#and jason is like BUT STILL

[onceuponaladye]

I mean, everyone in this family is crazy

[prlssprfctn]

I actually need some fanfic, where Bruce and Jason are in the middle of some argument, and a casual (and a well-practiced with Dick before) sentence leaves his mouth, something along the lines "How old do you think you are?!", meaning that he is acting childishly. And because Jason is irritated, and his tongue runs loose in his anger, he screams back that he is nineteen, and Bruce just freezes, because... Oh. Jason is nineteen. He is a fucking kid - his kid - that lost years of his teenhood, and was forced back without anyone giving him a space to catch up, with everyone else already treating him like an adult... When he isn't.

[frownyalfred]

actually the idea that Dick, the eldest, the only one who ever wore the cowl long term, the only one who raised a Robin on his own, is also the only one who can successfully, perfectly replicate that barked ROBIN! in Bruce's voice? the only one who can pull that exact tone from the depths of his soul, to the point where his voice is identical, so identical that old Robins like Jason are obeying before their minds even realize their bodies are moving? that Dick is the only one, has always been the only one, who can channel Bruce's voice? can channel Batman himself? I am going feral

[marypsue]

Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.

All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.

[n0tsketchyy]

I love the idea of Jason somehow becoming Damian's designated driving instructor when he turns 16. Nobody remembers how it happened, least of all Jason.

———

"You're going to kill us both," Jason says calmly, one hand braced against the dashboard as Damian takes a corner at approximately twice the recommended speed.

"Tt. I have perfect reflexes, Todd. I was trained by the League of Assassins."

"Yeah, to kill people, not parallel park. Slow DOWN."

The car screeches to a halt at a red light, throwing them both forward. Jason sighs deeply.

"I've literally trained with Formula One drivers," Damian mutters, tapping impatiently on the steering wheel. “I’ve been driving since I could speak.”

"Is that why you're treating Gotham's pothole-ridden streets like Monaco? Light's green."

As Damian accelerates again, Jason gets a text. He glances down to see it's from Dick.

'how's it going?'

'he's either going to be the best driver in the family or we're both going to die. no in-between.'

"Stop texting Grayson about me," Damian says without looking away from the road.

"Stop reading my texts while you're DRIVING."

"I have peripheral vision superior to—"

"I SWEAR TO GOD, DEMON SPAWN—"

Bruce calls Jason later that night. "How did it go?"

"Great. Your son only tried to kill me seven different ways with my beat up old Toyota. New record."

"So... you'll take him again Thursday?"

Jason hangs up, but they both know he'll be there.

[peacheskoo]

Saw these panels the other day and—

LET JASON BE SILLY YOUR HONOR

He knows he won’t no balls

[blaqcats-fics]

been thinking about jason being petty towards bruce. like, oh, you spend time with your other kids, but not me? tire privileges revoked! it would be over stupid shit too.

like there’s one time bruce decides to take damien to the movies, and jason is just beside himself.

like the conversation would be like:

JASON: So, let me get this straight—you took Damian to a movie.

BRUCE: He asked.

JASON: Oh, and I wouldn’t have wanted to see Kung Fu Panda 4 with you?!

BRUCE: You were busy.

JASON: Busy taking down a cartel. Which, by the way, I learned from you. I deserve quality time!

BRUCE: Jason—

JASON: No. No excuses. You’ll learn.

Jason storms off. Five minutes later, an alert pops up on the Batcomputer.

BATCOMPUTER: Warning: Batmobile rear tires have been removed.

BRUCE: …Jason.

Cut to Jason outside, rolling two Batmobile tires away, cackling.

[violent138]

League members discussing meeting Robin at work:

"Compared to Bats, Robin was a total sweetheart. Ball of sunshine."

"Man, must've been a good day then, the kid I met was a real anklebiter. He pulled out a sword and everything."

"Anklebiter is harsh, the sweet boy I met barely said a word, he just kept asking about Themyscira and the lasso."

"He? I met a blonde girl."

"No, no, black haired boy with blue eyes. We're talking about Robin."

"Yeah same here, blue eyed and tanned."

"Pretty sure he had green eyes. And talked fancy. And kind of scolded me for time travelling."

"The child I met was paler than the moon."

"I'm telling you I met a girl, and she was Robin."

"Well... either we're all wrong or we're all right."

So they arrive at the conclusion that Bats has a shape-shifter for a kid.

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Something something Danny learns that Jason died and crawled out of his own grave.

Danny, to Jason: You actually got a grave?

Jason: Why? You want one?

He doesn’t notice how this could potentially sound like a threat from an outsider’s perspective.

[flonflonflon]

Siblings!!!!

(semi cleaned up some sketches I had lying around)

[build-a-bruce]

The year Dick finally ranks higher than Bruce on the annual hottest bachelor list, the group chat would be insane:

Stephanie would post the article and point out that Dick is TWO spots ahead of Bruce. Tim posts an edited meme of The Queen from Snow White staring into the magic mirror and seeing Dick’s face instead. Babs is laugh reacting at everything. Jason calls Bruce old. Bruce responds to none of it. And then finally Dick texts back “when one Supreme falls, another rises in her place 😌”

[prlssprfctn]

Somewhere in the year after Jason becomes a part of Bruce's family, a strange book appears on the desk of Bruce's personal study room. A book about parenting traumatised kids. He opens it, leafs though a little, noticing certain phrases underlined, and closes it back. Alfred probably left it. Just a few days ago, they had a short argument regarding his parenting methods, and he seemingly tried to prove his point by additional literature. Bruce is going to read it later.

...He doesn't have time, actually, and eventually, the book stays forgotten, tucked between many others.

Years pass. Jason dies. And then comes back, complicated and different, frustrating and hard to crack. Thinking about Jason — a habit, always a habit — becomes some kind of roulette: he either remembers something nice, comes up with some courage to talk with his son, at least through comms, at least not directly, or the exact opposite thing happens, sending them both out of balance.

It is the middle of cleaning day, when Alfred suddenly picks up the exact same book about children victims and how to take care of them, and to Bruce's surprise asks where does this book come from.

'What do you mean?' Bruce frowns. 'You gave it to me when I just adopted Jason. Well, not gave, I would say tactically sneaked in, but...'

'I would remember that,' Alfred frowns. He goes through a few pages, and his face softens. 'It wasn't me, master Bruce.'

And suddenly, it clicks.

*Jason* left it. He underlined lines that probably felt relatable to him, that maybe could help them both in their new, hard journey. A shy kid he was, though, very smart, he would never actually speak with Bruce directly — he would try to leave him hints. To open up more in a subtle way.

To—

Oh.

Bruce suddenly can imagine his little son overhearing his late argument with Alfred that day, all these years ago. Mulling over, "this kid is deeply traumatised, master Bruce" and "well, I can't get inside his head, Al" lines. Figuring out how to easen his burden. How to be understood and yet accepted.

And Bruce... unknowingly discarded that.

As usual.

Unknowingly, cluelessly, and yet so simply — he discarded everything that was dear to Jason, everything that meant something for him.

As he grips the book in his hands, caressing the soft cover, he can't help but wonder if any of the information inside, little highlights Jason did, are still working for him. If he still can fix it.

[somnoir]

Down Bad in Distress

Bruce Wayne is kidnapped... A lot. And it's always so weird that only Batman is allowed to save him. That this dumb, charming, but kidnap-able Billionaire doesn't have a bodyguard.

Now, Bruce can simply go "Oh, we've got Batman. No need to worry for that!" But people are fussy nowadays. He underestimates just bow much Gotham loves their disaster of a prince with a golden heart. Even his company employees are begging him to hire a bodyguard. (This is from the many files being sent to his office, obvious recommendations on competent bodyguards)

Cut to the new bodyguard for hire—who was recommended by Alfred of all people (something about him being the disciple of a good old friend of his). The man was large. Fucking huge. Taller than Jason, if one would like to admit (Jason is his 6'4" baby and this fucking fridge if a man looked 6'6").

But he was all soft and warm. Like a golden retriever the size of a bear.

Anyways, Danny was a rather kind man. When he wasn't following Bruce around and playing bodyguard, he was indulging the kids. Entertaining them with the most obscure things and stories from his childhood. Better yet, Danny would be the kids' bodyguard rather than Bruce's whenever they went out.

It was a miracle when they realized that Damian wasn't reacting badly to the man. Very strange since Damian would think it'd be shameful for someone to protect him during the day. But then again, Bruce once saw Danny effortlessly pick up Damian so his son could coax a cat out of a tree. That was most likely the kicker.

Anyways, Danny looked and felt soft.

It wasn't easy for him to settle into the man's ever present presence, but it's been almost four months since Danny's been hired and Bruce doesn't even flinch when the man brightly greets him from the bottom of the stairs.

"Good morning, mr. Wayne!" Danny would say, all teeth and bright eyes in his suit.

"Bruce," he'd correct immediately.

And then Danny would pause, laugh, and— "Good morning, Bruce."

Then his kids would follow and Danny would affectionately greet them all, ask where they plan to go and if they needed Danny to follow.

His bodyguard was like sunshine and warmth incarnate.

But if course, Danny was a bodyguard.

There were instances where Bruce would have to take a second to remind himself that this man that would look down at socialites like he's ready to crush their hands is the same one who once gave him puppy-dog eyes to back up Damian when his son asked to keep the kittens.

That the same man who grabbed someone by the scruff of their collar like they were weightless was the same one who talked about poetry and literature with Jason.

That the man who once hauled Bruce off the ground and walked right out the gala when the smoke alarms blared is the same one who would gently coax Tim off the coach and into a proper bed.

But right now, that's not his concern. No. Bruce is more concerned about the fact that he's gotten kidnapped again.

Everyone was most likely alerted. They were. He could hear Red Robin, Blackbat and Spoiler talking over the comms, checking in on Red Hood and Robin in case things went off.

"B, don't move. These guys are more prepared than the usual ones." Tim's voice filters into the comms, evidently annoyed. "I've got Oracle checking if there are any bombs in the place."

Bruce stayed silent, watching the masked men and women walk around, guns in hand and crates surrounding them. He had been knocked out during a party. The last thing he saw was Danny's eyes—god, it frightened him a bit. How those pretty blues suddenly turned green like Jason's.

Then he was here. Most likely with a concussion.

"B?"

"I'm okay... Be careful..." He murmurs under his breath, hearing his children sigh in relief.

"Good. We've got Red Ho—What the fuck is that?" Barbara immediately cut herself off, her voice strained and pitched with surprise.

"Oracle?"

"Spoiler—Do you have a view on that?" Oracle frantically asked. "Shit—the cameras just went down. Guys?"

"is that—" Stephanie chokes out, "Is that Danny?"

Bruce froze. Danny?

Jason always knew that Danny was kinda off. The first time he met the man, it wasn't his size that Jason immediately noticed. It was how his eyes flashed green when they met his. At first, he felt threatened, ready to attack whatever the fuck thought it was a good idea to infiltrate his family.

But then... Then Danny smiled at him. Offered his hand with a kind greeting. Jason took that hand and... And felt calm. Like the buzz in his head melted away, like the Lazarus was cleansed.

And Danny most likely knew. Because the man was smiling in satisfaction, like he was pleased that Jason suddenly didn't feel starved and angry and hurt.

"I don't know what happened to you kid, but whatever the hell did, it wasn't good for you. Hopefully you'll get better now." Danny whispered softly and then withdrew his hand, tucking it behind his back.

Jason doesn't know what the fuck Danny was but the man was worth keeping around.

Admittedly, he turned to Danny a lot nowadays. Jason can't call Bruce all the time. No. His relationship with Bruce still isn't good enough to warrant Jason to call him constantly.

But Danny? Again, Jason doesn't know what the hell this guy is but whenever Jason was in trouble, he dialed Danny's phone immediately. And he came... Every, single, fucking time. No questions asked, just pick Jason up and patch him up like nothing.

Danny was a good guy. Like sunshine, like golden retrievers. All teeth with some fangs.

And that same guy just snapped a man's neck with his bare hands.

"Hood... Are you seeing this?" Robin asked beside him, equally stunned as they watched their usually kind and sweet bodyguard effortlessly tear through the group of men with his bare hands. There was already blood around. Everywhere, maybe. Some already on Danny.

"He's on a fucking warpath." Jason murmurs. Every bit of admiration he had for Danny just multiplied by a thousand when he watched him grab a gun right out of a guy's hand and slam it into their head. Fucking amazing.

If Bruce doesn't square up and ask this guy on a date, Jason would have to start planning to parent trap them.

Fucking shit, he needed this guy as a dad.

The doors don’t just open—they explode off their hinges, a violent crack echoing through the warehouse. Guns swing up, barrels glinting under harsh light, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except the figure in the doorway.

Bruce’s pulse slams against his ribs.

And then Danny walks in, dragging a half-conscious man by the leg, leaving a smeared trail of blood in his wake. He doesn’t even look winded.

Blood stains his usually pristine uniform—smeared across his face, streaked over the white of his shirt, soaking into his knuckles. His tie is gone. His collar is open, a few buttons undone, exposing a sliver of skin beneath the mess. There’s blood on his face, drying in streaks, and his knuckles—his knuckles are raw, dripping, alive. He looks… disheveled. Lethal. Gorgeous.

"HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! THAT'S DANNY!" Spoiler screeched, "HE'S BODYING THOSE FUCKERS! RED! RED, ARE YOU FUCKING SEEING THIS?!"

"SOMEONE RECORD THIS! SHIT! SOMEONE RECORD THIS!" Red Robin replied, equally loud and frantic as if trying desperately to find the old camera he used to stalk Bruce many years ago.

He doesn’t slow down. Doesn’t hesitate.

Danny launches the man he was dragging, sending him crashing into the nearest gunman with a sickening thud. Before anyone can react, he moves—crossing the room in impossibly fluid strides, twisting a wrist until a gun clatters to the floor, elbowing another man so hard in the ribs that something audibly cracks. A shot goes off, a wild, panicked attempt—Danny doesn’t even flinch. He snatches the arm holding the gun and bends it the wrong way. The scream is immediate.

Bruce’s breath catches.

Another man rushes Danny with a knife—big mistake. Danny catches his wrist mid-swing, wrenches it to the side with bone-snapping efficiency, then drives the same blade into another attacker’s thigh. The man howls, but Danny is already moving, slamming someone’s face into the nearest table hard enough to leave a smear of red on the wood.

They never stood a chance.

Two minutes. Two damn minutes, and the entire room is a battlefield of unconscious, broken bodies.

And Bruce cannot focus.

Bruce barely registers Jason swearing at him through the comms, telling him to get it together. He can’t.

And then Danny turns to him.

His face is splattered with blood, his chest rising and falling steadily as he steps forward. His hands, bruised and raw, reach out, and Bruce swallows hard.

Danny kneels, gaze flicking to Bruce’s bound wrists, and his touch—gentle, so gentle—works at the ropes with precise care. The knots had been tight, biting into his skin enough to bruise, to draw blood. Danny’s jaw clenches at the sight.

Bruce should say something. Should thank him. Should not be thinking about how unfairly attractive he looks like this—wild, wrecked, utterly devoted.

But he can’t help it.

He’s so gone.

"Mr. Wayne."

On instruct, Bruce corrects him. "Bruce."

And Danny pauses.

The chaos settles—not in the room, where bodies lay crumpled, groaning, and barely conscious—but in him. Just for a second. Just long enough for Bruce to see it.

Blue flickers into green. A warning. A promise.

Bruce doesn’t look away. Can’t. Even as Danny tilts his head, something unhinged curling at the edges of his smile. His chest rises and falls, slow, deliberate, the blood on his face catching the dim light. His knuckles, split and raw, flex at his sides before he exhales a laugh—low, sharp, guttural.

Almost a growl.

And Bruce—God help him—feels something thrill in his spine.

Then Danny takes his wrists. Carefully. Reverently. Those same hands that had snapped bones and silenced screams mere moments ago now hold Bruce’s bruised, bloodied skin like it’s something precious.

Then—cold.

Not warm. Not comforting. Cold lips, pressing soft against each wound, his touch featherlight against the raw skin. Bruce shudders.

Danny pulls back just enough for Bruce to see his lips—stained red with his blood. And he grins, sharp fangs more prominent than ever, his eyes molten with something Bruce can’t name.

"Bruce…"

Danny says it like a prayer. Like a promise. Like a goddamn claim.

Exasperated. Excited. Fond. And something else entirely.

"Try not to get kidnapped again, Bruce… Or I might just end up blowing up Gotham to get you back.

Bruce’s breath stutters.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Bruce is so utterly gone.

(Someone laughs in the background, shadows curling at their feet. Lady Gotham is pleased.)

Part 2 | Masterpost

[awakenedevildays]

am I the only one who doesn't find attractive when dicks in smuts are super long? I just read a fic where the male character's dick was 11 inches (which is around 30 cm)… like- how is that even possible and how on earth am I supposed to even DEAL with something like that? do I use it as a baseball bat?

"Don't worry baby, I'll make it fit" THE HELL YOU WILL?! STAY AWAY

(I'm not trying to offend any author here, I think we all have the right to write every kink and preferences we have so don't take this too seriously, you're doing great 🩷🙏🏻)

[varpusvaras]

"Jason Todd being banished to MCU" I can't stress how much no one at Marvel would bat an eye at him. He's the team mascot in every team in a week. His cortisol levels have never been this low.

[andstuffsketches]