary and dull that life may be.

At one time you'd found the whole thing very exciting- though not in a particularly enjoyable way. The adrenaline rush has worn off over the years, no longer do you feel as though death is nipping at your heels. The paranoia never fades though. Even if your doom does not cast a shadow over you, you're always looking over your shoulder, always ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble.

You keep a bag packed and ready in the closet by the front door for when you have to leave this place, too. Though, you think it's buried under a winter jacket and your spare blankets. You really ought to dig it out, keep it easily accessible. You should do that but… it's been a long day. You want to eat your shitty pizza, lay down on your futon, and let the sound of tv static fill your studio apartment, lulling you to sleep.

You're getting too comfortable here, you think. You've lived in Michigan for nearly a year now. It is simultaneously entirely too close to and entirely too far from Gotham. The apartment itself was a godsend after spending most of your time sleeping in cars, tents, whatever unfortunate business was willing to employ you, anywhere you could, really- sure it has bugs, and the windows don't close all the way, and you're fairly certain it'll only take one more bad winter storm for the place to come crumbling down, but rent is dirt cheap, and the slumlord you rent from didn't ask for any ID when you signed your ‘lease.’ You're fairly certain that thing's not legally binding anyways- it was written on a cocktail napkin for Christ's sake. That didn't stop you from using a fake name when signing it. You can never be too careful.

You haven't seen your landlord since you moved in anyways. You don't ask for maintenance when things break, you fix them yourself or just learn to live with them broken. You deliver your rent by slipping a cash stuffed envelope with your name (your fake name, the one you signed your lease with, the one you use at work, the one you'd use at coffee shops if you ever went to any) on it through the slot in the office door. You do your best to be invisible. You don't cause problems, and you don't go out of your way to fix them for others. You make no friends or enemies. You've left no impact on the many places you've been, the cities you've drifted through.

The only evidence you've gone anywhere at all in your life is a stack of postcards, held together with a worn rubber band, sitting at the bottom of your go-bag. The only evidence of a life lived before that is in a similarly bound stack of polaroids, held together with a too-small paperclip. Every now and then, you'll buy a bottle of cheap wine to chug as you pour over the old photographs. Only when you leave for a new city do you dare to touch the stack of unsent postcards.

You can't bear to look at the photos too often, a painful reminder of your own failings. A reminder of the stupid, reckless little girl you'd been and the shell of a woman you'd become in the aftermath.

Girls like you'd been were a dime a dozen in Crime Alley. Really, you weren't even a particularly special or severe case. Sure, you did drugs, but you weren't on crack. You were just a bit of a stoner! Sure you'd been sixteen and pregnant, without the slightest idea which of your former paramours had knocked you up- but it was all above board, really! None of those men had forced you to do anything. In fact, you sought them out of your own volition for all sorts of reasons. Attention, cheap affection, cheaper drugs, something to do, somewhere to go when the home you'd once shared with your father and brother had become too stifling to bear.

It's all your own fault, really.

At least that's what you keep telling yourself.

It's easier to swallow than the alternative: that you were a vulnerable and unloved thing, eating from any hand that would feed you, until the hand that feeds decides to beat.

This, you think, is why you shouldn't think too hard about the past. It doesn't do you any good to dwell on it.

You force yourself to focus on the present, on the here and now. The scratchy polyester blend of the futon cushions, the scent of cheap cheese melting in the oven, the distant sound of sirens, and howling wind outside your apartment. There's no sense in thinking about Gotham now, not when you're so far from it.

You sit up on the futon, no longer content to lounge and let your mind wander. Instead you task yourself with flipping through channels on TV, seeking something mind numbing enough to distract you from your unusually strong urge to reminisce.

The Wonder Years? No, you don't want to watch anything about a family.

Alf? No, that puppet creeps you out.

Cops? Fuck that.

You're about to resign yourself to another night of murmuring the (mostly incorrect) answers to Jeopardy questions at your tv, when you're startled by a knock at your door.

A… knock… at your door.

No one ever knocks on your door. You don't get mail, you don't have friends, if your landlord wanted something, you're willing to bet the greasy bastard wouldn't be willing to haul himself all the way up to the fifth floor at nearly 10 PM.

Oh God… Did… Did he find you? Is this it? Are you going to die in the upper peninsula of Michigan, of all places?!

No, no. You have to stay calm. This could be anything. It's just a knock at the door. It could be anyone!

Oh lord, it could be anyone.

You keep the tv on, hoping that the sound of Alex Trebek grilling folks on useless trivia will cover your footsteps as you creep towards your front door. You hold your breath as you press yourself against it, double checking that all three of your locks are secure before you risk a glance out the peephole.

When you look out into the hall you're surprised, and frankly a bit confused by the sight before you. Standing at your door is a boy, dark haired and bright eyed. He stands straight but not particularly tall- he can't be more than five feet. He's glancing around the hall, rocking back and forth on his heels. He's wearing a red sweatshirt and jeans, with a backpack slung over one shoulder. Despite his small stature he holds an air of determination that makes you think he must feel quite old for his age- you get that, you were the same way in your own youth. A chip too big for your shoulder.

You're so focused on studying him that it startles you when he leans forward to knock again. You jolt, accidentally kicking the door (with your bare feet too, damn does that hurt your poor toes) and responding to his knock-knock-knock with a solid knock of your own.

“Hello?” The boy calls. “Anybody home?”

“I don't have any money!” You call back, cursing yourself for the shake in your voice. You should not be this rattled by a random adolescent on your doorstep. “So, if you're selling popcorn, or cookies, or whatever, you should try next door.”

The boy rolls his eyes.

“I'm not a boy scout!” He says. “I'm looking for-”

And then the shoe drops; he says your name. Your full name. Not your fake name, that you use at work, and on envelopes, and in hypothetical coffee shops. Your real name.

It takes every bit of emotional regulation you can muster not to spiral into a full blown panic right then and there because good God, did He send a child to finish you off? The cruel irony is not lost on you. Come to think of it, this boy on your doorstep does bear an uncanny resemblance to-

“My name is Jason Todd,” the boy continues. “And uh… well, I might be your son?”

He could be lying, the logical part of your brain insists. This could be a ploy to get you to open the door, don't open the door! But your hands are moving on their own, shakey as they may be. The first lock twists unlocked with ease, the second takes a fair bit more of your fine motor function, and by the time your shaking hands reach up to unhook the chain on the door, you're struggling to see through unshed tears. You attempt once, twice, three fucking times to get your hands to cooperate and unlatch the damn chain.

Fuck it.

You open the door, yanking it inwards, towards yourself as hard as you can. It should probably unnerve you that the flimsy chain breaks at the first sign of real resistance, but that's not what's important right now.

What's important is the boy standing before you- your boy. Your Jason.

He looks as surprised as you feel, his eyes flitting between the broken chain, and you.

For a long moment the only thing you can do is look at him, reacquaint yourself with the sight of him. Of course, you know that he did not stay frozen in time, the way your memory of him is. It's been many years since you've held that babbling toddler. But knowing and seeing are two different things.

He's small for his age, is your first thought. Your own fault, you're certain. Between a premature delivery and your own malnourishment during that first trimester, it's a miracle he'd survived in the first place. Small, but well fed. His cheeks are full and flushed. Despite his size, he seems healthy. Good. That means Will's been feeding him. Hopefully, it means they got the hell out of The Alley, into a nicer neighborhood.

His hair isn't as curly as you'd pictured it- too short in most places to hold a curl, save for his bangs, which seem to almost form the shape of a heart over his forehead.

“Jason?” You can barely manage to say his name through the lump in your throat. You find yourself suddenly struggling to focus your gaze on him, the haze of tears welling up in your eyes makes it difficult to see. You try to blink them away but instead they roll down your cheeks.

God, when's the last time you cried?

You reach out to him, cupping one of his cheeks in the palm of your shaking hand. He leans into the affectionate touch, and you're reminded of puppies, overeager and seeking love at every opportunity.

“Mom,” he says back to you, his tone just as reverent as your own. “Mom,” he says again, voice crackling. And then, in unison, the both of you have pulled each other into a crushing hug. You can't tell if the sound you make is a sob or a laugh. You hold onto Jason like he'll vanish into the ether if you loosen your hold for even a second, one hand clutching at the back of his sweatshirt, the other at the back of his head, petting his hair as he buries his face in your neck.

Finally, at long last, your heart is home.

SO. What do we think folks. Are you hooked? I hope youre hooked. Please be hooked. I wanna talk to people about this fic so damn bad. Please send anons or dms or literally anything. When the chapter is complete I'll be putting it up here as well as on my ao3, which I'll link to! Thanks so much for reading and i hope yall are enjoying yourselves so far! Send me an anon or a dm if you'd like to be included on the taglist for this series!

TAGLIST: @leirobles

[chiroptophobiawrites]

lowkey trying to read x readers for certain batfam members is such an experience cause the ‘top’ side of the tag has the same 10 fics, but then the ‘latest’ side has random naked people, batmom/batsis reader, or like shared batfam reader and im just like 🤕.

Please i don’t wanna be his mamma or his sister or be with the whole fam bro, what is going on here.

[tulipscomeinallsortsofcolors]

okay i've decided im going to assume this is done out of ignorance and not malice, since we've lost a lot of tumblr ettiquette that used to be ubiquitous over the years so most people probably just dont know

i know we all joke about tags and search being useless on tumblr, and most of us use tags mainly for internal blog organization - but some of us do use the tags traditionally

if i track a tag, the reason is because the things in the tag are things i want to see. i track 'love and other fairytales' because i want to see people talking about my fic, and i know not everyone is comfortable DMing me. i track 'batmom' because i like reader-insert fic where the reader gets to adopt the robins, sue me

now, if you tag something in a post where youre talking badly about it, criticizing it, saying it sucks or even just vagueposting about how much you dont like it - well, now you've put it on hundreds of peoples dash who follow that tag because they like that thing

a ship, or a trope, or a fic, anything you use the main tag on your post, you are putting that post directly in front of all the people who are going to be most upset by it. you're doing the internet equivalent coming uninvited into our barbecue to critique our food.

dont be that guy! tumblr filtering will catch any mention of the ship in the body of the post, so if people have the tag filtered and blocked, theyre not going to see it anyway. youre not protecting anyone, you are using the tagging system in an impolite way

[t4tails]

i find the ppl who make 'wayne family adventures'-esqe/ wholesome rouge + batfam headcanons so annoying. silly jokes are fine and dandy but if i see another 'selina is the best batmom' or 'robin goes out to eat with harley and poison ivy after patrol' post IM GOING TO LOSE IT.

i suppose this is why i have thousands of ppl in the batman tags blocked 😅

any time selina gets called a mom in relation to somebody that isnt literally her child like helena (ESPECIALLY IRT DAMIAN) i kill another hostage. that kind of hc specifically drives me so insane. and it hurts because i would like to explore her relationship with bruces kids but it feels like 90% of people are incapable of doing that without making her their step-mom

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Adopted Kids & Their Parents Play Truth or Drink (Maria & Dick)

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

by cutepineapple

Dick Grayson-Wayne and Maria Gardner-Wayne play truth or drink.

There are laughs, insecurities, and hugs.

(Inspired by the real-life videos from Cut on YouTube of adopted kids and their parents :D)

Please excuse this sorry ass summary. I'm not used to this.

Words: 1772, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Dick Grayson, Mentioned Bruce Wayne - Character

Relationships: Dick Grayson & Original Female Character(s), Dick Grayson & Original Character(s)

Additional Tags: original female character(s) of color - Freeform, Original Black Female Character(s) - Freeform, Black Character(s), Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Social Media, Mentioned Batfamily (DCU), Insecurity, Humor, Attempt at Humor, Batfamily Social Media (DCU), I tried being funny, im sorry if you didnt laugh, im also trying to get a hang on these tags, mention of threesomes but it doesnt go past that, batmom, black!batmom

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

[thedarkknightswife]

Hello, dear! You've been visited by the random character question fairy! :D ~☆

Is your character prone to feeling lonely? What do they do when they feel lonely?

It takes Nicola months to get used to waking up to a cold other side of the bed, her arm reaching for a body she knew wouldn't be there. Sitting on one end of a banquet table at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, with only the chairs keeping her company. Alfred was used to it, but he feels bad for his future mistress, so he tries to lessen the tension through small talk and politeness. Calmly assures her that Bruce is perfectly fine and praying for him to come home alive.

Nicola busies herself with work, furiously typing at her computer just to hear some noise. The boys and girls were also gone off doing their own thing, or helping Bruce with his other job. She had come to like them, dysfunctional as they may be at times, so their lack of presence also bothered her. When her work was done she would hike around the manor with Ace, or throw dummy boomerangs in the training room. But even the great hound and the nicest man on earth could only do so much to ease the sad inside before evening fell and Nicola had to brace waking up to a cold side of the bed again.

She knew what she was getting into the moment she discovered a cave full of secrets, but it didn't make her solitude any less painful.

[starbatwars]

Start Over? (Dick Grayson x Reader)

Anonymous said to litbatboy

Request: Dick and the reader are dating for a while & he takes her to meet the family at the manor but Batmom doesn’t like the reader/their relationship (maybe she thinks Dick would be better with Barbara & that the reader is a gold digger) & doesn’t approve of their relationship until one day when Dick gets sick and she goes over to check up on him & sees the reader taking care of him (just them being generally fluffy) & Batmom takes the reader aside and apologizes & approves of them and Dick

Tags: @dc-comics-imagines @messy-writes @maruthor

Side notes-(B/M/N) is Batmoms name

Word Count-1,100

Tw-Light swearing and hate and mention of Kori x Jason because I love them also a HUGE plot twist at the end

You and dick haven’t been together for a while i mean about 5 months to be exact as of today. Your lover and you were gonna go meet the family. You talked to Damian once and that was when you and dick stayed the night at the manor. You weren’t sure about this. Meeting his brothers were one thing but meeting Bruce and His wife? Pretty fucking scary.

>>>>

You sat on your bed doing your makeup perfecting your eyeliner and everything. Your scarf you had on your hair as your boyfriend walked into the room. “Babe it’s the boys. There gunna like you.”

You glanced at him putting your earrings in “And if they don’t?”

Dick retorted back to you “Then they don’t. Come on we don’t want to be late.” He smiled coming up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist “You look beautiful. They are gonna love you.”

You groaned as he grabbed your hand the two of you walking down stairs as he opened the door “M’lady?” You rolled your eyes walking out getting into the car along with dick getting in. You felt the engine start and got startled resting his hand on your knee.

“They are going to like you. I promise.” He nodded his head reassuring you driving off to the manor.

The whole car ride there you were a hot mess. Shaking sweating so nervous because for christ’s sake you were meeting his family. You were scared and worried and you couldn’t say it enough. Soon enough you were there as he pulled into the manor

“We can call this off. It’s fine.” You nodded your head no getting out of the car fixing your hair as he intertwined his fingers with yours “We’re here anyways let’s go.” You smiled as you knocked on the door but alfred answered it right away.

“Master Dick. Come in you two. Its nice to meet you. Miss (Y/N) Right?” You smiled hugging him “It’s nice to see you again alfred” He nodded his head taking your coat walking away as you saw Damian walk up to you and dick “Grayson. Is this her?”

Dick nodded his head pulling you close his arm snaking around your hip “Hi damian. You remeber me right?” You smiled ruffling his hair as he flinched a bit as you Noticed bruce and his wife walking towards you.

“Hey bruce this is my Girlfriend (Y/N).” You bit the inside of your lip as you could feel his wife staring at you. Like dead starting at you as you shook bruce’s hand. Dick nodded towards bruce “It’s good to see you again. Hey (B/M/N) Been keeping an eye on bruce?” Dick chuckled

You smiled talking with bruce “Yea! I mean I don’t really fight crime here. Dick has taught me a couple of moves here and then but not too often. You really did a good job traning him. You raised him right. He’s a good guy.” You smiled as bruce smirked “I did do pretty good”

You saw batmom pull dick to the side. You couldn’t hear anything she was saying but dick heard every word of it. “Dick. I have a bad feeling about this she seems well…Different and i know you may not like me but I think she just wants you for your money…Leave Her. It’s better that way.” He glared at her rolling his eyes scoffing “Yeah ok. Listen she’s a good person I promise.”

You walked over towards him and bruce’s wife as she walked away and you hugged dick mumbling into his chest “She hates me” You groaned as you heard a voice from up on the staircase “Finally got yourself a girl huh grayson?” You turned around waving to him “Your jason right?” he nodded and walked down the stairs leaning on the wall “The one and only. You must be (Y/N)?”

You smiled at dude with the leather jacket as you saw someone else walking down the stairs “Oh god jason shut up. You have kori? Remember?” You giggled as he walked towards the other boy “Yes i was fucking around. Oh thats tim by the way.” Tim waved towards you as you waved back smiling

Dick sneezed loudly startling you “SHIT.” You jumped laughing as he smirked “Sorry still getting over this cold. I have a really bad headache too.” You hugged him “Mr.Wayne do you mind if we stay for a while?” He nodded “Call me bruce”

You smiled as you walked up stairs dick following behind you “what came up all of a sudden?” You laid him down in his old bedroom “This room is the size of my apartment.” You shook your head sitting down laying with him “What can i do to help?”

Dick put a pillow over his head “Just lay here with me?” You got up taking his shirt off and checking his forehead “Oh baby you’re hot.” You looked around the room “There is a mini fridge in here. Ok then” You went over grabbing dick some water as you crawled into bed with him

He grabbed the water placing it on his forehead “I think it was because i’m anxious? Not sure but you’re here with me and that’s all i could ask for. But your gunna get sick too-” You heard a knock on the door as you saw Batmom walk in “Could I borrow her for a second?” You got up kissing dicks forehead

You stepped out side as she looked down “I said some pretty shitty stuff about you and i’m really sorry.  a lot but i mean. You treat him like royalty and I couldn’t say no to that. Could we start over?” You grinned and shook your head “Yea of course.”

Batmom spoke up “Hi I’m talia” You looked up “Hi im batgirl.”

Im a bad person i hope you enjoyed it!

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Adopted Kids & Their Parents Play Truth or Drink (Maria & Dick)

by cutepineapple

Dick Grayson-Wayne and Maria Gardner-Wayne play truth or drink.

There are laughs, insecurities, and hugs.

(Inspired by the real-life videos from Cut on YouTube of adopted kids and their parents :D)

Please excuse this sorry ass summary. I'm not used to this.

Words: 1772, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Dick Grayson, Mentioned Bruce Wayne - Character

Relationships: Dick Grayson & Original Female Character(s), Dick Grayson & Original Character(s)

Additional Tags: original female character(s) of color - Freeform, Original Black Female Character(s) - Freeform, Black Character(s), Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Social Media, Mentioned Batfamily (DCU), Insecurity, Humor, Attempt at Humor, Batfamily Social Media (DCU), I tried being funny, im sorry if you didnt laugh, im also trying to get a hang on these tags, mention of threesomes but it doesnt go past that, batmom, black!batmom

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/45676084