#please stop writing Damian that way in the year 2024

[bitterrobin]

a quick PSA on pre-Robin Damian (again):

He has never called himself the "Blood Son". Those specific words have never come out of his mouth in a comic. In fact, Damian has only had dialogue regarding his bio status or another character's adoptive status like... three or four times.

Yes, pretty much all of those times have something to do with Tim in one way another. That's because Damian was less of a character, and more of a sword-carrying plot device when he was first introduced.

Damian's early writing lines up more with that of a minor villain than any supporting character. He existed at first only to rile up chaos in the Batcave for like, two issues, before his death in the fourth issue he appeared. He was introduced in issue 655 and killed by torpedo-submarine explosion in 658. Damian as a character was effectively "punished" for his earlier actions through a violent death.

You need to understand that early Damian (2009 mostly) didn't have a cemented personality or much characterization other than the basics that Morrison imbued into him i.e he was 10, an assassin, lax about death, very sarcastic/rude in tone, and weirdly spoiled despite his upbringing implying the opposite. Grant Morrison tends to write the large story concepts they like and they don't often adhere to any consistent/previous characterization (as seen with Talia) if it doesn't line up with the vision they want. Not even Damian's existence was kept consistent, as it's very hard to believe that Batman #656 Damian has the same backstory as Son of the Demon Damian or the Ibn al Xuffasch of Kingdom Come.

They didn't flesh out Damian a whole lot when he was first introduced, making him more of a spoiled rich kid who just happened to know how to kill people than the Damian that you probably think of. It took later comic appearances and other writers to add onto Damian's sporadic characterization - because he didn't have much major development after being created until becoming Robin and working alongside Dick.

To further characterize Damian as Robin, now that he needed to play against a larger cast and more established figures, writers needed to come up with ideas fast. So some writers played up his League backstory and wrote him colder, more logical and vaguely terrifying. They made Talia and Ras more and more ooc and abusive. They wrote dialogue for Damian that made him more of an annoying little brother figure, impulsiveness and all. Sometimes his dialogue with female characters drifted towards sexism, as clearly some writers can't write young boy characters without relying on shitty sitcom-style misogynist tropes. He got different moments, some skewing towards insanely violent or towards a normal child reeling from issues. This long trek of his writing was always changing in little ways until the reboot in 2011 and his first real death in Batman Incorporated, and then just continued on afterwards to this day.

In short, early pre-Robin Damian was a mess, and it took a long time for DC to develop him as a full character. (Even now, writers are still "figuring him out" and pulling ooc takes out of their asses). We have fun here.

[folliesandfolderols]

Writing prompts day 49, 50

From this prompt list. If you've read this far, I'm not sure you need any explanation, but the short version is I hadn't written any fiction since 2019, I set a goal to write at least 150 words/day in 2024, and this list was my way to restart. Also I abruptly decided on day 2 I would write an entire Tim/Damian story connecting all the prompts, because I am Good at Judging My Limits. /sarcasm Anyway, I finished the rough draft a while ago and am now unlocking the old entries as I edit. Buckle in because this one is long.

Read from the beginning here, or on ao3 here

Day 48 here

***

14. A whispered “Please” slipping out of kiss bitten lips.

27. Soft whines and whimpers; held back noises because they don’t want anyone else hearing them; a plea for more without the use of words.

94. Whispered praises against the other’s lips, which are met with soft whimpers and moans.

***

Tim didn’t see Damian again for a full week. He threw himself into casework and patrol, going out every night to, as he told himself and everyone else, "make up for all the coverage you took the slack for while I was gone." He could tell no one believed him, but they also didn't question him so he took it as a win. Jason bitched a little about never being able to get the two of them in the same place at the same time for their case, but he didn't really have a leg to stand on given the different ways they could collaborate.

Cass mentioned that Damian had headed for Metropolis to testify in some criminal trial he'd worked on with Jon in his civilian capacity over a year ago. She said it casually to Stephanie, just at the edges of Tim's hearing, and didn't look at him at all. Clearly she suspected something. He resolved never to bring up Damian in her presence.

He was just curling into bed on the seventh morning, staring at the light bleeding in around the curtains and once again remembering Damian telling him he should get shutters installed, when a text from Jason came through. Got a lead.

Tim didn't regret the distraction at all.

tell me

Why do you insist on not using punctuation like a normal human? Okay. There's a connection in Metropolis, believe it or not. They're the second-to-last stop on the northbound route and where the main arteries to the northern Midwest branch out.

so damian's there right now—can he check it out????

He's too busy; has to be in court every day for eight hours a day and Jon has other stuff he's doing. My sources are saying there's a connection with a couple of wealthy Metropolis dudes with ties to organized crime: Rufus Waters and Terrence Galloway. They're the ones taking the hottest girls and putting them to work as escorts etc. so they can get dirt on other rich dudes through them. Tale as old as time.

don't u start singing for me now

Timbo, you don't deserve my dulcet tones. Anyway. These guys love to see and be seen at bougie shit so they can throw their money around. The Metropolis Opera has something called the Aria After Party tonight for "young patrons," which I'm guessing means anyone under the age of sixty. You should go. Bruce keeps a box in Metropolis for when he needs another excuse to go there publicly.

Tim groaned. Opera was a definite acquired taste for him. He pulled up the Metropolis Opera's web site.

ah fuck they're doing the abduction from the seraglio

Is that a hotel? Are they keeping a lot of victims there? How do you even know?

no i mean that's the opera they're performing

Well, shit, Timothy, are you gonna survive a night of caterwauling that's not your fave genre just so dozens of young boys and girls don't get sex trafficked? Because I'd hate to fucking inconvenience you.

no need to get bitchy i'm going it's just i saw it awhile ago and it's kind of racist and not mozart's best work. so will some of the trafficking victims be there with waters and galloway or what?

Yeah, they usually have at least one on each of their arms so they can advertise. Just go with the flow and see what you can figure out. IDK, get wild and crazy and see if you can get one of the girls to leave with you.

Tim rolled his eyes. Yeah, right, like that would be hard. i am extremely charming and all the ladies love me so no worries i've got this

Sure, sure, I'm sure even someone who's being exploited is gonna be a sucker for those baby blues.

why jason i didn't know u noticed do u wanna tell me something

Absolutely, I want to tell you to shut the fuck up and do some detecting tonight. I'll drive down too in case you need backup but I'm gonna stay at that one safehouse Bruce has near Mortimer Bridge. Comms'll be open.

got it.

Tim put his phone on do not disturb and rolled over to his stomach, determinedly squeezing his eyes shut. He was going to get some sleep before he drove across the bay tonight, dammit. Good thing he'd had his best suit pressed recently.

He zoomed down to Metropolis after he took a detour by the Manor to borrow Bruce's Chiron. After all, what was the point of being the sort-of son of one of the richest people in the world if you couldn't drive faster than everyone else even without a mask on? Even when the car was idling at a red light, he could see pedestrians turning to look behind them at the sound of its engine. He grinned at the sight—he'd never deny that he shared the Bat penchant for making an entrance.

The opera itself went as expected. He saw some of Bruce's friends who made the same rounds of charity events and backstage events, and even some of his former classmates from Brentwood. The latter made a point to come to the box during intermission and make idle queries about where he was living, what he was doing, and how his Wayne Enterprises dealings were going at the moment. He kept his best vapid smile firmly in place and kept giving the answers that would get him an invitation to the party Jason had mentioned.

Finally, just as the lights dipped in warning, Jeffrey Chung said, "Hey, dude, there's this after party thing we're going to when the show's over. It's to support the opera and raise money for new carpets or whatever. Wanna come?"

Tim shrugged, though internally he was pumping his fist in victory. "Sure, I don't have to be back in Gotham tonight."

Once the lights were down and the performance had resumed, Tim raised his opera glass and tapped on the nightvision option so he could see across the hall. Galloway had a box opposite Bruce's, but it had been empty at the start of the show. Now, though, both Galloway and Waters sat close together, whispering to each other while the four stunning women with them stared at the stage with various levels of boredom. "You seeing what I'm seeing?" he subvocalized.

Jason replied on the comm. "Yep. Good deal. Hopefully you can get an invitation to one of their homes at the after party and plant some bugs."

"Even if I can't, I can get some into the women's purses, plus Waters' and Galloway's suits." He paused, then added judiciously, "It was a good idea to come here." A complimented Jason was a happy Jason. He was a former Robin, after all.

A brief pause in which he knew Jason was trying to hide his discomfiture. "Yeah, well, only a moron wouldn't have thought of it, so."

Tim suppressed a smile.

The after party was exactly what he'd expected: sponsored by a local entertainment and society magazine at a dark cramped restaurant that was trying to become fashionable, decent drinks, and pointlessly complicated hors d'oeuvres in which figs, liver, and fish were over-represented. Plus conversation in which bemoaning the state of taxation and by-the-way bragging about recent travel played a heavy role. Tim group-hopped with Jeffrey for a few minutes before wandering off on his own to make a circuitous route toward Waters, whose two companions were looking increasingly tired behind their charming smiles.

He approached them from behind, reaching just past their little cluster of people to grab a fresh glass of sparkling wine from one of the side tables. While he was back there, he dropped a combination bug/tracker into the clutch hanging from one of the escorts' arms. By the time he'd straightened, Waters had turned to see who was there.

Up close, he looked like the douchebag he was: floppy nose-length hair parted in the middle into two carefully styled waves, stupidly expensive tie gone askew despite the gold tie clip studded with huge diamonds, the type of puffiness around the jaw that bespoke self-indulgence, ill-fitting suit that he hadn't bothered to get tailored correctly. Kind of a faux pas, son, Tim heard Brucie say with that informal intonation that was an ultra-rich person's way of taking others down a peg or two. Most of the time Tim hated that the voice lived in his own brain, but in this case he felt like the target deserved it.

Guys like this always expected to be known, so Tim fixed a delighted expression on his face and reached to shake hands. "Well, hello there, Rufus Waters! We've got quite a few friends in common but I don't think we've ever officially met. Tim Drake."

Waters gave him a supercilious look down his nose before the name clicked and he returned Tim's grip. "Oh, right, you're Bruce Wayne's, uh . . ." He floundered a bit.

Tim jumped in before he could feel awkward about it. "Right, yeah, he's like a second father to me, taught me most of what I know today, set me up at WE. And who are these lovely ladies?" He turned with his most charming smile to the escorts, who both straightened and returned the expression with a little more enthusiasm than they'd shown previously.

"This is Luz," Waters indicated the Latina on the right, "And Katarina." The white blonde gave him a tiny wave. She stood at least three inches taller than him in her heels.

"You're a lucky man to have two dates when some of us have zero," Tim laughed, clapping him on the shoulder and planting another device in his collar. "Have some pity, give a lonely person a few tips."

"You don't need game to get these girls," Waters said, sliding his hands down to cup each of their asses and pulling them closer. "Just be rich and they'll throw themselves at you. Right, ladies?"

They both laughed and patted him on the chest. "Of course," Luz agreed.

Her eyes were dead despite the sparkling expression in her voice. Tim wanted to throw up, but instead he made a wide enough gesture to drop another tracker into the open mouth of her purse. "Well, then, clearly I'm all set! Luz, Katarina, tell your friends you know someone with lots of money and time who's ready to spend both on them."

"Thought I heard you were more into boys," Waters said, with just a thread of contempt sewn in the sentence.

Tim gave him a smirk and a tiny up-and-down just to watch him squirm. "Hey, I'm an equal-opportunity type of guy."

Katarina's smile turned a bit more genuine at that, and she caressed him from his shoulder to his wrist, where her touch lingered. "I appreciate a man who doesn't set artificial limits for himself." She had a slight Russian accent, but the British inflection was stronger.

Tim couldn't stop himself from blushing a tiny bit. "Oh yeah? And what kind of limits do you set for yourself?"

She raised his hand to chest level and held it in both of her own. He could feel her breath on his knuckles. "Not many, honestly."

Someone bumped into Tim from behind, sending his drink flying onto all three of the others. The women shrieked. He spun, but the culprit had been swallowed back into the crowd and probably didn't even know what they'd done. He turned back to Waters, who was grimacing at the wine splashed across his jacket.

Tim grabbed a cloth napkin from a nearby table and dabbed at it fruitlessly. "Oh fuck, I'm so sorry."

Waters waved him off with better humor than he would've expected. "Not your fault. I've got fifty more suits just like this or better. I should probably get back home, though. Some of us were already headed there anyway for a party that isn't as boring as this one. Wanna join us?"

"Do it," Jason said, and Tim agreed.

Waters' house was tacky nouveau riche even for a tacky nouveau riche neighborhood, full of peacock accents, stark white walls broken up with haphazard black and white photographs of tigers, and neon mood lighting in alcoves that made no sense. From what Tim could tell, all the men present were either potential clients for the sex traffickers or were actually part of the profiteers. A few women wore typical black evening dresses and held conversations with the men with business-like expressions, but most of them were stunningly beautiful, in low-cut gowns, and seemed to serve the function of seductive eye candy. Bass boomed from speakers set into the walls, drowning out any conversation more than a foot away, which he had to think was purposeful.

Tim took the first opportunity to make a circuit of all the lower-level rooms and get video of the layout, then withdrew to one of the recessed areas to get a better look at faces.

"Galloway's there," Jason told him. "Just showed up. He and Waters and that woman who looks like a matron from a Romanian orphanage were all talking by the Jacuzzi, but it looks like they're moving inside, probably headed for his study via the kitchen stairs. Get up there before them and you might be able to plant some bugs in good places in time for us to hear their plans. One camera in the hall at the top of the stairs nearest you, one in the study on the bookshelf closest to the window."

Tim started up the stairs, body bent over the railing like he was calling down to someone on the ground floor to hide his face.

"Tim?" Katarina rounded the banister just as he got to the halfway point.

He used it as an excuse to keep his back to the camera as he continued ascending. "Just headed to the bathroom!" he called. "Be right back down."

She gave him a long look, but nodded without saying anything and walked away.

Tim did a backflip as he reached the landing beneath the camera’s range of sight and hit the lens askew with his heel before ricocheting off the wall and down the hallway. Hopefully the cameras were just precautionary measures and no one was watching the video feed at the moment.

"Third door on the left," Jason's voice directed him.

Tim picked the lock in a matter of seconds—what kind of idiot didn't use biometrics for sensitive stuff? Well, he supposed he should be grateful—and entered the study in a crouch, locking the door again behind him. Taking care of the remaining camera proved to be easy work, and then planting his own surveillance devices was no trouble at all.

"Shit, they were faster than I thought they'd be. Go out the window."

Tim dashed to the window facing a side yard fenced in with wrought iron and almost tugged on the sash lock before he noticed it had been painted shut.

"Tim, I'm not joking, they're almost there."

Shadows loomed in the light under the door as Waters' voice reached his ears. "—talked to the people we've got in Tulsa—"

A hot hand grabbed his upper arm and propelled him into a closet he hadn't noticed before, closing the door behind them silently just as the study door swung open with a creak. Tim had just enough time to wonder why the  hell he hadn't fought back before the faintest ghost of Oud-Al-Janaid gave him his answer. His vision adjusted to see Damian's eyes glaring down at him, green in the lamp light now slivered under the bottom of the door.

"Tim, what the fuck is happening? Gimme a report!" Jason sounded pissed, which meant he was actually concerned.

"Everything okay," Tim breathed out, and took the comm from his ear to drop into a pocket.

"Are you checking up on me?" Damian demanded in a whisper so quiet Tim more felt than heard it. The fury came through loud and clear, though. Tim shook his head. 

Cass had started learning ASL several years ago because her own rudimentary signs were frustrating her when she couldn't speak fluently, so the rest of them had learned as well, but they weren't conversational, more at toddler level plus a lot of finger spelling. Toddlers could communicate, though. 

He signed, With Jason. Don't know you here.

Damian replied, good I come. They catch you.

Tim shrugged. Maybe.

He strained his ears, but the closet door was made of quality wood and he couldn't hear the words being spoken outside, just tone. Whatever conversation the three were having sounded like routine business. It didn't matter since the hidden cameras would pick up everything and have it ready for review.

For the first time, he became aware of how Damian was dressed. He wore a long cut tuxedo in dark green, with gold thread embroidered in intricate vines down its front and on the sleeves. Heat climbed up Tim's cheeks at the sight. He had to work to take his next breath evenly. Opera?

Damian nodded. Not box. Already go here after other party. When see you, know you come up to this room, so I wait here.

He'd probably braced himself in a corner of the ceiling just to have the drop on Tim. He narrowed his eyes, struck by sudden suspicion. Drink?

It was Damian's turn to shrug. You mind?

Tim shook his head, clamping his thumb and first two fingers together for emphasis. No. Waters could drown in booze for all he cared, let alone give up a suit jacket to it. It didn't speak well of his powers of observation that he'd missed Damian's presence, though. It wasn't as if he didn't draw the eye.

The study door opened and closed again. They both straightened to attention. Waters and the woman's voices kept talking, but Galloway's was silent, so he must have been the one to leave.

Tim turned his eyes back to Damian and had to fight not to clear his suddenly dry throat. Fuck. Why was he so attractive? It wasn't fair.

Damian gave a tiny sigh as their gazes met. It sounded like regret. Tim didn't know how to fix it, though, so he stood on tiptoes and kissed first one cheek, then the other, then his chin. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.

Damian didn't move for a long moment, and kept looking at him with an unreadable expression. Probably he'd just made the situation worse.

But then Damian tilted up his chin with one finger and kissed his forehead, his eyes, his temples. Tim shivered at each delicate brush of lips. His heart swelled in his chest with emotion too significant to define.

And Damian kept kissing him. The curve of his ear, the thin scar on his neck left by Jason a lifetime ago. Tim braced himself with both hands on Damian's hips and let his eyes fall shut. Damian shuffled toward him, closing the few inches between them, arms wrapping around his back and pulling him close to kiss the top of his head. Tim strained his head up to kiss Damian's pulse just below his jaw. Damian let out a shuddering breath at the contact and turned his face so their lips met. Tim encircled his neck with both arms and pulled him down to kiss him harder.

This was so stupid. He was so stupid.

The lump in his throat made it hard to breathe. His heart kept thudding an uneven tattoo, made clumsy with the mingled joy and pain inherent in Damian's touch. He pulled his mouth away, meaning to say something, anything that would help instead of hurt. Instead, Damian took advantage of the pause to hoist him against the wall by his thighs. Tim wrapped his legs around his waist and clung.

Unlike the last time he'd pinned Tim this way, Damian's body was strung tight with tension. He angled his hips into Tim's. Tim bit his lip against the frenzied sound that wanted to break free as their erections pressed together. Damian shoved one big hand into his hair and tilted his head back to kiss him with ardent force. Tim opened up and let him in deeper.

I'm sorry, he tried to say through his touch, through the tiny whimpers he couldn't entirely strangle, through the kisses he nipped against Damian's mouth. I'm so, so sorry. I do want you. I really do.

He wasn't sure if Damian understood what he was telling him. He wasn't sure he wanted him to.

Damian fumbled between Tim's legs, getting his suit pants open, and pulled out his cock. Tim whined feather-soft against his mouth at the relief of freedom from the confines of clothing. He yanked the sole fastened button of the tuxedo jacket free and parted the sides to reach Damian's trousers, unfastening them as well until his searching fingers found their goal.

Damian bucked into Tim's grip as Tim fitted them together in his hand. "Please," slipped out of his lips in a quavered whisper, and he gripped their lengths in one of his hands as well, moving in tandem with Tim's strokes. It was a little rough at first for Tim without lube, but Damian was leaking precome all over both of them, enough to smooth the way after a second.

They rocked against each other for long moments. Tim lost track of how much time had passed, or whether he was being quiet enough. The necessity of making Damian feel better buried every other concern. He looked up at the handsome face currently slack with arousal, begging silently for absolution. The care in Damian’s touch felt like a plea of its own.

His lips parted as he panted for air, and Damian slid his thumb between them. Tim sucked on it without thinking, and that was all it took to get Damian to stiffen from head to toe and spurt hot over his cock and fingers. His chest heaved, though his breathing stayed soundless.

Tim relaxed against the wall, letting Damian's thumb slip from his mouth, nearly as satisfied from feeling Damian's orgasm as he would've been from coming himself.

Damian clearly didn't share the sentiment. He buried his face in the crook of Tim's shoulder and inhaled against his skin, then renewed the motion of his hand around Tim's erection. Tim squirmed, almost overstimulated in the bad way, but Damian directed his legs down so he was standing again and that helped, to be able to push against something with his feet.

"There you are," Damian murmured against his mouth, practically soundless. "You're so lovely when you're like this." Tim moaned in the back of his throat at the praise and throbbed in Damian's grip. "Stunning. You'll come for me now, won't you? Let me feel it."

Helpless, Tim slapped one hand over his mouth and came so hard it almost hurt.

When his eyes and ears started working again, Damian had turned away and was listening intently at the door. His clothes were back in place. How had he managed to put himself together while Tim was still a mess? Grimacing, Tim pulled his handkerchief out and wiped himself off, then set his own pants back to rights.

With a satisfied nod, Damian said, "They're gone. We can leave." He pushed the closet door open.

Tim fought the urge to force a conversation at this exact moment and followed him down the stairs, fitting his comm back into his ear as he went. There were still plenty of guests milling around. Jeffrey caught sight of him in the foyer, and by the time Tim extricated himself from the goodbyes he had to say, Damian was long gone into the night.

“Was I hallucinating, or did I see the baby bat leave just now?” Jason asked.

Tim couldn’t keep his shoulders from slumping in defeat. “No. I saw him too. We didn't really talk, though.”

day fifty-one here

(p.s. the Brucie line in here is an affectionate shout-out to one of my favorite Superbat fics, "Sometimes, Always, Never," by liodain.)