#specifically Damian

[lunar-caterpillar]

I think this speaks for itself ☺️

[toytle]

bat study: toon style

[abisalli]

A Robin lineup of sorts :) (sorry for no Carrie, Maps or Matthew... I was tired)

[sidewalk-cracks]

The batkids encountering distressed children and calling them "sweetheart", subconsciously mimicking how Bruce would and will call them sweetheart when they're distressed, and not even realizing it?? Don't speak to me. I can't.

[batbabydamian]

older Damian and Maya!! Damian's ranting about art school's allocation of funds and resources lol

Maya is from critically acclaimed comic Robin: Son of Batman (2015) :)

[fantastic-nonsense]

insane how Red Robin is "the loner Tim Drake book" when he had friends and family just popping out of the woodwork like daisies asking him to come home and enjoy hugs like he used to 😭

[sparkoflena]

As somebody who has written Batfamily fanfiction (mostly for myself but I have like two things public), Bruce Wayne's relationship with his kids will always be the hardest part.

Yeah, I could fanon it. But I do try my hardest to be at least vaguely canon-compliant in terms of characterizations/relationships.

BUT the history of Bruce Wayne as a father changes depending on the author you read, which Robin is Robin-ing at the time, and what trauma Bruce happens to be going through. Is he going to be deeply supportive of his kids and attend their events and be both awkward and proud? Is he going to hit his kids? Who knows, certainly not DC writers.

(I'm of the opinion that Bruce Lost-His-Parents-At-A-Young-Age & Adopted-Kids-Like-Him-To-Build-A-Family-He-Didn't-Have-As-A-Child Wayne ABSOLUTELY should be a Good Parent[TM], albeit a bit Overprotective Dad. But there are only a handful of authors who follow this depiction)

[science-lings]

I feel like ppl focus on Bruce training the robins to kick ass from a young age when that’s definitely not all that was. He had to teach them field medicine and how to pick locks and sneak around silently and how to notice things, sure he taught them how to hit things with sticks of multiple sizes, but he also taught them how to grapple around and land from a fall.

They probably had intimidation lessons and interrogation lessons and sessions where they just meditated for hours straight. They’re taught how to calm down civilians and to train their voices to sound different in costume and so many things that would make them the most terrifying children to live with.

Bruce is actively training them to be good at bothering him because they like trying out their new espionage skills at Galas and trying to sneak around him while he’s asleep to prank him.

When we think of training to be Robin it’s easy to think of sparring and gymnastics equipment when it’s fun to remember the other parts of it. Some days Bruce would probably just give the kids a Hunt a Killer box and a time limit.

[awhoreintheory]

Circus Boy

Directly inspired by @erinwantstowrite 's art!!! post

Request from awesome amazing cool Anon

Over the years, circuses have lost their spark.

Dick would know— he’d literally grown up in one. Back then, the circus was a symphony of effort and artistry. Weeks, sometimes months, were spent perfecting routines. Performances were designed to dazzle, to inspire awe, no matter the country or culture of the audience. The comedy sketches weren’t just filler— they were genuinely funny, capable of drawing laughter even from the most reluctant parent dragged along by an excited child. Every act had a rhythm, a purpose, and above all, passion. The performers took pride in their craft, and the audience responded in kind, feeding off the energy, cheering and clapping until their hands were raw and their throats sore. 

Now? Now they were dull. Predictable routines recycled ad nauseam. Costumes that looked like they were bought in bulk from a clearance rack. Tents and stages slapped together with the barest effort to resemble grandeur. The magic, the joy—the soul of it all—had been replaced with a singular, glaring goal: profit. No one cared if the audience laughed, gasped, or even paid attention, so long as they paid their entrance fees.

But recently, whispers of something different had started making waves in Gotham: a circus gaining a reputation for being... well, different.

Dick’s curiosity was piqued. He hadn’t planned to go, at first. But the memories of his youth, of what the circus used to mean, stirred within him. Before he knew it, he’d wrangled (read: blackmailed) together as much of the family as he could to go see it. Which, wasn’t a whole lot considering quite a few were out of state currently, but it was enough to make him smile.

“Why must I come along? I do not see the point,” Damian groused, arms folded tightly across his chest as the group approached the circus grounds. Despite his protests, he made no move to make a stealthy exit.

“You’re coming because it’ll be good for you,” Dick said, ruffling Damian’s hair just to annoy him. Damian promptly swatted his hand away, glaring daggers at his adoptive brother.

“You don’t even know if it’ll be good,” Tim chimed in, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. “What if this thing is as boring as all the other ones you’ve complained about?”

“Then we’ll all get funnel cake and call it a night,” Stephanie said brightly, making it clear where her true excitement lay. “I’m in it for the food, anyway.”

Dick pouted. “You didn’t have to say the quiet part out loud!” 

“Don’t underestimate funnel cake,” Duke added with a smirk. “It might be the only thing saving this trip if the show’s a flop.”

Dick rolled his eyes, but his grin didn’t waver. “You’re all so cynical. Just... trust me, okay? I have a feeling about this one.”

Sure, a lot of the decorations seemed cheap thus far, but Dick can’t blame them. They’re clearly low budget, with only two shows a week, versus the seven to ten a week Dick was used to. The difference was the genuine passion and excitement in the eyes of the performers. And they were just doing pre-show stunts on the street to rouse excitement! 

Tim hummed thoughtfully. “This place has been gaining rapid popularity,” he said, the subtle edge in his tone making it clear he was already analyzing every detail. Dick saw his fingers twitch as if to take a picture. 

Dick glanced over at him but didn’t comment. He recognized that tone— Tim was in detective mode, quietly piecing together threads no one else could see yet. He did, however, take the opportunity at his siblings' distraction to subtly herd them in the direction of the tents, eager to get a good front-row seat. Damian noticed, but he didn’t do much more than roll his eyes.

Steph, however, rolled her eyes dramatically. At Tim, not Dick. “Can you just enjoy one thing without looking for a criminal conspiracy, Tim?”

Tim matched her with a roll of his own eyes, the two slipping into a bickering match that’d put an old married couple to shame if they weren’t so aggressively gay. Meanwhile, Dick let his attention wander to the stage, studying the equipment with the practiced eye of someone who’d lived this life.

Suspended high above was the trapeze rig, its bars wrapped in worn leather, the steel cables taut and secured to thick iron frames. The safety net below, while a little faded, looked sturdy enough to do its job. Not brand-new, but serviceable.

To one side, a highwire stretched across a dizzying height, its slim cable shimmering faintly under the tent lights. The rigging showed some signs of age— slightly dulled bolts and scuffed counterweights—but nothing that made Dick worry. It would hold, even if the daredevil walking it would need nerves of steel.

A teeterboard sat center stage on the ground, its spring mechanism ready to launch performers into flips and vaults. Nearby, a stack of brightly painted crates and barrels hinted at comedic skits. Clowns would probably tumble over them with exaggerated flair, while a sturdy seesaw-like prop suggested slapstick gags involving plenty of unintentional (and intentional) falls.

The whole setup had a charming scrappiness to it. The equipment could use a little TLC, sure, but Dick had no doubt it would hold up under pressure. He could tell the performers had put their trust in it, and that meant something.

For a moment, Dick felt a flicker of nostalgia. The way the crew moved, the crisp efficiency with which they handled the gear— it reminded him of home, of the way his parents had always treated the stage with reverence, as though it were sacred ground.

“Do you see how high that wire is?” Duke muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and apprehension as he followed Dick’s gaze.

“I see it,” Dick replied softly, his heart tightening. He couldn’t help but wonder who had the guts to walk that cable, let alone pull off any stunts on it. He’d definitely have to stick around and chat them up, maybe have a little friendly competition. 

“Awe, man,” Duke sighed, visibly disappointed. “Guess we weren’t excited enough.”

Turns out “early” wasn’t early enough because the seating area was packed. The whole first three rows were aggressively claimed, forcing the group to settle for seats in the middle of the fourth row.

Steph and Duke promptly excused themselves to grab popcorn—or, more accurately, for Steph to scout for funnel cake. Dick had to respect the consistency.

Damian glanced at Dick, then at Tim with a withering look. “Drake, cease your ramblings. They sour my mood.”

Tim blinked, clearly taken aback. “Wait, just me? Steph was talking way more!”

Steph, who had been halfway out of earshot, whirled around with mock offense. “Excuse me? I wasn’t the one turning this into an episode of ‘True Crime: Circus Edition.’” 

“Yeah, because you’re too busy planning how to steal funnel cake from children,” Tim shot back, crossing his arms. Damian’s eyebrow twitched. Dick wondered why peace was but a mere illusion. 

“Oh, please,” Steph quipped. “You’d be the kid I steal it from, Drake.”

Before Tim could come up with a retort, and Damian became a convicted felon, the lights dimmed, cutting their bickering short. A hush fell over the crowd as the familiar low hum of a drumroll began to build.

The ringmaster strode into the center of the stage, clad in a dazzling coat of crimson and gold that shimmered under the spotlight. If you looked any closer than that, you’d see how tacky and cheap it was. His booming voice carried effortlessly across the tent.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Welcome to a night of wonder, daring, and delight!” the ringmaster announced, his voice ringing through the tent as the steady drumroll built the tension. “Prepare yourselves for the extraordinary, the astonishing, the absolutely unbelievable! The show begins... now!”

The drumroll reached its peak, and with a dramatic flourish, the spotlight swept upward to reveal the first performer perched high above the stage. A man in a sparkling gold costume waved grandly to the crowd before swinging onto the trapeze. The audience clapped politely as he performed a few rudimentary tricks— basic flips and graceful swings that showcased control but lacked flair.

Two more performers joined him, each clad in similar glittering costumes. They moved with confidence, transitioning through formations and passing between trapezes, but the moves were predictable and lacked the edge Dick was hoping to see. Certainly, nothing that would make this rinky-dink circus as popular as it got so quickly. 

Tim leaned toward Dick, his tone flat. “You dragged us here for this?”

“Underwhelming,” Damian muttered, his expression neutral but his tone sharp.

Dick didn’t respond immediately, though he couldn’t disagree. The tricks were technically fine— safe, practiced, polished— but there was no spark, no passion. No magic. He resigned to going home disappointed and also to the inevitable flaming via siblings. 

But then, just as one of the performers finished an awkward landing on the platform, the ringmaster’s voice boomed again.

“And now, prepare yourselves for the prodigy of the skies, the one and only Amazing Arach-Kid!”

The spotlight shifted upward again, revealing a much smaller figure poised on a separate platform, high above the others. It was a boy— young and wiry, dressed in sleek crimson and black, his face obscured by a half-mask (not dissimilar to their domino masks, actually) that glimmered faintly in the light. For a moment, the crowd was silent, uncertain what to expect.

Without warning, the boy leaped.

The gasp from the audience was audible as the kid— Arach-Kid?— launched himself into a dramatic triple flip, his body twisting gracefully through the air before he caught the trapeze with flawless precision. The crowd erupted into applause, the energy in the tent shifting instantly.

He didn’t stop there. Swinging with a force that sent his trapeze soaring higher than any of the others had dared, he released at the peak of his arc and spun into a double somersault. Instead of catching the next trapeze, he landed neatly in the arms of one of the adult performers, who looked genuinely startled by the boy’s precision. He grinned, waving excitedly at the audience as they roared with applause. 

From there, the routine transformed. Arach-Kid became the centerpiece of the act, seamlessly incorporating daring flips, twists, and transitions between trapezes. He was passed between the adults with perfect timing, their previous mediocrity eclipsed by his sheer skill and energy.

“Whoa,” Duke murmured, leaning forward in his seat. “He’s... good.”

“Who is that kid?” Tim asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

“Better than the rest of them combined,” Damian said bluntly, though his tone carried the faintest hint of approval.

The boy ended his routine with a jaw-dropping quadruple somersault, catching the final trapeze one-handed and hanging upside down with effortless control. Gasps and cheers erupted from the audience, their applause thunderous as he let himself swing for a moment, letting the crowd bask in his daring. Then, with a fluid motion, he swung back, releasing the trapeze bar for one final flourish.

Dick leaned forward, his breath catching as the kid’s body twisted into the unmistakable maneuver— the signature move of the Flying Graysons.

The crowd roared as he executed the technique perfectly, his form flawless, his timing impeccable. He landed with a clean dismount, arms raised triumphantly, and offered the crowd a playful bow before darting off to the wings. Even with the stage empty, shouts and applause echoed for a long time after the boy left. 

For a moment, Dick couldn’t move. His stomach churned as memories of his parents on that same trapeze flooded his mind. No one else knew that move. No one could. His parents had created it, and Dick had learned it from them. It was their legacy— his legacy.

So how, in the name of all that made sense, did this random kid just pull it off perfectly?

The lights shifted again, smoothly transitioning to the next act: a somewhat clumsy but undeniably entertaining tightrope routine. One performer started with a wobbling walk, arms flailing for comedic effect. Another joined, balancing precariously with a broomstick for support. The final performer added a unicycle to the mix, pedaling shakily across the thin wire as the audience laughed and clapped in delight.

It was… objectively funny.

But Dick barely noticed. His good mood had evaporated, replaced by a heavy knot of unease in his chest. At this point, they must have a hive mind with how they immediately filed out of the tent without a single word exchanged. 

“That was—” Tim started, breaking the tense silence.

“Dick,” Steph interrupted, her voice low, “did he just—?”

“That was your move,” Tim finished firmly, his eyes locked on Dick’s.

“It’s not possible,” Duke added, glancing at the now-empty trapeze rig. “Right? It’s your family’s thing. There’s no way some random kid from Gotham knows it.”

“I am more concerned with how he knows it,” Damian said, his voice cutting. His eyes darted to Dick. “This is your domain, Richard. You must have answers.”

Dick didn’t respond right away. He couldn’t. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing shallow. In disbelief, he muttered, “I don’t.”

Steph frowned. “Okay, well... what do we do? Do we just ignore the fact that some kid pulled off your impossible secret family move?”

“No,” Dick said sharply, his voice colder than any of them expected. “We don’t ignore it. We find out who he is, how he learned it, and what the hell is going on.”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Do you think someone’s trying to get your attention? Like, deliberately?”

Dick shook his head, though his face betrayed his uncertainty. “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, it’s... it’s possible, but...” He exhaled through his nose, frustrated. “I need answers. This isn’t something you just pick up on YouTube.”

The group left the small but packed circus, their earlier excitement replaced by a shared tension. The cool night air did little to clear their heads as they walked in a tight huddle, glancing over their shoulders as if the boy would materialize out of the crowd.

“Something’s not right,” Tim said, breaking the silence.

“Obviously,” Damian muttered.

“I mean it,” Tim snapped. “Moves like that— you don’t just do them. It takes years to learn without a teacher.” He glanced at Dick. “You’re sure no one outside your family knew it? Like, absolutely sure?”

“Positive,” Dick said firmly. “The only people who knew it are gone. Except me.” His voice dropped as he added, “Or at least, they’re supposed to be.”

The group exchanged uneasy looks, about both the situation and Dick’s reaction to it. It takes quite a bit to rattle him, so to see him, well, rattled was weird. Beyond weird. It was downright wrong. 

“Either way,” Duke said cautiously, “we’re going to figure this out. Right?”

“Oh, we will,” Dick said, his voice grim. “We don’t leave things like this unanswered.”

As they disappeared into the Gotham night, paranoia settled over them like a second skin. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t going to stay a mystery for long. 

[spacedace]

Quick dp x dc prompt:

The BatFam finds out via getting tagged a million times on any and all social media sites that Damian apparently got drunkenly married to Jon & Elle while the three were in Las Vegas.

And that alone is making them all lose their collective minds, but somehow there's yet still more on top of that punch in the face because apparently the three didn't get married as Damian Wayne, Jon Kent and Elle Nightingale.

Oh no, that'd be way too easy to handle when it came to how the press and wider world reacted to the youngest son and until very recently one of the most eligible bachelors in the world getting married at three in the morning in a haunted-house themed 24-hour Vegas chapel by a guy dressed up like Zombie Elvis.

No, instead the three of them got married as civilian Damian Wayne and very much not civilians Superboy/Jon-El the Son of Superman and Nomad/Stella Phantom the Crown Princess of the Infinite Realms.

-

also bonus meme stuff, this is absolutely how Damian, Jon and Elle greet the paparazzi upon stumbling out of the chapel and the images being shared absolutely everywhere. Steph frames them and hangs them up as the three's "Wedding Photos" because she finds it absolutely hilarious:

[welcometogrouchland]

♫ I do what I want/Crying in the bleachers and I said it was fun/I don't need anything from anyone ♫

(ID in Alt) you guys ever think about your own posts and get upset?? Anyway Damian Wayne I love you I'm so sorry your life is like that

[ookamihanta]

I'll be your everything We'll be together, yes forever

[jesncin]

Supersons in their DCeased look, hanging out on a ledge prompt for DC Gotcha for Gaza (requests now closed)! I finally got a chance to draw Damian and Jon together! We call that a win, fellas

[the-witchhunter]

DP x DC Camp

The Batfam force Damian to go to summer camp to socialize with kids his own age and have some normal childhood experiences

That’s all well and good, but normal does not describe his cabin’s councilor, one Daniel “for the love of Ancients call me Danny” Fenton

Between the son of the bat and a Fenton, camp is going to be weird

[charlietheepicwriter7]

S̶̤̋̉t̸o̶̝̍r̵̛͠m̸̠͌͝

Look, I know I promised a continuation of "Get in the Water," but I had this idea and just had to write it, okay? So this is the non-canon sequel, the canon one is still in progress.

They escaped. Batman dragged Damian's frozen body away from the Lazarus Pit and through the tunnels as Danyal's screams-sobs-wails echoed behind them. Eventually the sound ebbed away and they emerged to the surface.

A debrief was demanded from everyone; even Todd was in the Cave. Damian trembled, his only sign of distress, his mind stuck on Danyal's face, his brother's voice rebounding around his head.

Father's debrief had been rough. Damian could barely explain what happened, why he was drawn to the waters, why Danyal wanted to drown him. He'd only explained the Danyal was someone he'd killed while with the League, and Father was the only one to doubt his explanation.

Damian took the first opportunity to escape to the showers. Stripping down, Damian turned the faucet and the bathroom lit up bright green.

He flinched away, and when he opened his eyes, the water was just water. A stone sunk into his stomach.

The next day, while Father was consulting with Justice League Dark, Grayson and Drake returned to the caves for their own investigation of the Pits. And while they found the cavern--found by tracking the batarang Father threw--it was desert dry. There was no sign of Lazarus Water, nor did it look like it had ever been there.

That night, as Damian was washing his face before bed, he filled the sink basin with water. He turned away for one second, but when he looked back, he almost dipped his face under the green slime oozing out the spout. He bolted, and when he returned with a startled Father, the water had returned to normal.

Grayson insisted on taking him out for lunch the following day, citing that Damian needed a "break." Damian was furious, but allowed it; Justice League Dark was visiting the cave to discuss the... incident, and Damian wanted to interrogate them. He... he needed to know if that was really Danyal or not. If his sweet brother could have been twisted after his murder into that monster, that Siren crooning at him to choose to die.

He'd never contemplated the fate of his brother's immortal soul before. Had he done this to him? Could Damian had avoided this by killing him honorably, instead of cowardly poisoning Danyal so he'd pass away in his sleep?

Damian allowed Grayson order for him. He wasn't hungry. The clouds above swirled ominously as he followed Grayson to a nearby awning with a picnic bench underneath.

Grayson took a bite of his gyro. "So? How have you been coping these past few days?"

"I'm not an invalid, Grayson," Damian hissed, glaring. "I'm fine."

A frozen breath brushed across his ear. "Ĺ̶̥̲̪̀̐ỉ̷̢̜̚a̴̧͖͛r̶̺̫̾͗̃͜,̶͕̐" Danyal whispered in his ear.

Grayson didn't notice or hear Danyal's voice. "You see, I don't believe you. One of your dead League friends is supernaturally gunning for you, Dami; it's normal to feel out of sorts."

Damian scoffed. "Nothing about this situation is normal."

He looked down at his food and sighed. "Yeah, that's for sure. I'm sorry, Damian. I wish this wasn't happening to you."

"And I wish the creature would just attack already," Damian griped. "It's the waiting that will kill me, not that fake."

Like someone had been listening, the sky opened up and it rained green throughout Gotham.

[jennrypan]

Jason: Yo, Tim wanna see something?

Tim:..Against my better judgement, sure.

Jason, staring directly at him and then suddenly he disappears just to appear next to him:

Tim: WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT WAS THAT?

Jason: I dunno, something I did once..I think I can only do it twice..that was the second time.

Tim: WHA-? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

Jason: I can't do it again, that's the last time I'll be able to do that

Tim: ..Then WHY the hell did you show me that!?

Jason: Cuz if you tell anyone else, they'll never believe you and you can't make me show them.

Tim: What's wrong with you?!

Jason: Timmy..I will do anything and everything..just cuz it's a little funny to me.

Tim:

Jason, holding his hand out and suddenly the All-Blades appears: I also have this but I won't use it again for the same reason

Tim: WHAT THE FUCK!!