#And winters in Gotham are HORRIBLE

[cxpperhead]

While he wouldn't exactly call himself a collector, Copperhead has amassed quite a few teacups and is always looking for interesting additions to add to his hoard. Some of them were pilfered from his earliest victims as trophies of sorts but decided against continuing to steal them in the event that authorities would catch him someday and manage to link these missing cups to as of yet unsolved cases.

[kettlefire]

The boy under the ice

He simply appear one winter day in Gotham. The water had already frozen over. Citizens alike surround the cold pond for a day of Winter festivities.

The Wayne family making a yearly appearance. Smiles and greets as hot cocoa and coffee was passed around to children and parents alike.

Some people skating across the frozen pond, while others enjoyed the snow. Building snowmen, and having intense rounds of snowball fighting.

Even in the darkness and dangerous that surrounded Gotham, everyone understood what today was. To put aside all problems and differences. To simply enjoy the seasonal change, spending time with your loved ones.

It was perfect. Until a piercing scream broke through the laughter and joy.

Cries of surprise and fear immediately followed. The people on the pond had quickly moved away in fear and disgust.

Bruce Wayne made no hesitation to move forward. Fear thrumming at the idea that someone had fallen through the ice. Maybe it hadn't been solid enough for skating and a poor soul got pulled in.

Except the ice was perfect. The only marks from the slight scratches of the blades against it. Not a single crack or hole could be seen.

It didn't take long before Dick was grabbing Bruce's attention. Waving the man over with a grim expression. The once joyous moment quickly turned dark and grim.

There was a boy, barely older than Damien trapped beneath the ice. Even with closed eyes, the kid looked like he could easily be mistaken as a Wayne. Any urgency to help was quickly faded by the sight.

The boy's skin held a blue tint, noticeable even through the thick layer of ice and the water below. His lips a sickly purple, and not a movement in his body.

It was clear the boy had been long since dead. Floating in the ice cold water beneath the ice. Having just floated up to the ice by pure accident.

With a sombre tone, Bruce ordered someone to call the police. They would need the fire department to even fathom pulling the poor boy out.

Bruce, along with Dick stayed kneeled on the cold ice. Eyes trained on the poor boy. Wondering if this was a blessing or a curse.

A poor family out there somewhere finally knowing what happened to their son this Christmas winter. Only for the horrible news of loss to hit them, even then the mystery was gone.

The sound of sirens broke through the thick tense silence. Help would be there soon, but the day had been tainted already.

It took everything in Bruce not to shout when eyelids sudden snapped open.

Fear and pain-filled bright blue eyes stared up at him through the ice. Pruned and blue hands suddenly pressed against the ice. Purple lips moving in frantic and panic words.

Words that couldn't penetrate the ice.

Bruce moved quickly, standing and yelling for help. Calling the civilians to bring anything they could. A blade from the snow cone cart was brought over.

The thick silence and stillness breaking instantly as everyone joined together in a rushed attempt to help.

Bubbles raised to the surface, popping against the ice as the boy beneath it continued to struggle. Words of comfort spilling from Bruce, even though he knew the boy likely couldn't hear him.

Many people were ushered off the ice, not wanting to risk a massive break from the weight. The ice frantically yet slowly breaking and giving under the attempts. Shavings and cracks signaling progress.

Bruce's eyes trailed away from the ice he had been trying to break for only a split second. He could hear the sounds of the fire department pulling into the area.

Bruce's eyes met the teen's terrified one. A chill ran down his spine as he saw the fight leave the boy, a feeling of despair and loss filling Bruce.

He couldn't let it end like this.

Yet, the choice was ripped from him. The water below the ice seemed to bubble for a split second before he was gone.

The boy under the ice was just gone.

He hadn't sunk down to the bottom of the pond. He hadn't floated to another section. One second he was there, and the next he was gone.

It didn't stop the fire department from breaking into the ice. Into pulling all efforts to try and find the boy. The boy that almost everyone in attendance had seen in clear detail.

There wasn't a body. No sign of the young teen's existence, save for the now shattered and broken ice. It seemed to be nothing, a strange blimp in a Gotham day.

Everyone was meant to move on without a second thought.

Except Bruce couldn't. He couldn't get the sight of terrified eyes meeting his. He knew there was too the story. That boy needed help.

He wasn't simply trapped under the ice. The boy wasn't simply dead. He was suffering. And Bruce would be damned if he just brushed it off like everyone else.

It's a good thing Bruce didn't. A late night in the cave, listening to the police scanners. Trying to push away the lingering sadness and pain he felt from the boy.

That's when he heard it. The call of a young boy being found trapped under the ice. In a different pond.

That was all the confirmation Bruce needed. He sent out an order to every vigilante apart of his family. To keep an eye out for the elusive boy.

Bruce was going to crack this mystery. He was going to help this kid, no matter what it took.

[bet-on-me-13]

Ellie wasn't born a Halfa

So! Jason just found something weird. Or rather. Someone.

A little girl, no more than 6 or 7, crying behind a dumpster in an alleyway. Now, as unfortunate as it is, this isn't that strange a sight in Gotham. Kids are always running away from home, getting lost, being left homeless after a mugging gone wrong, but this time was different.

Because the kid was glowing.

When he found her hiding behind the Dumpster, a medical gown being the only thing she had to protect herself from thr frigid Gotham Winter, he didn't hesitate to give her his Jacket and take her to his nearest safe house.

(Actually it took a little while to convince her to accept the Jacket, and even longer to get her to agree to being taken to his safe house, but they got there in the end.)

When he had finally gotten her set up in a side room of the Warehouse, with the most comfortable bed and thickest Blankets he could find, he tried asking what had happened.

"Daddy lied." She said. "He said he loved me, but then he made another kid and said he didn't care about me."

And, once again, it was unfortunately not that uncommon to see runaway kids from neglectful homes, but the way she said it raised some flags in his head.

"...and, how did you end up in Gotham?"

"I ran. He said I was a spare, and that scared me."

Well, that was even more horrible than he had anticipated. What kind of monster tells their kid that they're a spare?!

"And, I'm sorry if this is a touchy subject but why are you glowing?"

She just buried her face in the Blankets and shook her head.

"Alright then, that's fine. You can tell me when you're ready, or even not tell me at all, I'll accept either or".

For the next few weeks, Jason juggled running his newly created criminal empire and raking care of the kid. He still hadn't gotten a name out of her, but she said to call her "Dp" instead. 'It's the best I'm gonna get', he thought.

It was only after a few more weeks, right before he was about to begin his Plan of confronting Bruce about the Joker still being alive, that she approached him and agreed to tell him everything. He was actually really glad that she finally seemed to trust him enough to tell him.

"Okay Dp, you can start wherever you want."

"...well, I guess I should start with my name..." She started, "...or rather, my lack of one..."

"What?" Asked Jason in a soft voice.

"I, I don't have a name." She explained, "Daddy never gave me one. He just called me DP-2."

"...what do you mean by two?" Asked Jason.

"It-It's my Experiment Number." She said, stuttering a little, "I'm not a normal person, I'm a Clone. I was made to be daddy's perfect child, but I was just the test run. He said that I wasn't needed after he made DP-3, and that all I was good for was spare parts."

Jason felt his throat dry up. Dp was a Clone? Of who? Who made her? What right did that guy have to reject her?! Who in their right mind would make a Clone and then reject the Clone?! How dare he!

The Pits perked up

He felt the Pits rising a little, but managed to push them down. Dp needed support, not the Pits.

"It's Okay kid." He said, holding her had reassuringly. "It's perfectly okay to be different. I accept you as you are, and I'm sure as hell not gonna abandon you that easily. Or, ever really. You're stuck with me, whether you like it or not."

She giggled, and hugged him. A thoughtful look crossed her face, and she pulled away.

"There is one other thing...you know how I glow sometimes?" She asked.

The Pits felt a sense of dread

Jason felt like he wasn't going to like this. "Yeah?"

"Well, when I said I was meant to be a Clone, I never mentioned who of." She explained slowly. "He's a kid named Danny, and when he was 14, he had an accident where he died and came back as a Half Undead."

No...

Jason really wasn't liking where this was going.

"When Da-Vlad tried to make me, he realized that those powers couldn't be cloned..." She paused here, seemingly gathering the courage to continue. "...they needed to be added afterwards."

NO.

He didn't. He had better not have, for his own Fucking Sake, he had better not have done what Jason thinks he did.

"So one day, he took he down to the Lab, and he put me in a big machine." He voice broke a little. "He locked me in there, and then I think...that I died..."

...

For once, Jason felt completely in tune with the Pits. He was going to Kill that guy.

...

Sorry if this feels a little rushed, I kept going back to add or change parts of it.

Basically, Vlad realized that you can't Clone a Halfa. So, he made a workaround. He just stuck his first Viable Clone into a Portal, and let the machine Kill her. When he realized that it worked, he knew he had no use for Ellie anymore aside from spare parts.

And he told her as much, Vlad is a fucking asshole.

Ellie, of course, got scared and ran away. She ended up in Gotham, and was adopted by Jason right at the start of his Criminal Career.

When Jason finally hears about the rest of his kids' Backstory, he decides that Batman can wait his turn. He needs to go Kill that Vlad Bastard.

[wednesday-if-it-was-tuesday]

Batboy Headcanons :)

Jason Todd is a horrible driver because he never actually finished drivers ed (and it’s not like batman is teaching normal traffic laws like how to hand signal)

Tim read Magic Tree House RELIGIOUSLY as a kid

Alfred has to aggressively hide Damian’s old LoA cloaks/tunics because he’ll try and wear them out when it’s cold (in his defense they were made for Tibetan winters and are v cozy)

Grayson’s real reason for becoming a cop was because his favorite color is blue and it really brings out his eyes

Dami thinks Tim uses a bo staff because he isn’t a high enough belt to use a sword

Duke teaches women’s self defense classes at Gotham Community College at night because he cannot keep running around the city to handle purse-snatchings

Tim read the instruction manuals to the Wayne manor household appliances because he watched how Bruce got torn to shreds for being a rich kid with no clue how to do chores

Bruce isn’t a lightweight, but he’ll get psychosomatically drunk super fast because he’s desperate to be in a state where he can provide an escape from his usual crippling self-accountability

[dstryvampres]

Lab Assistant

MINORS/AGELESS BLOG DNI !

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Warnings: smut LOL, dub con, pnv, unprotected sex, use of fear toxin on some dude, he smacks your ass like once

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: this is my first time writing just pure smut, sorry if the set up is super long.

For the past week your heater had been broken, and despite multiple calls to your landlord which always ended up with the promise that he would come over to fix it eventually, you were still freezing. Though you could escape the biting cold throughout the day by taking up a second home at your university, you always had to eventually come back to your shitty studio apartment and suffer through the night. You’re excess time spent on campus was well spent, studying in the library, napping under stairwells or in-between shelves in the library, stirring around coffee you didn’t even like but knew you have to drink to stay in the cafe, or staring longingly at your psychology professor Dr. Crane. The lack of any privacy throughout your day had started to get annoying after the first three days, not helped by the fact that because you saw Dr Crane more than you usually do, leading to you feeling more high strung. Gotham was not treating you kindly.

“Excuse me,” a voice called out quite loudly above you, forcing you out of your final exam induced coma. You gritted your teeth, knowing that you were likely overstaying your visit to the campus library, especially since you had just finished your last exam of the season, who knows how many hours ago.

Looking up you were met with the face of your favourite professor, Dr Crane. Another horrible coincidence, it was embarrassing for someone so put together and professional to find you so vulnerable, especially someone who you had in mind when your hand was shoved down your pants most nights. 

“The library is closing soon, I would recommend getting your stuff and heading out,” Dr Crane says, his voice oddly empathetic. A jarring contrast to the usual mix of hostility and boredom his voice held during lectures. He sighs and takes off his glasses, pinching his eyebrows together, seeming conflicted over what he wants to say next, so instead you fill the space with your own voice.

“Of course, I’m so sorry sir. I seemed to lose track of time, and was too exhausted to walk home. Again, I am so sorry. I should have set a timer or just maybe not sleep in the library, that was so-“

“You have been spending a weird amount of time on campus for the past week,” Dr Crane interjects, giving you a once over. “Is everything okay at home?”

The question was so genuine it made your brain short circuit. Why would he even care about you?

“Not really,” you laughed, the two words coming out of your mouth before you had time to think. A habit only recently picked up due to sleepless nights.

A smile crept over your professor's face, one that didn’t seem to reach the rest of his face. You couldn’t tell if it was from the shock of your honesty or something more sinister. He sat down in front of you, scratching his nose, letting a silence stretch out. Just long enough for pricks of discomfort to stir.

“Well, I’m running a program here at the university over the winter break. Just need an assistant to help me over at Arkham for an experiment I’m conducting. The job would include housing closer to Arkham, since it’s a little out of the city, and it pays about a dollar over the minimum wage. If you’re interested,” he slides a business card over the table, smile now dropped, “just email me in the next 48 hours.”

Taking the card eagerly between your fingers, mumbling a small ‘thank you’ under your breath before pocketing it. When you look up he’s already halfway gone. Packing up your things as fast as you can, you leave the library and hop on the train back to your shitty apartment. An email is sent to Dr Crane that night, and the following day you are confirmed as his assistant for this experiment the next day.

𝜗𝜚

The space provided for your three week stay was slightly better than your studio apartment, mostly because it had heating, but also because you shared a wall with Dr Crane. Besides the housing, the internship also came with an average pay, some work experience, and enough credits to compensate for one class. Your first week there had mostly been mundane tasks, taking notes outside of interrogation rooms while Dr Crane interviewed patients, making coffee for the two of you, making patient profiles, and making sure no one took any of Dr Crane’s “special medicine” for the experiment. Despite the easy work and the decent benefits, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something more sinister that Dr Crane wasn’t telling you about the experiment. With a thesis based around the concept of fears, you had yet to notice any great dive into the topic beside a few one-off questions.

“Before we start this week,” Dr Crane starts, sitting down in the chair opposite to you, “I want to just warn you that this is when the experiment starts to become a little more intense.”

He holds a coffee mug in his hand, as he talks the liquid sloshes around the cup. It's all information you already know, you signed an NDA, he trusts you, do what he says, and that he needs you to stay out of the room no matter what. Last week you learned just how Dr Crane enjoys his coffee, no milk and one sugar, you can’t understand how he can drink it. One sugar can’t mask the bitter taste. He drinks it quickly though, remembering the taste makes you gag.

“Before we begin today, can you prepare the variable today in syringes? I will be introducing it into the experimental group today.”

He sets down the now empty mug, a loud thump echoes through the room, startling you. Dr Crane smiles at your reaction, it’s the same one he always gives you, the one that doesn’t reach the rest of his face. You ignore the stone that has formed inside your stomach, picking up your clipboard and pen.

“I’ll meet you in room 283B,” your professor puts a hand on the small of your back, leading you both out of his office. A shock is sent through your body at the contact, once out of the room you turn to look at him, but his hand is gone and he’s headed in the opposite direction as you.

Something else that you have noticed throughout this week is just how close Dr Crane is now. He’s more touchy than you would pinpoint him as. Which isn’t saying much, but the small lingering touches he lays on you, a hand on your shoulder, maybe on the small of your back, doesn’t seem to be too professional. One… two… three millilitres of solution per syringe. The questions he asks also seem to be a little weird, especially due to the matter of the study. A common thread being his prying into your fears, and a look of hunger when he asks the questions. Soft thud of the storage container hitting the ‘chemical waste’ bin. Though you can’t really complain, this past week has given you enough content for your late nights to satisfy you for your whole university career, Masters program included. Laying out each of the syringes in a row on the tray, and counting them out. Three syringes on the top tray, six needles on the lower tray. Rolling the tray out of the room and over to the elevator to head up to the second floor.

You softly knock on the door, waiting for Dr Crane to open up the door to the observer section. The door opens in a matter of seconds, only a crack for a couple more seconds, before it is completely opened. 

“Thank you,” Dr Crane says, looking down at the tray of syringes. He takes one in his gloved hand, holds it up to the light and nods, a stamp of approval given to your handiwork. “Remember: that if anything goes wrong, do not enter the room, just call security, and take as detailed notes as possible on the patient’s behaviour and the levels on the monitor.”

You nod, taking a look at the monitor set up beside the one-way glass, all vitals seem to be steady at the moment. The door to the room holding the patient opens up and shuts quickly, Dr Crane slipping in and greeting the patient, thanking him for his time. The patient seems to be a middle aged man, scars run across his arms, roughed up from whatever he did before his time in Arkham, he’s bald and seems to be displeased with his situation. Still, when Dr Crane comes to insert the syringe into his arm he stays still and takes it. The opaque liquid disappears as Dr Crane pushes down on the syringe, removing it once all the liquid has entered into the man’s system. A ‘thank you’ is expressed by Dr Crane before he exits the room, syringe in hand. Once the door is locked, Crane disposes of the syringe in the toxic waste bin in the observer’s room.

“The solution will take about five minutes to kick in,” he says, looking at you and it’s now that you realise just how excited he seems to be. 

The heart rate on the monitor starts to speed up, taking your attention away from Crane, and noting it down.

“Are you sure you estimated the time correctly?” You ask hesitantly, not wanting to offend your professor.

“I did. No worries. Injections can do this to people.”

The next five minutes pass by slowly, Dr Crane behind your chair, his breath tickling your ear. It’s almost impossible to focus like this, you just want to do something about the growing wet spot in your pants. Screaming immediately breaks through the tension you were feeling, you look at the patient. His eyes are wide, his pupils expanded, and his heart rate reaches around 140 bpm. Alarm sets into your own heart, you didn’t expect this big of a reaction from the patient. Dr Crane nudges your shoulder, reminding you to start writing your observations.

11:06: patient’s heart rate reaches 140 bpm

11:07: patient starts uncontrollably screaming at seemingly nothing

Your continued scribbling of notes doesn’t seem to discourage Dr Crane from talking.

“I didn’t know it would be this effective. I’ve been waiting years for this to be approved and this is better than I could’ve ever expected.”

Nausea settled from the mix of pleading for mercy and screaming from the patient, and Dr Crane’s glee from his reactions. Unsure how you could continue on with doing this almost every single day for the two weeks. Writing soon became sloppy due to your own lightheadedness and nausea, every moment you begged someone to make this stop. It was too much. It stretched on for over fifteen minutes before the patient finally came back from whatever drug induced hallucination he was forced into, yet he was still crying. Wanting to distance yourself so far from this experiment, you place the clipboard down.

“Wonderful isn’t it?” Dr Crane asked you, placing a hand on your shoulder. Whatever response you thought you could muster was stuck in your throat, so instead you nodded. “I call it my ‘fear toxin.’”

Once his hand left your shoulder, you immediately stood up, head spinning so much that you stumbled right into Dr Crane.

“Are you okay? Did the ‘fear toxin’ effects startle you?” He asks, putting his hands on your shoulder to stabilise you, his voice bridges between mocking and actually concerned.

“I just need to go to the bathroom,” You squeeze out, stumbling into the hallway and waving goodbye.

Stumbling around, unable to find the bathroom, you slide down the wall of an empty hallway. Sitting on the floor and curling up into the fetal position. Nausea slipping out of you slowly, eyes closed, just wanting to forget about the whole experience. What substance could even make a man react so horribly? Why would anyone make that in the first place? What purpose could a substance like that even serve? How will this even help-

“There you are,” a voice comes from above you, Dr Crane. You open one eye up, becoming flustered at your unprofessionalism, and enraged at the sight of your cruel professor.

He kneels to your height, offering you his soulless smile. “I’m sorry if that startled you, but I thought you would be better than them. I thought you could fully see my vision, look past the gruesome bits and understand what I’m trying to do here.”

His words both enrage you even further and make you feel even more embarrassed. He created a horrible substance, tested out on a man that, from what you know, didn’t deserve it, and essentially tortured him. On the other hand, this is a man who you have dreamed about and only want to please. For the past three years, you have sat in his class and dreamed about only him. For him to think that only you could understand his plans and dreams, is a flattery you could only dream of.

“Maybe I just didn’t prepare you well enough for this. Can I make it up to you?” Dr Crane asks, offering his hand to you. It takes a couple seconds, but you take it and he leads you upwards. 

His hand is oddly cold, his grip on your own hand is firm, but not harsh. His skin is smooth. It’s embarrassing that he has to lead you out of this room, has to coax you to continue.

“Let’s go to my office, hm?” Quirking an eyebrow, but not waiting for a response he led you down the hallway.

Everything seemed to blur together for you, the trip to the elevator, down the elevator, and into his office. He clicks the door shut, locking it, then turns to you. Stepping forward until he’s cornered you onto his desk.

“You think I don’t hear you at night. Calling my name. The walls in that place are very thin,” Dr Crane whispers into your ear, his hand slithering up your thigh.

A gasp escapes your lips, both at the hand now dangerously close to the warmth growing in your pants, and also because you didn’t think he would be able to hear your late night pleasure sessions. Soon he’s cupping your sex and you moan into his ear softly, earning a hum from him. Finger wander up from your sex to cup your chin, he brings you into a kiss. It’s bruising and hungry, he’s biting at your lower lip and you swear you can taste your own blood. His fingers make quick work unbuttoning your pants, sliding them down your legs until they drop to pool around your ankle.

“You're so wet already, how interesting,” He teases, tracing a finger over your clothed slit. Moaning in response you chase after his lips, but he pulls away. 

Your underwear is pushed over to the side, and his middle and ring finger breach your entrance. A loud ‘oh’ comes from your mouth, crane presses his lips to yours again to silence you. His fingers move slowly in and out of you, he catches each moan you let out with his mouth. His lips are soft, but the kiss is rough, his fingers speed up. They stretch you out so nicely it stings a little bit. It’s been so long since someone else has pleasured you, at all.

His fingers pulled out of your sex slowly, deliberately. A painstaking motion that left you close to pleasureless as he pulled out of your kiss. Quickly flipping you around and pressing you into his desk, the shock between his warm body behind you and the cold desk pressed against your front sent you spiralling. There was shuffling behind you, before you felt him lineup his cock with your cunt.

“Beg for it.” 

Your mouth opens and you spew out a string of ‘please’s and ‘need it’ that seem to satisfy him enough for him to push inside of you. He’s girthier than you expected, but not as long as you expected, which is fine for you. The stretch makes you ache and he won’t be bruising your cervix. Without giving you a moment to adjust he starts to move in and out of you.

“You have to be quiet, okay?” He says, before picking up his speed.

He sets up a consistent speed, hitting a spot inside of you that makes you grip the edge of the desk so intensely that your knuckles are turning white. The desk creaks as he moves in and out of your cunt, his breathing speeds up, one hand twists into your hair pulling your head back and you can’t tell if it’s to ground himself or as a reminder for you not to be too loud. Another hand comes to smack your ass, it's a swift hit, but it makes your knees buckle. 

“You're so much better than I thought you would be,” Dr Crane strains out between grunts.

He presses his front to your back, the hand in your hair softening its grip but not leaving. His breath tickles the back of your ear, the grunting coming from him makes you bite your lip to suppress your moans so hard there will be an indent left there tomorrow.

“Dr Crane, can I cum? Please, I’ve been so good, please let me cum,” you babble, the side of your face pressed into his desk making your words slur a little bit.

“Cum for me,” he says, moving the hand not tangled in your hair to your clit. Pressing small circles into your clit, he starts to speed up. 

Soon the pressure in your stomach releases and it goes black for a couple seconds. You feel Dr Crane’s hand press into your mouth to silence you as your legs buckle. Once you’re conscious again, he has already pulled out of you and you can hear him zip up his pants. You stand on your shaking legs and follow suit, trying to press your hair down into a more professional shape.

“I would recommend you get cleaned up,” Dr Crane says, giving you a smile, “Was that enough motivation to continue aiding me in my experiment?” “Uh- Yes,” you answer, not fully aware of what you were even saying, too embarrassed and lightheaded to even compute anything he was saying besides ‘getting cleaned up.’

“Perfect. After you get cleaned up, please meet me in room 256B. We can meet again here tomorrow during our lunch break if you continue to need the motivation provided,” He pats you on the shoulder, and leaves you in the room alone.

[lazycats-stuff]

How about a one of the one where the family didn't know about male reader past and found scars. Let's see the justice league/titans/young justice reactions to readers past

R.I.P Deathstroke cause the moment anyone sees him there all about to jump on him🤣

Yup, RIP Deathstroke. Batman will kill him. Also, I think I wrote in a new style... No dialog at all.

Summary: (Y/N) used to be a weapon for Deathstroke. The batfamily didn't know.

Warnings: protective everyone, (Y/N) trained as a weapon, Deathstroke is awful, The family is read to kill everyone.

(Y/N) pulled his sleeves down. He couldn't let anybody see those scars. And nobody can't know about them. Once they do, they will kick him out and he will be back on his own again. He couldn't be back alone on his own.

Sometimes he got nightmares about his past. The things he had to do were absolutely horrible and it would make Batman wince and shudder. Some of the habits were outright impossible to shake off.

Sometimes he would skip meals when the mission has failed. Or he would overwork himself when he could hear Deathstroke in his head. He wanted to get the bastard out of his head, but he couldn't. No matter what he tried he couldn't.

He opened his window and stepped out on the roof. It was dark and cold, middle of winter here in Gotham City. He took his pack of cigarettes out and his lighter.

God knows he needed it today. Deathstroke's voice today was a bastard today. No matter what he did today, he heard Deathstroke. Judging him... Putting him down for everything he did.

He took a cigarette and put it in his mouth. He lit it, guarding the cigarette with his hand. He removed the hand when it was lit. He took a very long drag.

After a few moments, he let the smoke out. He never had actually smoked when you let the smoke to your lungs, instead he kept the smoke in his mouth.

He looked down, closing his eyes. He still remembers how he came to Gotham. He fought tooth and nail to run. He went through hell and back to get to America itself.

Somehow he made his way to Gotham city. He knew that he would blend in there, with the amount of people on the streets, especially kids. It wasn't a good thing, but hey, if it helped him, then sure.

None the less, he tried to atone on the streets. He helped out people whenever he could, especially with the main criminals in Gotham. Whenever he could mess their plans, he would did it.

But there was one thing that he has vowed to never do again. He has vowed to never kill again. He will never take a life ever again. He messed with Black Mask more times than he can remember, but his favorite person to mess is Riddler.

That man needed to knocked down a few pegs. Well, not a few, a lot of more. And he loved every minute of it.

The only problem here was Batman. He knows when someone else gets involved with his criminals and (Y/N) knew he had to watch out for Batman. Seeing the four Robins, Batman had an adoption problem.

Well, it had more to do with adopting probably troubled kids and turning them into the vigilantes. He didn't need that. Especially with Deathstroke looking for him. That wouldn't be a good idea.

But did that stop Batman from trying to capture (Y/N). Oh no. Batman and (Y/N) saw one another by pure accident. (Y/N) was looking for the explosives that he heard Penguin had.

And Batman has heard it too. That's when the two saw one another. He was accompanied with Robin and it seemed that they were looking for him too. (Y/N) wasted no time as he ran away. Robin went after him and that's something that nobody would want to see.

Robin is the closest thing to Batman with his effectiveness and plans. And that was something thar was scary to think about. (Y/N) ran like never in his life. He had no intentions of fighting the little demon.

He managed to escape that night, but Batman wouldn't give up. He was eventually taken and then introduced into the family. It took a while for him to relax, to start trusting his now brothers and a new dad, not to mention a grandfather.

He made sure that absolutely no one saw his scars. He made sure that nobody knew anything about his past too. After some time, he felt more relaxed and he could finally feel free. He was very close with his brothers now and his father too.

Alfred was his favorite though. Not that he had favorites, but Alfred was just so sassy.

Bruce was more than happy to see him relaxed and happy so he introduced him to the Justice League. The meeting went well and (Y/N) got uncles and an aunt, who adored him dearly. Bruce didn't even want to think what would they do if (Y/N) got hurt by anyone. They didn't know how brutal his past was and (Y/N) would have liked it to stay that way.

One day the mission went tits up to put it bluntly. (Y/N) got seriously hurt trying to get intel and he was rushed to the hospital wing. He started working as a (V/N) after a year after being at Bruce's. He was rushed to the hospital wing where the doctors got to work.

Bruce was impatient, waiting for the news. (Y/N) had to pull through. Right? Everyone was quiet as they waited for the news. Was the intel really worth it? Where did that mission before anything else?

Bruce rubbed his eyes. For the first time since the mission started, he wanted to rip this cowl off. These times, when he wanted to rip his cowl off, were very rare.

After hours of waiting, Bruce was finally allowed to see his son. He was shocked by the mere scars covering him. A part of his chest was exposed and there were clearly scars thar looked old.

Worse of all, it all looked deliberate. Bruce paled and the rest were no different. Bruce thought that his knees that were going to buckle and he would fall down.

What has he been through? After (Y/N) woke up, Bruce asked him about it and that's when (Y/N) broke down, telling them all everything. The brutal training, the punishments and everything that happens if he fails a mission.

Bruce saw red when he heard that it was Deathstroke. He wanted to go after him, but his son needs him more now. He embraced his son tightly, letting him let out the things that he has buried. (Y/N) cried for a while.

Bruce just held him tightly, making a promise to himself to get Deathstroke. The Justice League listened and they all promised to get Deathstroke. He won't be dead, but he will be recovering for years after they get him.

Damian and Dick invited (Y/N) to the Teen Titans. (Y/N) didn't have anything else to do that day and he has decided to go. Bruce didn't tell anything to his brothers per (Y/N)'s request. Bruce wanted to, but he wanted to respect (Y/N)'s wishes.

Damian and Dick noticed that something has changed in (Y/N)'s demeanor and something has shifted in Bruce's and (Y/N)'s relationship, but they couldn't pinpoint what has changed.

But (Y/N) seemed a bit more comfortable and that was all that it mattered to all of them. Dick has already introduced (Y/N) to the Teen Titans and everyone liked him a lot. He got along with everyone and it seemed natural to him.

Dick was happy that his brother got along with his team. It was nice to see that he was socializing with kids his age. Kori absolutely adored him, often calling him baby bird and just hugging him whenever she could.

(Y/N) didn't mind her hugs. They were warm and always tight. And they were always comforting. (Y/N) went to Dick's room, tired from the patrol from last night. He also wanted to take a shower, considering that it was hot and he was wearing a long sleeved T-shirt. Dick provided him with clothes when he was in the shower so that meant that he would have to step out of the bathroom to get it, scars exposed.

In theory, it should be fine, right?

It would be if Dick didn't walk in just as (Y/N) stepped out. Dick stopped dead in his tracks. Damian also walked in, looking for (Y/N). The trio looked at one another in shock. (Y/N) took a step back and that snapped Dick from his shock.

After dressing into the clothes that were brought to him in the bathroom. He thought about escaping, but he knew that he couldn't. He stepped out where Damian and Dick were waiting. (Y/N) told them both what has happened.

To say Dick and Damian were enraged was an understatement of the year. Damian was already hatching a plan to get revenge and Kori, probably sensing the tension in the room.

(Y/N) told her, hanging his head down. He knew what Deathstroke has done to the Teen Titans. Kori stayed quiet for a moment before hugging (Y/N) tightly. (Y/N) teared up a little and slowly the team piled into the room.

(Y/N) explained everything to them and he got hugs and reassuring words. And something that he didn't know, they all swore revenge.

The last people to find out about (Y/N)'s past are Jason and his Outlaws. Jason, instead of finding out on his own, was called by Bruce to let him know. (Y/N) didn't want to be alone at the manor and since nobody was going to be there, Jason offered to watch (Y/N).

(Y/N) allowed Bruce to tell Jason since he didn't have any type of strength left to let him know. Jason got to working. Blankets, snacks, comfort foods too and movies and TV shows.

Artemis, Red Arrow and Bizzarro could only watch in silence as Jason did everything. They heard (Y/N) was coming, but why did Jason need to do this?

When they tried to ask him, he would brush them off. Now they were all a little bit worried now. They have met (Y/N) prior to this and they liked the kid.

What has happened?

Jason stopped for a moment and everyone watched as (Y/N) entered. Jason immediately hugged his brother, leading him to the couch, still holding his brother tightly. He wrapped his brother in a blanket, moving the snacks closer.

Everyone was very curious and sat around the two brothers. (Y/N) just put his face into Jason's chest and Jason didn't mind it. After getting permission to tell everyone, Jason explained everything to his team.

Well, Deathstroke wasn't going to live very long if the Outlaws get their hands on the bastard. But for now, they will help (Y/N) in any way they can.

The promise of revenge came true a couple of months later. (Y/N) wasn't on this mission, but the Batfamily was. They didn't expect to find Deathstroke, but it was perfect.

The family thought like never before, with so much rage and anger clouding their minds, so much red in their visions that it looked liked they were possessed.

After beating Deathstroke to a pulp, they were happy. They made every punch and kick worth it.

Bruce took a deep breath, to finally calm himself. He fulfilled the promise to his son and now he could finally let go of that anger. The others felt amazing too. They have fulfilled their promises and (Y/N) could feel better.

[bruciemilf]

Now I’m thinking of Alpha Martha scooping in like “is anybody going to love and cherish that omega” and not waiting for an answer. She uses every Wayne gala to flaunt her Omega and later, pup in Carmine’s face. The only reason she hasn’t killed him yet is that seeing his rage and sad plans to get Thomas back is amusing and if it ever comes down to that Thomas deserves the honors.

Gosh, I’m starting to fall in love with that concept. Just imagine stern browed, lethally beautiful Captain Martha Kane, infamously known for her service in the military.

She reeks of bloodied snow, and sweet pomegranate with a note of petrichor. Of gunpowder, grainy and dark and rich, and of something so alluringly nameless Thomas can’t shake off.

The rumors about her hawk like gaze aren’t just rainwater.

Her look is made of storms and winter and Thomas shivers when he sees her for the first time, walking aimlessly around Gotham’s museum. His mother’s museum.

Carmine’s now, legally.

She stops just besides him, — she’s tiny, for an alpha, and he’s big for an omega, and for a moment, Thomas feels vindicated. So they had anomalies, too. Good. They earned it.

“Beautiful.”

She’s referring to the exhibit they’re admiring together. She has to be. Thomas stays quiet.

“What’s your opinion about it? I’ve visited her hundreds of times and I just can’t understand it. Not correctly, I think.”

He scoffs, but otherwise, the silence continues to expand.

Of course no Alpha understands The Good Omega.

Right above them, exposed almost proudly, imprisoned behind a thin layer of glass with rose gold framing, with delicate ivory marbled in, The Good Omega displays an omega women kneeling by her alpha.

It’s not intricate, or complex in composition. It translates well, and it’s just detailed enough.

Her mouth is sewn shut.

It’s a blood painting.

“She used to be an artist, I believe, “ Martha continues, with just the barest twitch of discomfort in her face, but she doesn’t allow her attention to shift. “I thought maybe you’d have a better perspective about it.”

“I’m not allowed to speak to you. As you well know.”

She pauses for a bit. “I apologize. You have no collar on. Your alpha didn’t pick one yet?”

He hums. “He can collar me when I’m in the ground.”

Oddly enough, that answer satisfies her. Pomegranate blossoms on his tongue.

“It’s freedom,” he continues, not really caring about customs. He already defies them daily. “It means freedom.”

Martha listens, but she huffs, half confused, half incredulous. “That doesn’t look like freedom to me. “

“That’s because you’re used to it,” He grits, turning his own gaze on her. He’s been told he smells horrible when he’s angry. He hopes this tiny, beautiful alpha chokes on it.

“Suffering is the only freedom omegas have. It forces you to look, to awknolege. There’s no exits The freedom of existing, that’s all we got.” He scoffs, not even noticing she’s clingy to every little sound.

“ Enjoy it while you can. Its going in the junkyard next week.”

“The junkyard?” She echoes, almost offended by the idea, but the casual insult. “Who’d throw away something like this, omega? It’s too valuable. “

Omega.

Thomas wants to purr and he rages, almost.

His smile is nasty, and full of teeth, and he’s grown to love how alphas cringe at the sight of it. Not this one, thought. This little beast stares at it like it’s living art.

“The same people you fight for. Thank you for your service, alpha.”

Thomas turns, not bothering to bow, excuse himself, or make a respectful exit. One good thing about being a rich omega is that he follows no rules his alpha doesn’t specify.

Nowhere did Carmine say he wasn’t allowed to ditch gorgeous alphas.

—

“You’re back rather early, Madame,” Alfred greets her with a kiss on one of her brow, soft as anything, his like tea, blueberry and dark chocolate scent hugging her deeply.

He takes a whiff of her, frowns, both in intrigue and concern. “…Why do you smell like unhappy omega?”

“Alfred,” She says, “I want to retire. Would you be a darling and contact my lawyer?”

“Oh, thank heavens. Anything else?”

Martha’s gaze bleeds blue, her thighs buzzing with the sneer of Thomas’ anger still, “Can you ask him if I can legally kidnap a taken omega?”

[unmotivatedwrit3r]

Cloudy Christmastime

damian wayne x reader x jonathan kent

(A/N): Before anyone protests, I headcanon the Wayne family as celebrating both Jewish holidays like Yom Kippur and Hanukkah as well as Christmas and Easter because yes, Bruce is ethnically Jewish (though may have done Christmas as well) but Dick/Jason/Tim/Steph would have likely celebrated Christmas. So they do both.

Anyway, this is a christmas gift for @glorified-red and literally the 5th take on this fic bc they first said Hallmark movie, then damijon hallmark movie, then whump. And then it took me three tries to get something I was close to happy with so I hope you enjoy. This ended up being a mix of domestic fluff and h/c.

warnings: sensory overload

wc: ~2600

~~

“Tell me again why Santa doesn’t bring us gifts if he’s real. Like our dads have met him. And he still doesn’t bring us presents,” Jon lamented from the couch, bundled up in four blankets. 

From your spot on the floor by the tree, you looked up, an eyebrow raised in amusement. “Because we’re not kids anymore? And how do you know Santa ever brought us gifts?” 

“Perhaps,” Damian added, passing Jon a cup of hot chocolate. He placed a second cup on the coffee table and lifted one to his lips. “He only brought gifts to people to make a point. I never received any from him as a child but father has gotten many over the years.” 

Jon listed to the side, head landing on Damian’s shoulder. “I think that’s worse.”

For the first time in a while, Jon felt Damian’s huff of laughter more than he heard it. Your small chuckle was similarly inaudible. Jon hated solar flaring. Not only was it a pain to deal with for the day and change—one could argue he got either lucky or really unlucky by solar flaring the morning of Christmas Eve—but it always threw his senses out of whack as they trickled back in. And, with the gray skies of Gotham’s winter, Jon was expecting it to be even weirder than usual. It was worth it though, to him, in order to spend the day itself with his partners. It was enough that the Kent family Christmas Eve was ruined by Lex Luthor. He wasn’t going to let his Christmas day be ruined too. 

“I’m sorry, mi sol,” you offered with a shrug and a smile. Jon met your grin with his own. A full-body shiver wracked his frame. Your gaze turned concerned. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Jon agreed, “Just chilly.” Damian’s arm wrapped further around Jon, pulling their sides flush against each other. Jon maneuvered the blankets away to soak in his warmth. 

“Ameli, we can turn the heat up,” Damian offered. 

“Nope,” Jon argued, nuzzling into Damian’s neck. “This is good.” Damian’s resulting huff of air teased at the hair on the top of Jon’s head. 

“Mi luna?” You asked from the floor. Damian turned to look at you. Jon followed, eyes traveling over the mound of presents arranged under the tree. There was a pile around the back of the tree against the wall for Damian’s family (Jon still needed to give Dick his gift from the Hanukkah celebration a couple weeks ago. The blue dreidel paper was obvious against the sea of brown, red, and green wrapping paper.), and a smaller one for yours. The empty gap left behind after the Kent Christmas was already filled in with a large box Jon was like ninety percent sure was a new easel for Damian. You ordered it, not him, but Jon couldn’t think of anything else on any of your lists that was even close to that size. “Can you hand me that please?” You gestured to a precarious stack on the coffee table. 

Damian acquiesced, passing over a teetering pile of vaguely book-shaped items. Who those were for was anyone’s guess. Jon was grateful Alfred had helped you and him pay for some of the gifts for Damian. Looking at the gift tags, it otherwise would have been horribly uneven. And Damian himself wouldn’t have minded, Jon knew, but you and him would have been upset about it anyway. He deserves the world, your rohi. Damian pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of you, still arranging presents under the tree. He showed it quickly to Jon before texting it to him immediately. 

“This look okay?” You asked, peeking out from behind the tree. Jon looked it over. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for exactly, but he also wasn’t exactly the reigning opinion on artistic presentation. 

“It looks fine, hayati” Damian said, eyes still trained on his phone. You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“You didn't even look.” 

Damian turned to look at you. “Because I knew it looked fine, beloved.” His eyes scanned the presents. “And it does.” 

You shook your head at him, exasperated, before conceding and sitting heavily on the couch. Scooching in, you nearly pressed up against Jon’s other side. 

“Come closer,” He whined, untangling a hand from the blankets to grab yours. “You’re warm.” 

Jon could feel the look exchanged over his head. 

“I’m not that warm,” you argued even as you grabbed the TV remote from the coffee table and arranged the blankets so that you could fit underneath. “You’re just cold.” 

Jon shrugged. The hand that wasn’t holding yours reached underneath Damian’s shirt and he swore, grabbing Jon’s wrist to keep its chill away. Another look passed over Jon’s head. He wondered sometimes if the two of you were aware he knew what you were doing and just didn’t care. Probably. 

“Are you sure you’re okay, amorcito?” You asked. Jon shrugged. 

“It’s cold outside and I’m human but otherwise yeah. I have you two,” he added smugly. Damian’s playful shoulder hit came at the same time as your muttered “sap.” Jon grinned. “So because I’m sick—sort of—I get to pick the movie. And we’re watching Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” Despite the protests on both sides, the movie was playing before Damian could even get up to turn the lights off. To the side of the couch, the lights on the Christmas tree bathed the room in a soft white glow. 

~

Jon awoke to a cold bed. On a good day, he’d wake with the sun—or whenever it wormed its way through the bedroom’s black out curtains—or to an international emergency. Okay, not that the emergency was good, just that he was feeling good enough to know it was happening. On a bad day, all bets were off. Jon stuck his hand out of the covers, searching blindly for his phone. After a moment of finding nothing but the wood of the end table, the scratchiness of the sheets was unignorable and he gave up, flinging back the covers to get out of bed. Hanging over the side of the dresser was a dark red sweatshirt. Jon grabbed it and tugged it on, rubbing his arms to get the lingering echo of the sheets off his skin. His off kilter super hearing zeroed in on the crooning of Michael Bublé before zooming back out into the general background noise coming from the kitchen. Jon winced, squaring his shoulders. That was a bad sign. But it was Christmas; he’d be fine. 

A quick squint at his phone told Jon that it was just after noon. No wonder the bed was cold. Jon shivered, then grabbed a pair of your fuzzy socks before opening the bedroom door. 

The smell of cinnamon and chocolate coming from the kitchen was pleasant rather than unbearable. Jon let himself breathe it in as he approached quietly. He didn’t even notice you behind him—though that was often true of an average day—before there were arms around his waist and a head on his shoulder. He let himself lean back into the warmth of you. 

“Merry Christmas, mi amor. How are you feeling?” you inquired. Hot breath ghosted across his neck. Jon shrugged. 

“Fine. Excited for today.” He spun around to face you, eyes taking in your christmas pj pants and sweater with a Robin logo. Over your shoulder, Jon could see flashes of blue, likely Damian’s nightwing sweatshirt. “Merry Christmas,” he added, tucking his nose into the spot just underneath your ear for just a moment. No matter what his super senses were like, he took comfort in the smell of the two of you. A hand weaved through his hair, a kiss pressed to the top of his head. Jon pulled back just enough to give you a peck on the lips before being spun around into a kiss from Damian. 

“Merry Christmas, my heart,” Jon muttered, pressing a second lingering kiss to Damian’s jawline. A steady heartbeat pulsed under his fingers, wrapped around Damian’s wrist. 

“Good morning,” Damian said, wrapping an arm around Jon to keep him close. Jon blindly reached out and a second calloused hand found his. A second warm body curled around him. He missed your heartbeats’ song in his ears, but Damian’s pounding steadily under his ear and yours fluttering underneath his fingertips was good enough for right then. “Are you alright?” Damian continued. “It’s late.” His voice was echoey underneath Jon’s ear and Jon flinched instinctively. The two of you reacted immediately, pulling back. 

“Jon?” you asked, voice laced with concern. 

“Yeah,” he managed. “I’m mostly good. About as expected, you know?” Jon offered up a smile. By the looks on your faces, it didn’t do as much reassurance as he’d hoped. “I’m sorry I slept so late.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Damian argued. “There is no reason to.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Jon sighed. 

“How are you feeling about breakfast, mi sol?” You asked, tangling your fingers with his. 

“Sounds good,” Jon agreed. 

~

“Oh yeah I should definitely send Dick a text to thank him. And also say Merry Christmas,” Jon said, flopping down on the couch after breakfast. With his partners looking happy, Christmas music in the background, and a breakfast of vegan pancakes in his stomach, Jon could almost forget about the buzzing under his skin. 

“Tt,” Damian scoffed. “He would have swapped with me anyway. Gordon and Father are both working tonight so it was pointless for him to have the evening off.”

Jon shrugged. “Still, doesn’t hurt to say thanks.” 

“Say hi from me too,” you yelled over the running kitchen sink. After a moment more, the water shut off and Jon released a silent sigh at the absence of an irritating bit of noise. He was lucky the x-ray vision hadn’t started acting up. Not only was that like the antithesis of Christmas presents (his mom kept presents out of the house or in a lead box until morning for that very reason), but it was also a huge pain and the hardest to hide. Screwy touch and hearing was more than enough. Dishware clanked around in the kitchen as Damian sat beside Jon on the couch. 

“No change?” He asked, reaching for a Nightwing mug of cider on the coffee table. 

Jon shrugged. “Nope, nothing yet.” Damian narrowed his eyes and Jon attempted to start coming up with excuses. At the very least, he could probably get Damian to leave it alone until after gifts. Less so if you noticed too and started teaming up on him. 

“Ready for presents?” You asked, sitting down on the other side of Damian. You raised the untouched Superman mug to your lips, eyes scanning over Jon. 

“Yes!” Jon butt in before you could say anything. “Let’s do it.” 

You and Damian exchanged a look. On the floor below, the elevator dinged, releasing a family with a horde of kids. “Okay,” you conceded, standing to grab the first load of presents.

In the apartment directly underneath, the front door squealed open. A load of presents was slammed down on the floor beside him. Three kids squealed “gramma!” in unison. Jon’s hoodie was all of the sudden suffocating him. 

Jon jumped up and yanked the sweatshirt over his head, pawing the sleeves off before yanking his socks off too. He didn’t care where they ended up. His hands went up to press against his ears. Stumbling over his own feet, Jon meandered backwards until his back slammed into a wall and then slid down, knees up and head with ears still covered in between them. Sounds zoomed in and out. All of the sudden, he could hear Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer playing eight floors down, then A Christmas Carol on someone’s TV across the street. Focus! Jon yelled at himself through all the noise. One steady beat came into focus, then another. 

Until there was a soft item brushing his feet, Jon didn’t realize he had company. A steady beat pulsed in his ears, too loud even for its familiarity. He pulled the blanket close. Something plastic nudged his shoulder and Jon grabbed it instinctively, slamming special-made headphones over his ears. The sounds faded down into something manageable. Jon took a deep breath. And then another. He didn’t need to hear to know that the two of you were there. When he reached out tentatively with his sense of smell, the usual wave of cinnamon-vanilla-brown sugar-clove and somethings just the two of you tempered by pine and peppermint was comforting rather than overwhelming. Jon let it wash over him, clutching the soft weighted blanket to his chest. 

When he cracked his eyes open, two blurs blinked into focus as his partners, leaning against the back of the couch and hands linked. Damian’s head rested on your shoulder, one of your hands tangled in his hair. Jon noticed as soon as Damian saw he was up. He almost slammed his head into your chin as he shot up and Jon huffed a laugh.  

“Ameli?” Damian asked. Your eyes locked onto Jon’s. 

“You guys shouldn’t sit on the floor,” Jon responded. “It’s bad for your backs.”

You offered Jon a hand, ignoring his remark completely. Jon’s chest ached. If you weren’t willing to banter, he’d scared you. “How are you feeling?”   

Jon took the hand and stood, adjusting the headphones so they stayed on his head. He tossed the blanket over his shoulder and reached his other hand out towards Damian before tugging the both of you up and towards the couch. 

“I’m okay,” Jon reassured you, sitting down on the couch. “I promise.” When neither of you moved, he tugged you both down on top of him, interrupting the bat-assessment written all over Damian’s face.  

“Promise like this morning?” Damian argued. Jon winced. 

“Okay, yeah maybe I shouldn’t have—”

“Been a self-sacrificial dumbass as if we don’t a) know you and b) want you to talk to us?” You cut in. Jon could read the hurt underneath the anger clear as day. His fingers brushed over two sets of knuckles, one scarred from years of fighting without protective gear, the other dry from the winter air. 

“I know. I just wanted today to be a good day, you know? We never get uninterrupted holidays.” Jon resisted the urge to pull his hands away from yours and curl into himself. The two burning gazes on him were ones of love and concern, though, not judgment. 

“And for some reason you think accommodating you makes the day worse, why?” Damian asked. Jon didn’t have an answer. 

“We love you, Jon. Eres nuestro pareja. We picked ‘partners’ for a reason, yeah?”  You squeezed his hand in yours. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, head dropping to your shoulder. Silence was heavy in the room for a moment. 

“You choose what we do next,” Damian stated, tugging the blacket from its bundled blob to instead cover you and Jon. 

Jon moved from your shoulder to halfway on top of Damian, tugging you on top of him. “You guys are going to squish me in between you while we watch a movie and then we can do presents?” 

You shot him a wicked smile. Jon shrieked as Damian pulled him bodily half on top of him along the couch, cut off when you landed nearly on top of Jon. 

“Good?” You asked. Jon let himself sink into Damian, arms coming up to wrap around your waist. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Good.”

Damian grabbed the remote. “We’re not watching Elf.”

Jon stuck his tongue out at him.  

[thecruellestmonth]

Bruce & Jason fic recs: sweet and bittersweet

Some of the best sweet and sweet-and-sad fan fiction featuring the bond between a Good Batdad and his scrappy birdson.

>Sweet - light and fluffy, minimum hurt with maximum comfort

"Call Me Hopeless" by incogneat_oh - Bruce says good night to Jason and Dick.

"Alternative Means of Acquisition" by Imbecamiel - In which Bruce Wayne arm-wrestles Lex Luthor.

"home is such a lovely place" by evanescent - Jason's first time sneaking out to patrol doesn't go as planned. (He didn't mean to get sick, alright?)

"White Christmas" by LemonadeGarden - Jason's been in the manor for a few months now. Bruce is a pretty cool guy, sure, but he's not exactly sure what to expect from him. And then they go to Siberia in the winter on a case. It goes horribly wrong, and then pretty well.

"Not Guilty, Sir" by incogneat_oh - Robin smoked.

"Safe Space" by Cerusee - Turns out, Bruce and Jason aren’t quite on the same page about who’s parenting whom. Bruce is going to need to clear some things up.

"Sold to Wonder Woman (by my evil adoptive father Batman)" by JeanjacketCarf - Jason writes some fan fiction. It's totally not a self-insert.

"Mint Chocolate Chip" by LemonadeGarden - Summer vacations have been going on just long enough for Jason to start getting bored, when he gets an unexpected visitor. From the future.

"Cookies And The End of The World" by AnActualCrow - Jason has a bad day at school. Alfred and Bruce make him feel better.

"I Love You" by DetectivePrettyBoy - Jason wants to tell Bruce that he loves him.

"don't take your guns to town" by kreestar - batman comes home from a night patrolling to find a 10 year old jason todd waiting for him in his kitchen. across gotham, at the same time, red hood is stopped by a 25 year old bruce wayne.

"The legends and the myths" by orphan_account - Jason Todd is the best liar Bruce's ever met. Jason Todd is the worst liar Bruce's ever met.

"Growing Like A Breeze" by whaleofatime - April 27th isn't anyone's favourite date, but it's somehow worse than usual today when Bruce gets his car stolen. It's nice of Red Hood to come to his rescue. Nicer even that Jason keeps him company afterwards.

"Rise Up With The Sun" by blacklettered - His son came home on a Wednesday evening and Bruce did not call for the slaughter of the fattened calf but it was a close thing. Jason quietly decides to come home, and Bruce is quietly delighted. (Also there's a bunch of freaky Edgar Allan Poe shit happening in the background because lowkey Jason Todd is a revenant who walks the earth as if living and yet remains irrevocably connected to the forces of death and decay—but that's not as important.)

"Bet on it" by Lysical - Damian asks Jason for a favor.

"homerun" by someplacewarm - Bruce backs out from a baseball game with Jason last minute. They handle it just about as well as they handle anything else: bad, then better.

"the reflex" by TheResurrectionist - Jason takes a smoke break.

"Boof" by strikeyourcolors - When Bruce finds Jason turned into a dog in an alley, he tries to take care of him. He didn't plan on getting along so well with this canine form…or getting so emotional.

"Late Night Langoustining" by whaleofatime - Jason steals a live lobster from a supermarket.

"bred in decency and order" by OkayAristotle - Bruce cuddles his giant son. (Contains brief vomiting.)

"Sealing the deal" by orphan_account - In which Bruce Wayne is kidnapped and it’s somehow not the most difficult part of anyone’s day.Or, in which Jason Todd is a selkie.

"Plus-One" by Goldmonger - All the kids were permitted to bring a guest to the gala. Dick brought Barbara, Tim brought Bernard, Duke brought Ana, Cass brought Steph, Damian brought Jon, and Jason brought a forty-year-old 6’6” man with no sense of personal boundaries. Bruce is getting too old for this nonsense.

"the road home" by drakefeathers - Set during Lost Days. An injured and exhausted Jason succumbs to homesickness.

"the clay steals the clay" by zipadeea - Bruce discovers that Jason is alive in the sweetest, funniest way possible.

>Bittersweet - sweet mixed with melancholy, lots of hurt with some comfort; may contain mentions and depictions of child death

"Beneficiary" by sirsparklepants - The beneficiaries of the estate of Jason Todd.

"bird of winter" by knowsphere - Damian meets a ghost. Based on the short story "The Delusions of Alfred Pennyworth" at the end of Batman: Gotham Knights #34.

"A Proper Goodbye" by ceemobster - The emergence of the Red Hood throws Bruce into disarray, and then Jason pays him a visit. The epilogue of the "Under the Red Hood" story... set after Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice.

"this gun needs no bullets" by sacrr - A true Knight is made, not born. Or: the story of Jason Todd. [Batman: Arkham Knight]

"when you were young you used to dream about fires" by someplacewarm - Bruce travels back in time and finds himself in Jason's childhood home. Things aren't easy, but they were never this hard.

"through the valley of the shadow" by Goldmonger - Jason gets kidnapped and tortured. He rescues himself, partly.

"a little bit louder now" by mx_chrx99 - A mission gone awry, too many memories, too much blood, and not enough time. Bruce races to save a son he couldn't save before.

"Haunting" by the_authors_exploits - A child dies of neglect on the streets of Crime Alley; even then, the Batman won't give up on him.

"rip up the floorboards" by orphan_account - Content warning for non-graphic discussions of past CSA. When Jason was young and starved, he hid something like a corpse in his own body. Hurt/comfort.

"Wayward Birds" by LanternWisp - Featuring hilariously crunchy overbearing parent Bruce, who forbids his kid from consuming coffee or dairy.

"Moderation" by orphan_account - In which the Riddler accidentally saves the city a few years early by helping rescue Robin II from Joker’s clutches. Out of pure and vicious spite. [Arkhamverse]

"You're Just A Baby, You Can Not Fly" by BabblingBookends - Batman visits Jason's grave to say goodbye to his partner.

"To See the Stars" by lurkinglurkerwholurks - Jason and Bruce go for a hike.

"Younger Bruce, Older Jason - Shorter Fic" by whatomen

"Knock On Death's Door" by CastleGachi - Red Hood rescues a wounded Batman.

"here in our house, reminders of you" by jesamnelovelace - A Christmas present from Jason becomes Bruce's closest connection to his son after his death.

"a broken piece of what we used to be" by Cerusee - Bruce and Jason messily yet lovingly deal with the ramifications of Damian's resurrection and Nightwing's supposed death.

"Mask Of Blood" by Kieron_ODuibhir - When Jason is trapped in the past, Bruce turns to Jason Blood for help.

"By Any Other Name" by ManURonaldo - Jason thinks of Bruce and Batman as separate people.

"Someone That Hates To See Me Go" by AutumnHobbit - Or, how Jason realizes his family wants him to live, and how he realizes he does, too. (Oprah voice) Your fave gets hurt/comfort! And your fave gets hurt/comfort! They all get hurt/comfort!

"through death and time" by sparkycap - After a mission that takes Batman and Nightwing back twenty years in the past, they end up with time to kill. Bruce does what he does best: he finds a kid. Luckily this one is already his.

"Mighty" by Sparkypants - Five things Bruce taught Jason when he took him in, and one thing Jason taught Bruce.

"it's always sunny in coast city" and "the alignment of the planets, and of you and i" by atlasky - In which Uncle Hal Jordan loves Jason, but Bruce absolutely adores him with every fiber of his being.

"Trapped" by lurkinglurkerwholurks - Bruce and Jason end up trapped in a collapsed building. Jason really dislikes being buried alive.

[stabthroughme]

I think Damian should end up adopting the various pigeons of Gotham.

Like they were literally bred to be domesticated pets/working animals in the case of messenger pigeons. Here's some thoughts about it:

Damian started out with one particular pigeon who had a nicked wing and couldn't fly away from a confrontation with the villain of the week. He probably saw domesticated pigeons/messengers in the league (an animal subtle enough to carry a small message/drop and found in virtually every city in the world) and we know he's soft for injured/abandoned animals.

He takes the birb in and helps it heal and tries to check it over for various signs of ownership. He finds none, brings it into the vet (who is Very Familiar with Damian and his pets) thinking that they'd know how to find the owners and that's how he finds out that pigeons were cast out by society at large after being a point of pride for centuries.

The bird likes Damian and Damian leaves his window open (even in winter) for it to visit after it's all healed up. Damian purchases some ownership bands and pays the license fee out of his allowance to make sure the bird will be okay.

Birdy 1 comes back to the manor at least once a week and occasionally finds Damian on patrol with others, Damian decides to name it Lancelot (loyal friend, plus he just started reading Arthurian legends).

Lancelot starts showing up with it's broodmate and Damian names the broodmate Guinevere, bands and registers her and then their hatchlings who he helps hand-raise from his windowsill (where they built their nest)

He names every single pigeon that starts showing up on patrols after Arthurian legend characters (he runs out fairly quickly) and registers all of them.

Eventually it raises some red flags about possible illegal breeding operations and Jim ends up having to investigate and its literally the first time any of the bats are made aware of Damian's growing pigeon army.

Gordon of course goes back with a "he's a rich kid who loves animals and got incredibly passionate about how horrible it is that humanity turned our backs on such wonderful creatures." The thing under a sheet on his desk coos and the person he's talking to asks what it is.

Damian guilted Gordon into adopting a lone pigeon who needs more care (bc not bonded to a mate or to the flock) and you know, Babs is out on her own now and Gordon's an empty nester and pigeons are really quite affectionate-

Jason also ends up with a pigeon. So does Tim. Dick avoids it because he refuses to move back to Gotham from Blud and Damian refuses to let any pigeons experience the uprooting he had.

Anyways I love pigeons and the idea that they're "dirty" is stupid and they deserve to be taken care of k bye.

[kibblbread]

Fuckity Fuck. This’ll be a long one girlies!

AK!Jason & Pizza gorl have an unconventional romantic relationship! I headcanon JT as disabled since he realistically should be. He’s canonically able bodied & can most definitely still kick some serious ass, but mentally, he’s absolutely spent. Suspension of disbelief for the sake of this being based on a literal video-game BUT also I want to world build in my little delulu arkham verse!

As always credit to my favorite fic writer @morverenmaybewrites because she made the pizza gorl fic 🤭🍕

Please read! If you have read it, reread it!

SLEEPING 😴💤

In my world these two basically obsessed with each other but PG is extremely accommodating to JT’s mental & physical traumas. She strongly encourages him to do what’s comfortable for him in their home, as she wants it to be a safe space for them both. Jason does his very best to accommodate PG as well as he possibly can to return the favor.

J prefers to sleep alone most nights.

He sleeps on the pullout couch a lot of the time don’t worry he’s not cramped because of his nightmares and general anxiety/paranoia. Despite it though, he still desires the presence of you constantly, it brings him an immense amount of comfort. The doors in the apartment normally stay open. Even during showers. He can hear you sketching, typing, reading, or even occasionally snoring depending on how quiet the night is. It’s the perfect white noise in his opinion! The gentle presence of a loved one goes a long way for JT, he doesn’t feel alone nor watched or out of place. It’s the epitome of a happy medium for him.

When you two are actually sleeping together, it’s usually really cold out. The bed is extra toasty with your XL heating pad and fluffy duvet. JT makes a habit of burying himself underneath the comforter and tucking himself into your embrace, he sleeps the heaviest on these nights. He rarely overheats. Typically these are dreamless nights for him. During the peak of Gothams harsh winter, Jason is the most consistent with sleeping in bed with the exception of a couple random nights he gets horrible night terrors. He just can’t get enough of the encompassing warmth 🤭 Not to mention it’s much harder for his mind to construct nightmares when all he’s thinking about is getting warm.

PG obviously prefers to sleep with her significant other most nights but makes it a point to respect his boundaries. As much as she wants Jason to be guilt free when sleeping alone, he still feels no better than a bag of shit when leaving her to her own devices nearly every night after all this time together; especially during holidays like valentines or something similar. To combat this they’ll usually do an activity together before sleeping—like reading aloud to one another or crocheting or even a coloring book.

COOKING/CLEANING 🫧🧽🧼

PG loves to eat but couldn’t be more indifferent to cooking, it’s not a hobby or particularly fun experience for her. She does it simply because Jason doesn’t like to mix things up when he cooks. Not because he doesn’t want to either, he’s just good at a handful of dishes and hasn’t ventured beyond them. They’re both average but PG is marginally better since she cooks more.

Jason’s skin looks considerably better due to him eating more homemade food. He’s not nearly as greasy now.

JT having someone hounding him to hydrate and eat on routine gives him more energy… he’s lowkey shocked at how much more energy he actually has. PG is indefinitely annoyed at his antics but continues to nag JT to keep up with himself. He usually returns the favor by doing most of the chores, he seems to get some enjoyment from cleaning. It’s so easy for him to focus while simultaneously not actually think about anything. Head completely empty… only the sound of himself scrubbing away at grime.

Pure peace.

Sometimes when Jason runs out of things to clean it will lead to him stressing out unnecessarily. Unfortunately, it’s the only activity that helps alleviate stress at a rapid rate. The second best self soothing method is counting down from 10 thousand in increments 7 or something akin to that. But it doesn’t work nearly as well though..

As helpful PG finds this behavior, they’re both brainstorming better measures for calming him down.

HYGIENE 🪥

Pizza can’t really go more than 24 without a shower, she hates smelling like greasy fast food! She has a lot of scented products that help get rid of the stench pretty effectively. Jason only uses them when he needs to erase the scent of blood, otherwise he opts for the simple cleansers and shampoos.

PG loves to feel just as pretty as she smells so her hoard of hygienic products is never lacking. Jason is still genuinely curious how any girl could need so many oils, body butters, & moisturizers. It’s never ending. JT never comments or judges his significant other on her affinity for skincare. Something that makes PG so clearly happy makes him happier too. Not to mention, Jason also reaps some small benefits from her extensive collection; although he usually just uses what Pizza seems to ignore the most, some of his smaller scars have evened out and much of his hyperpigmentation has lessened. Jason himself hasn’t noticed this development in the slightest, but PG most definitely has.

He’s very bashful when you compliment him and most of the time, Jason doesn’t believe you.. sometimes though, he can’t help but let his heart flutter at the directness of your attraction.

Every once in awhile, Jason will roll up his sleeves and ask you rub cream on his forearms. As tense and anxious JT will become while being touched, he wants to heal. He wants Joker to stop haunting him. Freedom is all Jason has ever wanted since the asylum. Becoming whole again is his ultimate goal; so he’ll sit through the discomfort, the self hatred and disgust of his mangled body, to exist as he sees fit. Not by what Joker had planned for him. PG doesn’t always do it as long as he’d like if she feels he’s on the verge of panic or an episode, but occasionally, Jason can beat personal records.

JT gets loads of praise from his partner either way.

Anything to do with prolonged touch is done in complete darkness 🙃 what kind of touch is up to y’alls discretion lol

[bittercape]

2023 fanfic roundup

perhaps the fact that I dreaded writing this roundup really says it all. because this year's stats:

81 fics

176,665 words

Completed projects:

Year of the OTP: 12 works, 30k

Year of Jason and Slade: 12 works, 28k

Whump-/monsterfuck-/winterhawkhoodtober: 31 works, 33k

Exchanges: I don't even know, so many

I've sorted chronologically by fandom, and listed my favourites at the start in case you're looking for a teaspoon rather than a whole bathtub.

author's favourites:

how to get ahead in Gotham

the DC/Discworld crossover someone actually asked for. I'm really happy with this one - it's one of the few fics I took my time with this year, and it's all the better for it. It's a murder mystery (sort of) with Vimes, Sybil and Vetinari in Gotham, and more than anything it's funny. or at least I think it is.

fandoms: DC/Discworld

rating: M

wordcount: 16858

ships: Sybil/Sam, Jason/Slade

it's a horrible morning in Gotham

the soulmate goose fic. I personally thing my writing is best when it's fun, and this one very much is that. it's also a little sad in places, but not more than absolutely necessary.

rating: M

wordcount: 7537

ship: Jason/Slade

the unbearable lightness of bedding

the IKEA fic. this is just comedy from beginning to end, but it was the fic where I figured out Dick's voice and I had a lot of fun with it. also outsider POV on the ship, which I always love to write (and read).

rating: T

wordcount: 2045

ship: Jason/Slade

a bird on the edge of a blade

this one is not all that funny, but I am very pleased with it. featuring my favourite trope murder as a love language. it's what Jason deserves.

rating: T

wordcount: 1261 words

ship: Tim/Jason

cornucopia

back to the comedy, or possibly porn-comedy. in which Jason gets cursed to sprout horns whenever he's horny. it's exactly as silly as it sounds.

rating: E

wordcount: 3078

ship: Jason/Slade

go wherever you go today

I was going to stop at five, but I really am very fond of this tiny little slip of a thing. A slow morning for Natasha.

rating: G

wordcount: 601

ships: none

so! over to the full list:

DC -- series

tell it slant

works: 4

complete: yes

ship: Jason/Slade

with fingers and teeth

works: 2

complete: no

ship: Jason/Slade

blackbird

works: 13

complete: yes

ship: Jason/Slade

(has a little bit of Winter Soldier, but not enough to be a crossover imo)

the kamakura job

works: 3

complete: yes

ship: Jason/Slade

windows of opportunity

works: 7

complete: no

ships: Jason/Slade, Dick/Tim

DC -- oneshots

stuck on a winning streak

rating: T

wordcount: 512

ship: Jason/Slade

paradise at my fingertips

rating: T

wordcount: 1559

ships: Jason/Slade, background Dick/Tim

under your skin (over the moon)

rating: T

wordcount: 1044

ships: Jason/Slade, background Dick/Tim

the unbearable lightness of bedding

rating: T

wordcount: 2045

ship: Jason/Slade

a bird on the edge of a blade

rating: T

wordcount: 1261 words

ship: Tim/Jason

say I'm wrong, make me right

rating: E

wordcount: 3180

ship: Jason/Slade

it's a horrible morning in Gotham

rating: M

wordcount: 7537

ship: Jason/Slade

dulce y fatal

rating: M

wordcount: 1792

ship: Jason/Slade

like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass

rating: E

wordcount: 3357

ship: Jason/Slade

headed straight into the fire

rating: E

wordcount: 1925 words

ship: Jason/Slade

you're how I pray

rating: E

wordcount: 1396 words

ship: Jason/Slade

(choke this love) 'til the veins start to shiver

rating: E

wordcount: 2126

ship: Jason/Slade

that hunger in you

rating: T

wordcount: 1702 words

ship: Jason/Slade

eggs eggs eggs

rating: E

wordcount: 3969

ship: Jason/Slade

living and dying and the stories that are true

rating: T

wordcount: 954

ships: Tim/Dick, Jason/Slade

feel me, completer (down to my core)

rating: E

wordcount: 1546

ships: Jason/Slade

sink your claws in

rating: E

wordcount: 2160

ship: Jason/Slade

cornucopia

rating: E

wordcount: 3078

ship: Jason/Slade

just a shot away from you

rating: E

wordcount: 2649

ship: Jason/Slade

poured a drink all over my wiring

rating: T

wordcount: 910

ship: Jason/Slade

cookies & communication

rating: E

wordcount: 2218

ship: Jason/Slade

the snowball effect

rating: E

wordcount: 1428

ship: Dick/Jason

warm like a gun

rating: E

wordcount: 1690

ship: Jason/Slade

Marvel

sub rosa

rating: T

wordcount: 2542

ship: Bucky/Clint

make you feel whole

rating: G

wordcount: 574

ship: Bucky/Clint

the path, it just ain't clear

rating: T

wordcount: 4937

ship: Bucky/Clint

winterhawk bingo drabbles

rating: M

wordcount: 596

ship: Bucky/Clint

go wherever you go today

rating: G

wordcount: 601

ships: none

the Berlin exception

rating: T

wordcount: 3021

ship: Bucky/Clint

Crossovers -- series

barter economy

fandoms: Marvel/DC

rating: E

works: 2

ships: Jason/Slade, Dick/Tim, Bucky/Clint

complete: no

snow on the beach

fandoms: Marvel/DC

rating: E

works: 15

ships: Bucky/Clint/Jason

complete: no (missing a rather crucial bit of porn)

marvelbats

fandoms: Marvel/DC

rating:

works: 2

ships: Tony/Roy, Steve/Jason

complete: no

Crossovers -- oneshots

of people wrapped up tight in things that will kill them

fandoms: Marvel/DC

rating:

wordcount:

ships: Bucky/Clint/Jason, complete (strictly speaking whumptober 2022, but was completed in march 23

how to get ahead in Gotham

fandoms: DC/Discworld

rating: M

wordcount: 16858

ships: Sybil/Sam, Jason/Slade

coming night

fandoms: Marvel/DC

rating: E

wordcount: 4790

ships: Tim/Venom, Roy/Jason, Clint/Dick

coddled, not shirred

fandoms: Marvel/DC

rating: E

wordcount: 4790

ship: Eddie/Jason/Venom

Others

effanineffable

fandom: Discworld

rating: G

wordcount: 1433

ships: none

This madness has only been possible thanks to my magnificent beta and partner in crime @mightymightygnomepriest, who genuinely has the patience of a saint. Thank you so much, darling Rach. I promise I will slow down next year.

[minie-mastermind]

Joker of Earth 3?

The identity of Red Hood went around to a couple of different Gotham Heroes before Jack Napier took up the identity for a simple act of justice. Stealing money from a safe in ace chemicals, the manager fired all the staff he could before Christmas so he wouldn't need to pay Christmas bonuses. Some families didn't even make it through the winter that year, this money would go a long way to making sure the rest would. Originally a comedian Jack Napier only knew about Owlman as an urban legend to laugh at when brought up in serious conversation. He had even mentioned him in his act, so when he saw him in person and threw him into the acid it was the surprise of his life as well as the worst day of it. Horribly disfigured he couldn't go out without being obviously recognized and hunted by Owlman, so he continued his identity as the Red Hood as he seek to revenge. He went up against Owlman again and again and lost every time. The chemicals he had been doused in affecting his health actually gave him an idea, what if he wasn't the only Red Hood? The identity had been taken up by more than one person but never at the same time, so what if there was an army to fight against Owlman? So he started looking and finding plenty of people who hated Owlman enough to join. He kept Everything secret and everyone disconnected from each other so anytime I Owlman discovered one he wouldn't discover the rest.

These crimson avengers all go by their own call signs usually based around playing cards. Wild Card Aka Jack Napier being the head and organizer of the rest. Outlaw Aka Doctor Harleen Quinzel was a therapist that Arkham who treated multiple Red Hood's before joining the cause herself, quickly figuring out the identity of its leader through the sheer fact that they used to date in college. Card King & Queen Aka Duela & Dexter Dent usually working together joined quite young and grew up in your organization after their father's disfigurement. Jokster Aka Alexis Kaye grew up idolizing him from what she saw through the media, seeing the Red Hood as the ultimate symbol of rebellion against the corrupt system. Jester Aka Gaggy Gagsworth A. Gagsworthy had been travelling with the flying graysons before the accident and after a lifetime of hardship on the road wanted to see the world change for the better.

Fake identities were built as well to throw element off the trail of any of the actual members. Ones that owl man has discovered are Eric Border, Johann Kaiser, Oberon Sexton and A. Rekoj.

Even after the supposed death of its leader it would carry on into the future as a group dealing out street justice called the Hoodz.

[damianbugs]

hi <3 since ive already obsessively reread your works i dont know how many times i think it's time for me to branch out and find some other batfam stuff too (im still a loyal reader tho dw bestie) i was wondering if you had any batfam authors you personally love and / or are inspired by! or maybe your top 5 batfam fics? if you don't mind sharing it ofc! thank u have a swag day and thank u for putting out such amazing amazing work into the world that offers me (personally) so much comfort :)

hello !! thank you so much for reading my works and i hope you will continue to enjoy them <3 i am so glad they bring you as much comfort reading as they do for me when writing !! and YES OF COURSE there is simply nothing i love more than recommending batfam fics that have me going absolutely crazy insane.

i previously did a top 5 batfam fic recs, and so here are my, uh, other top 5 batfam fics? everything is at the top of my list at this point.

+ these are in no particular order !!

MY TOP 5 BATFAM FICS (AGAIN) ON AO3 !

Cold Hard Want by AudreyCritter

“Are you happy?”

“I...I’m getting there.”

A follow-up to DC Rebirth Batman #35, in which Bruce recovers from being stabbed in the back and Damian considers the elusive nature of happiness.

MY NOTES: i might have read this fic a dozen times and everytime i do i am always so amazed by it. i have a soft spot for fics that move alongside actual comic canon, and so this was a lovely follow up to that original story (though you do not need to be familiar with it to enjoy this fic). damian is such a complicated character but at the end of the day, he is a child — and i think this handled his tumultuous relationship with bruce, dick and selina(!!) really well.

White Christmas by LemonadeGarden

Jason's been in the manor for a few months now. Bruce is a pretty cool guy, sure, but he's not exactly sure what to expect from him.

And then they go to Siberia in the winter on a case. It goes horribly wrong, and then pretty well.

MY NOTES: personally i think it is always the perfect time of year for a christmas fic that isn't actually about christmas. now, not only do all the best tropes meet in this fic (cuddling for warmth, sick fic, comfort after nightmares - to name a few) BUT this is also about robin jason todd. the little boy of all time. wonderful fic.

all the other rooms are a party tonight (and you never got an invitation) by irnan

(You will need an ao3 account to access this fic)!

The major difference between Gotham before Bruce left to set up Batman, Inc and Gotham after he comes back is that his children are grown-ups. Well, except for Damian.

Still, four out of five's an overwhelming majority.

MY NOTES: there is something so healing about this fic. bruce is rather pathetic (said fondly) in the way troubled middle aged men become when they finally realise their life is only in consequence of the people who exist around them. the dynamic between cass and bruce and dick and bruce in this is one of my favourites. the latter is very carefully weaved into the entire story, even when pertaining the other characters. a great take on bruce!

Have I Told You About Minnie? by Hinn_Raven

After you’ve known Matches Malone long enough, you get used to him telling you about his kids. Not that his kids know about it.

MY NOTES: oh this is such a fun one!! stephanie and bruce is such a wonderful dynamic and something about bruce creating an entirely new persona as a subconscious excuse to gloat about his children is just too funny. really sweet!

i want you to remember me by zxrysky

Bruce really needs to get rid of his saviour complex. Not all of them are the same as that poor boy who had to watch his parents get murdered in a dark alleyway; not all of them need to be saved.

Jason is perfectly fine where he is. Some capital would be great, but otherwise, he’s fine. He’s fine.

He doesn’t need to be saved again.

“No thanks,” Jason mutters, and pushes the papers away.

MY NOTES: this one hits you when you least expect it. it is so funny, so sweet and it hurts. jason todd you are so ridiculously complicated and tragic. also my favourite kind of time travel, kind-of-time-travel! little jason receives all of older jason's memories and his meeting with bruce and journey to robin is different, but some things are just destiny i suppose. so lovely.

as for inspirations or favourite authors, i have to say it might just be everyone i have ever read a fic from so i can not pick out anyone right now. the writers featured on this list are also phenomenal and some have written other amazing and loved batfam fics you should definitely check out!

hope you enjoy these anon and thank you again <3

[doctorcranes-ask]

have a happy Fear-O-Ween!!!!!! Sending love and TLC CAUSE YOU NEED IT!!!!!!

💙💙💙

all taken by me! During fall season!!! sorry.

Don’t apologize! They’re very nice photos, I appreciate them all

After returning from the several weeks in my lab, I am quickly reminded that I am horribly unprepared for the upcoming Gotham winter

And the current rainy autumn…stay warm, everyone!!

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 21

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 1,333 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20

Also on ff.net and AO3.

But just go to bed now you crazy kid You'll be alright I know come morning time Just let the moon rise and the sun go down Don't let the hard times make you feel alone

-Family of the Year, "Find It"

————————–

Between.

Gotham cemetery.  A place of mourning and memory.  A young man exited out from a taxi cab after paying the driver’s fare, watching its tracks roll away through faintly falling snow before facing the metal gate.  Winter had set upon Gotham early this year, and he idly adjusted his scarlet scarf – a single splash of color amidst the gray.  …In his hands he held a similar sign of vibrance, in the form of a ruby bouquet of blossoms.

With a sigh, he steeled himself, and creaked open the steel spokes, trudging up the hill towards his destination.  On his way, he passed by a huge headstone that bore the unmistakable marker of a single surname carved in bold: Wayne. He paused, uncertain, as he silently bowed his head for a minute to pay polite respects, before moving on.

When he reached his real objective (coincidentally located not too far away), he lamented a little with gnawing guilt at the sight of brown and overgrown weeds shrouding the spot, enduring despite choking chill.  There was no marble slab, no erect monument of honor to stand proud the test of time – but a single plate embedded in the earth.  He bent down and parted the plants, brushing off a light layer of white dust to reveal its ephemeral epitaph, running his fingers solemnly over the minimal inscription:

Steven Drake

Husband and Father

19XX – 200X

There was another grave beside it with an analogous engraving.  He dutifully swept it clear as well, before gently laying the flowers down between the two.  Stepping back, he shoved his palms in his pockets, breathing out in belated greeting.

“Hi, Mom.  Hey, Dad.  It’s been a while.”

He rubbed the back of his hair awkwardly, overwhelmingly aware of just how long it had been since he’d given his own kin any kind thought, having made zero effort to dig up the dirt of an even more distant past.  Per his own personal request, Mr. Wayne had spared him any fancy funeral proceedings, employing but a simple ceremony and privately hired preacher.  Burying his father’s bloated, barely recognizable blue corpse in a closed casket after importing it back from Metropolis, in order to let his body’s spirit rest in Gotham hallowed ground at least – at “home”.  …Bruce had held his hand the entire time though, and the long overdue tears from that day threatened to descend now at the recollection.  He shook his head though and swallowed firmly, struggling to find a way to broach conversation, make up for lost time.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited often.  I guess I’m still mad at you for a lot of things,” he grudgingly admitted, mostly addressing the male side of the equation.  “But… I know you did what you felt you had to in order to support Mom and me, all on your own.”

He focused on the paternal plaque by his feet – not quite in forgiveness just yet, but understanding sympathy at least.  Having seen and experienced how truly horrible a “parent” could be firsthand, he had a better appreciation now for some blessings, however small.

“I don’t know if you’ve been watching from… wherever you are.  So I guess I’ll just start at the beginning.  After you left, Bruce Wayne found me and took me in.  You know, the big-shot billionaire?  He… gave me a job.  The best job in the world, I thought.  I… was really good at it too.  Things were great, for a while.  I was honestly happy.  And…” He hesitated.  “You would’ve been proud of me, I think.  …If you’d only been there to see.”

Glassy eyes masked in mist, lifting a lugubrious look to the clouded, crying sky.  Dull and monochrome.  Monotone.

“But… I messed up.  Bad.  I mean: really, really screwed up.  I made the biggest mistake of my life, and it cost everything and everyone I love.  I… did something terrible.  Something you never even had the guts to do.”

His knuckles clenched tightly, reminiscing.

“Before you disappeared, you said something to me.  You probably thought I was asleep, but I heard you.  You… said that I’d be ‘okay’. That I had ‘something special’, something you ‘never had’.”

He lowered his gaze, returning resentfully to reality.

“You were wrong though. I’m not special,” he spat in hindsight, acknowledging the full irony of the forecasting statement.  “And I’m sure as hell not okay.”

Biting his lip, he exhaled, letting it go.

“But… I’m doing better now. Since then anyway.  Things have changed.  I’ve got a new job – a legit one, that’s not breaking any laws,” he almost laughed in mocking jest at the notion.  “-with decent salary and benefits, can afford a fairly nice place of my own; a ‘stable’ income life and all that normal shit.  In general, I suppose you could say things are… pretty ‘all right’ at the moment.  I’ve even made some really good friends, who helped me get back on my feet after that.  And I… met a girl: Her name’s Stephanie.  You’d like her, she’s got what you’d call ‘spunk’.”

He smiled softly.

“We’re getting married soon, in the spring.  I… wish you could be there.  Both of you.”

A beat, before quietly adding:

“All of you.”

…He whispered.

“I want you to know: No matter what, you’re still my Dad.  Bru- Mr. Wayne could never replace you.  …He tried though, he really did.  I… don’t blame him for that.  So, please – try not to hate him too.”

His fist tautened in determination.

“Even so, I won’t be like you.  And I won’t be like him either.  I’m… gonna find my own way from now on.  Stay straight, stay clean yada yada.  Stay ‘strong’ – gold and all that crap.”

Reflecting back, he mused.

“In the end, maybe that’s what you were trying to do too.  The right thing.  Show ol’ Pukeface who’s boss, protect me and this whole goddamn city.  And paid the price for it.  …Or maybe you were just trying to save your own skin.”  He shrugged.  “Guess I’ll never know at this point.”

Scratching his scruff again through the scarf, he found himself running out of things to say.  He thought there’d be a lot more mean and angry words to let out, finally get completely off his chest; cruel criticism for all the accumulated sins committed by every contributing party involved, more bitterness built up after all this time…  But somehow it didn’t seem worth it anymore.

“I suppose that’s all I wanted to come to talk about, for now.  I’ll stop by again.  And… I’ll bring her with me next time, so you can meet her.”

Bidding farewell for the time being, he turned and trekked back through the gathering slush towards the entrance.  Crunching through ice and frost as he walked purposefully past cracked, pious structures and beneath the barren branches of trees, limbs stripped of life and leaves but still surviving – clinging on desperately by the roots.  So too were the touchstone memorials, the ones still being devotedly cared for by loved ones left behind.  (Like hidden trophy cases submerged just as deep underground, concealed in cold storage – frozen stasis – within a closeted cave.  …Maybe, it might be more accurate to refer to it as a “mausoleum” than a “museum” at this stage, given the curator’s penchant for creeping about at night, as if a wandering ghost himself.  Maintaining appearance as a haunting host for no one, no reason other than to selfishly serve his own death-seeking crusade – grimly reaping what he’d sown.)  …So as not to forget where they’ve been and where they came from – a permanent, palimpsest reminder that someone was, in fact, ‘here’.

He didn’t get very far though before he came upon another fresh set of slightly larger prints beside his own, trailing to a stop before the towering tomb he bypassed earlier.

…

Blooming like budding drops of blood at its shadow’s base was something that wasn’t there before:

It was a pair of red roses.

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I say goodbye as it fades away Out past those trees I'm gonna find my way Please don't be scared for me I'm big and I'm strong You had to know that I would leave all along