maplesnmulberries

[maplesnmulberries]

Damian's gaze flickered up towards Jason loosely. A silent, towering presence next to his throne-like seat at the top of the arena, like a morbid opera view. The arena was loud. A fight between Grandfather and some captured hero. He'd become tired of it.

His guard dog would entertain him.

"Todd," he said absently. "Come."

Jason’s head snapped up at the command. His eyes swept the arena before landing on Damian—the kid sitting with an almost bored look on his face.

Jason took a step forward, obedient, unthinking. He knelt at Damian's side—still towering over the young heir, his scarred chest rising and falling with practiced breathing.

He didn't speak, just waited.

Damian sat up slightly. He eyed where Talia was across their royal seating, stood, hands gripping the rails, watching the fight below.

And then his gaze returned to Jason. He leaned down, a smirk tugging at his lips.

"Fetch us a snack."

He handed him a token--one that came as a command, from higher ups in the League. A replacement for currency.

And of course, Damian had specified "us". He almost always did.

It was a mutualistic relationship. Damian got to boss Jason around. And in return? Damian took care of Jason.

Small ways. Ensuring he was fed. Bandaging wounds. Ordering him to rest under the guise of dismissing him.

To the outside eye, it was the demon prince and his hell hound.

To Damian and Jason, it was the closest bond they could achieve. Something almost...

Brotherly.

Jason took the token, his fingers curling around it almost reverently. The weight of Damian’s unspoken protection wasn’t lost on him—even if he couldn’t fully remember why it mattered so much. He stood smoothly, moving with the lethal grace of a predator trained to hunt—except this time? His prey was honey-drizzled pastries from the kitchens.

When he returned minutes later, there were two skewers of spiced lamb in one hand and a pastry and small cloth bundle in the other—Damian's favorite honey pastry, and candied dates tucked safely for later. He placed them carefully into Damian's waiting palm before stepping back into position behind him like a shadow once more.

No words exchanged beyond necessity—just loyalty coded in silent gestures that neither would ever admit meant family.

Damian munched at his pastry. Jason ate his lamb skewers. It was a wordless companionship.

Below, the hero was killed. The crowd cheered. Damian couldn't remember the dead man's name.

Regardless, his shout rang over the crowd.

"GRANDFATHER HAS PREVAILED! FOR THE LEAGUE!"

The words tasted like ash on his mouth. But he took another bite of pastry to make up for it.

Jason's grip tightened on the skewer as he watched Ra's raise his bloodied blade—another victory for the League, another life erased in the name of their crusade. There was no joy in the victory, nor even any pride. It simply was, as everything else in this world tended to be now.

As if sensing the shift in his mood, Damian turned slightly and nudged him with an elbow.

His gaze was sharp, expressionless, but there was a subtle gleam there.

"Eat."

---

y'all ive had this one sitting in Google docs for so long......

SENTINEL on ao3! chapters 1 to 11 out now with more on the way!!!

another damian and jason meet in the league fic 😭 bc they are my best boys

[maplesnmulberries]

CW: Violence and mentions of hate crimes.

SNIPPET FROM MY BATFAMILY FIC: MAKEOVER, DAMIAN WAYNE-CENTRIC

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This wasn't prey anymore. This was vengeance.

Damian reached under the layers of his wrap skirt, and unsheathed the katana at his side.

He slammed the tip of the blade into the man's shirt. Pinning him into the warehouse floor.

(And if the metal nicked his shoulder needlessly? No one was there to judge.)

"There is a missing person. I am already to assume you have killed them. But their family wishes for the body. Where is it?"

The killer was practically choking on rage and terror—spitting at Damian as he writhed in pain. He was used to terrorizing innocent children, not fighting back. This kid was something unnatural. Something dangerous.

But he was also arrogant, and stupid.

"Why should I tell you?!" he snapped, glaring up at Damian. "You're just a kid! You can't hurt me!"

Damian stared plainly.

And then he was punching.

It was a blur of fists and cracking bones and anger.

“The–the cold room! The cold room, right there! Oh god–wait–stop!”

Damian heard the confession. He knew he’d gotten what he needed. But it didn’t matter.

Because Damian was so mad. He was mad Jason had humiliated him. He was mad his crush might be manipulating him. He was mad that this serial killer was targeting innocent people. He was mad that people had gotten killed because of their race, their gender identity.

"--and I cannot live a normal life because of people like you!" he distantly heard himself shouting. Vaguely, he registered he'd been saying all of it aloud. Rage and frustration and fear mixing into a violent screaming fit.

His fist connected once more with the man's temple. And again. And again.

The man under him was no longer a nameless serial killer. He was bigotry incarnate. And then he was a League assassin. And The Joker. And Killer Croc. And Ra’s, and Talia, and Bruce, and–and–

"I HAVE HAD ENOUGH! I HAVE..I. I JUST WISH TO BE NORMAL! I JUST WANT TO LIVE! I DID NOT CHOOSE THIS, I NEVER HAD THE CHOICE, I NEVER--!"

Suddenly, hands were prying him off of the now-bloody man.

Bruce, in full Batman regalia, wrapped his arms around Damian—physically pulling him away from the man before he could tear him apart with his bare fists. He held tight, wrapping his arms around Damian with a low, calming tone. "You're okay. You're alright. Calm down, take slow breaths—"

Damian squirmed—he wanted to pull away, go back to hitting that man until every bone in his face was crushed—but Bruce's grip was firm, and he wasn't letting go anytime soon.

"Breathe, breathe. I've got you, you're okay."

Blood stained his pink cable knit sweater. He'd spent hours making it. And now it was ruined. All because he was a vigilante, who frequently got blood stains and--

"LET ME GO!"

He kicked. He screamed. He reached for a knife, only for it to be gently pried away.

All he could feel was red, burning, hot, stabbing anger. Fury. Rage.

***

CHAPTERS 10-13 OF MAKEOVER OUT NOW!

Summary: One night, bored and benched from patrol, Damian watches Tim do makeup for his civilian social medias.

He discovers some things.

(AKA that one fic where Damian discovers Gender Expression and his family supports him no matter what.)

***

WE'RE GETTING ANGST IN THE FIC....I REPEAT....ANGST....

He's traumatized your honor 😔

[maplesnmulberries]

Alfred's long-suffering exhale could've powered a small wind turbine as he glanced down at the hulking vigilante clinging to him. The man was truly pathetic when he had the cold. Had come to Alfred's bedside in the middle of the night; the only person he'd allow open comfort from. A man he saw just as much his father as Thomas.

Alfred adjusted pillows one-handed behind Bruce's back. His phone buzzed—Leslie responding with predictable concern—but Alfred ignored it in favor of glaring at the damp patch already forming on his pajama shirt from fever sweat.

"And here I thought we'd outgrown this particular brand of clinginess after you turned thirty."

Bruce sniffed again. All snot and pathetic, pathetic man. "...Nightmare," he mumbled instead of a retort.

The way his hand was resting over one of Alfred's pulse points suggested it was the usual:

His parents.

That simple word seemed to suck some of the sharpness from the room.

Alfred's hand instinctively came up to card through Bruce's matted hair with the practiced ease of someone who was intimately familiar with nightmares.

"Hush," he murmured, the edge dulled from his voice in favor of quiet sympathy. Despite the stubbornness and the pride, he knew how deeply these dreams continued to haunt Bruce even decades later. "Same as always?" He already had the answer but needed the confirmation.

Bruce nodded, face hidden against Alfred's sleep shirt.

Of course, even the thick flannel fabric couldn't hide the wet feeling of tears.

Alfred sighed—quiet and world-weary—before shifting just enough to pull Bruce closer with an uncharacteristic lack of protest. His fingers traced idle circles against the back of his charge’s sweat-damp neck, grounding.

"Your parents loved you," he said quietly, because it always bore repeating. "And you still carry them with you every night."

The hand in Bruce's hair tightened slightly as if to steady him through the words.

"But tonight? You have me . And a truly revolting amount of vapor rub smeared on your face."

Bruce took in a slow breath. Released it after a count of seven, just as steady.

"...You were gone too, this time."

Not the first time he'd dreamt it. The worst had been about a year after the passing.

But even now, the thought taunted him. The butler had died a countless amount of ways in that Gotham-smog filled head.

The way Alfred paused, fingers stilling in their ministrations, betrayed just how much that statement rattled him.

It was easy to forget, on nights like this, that no matter how far the mighty Batman had come, he was still Bruce . Still the little boy clutching at Alfred's jacket after the funeral, still the teenager who could barely say the word 'parents' without a flinch.

Alfred's hand slid from Bruce's shoulder to his back, palm warm and firm against the sharp line of his spine.

"I'm not going anywhere, my boy."

Bruce didn't respond. He didn't have to. The way his burled arms tightened around Alfred, like a wolf shielding its elders, portrayed enough.

***

Another funky fic: The CaveBat Chronicles in my ongoing series Bat Drabbles!!! I've already almost reached 100k words 🥹

Thanks so much to everyone who comments and leaves kudos or even just reads! It makes me so happy when someone enjoys my work!

Honestly doing multiple fics at once is chaotic but its the only way my adhd will allow the dopamine to arrive....

CHECK OUT OTHER WORKS ON maplesnmulberries VIA ao3!

[maplesnmulberries]

It was one of those nights that Tim and Damian were benched from patrol and reluctantly enjoying each other's company, watching reality TV.

Eventually, Tim decided to do his makeup--something he often did when he was bored. He rarely wore it to galas or such, but was known to post it to his social medias.

Tim was very good with makeup. The older bat had a secret Instagram account that was solely dedicated to doing his own makeup, and it was rather popular. And for good reason.

He put on some eyeliner first, humming a faint tune as he focused on himself in the mirror. Once he was done with that, he applied a black lipstick and shiny highlights.

Damian, despite his very feigned disinterest in the show, eventually found himself getting bored. It was late, and the chatter of vapid socialites wasn't exactly stimulating. He ended up watching Tim more so than the TV. He glanced over at Tim as he applied contour—something he could never understand wasting time on—before sinking further into the beanbag.

"I do not understand the purposes of your application," he mentioned after a while. "It is late. You will be going to bed lately and need to wash it off. You are not using it for a mission nor for cover."

Tim smirked. It was the kind of smirk Damian was all too familiar with from the older boy. It was mocking. "Ever heard of a fun little thing called 'self-expression'?" Tim asked, almost patronizing. "It's a wild concept, I know. I'm surprised you haven't tried it before."

He capped the black lipstick, tilting his head back to see the finished look in the mirror.

"...Hmnph." Damian watched him quietly. The makeup was ...aesthetically pleasing. It made Tim look more feminine. More...androgynous.

After a moment, he huffed and stood. "Apply it to me," he demanded as he sat on the bed.

And Tim had to admit that he was caught off guard by Damian's sudden interest. He turned in on the bed, studying Damian's face. The younger's skin was deep and flawless, and his features were sharp. With a bit of dark makeup on...

Oh, this was going to be fun.

"You want me to give you a makeover, little demon?" Tim asked, amused and a bit too excited at the prospect.

Damian nodded firmly, sitting cross legged, facing Tim. Their knees touched lightly, and he didn't even seem to be complaining. "Yes," he reaffirmed. "You do not have a foundation my complexion because you are comparable to the ghosts that haunt this manor. But just the eyeliner, shadow, and lip application will do, I suppose."

The older boy couldn't help but snort with a laugh at Damian's words. It was almost endearing how he so casually insulted people, without even trying to. His bluntness was just part of his charm, really.

"Alright, alright, I'll spare you the ghost vibe." Tim waved a hand dismissively while he reached into his small makeup bag, pulling out the dark black eyeliner and a small shadow palate with some red hues. "Close your eyes, demon brat."

*****

MAKEOVER is an ongoing fic im doing bc i wanted cute queer and domestic batfam moments ❤️ check it and my other "bat drabbles" out on ao3 @maplesnmulberries!!!!!

[maplesnmulberries]

[maplesnmulberries]

A voice was talking to Peter.

“..e..ter?” 

Someone touched his cheek.

“..our..eyes. Open…”

He was so warm, and floaty. The touch felt nice. His face sagged against it. 

He fell back to sleep. 

***

There was music playing.

 Loud, and familiar–some rock album he often heard during his internship. It would be overstimulating, if it didn’t feel so much like home. 

 He could hear the faint zap, clink, tnk, of tools as someone worked on something beside him. 

 Napping in the lab again. He liked napping in the lab. It always felt so safe. 

 “What’re…what’re you working on…?” he mumbled. The noises paused. 

“...New glove,” Mr. Stark said in reply. “You with me, Underoos?”

 Peter hummed noncommittally. “...Is May here yet…? Don’t want to…to make her wait…”

 Mr. Stark sucked in a breath. After a moment, however, he reached out, and smoothed Peter’s hair back. The young man melted against his pillow. 

He was so, so tired.

“Not yet. Get some more rest, kid.” 

He fell back to sleep. 

-----------

CHAPTER 8 OF PLEASE DON'T FORGET ME AGAIN IS OUT!!!

[maplesnmulberries]

Steve had always wanted kids. He knew it wasn’t possible, what with his career, and all of his enemies. What with living with Bucky and Sam. Bucky, who had trembled at the thought of caring for “something that fragile”, and Sam, who had asserted his nephews were plenty.

So being Uncle Steve for Morgan had been something he loved.

The thought of his Morgan, the one from his universe, no longer existing…

It was a lot.

The sight of Bruce, his arms resting on the back of the long couch, with only slight scarring from the snap? Remembering the closed-casket funeral in a custom-made coffin due to his size?

A lot.

The two warm bodies around him, his leg leaning against Bucky’s, his shoulder leaning against Sam’s? Bucky, who he’d watched drop to his death, who sacrificed himself despite Steve’s fighting and screaming? And Sam, who he’d cradled, only weeks before, while the man took his last breaths, crushed under the weight of Thanos’ attack?

A lot.

For six weeks now, he’d been staying shut-in in the safehouse he, Bucky, and Sam had set up in. Hearing news through them, without much contact with the outside.

It had been nice. He’d definitely needed the time to wrap his head around things. When he’d first climbed through the portal into the other universe, the two had been pissed at him.

And even more pissed when his first instinct had been to try and kiss them, both, on the mouth, in a very heated manner, the moment they were alone.

The bruise was gone, what with his healing factor, but he swore he could still feel the sting from Bucky’s solid punch. Could see the gawking expression of Sam.

So, things were different here. Apparently his here-self had time traveled to go live out life with Peggy. The mish-mash of memories he’d slowly been collecting in his time here were nice, from what he could tell. Even if they were just friends, in his universe.

Even if he, Sam, and Bucky, were just friends, in this universe.

***

GUYS the soldier boys have landed........i repeat

two new POVs this chapter and the obligatory queer buff men polycule ship bc ofc i had to have it in there who do you think i am???????

chapter 7 of Please Don't Forget Me Again coming soon :))))

i'm kind of thinking abt starting a sister series that focuses on sam/bucky/steve also, mainly focusing on bucky/sam POV......bc im a helpless soldier boys shipper and not ashamed of it.......it would be less updated than this one probably and also probably a lot less plot driven, a lot more fluff, the COMFORT part of hurt comfort bc ik i have a reputation for angstm..and slice of life. something to write on those days when my writers block is acting up too much for the main fic. is that something y'all would be interested in? 👉👈

thanks for all the support! find me on ao3 @maplesnmulberries!

[maplesnmulberries]

continuation of last post 🙂‍↕️

(og post below)

[maplesnmulberries]

CHAPTER SIX OF PLEASE DON'T FORGET ME AGAIN UP!!!

y'all im having so much fun with this fic and the comments are my lifeblood fr

thank u all 🥹

[maplesnmulberries]

“...You want to watch a movie during dinner tonight? Your pick,” Tony offered as he watched Peter work on the latest webshooter.

“Maybe,” Peter replied neutrally. “Is it Thursday?” Group movie night in the tower’s theatre. Peter had reluctantly been attending, the past two weeks–neither had gone well, considering the group almost always ended up arguing more than watching.

“Nope. Tuesday. Just you and me, the couch, and some pad thai.” Tony said, bringing up a holoscreen to pre-order the food. He slid it in front of Peter to type in his order, which the kid did with a sheepish expression. He always got a lot less than he could actually pack in. Tony tripled it, and added his own order to the cart.

“I guess that’d be fine. Thanks, dad–” Peter’s voice had cracked and cut off as he said it. “-Mr. Stark,” he corrected himself quickly. His head whipped around to look at Tony with wide eyes.

Tony stared back at him, eyes just as wide, and an awkward silence settled over them.

“Well. Uh,” Tony cleared his throat. “...Sure. Better let you. Get back to it,” he nodded. “I’ll see you at dinner, Underoos.”

Peter could have been wearing the mask, for how red his face was. He nodded frantically as he went back to the webshooter.

Tony left the room. He couldn’t help the small smile breaking over his face.

“Friday?”

“Yes, boss?”

“Order the kid’s Christmas list early.”

—------

chapter 6 of please don't forget me again coming out soon!!! guys i can't stop WRITING i just published this fic 5 days ago and its already close to 20k words not including this chapter, HELLO???

[maplesnmulberries]

*sets fic down and slowly backs away*

peter parker whump...parental figure! tony stark...multiverse shenanigans...ok bye

aka it my first fic and im so excited that i have to talk abt it on here :,,)