becca

this is just a blog where i share my undying love for jason todd and vampires. inbox is always open, i love love talking to others about any ideas they may have about jason and vampirism. also open to other batfam/dc characters... 18+ no minors!

borders used credits > @@suupersonic, & @pixopix

MASTERLIST BELOW

it doesn’t matter what it is. climbing onto a kitchen counter to reach something that was very clearly not placed there for human accessibility? your phone lights up with a single text: don’t. no explanation. just that. attempting to “quickly” cross the city at night because it’s “fine, it’s only a few blocks”? you’ll get another one: stop. again, no context. like he assumes you already know what you’ve done wrong.

and the worst part is when he doesn’t even bother with texts anymore. his voice just appears in your head like an intrusive thought you didn’t consent to. immediate and deeply unimpressed: don’t. or move. or are you serious.

you have no idea how he always knows. and every time you ask, he either ignores you or responds in a way that makes you feel like you’ve somehow disappointed him. what you don’t know, what you probably don’t want to know, is that damian has, in fact, woken up in the middle of the day in a cold sweat more than once because something in his instincts just snapped.

jason sees your acceptance and doesn't interpret it as proof that he isn't as monstrous or flawed as he thinks he is. instead, he takes it as evidence that you're just that forgiving, that kind, that willing to look past things that should scare people away. in his mind, it says more about you than it does about him. and i think that slowly leads to jason developing a really over-romanticised view of reader within the relationship. he starts looking at them through rose-tinted glasses because he genuinely can't understand why someone as good as them would choose to stay. every act of patience gets elevated into something saintly and every mistake gets excused.

so even in situations where reader is blatantly in the wrong, jason's instinct is still to view them as the victim somehow. he'll find a reason. maybe they were pressured into it, maybe they were hurting, maybe someone else pushed them too far, maybe they didn't know any better. whatever explanation he lands on, it's easier for him to believe that than to accept that reader might have intentionally done something cruel or selfish. it's not that he thinks reader is perfect, necessarily. it's that every time they're imperfect, he immediately starts searching for a reason why it isn't really their fault. just a thought i had regarding the dynamic.

Reader: I’ve done nothing wrong in my life.

because it's not that he thinks you're beneath him. if anything, damian's biggest issue is that he places an absurd amount of value on reader. he doesn't keep them around because they're entertaining or useful. he keeps them close because they're important.

the pet comparison only starts to make sense from an outside perspective, particularly other vampires who don't have the full context. they see a human who is constantly under damian's protection, constantly within his territory, constantly surrounded by signs that they are his, and they make assumptions. when damian reacts violently to unfamiliar vampires approach, it can absolutely resemble the way some vampires treat favoured pets or prized possessions.

the difference is that damian himself doesn't see it that way at all. to him, reader is his in the same way his family is his, in the same way gotham is his. it's in the same way a vampire might view something precious that they have taken responsibility for protecting, it's an entitlement to proximity and protection rather than an entitlement to use or control. and honestly, if another vampire implied that reader was his pet, damian would probably be offended by the suggestion. not because they noticed his possessiveness, but because they fundamentally misunderstood it. the idea that reader exists solely for his comfort or amusement would be insulting. they're important enough to warrant protection, important enough to fight over, important enough for him to stake territorial claims around them, but never because he sees them as lesser.

which is why, from an outsider's perspective, the distinction becomes almost impossible to see. another vampire watches damian treat reader's safety as a matter of personal importance, watches him become hostile whenever unfamiliar vampires approach them, watches him make it abundantly clear that they belongs within his sphere, and they reach the wrong conclusion. damian doesn't particularly care if they do. if other vampires think reader is a favoured pet because it makes them less likely to approach them, less likely to test boundaries, less likely to put them in danger, then that's their mistake to make. the misunderstanding is irritating, but ultimately harmless.

Thinking about the rest of the batfam meeting Vampire! Jason’s s/o hehe

anon, thank you <3 ! okay, i was playing around with the idea that jason is the only vampire, but considering it's the batfam, i honestly think it would be far funnier if they were all vampires, so bear with me for a second.

because vampire! jason's family-the batfam-are somehow the perfect in-laws.

it doesn't even matter that you're the only mortal among them, or that you're fully aware of their little secret. from the moment jason brought you around, they simply took you in. not literally, but close enough. somewhere along the way, you stopped being jason's plus one and became part of the invitation list yourself. bruce personally invites you to every family gathering, every holiday dinner, and every random sunday meal that somehow turns into an argument over board games. there's also the added benefit that if you're attending, jason is practically guaranteed to show up too.

not that bruce would ever intentionally use you as bait to get one of his sons to spend more time with the family... absolutely not.

the first time you met them, though, was a different story.

they were all ridiculously eager to meet you. jason was somehow worse. he spends the entire drive insisting he doesn't care what they think. no, seriously, he doesn't. why would he? their opinions don't matter. except his grip on the steering wheel gets tighter every time he says it. because deep down, you think it would mean a lot to him if they liked you. you expected meeting bruce wayne to be intimidating, maybe a little terrifying. instead, he greets you with a warm smile and perfect manners, making you feel welcome before you've even stepped fully through the door.

then dick appears. which immediately becomes a problem. he's friendly in that overwhelming sort of way, throwing an arm around your shoulders within minutes and acting like you've known each other for years. jason starts arguing with him almost instantly, the two slipping into a familiar bickering match that has absolutely nothing to do with you and everything to do with dick being incapable of resisting the urge to annoy his little brother.

the distraction works in your favour. while jason is busy threatening violence and dick is laughing at him, stephanie and tim manage to corner you. steph is exactly what you'd expect, all jokes, teasing, a bunch of playful questions, and a complete lack of boundaries. she's asking how you met jason, whether you've seen his embarrassing childhood photos, and if he's always this grumpy.

tim is more subtle. he's trying to get to know you, or at least pretending to. because he's already done his research. every public social media account, every interview, every article mentioning your name, every scrap of information available through the batcomputer has almost certainly already been reviewed.

damian is the hardest one to read. he barely speaks to you all evening. eventually, after observing from across the room like a particularly judgemental cat, he gives you a single nod. that's it. but judging by the way everyone else immediately looks impressed, apparently you've just received the highest possible form of approval.

and honestly? all of it is worth it. because by the end of the night, when conversations overlap and laughter fills the manor, when you're being pulled into family photos despite technically not being family, and when bruce is already asking if you'll be attending the next gathering, you catch sight of jason. the tension he'd been carrying all evening is gone.

so he prepares instead, he feeds a bit more beforehand. not anything dramatic, just enough to take the edge off what he is now, enough to make the cold in his skin less like something that doesn’t belong near warmth. enough that when he’s sitting next to you, he isn’t constantly aware of the difference like it’s a third person in the room. in his head it’s practical. considerate, even. like he’s doing you a favour by making himself easier to be around. because he does notice it. the way warmth becomes something he has to think about instead of something that just exists naturally between people. he hates that part the most, not because of what he is, but because it keeps reminding him there’s a gap he didn’t choose.

it’s a stark reminder for him, that gap between you and him, the living and whatever he’s become, and he hates how much he thinks about it when he’s around you, hates that it even matters when all he wants is just to be near you without second guessing it. so he tries to adjust for it in advance, like that will make it easier, like that will make him feel less wrong sitting beside you. and you notice he feels a little different. not in a way you can quite place, just subtle, like he’s less guarded in a way that doesn’t make sense, like he’s stopped bracing quite so hard when he’s near you. you probably don’t realise the real reason and you probably don’t make the connection he’s too scared you might make, but maybe some part of your subconscious does understand anyway, in the way you don’t pull away, in the way you stay close without hesitation, in the way you make it feel like he doesn’t actually need to fix anything at all.

yes, you get my vision! vampire! damian is so cat-like he is in almost every other regard. his spiritual cat ears are permanently flattened against his head, he follows you from room to room while pretending he isn't following you, he'll sit in the same room as you for hours and insist he doesn't care about your company, only to become visibly irritated the second you leave, and the thing that really sells it is that, for all his pride and dignity, he is so capable of weaponizing pathetic little expressions when he wants something. and when you ask what's wrong, suddenly he's looking at you with the most absurdly innocent expression imaginable, like he's never committed a crime in his life.

"nothing."

"damian."

"nothing."

it’s not even something he thinks about as a skill someone is meant to acquire. oranges arrive prepared, segmented, arranged, made convenient by people who exist specifically for that purpose. and even after he comes to wayne manor, there’s still alfred, someone that removes the need for him to ever consider the small mechanics of looking after something as simple as fruit.

so when he starts doing it for you, it’s not smooth or natural and absolutely not something he has memory for and still he does it anyway. because there’s something in it for him that has nothing to do with competence. there’s comfort in it, in the repetition and in the attention it forces. in the fact that it’s something directed entirely toward you. he tells himself it’s practicality, that you don’t need to do it yourself when he’s here, but that isn’t really the point. the point is that it makes him part of your day in a way that feels tangible. something small he can hold onto that says 'i was here.' 'i did this.' 'i mattered in this moment.'

he likes acts of service more than he admits, especially now, especially like this. not because he thinks you need them, but because he does. because there’s a quiet logic in his head that says if he is useful to you, if he is needed in even the smallest ways, then it becomes harder for you to leave. sure, you don’t need tea made for you, you don’t need fruit cut into perfect pieces, you don’t need anything like that. but he does it anyway, carefully, almost thoughtfully, like he’s trying to learn what normal looks like by hand. and sometimes it goes further than that, in quieter ways. brewing tea he doesn’t drink himself, preparing fruit he hasn’t really paid attention to in decades, not since becoming what he is now. there’s something almost deliberate in it, like he’s acknowledging your humanity by participating in it, even if he doesn’t claim it for himself anymore. like your life, your needs, your ordinary routines are something worth preserving just as they are.

and that’s where the anxiety sits. because nothing about his history has taught him that this is safe. people don’t stay, they don’t see everything and choose to stay anyway. especially not when they see what he is, what he does, the parts of him that are still iffy around the edges even now. he keeps waiting for the shift, for the moment you look at him differently, for the moment something he’s done finally tips the balance and makes you step back. but it never happens. you’ve seen enough. maybe not everything, but enough, enough to understand that he isn’t gentle all the time, that he isn’t clean, that he isn’t the kind of safe people pretend exists in stories. and still, you don’t turn away. you don’t weaponize it and you don’t use it as leverage.

and that confuses him more than rejection ever could. because rejection fits and rejection makes sense. it matches what he expects from the world. but consistency, quiet acceptance, staying even when there are reasons not to, that doesn’t fit anything he knows how to prepare for. so he keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, even while it doesn’t exist. even while you continue to treat him like he’s allowed to take up space without being punished for it.

and the worst part, for him, is that he knows he’s done things you probably shouldn’t be okay with. things he isn’t even fully okay with himself sometimes and still you don’t leave, still you don’t change the way you look at him. it doesn’t make the fear go away. but it starts to complicate it, because every time he expects distance, you give him proximity instead. every time he braces for withdrawal, you stay exactly where you are.

you open the door expecting anything but this. and for a moment there’s just confusion, followed quickly by anger because there are a lot of things that don’t make sense and he’s standing there like none of them matter. you’re about to say something, probably something loud and not particularly kind, because he’s dead, or he was, or he was supposed to be, and now he’s here looking older and like he’s walked out of the worst possible version of that outcome.

but he cuts through it before you can really land any of it. he reminds you, voice uneven, that you once told him you’d be there, always, no matter what happened, no matter how bad it got. and he says it like he’s daring you to take it back. almost like he’s already braced for you to.

there’s a stillness that follows that feels heavier than anything he’s said so far, because now it isn’t just about him showing up, it’s about what you’re going to do with it. he’s waiting for the moment you decide there isn’t space for this version of him, for the version that crawled out of a grave and came here instead of anywhere else, for the version that is, in every sense that matters, too much. he’s ready for rejection but you don’t give it to him. you just stand there for a second, looking at him like you’re trying to decide whether to be furious or concerned or both at once, and then the anger just… drains out of you in a way that feels less like defeat and more like resignation. like this is not the first impossible thing he’s brought to your door and it probably won’t be the last.

you sigh and then you step aside.

“come in,” you say, like it’s obvious.