Luna✨

I have never struggled so much with a writing assignment and it has revealed how low my literacy skills really are (I wasn’t able to learn these skills properly during my childhood). Which is why I am the painter and not the poet.

My assignment is to write a short story but I have been told from my teacher that I “tell” instead of “show”, give the character a stronger sense of why she’s feeling those emotions, and a better sense of creating an atmosphere in the environment.

You don’t have to respond, I’ve been looking at YouTube videos and re-reading some of your fics (and others) to try and help me. Anything to not use AI. I’d rather it fail and it be my work then pass with artificial slop.

And that is the attitude we need more of mhm!

Imagine Bruce doing this for a magazine shoot and this picture is plastered all over the watchtower bc Hal needs everyone to see how pretty and hot his boyfriend is (except no one knows they’re dating so they’re all thristing for Bruce and making Hal jealous)

Better yet: imagine Bruce does a raunchy photoshoot for a national fashion house and its plastered on billboards across moast coastal cities... including one giant billboard in Coast City.

It's beautiful. It's brilliantly shining at night. It's so big that it actually catches Hal off-guard when he returned to Earth after a long mission.

There's headlines — Coast City's very own Green Lantern caught staring at the Prince of Gotham's latest modelling partnership with [insert brand].

People say that the Green Lantern doesn't move for a solid half hour, suspended mid-air.

Those who live in high enough apartment say that his expression was half-fond, half-starving. They wondered if he was still even breathing after a long while.

The Green Lantern has the face of a man who found religion.

The local government had to worry if the Green Lantern had negative opinions about one of the JL's major funders being plastered all over his city, but when asked, the Green Lantern said: "As long as everyone remains..... respectful of my- of Mister Wayne. It's not a bad view, after all."

Batman, Gotham's very own vigilante, is also asked to comment on this the next time the JL opens themselves to press of all kinds.

He simply said: "He's free to look."

Hal : Yeah!

Barry : Really? I think he can?

Oliver : No! For example... I'm sure he's a bad kisser!

Hal : Well, I mean, I agree with you he can't be good at everything, but not that one.

Oliver : Huh?

Barry : Hal?

Hal : I mean, he IS a good kisser.

Oliver :

Barry :

Saw this just a minute ago. Yes, self diagnosis isn’t really a diagnosis, but it’s the only thing people can have. It costs a lot of money just to get a SINGLE appointment. Money that many people don’t have.

I think self diagnosis is fine, as long as you do TONS of research about it.

One of the reasons I run this blog is to help people understand these disorders like autism and ADHD. I’m hoping that my posts help people understand themselves too.

If youre against self diagnosis, then that’s fine. But there no need to invalidate many people who don’t have money or resources to get a formal diagnosis.

Please don’t send hate or negativity towards self diagnosed people. It just makes the whole neurodivergent community look bad. We’re meant to support each other, not tear people apart.

Sorry for the long post. This really upset me.

Even as Batman. It could be a quick photo take by a bystander and it’s jaw dropping to look at

Many people tried to catch his bad angle but it simply doesn't exist.

The door clicked open.

Tim was standing there looking like a two year old trying on their dad’s clothes in Jason’s sweats and sweater.

Tim: yo.

Jason:

Jason: you think this is funny.

Tim: of course not.

Jason:

Tim:

Jason: get the fuck out of my apartment!

Tim: it’s mine.

Jason: I’m not doing this today Timothy!

Tim: I’m Jason.

Jason:

Jason took a deep calm breath. He understood this now. He unfortunately understood it all too well.

Jason: is this because Bruce called you my name again and you’re trying to prove some point?

Tim:

Tim: not at all Richard.

He slammed the door shut.

Jason:

Jason: dammit. I can’t even be mad at him.

Bonus

Jason, sighing, turned to leave. He jumped as he found Robin standing there drenched in rain carrying a serious pout.

Jason:

Jason: Tim?

Like your best friend is a Kriptonian that knows your heartbeat like it's his own background music,and that can read you better than anyone

Imagine trying to throw yourself off a building and Superman just stopping behind you and saying "you know I will catch you if you fall. Always.",like no bitch I want to die,get the hell out

Or throwing yourself Infront of a car,which flash as your nerd friend,this is like so hard

Shooting yourself?He probably trained himself for that. Poisoning?He is immune to all types of poisoning,and it's the ultimate test subject for cures in case a new poison goes out. Bleeding to death?If he could he would've died long ago by that.

It just sounds so funny in my mind,Bruce just trying to think of a way to die,but giving up because it will be too complicated and there's so much stuff to do,and he just starts silently hoping that an alien crushes him one day,or some rogue finally wins because god he's tired.

Paired with my hc that he started spending more time with the Justice League after Alfred died because he couldn't deal with the silence,this would do well. A Bruce a the verge of trying and suddenly a message for hang out with the league pops on his phone,and he's like "well..maybe another day I'll try"

LMAO

Omg I'm sorry I just answered this ask Lily TT

But imagine the JL purposely giving Bruce at least one thing to do every single day just so he doesn't have the time to think about killing himself.

Like Imagine if almost all the main JL members know Bruce is passively (&active sometimes) suicidal so they have a meeting once a month just to brainstorm ideas on how to their resident bat something silly or a tad serious to do just so he can live another day.

hal will try to mess with him and ask for help grudgingly in the most random times and Bruce is annoyed because this is the THIRD time hal called him while he was on the way to try and kill himself again.

They would make him miserable, just to forget this as if it never happened.

Jason is starting to forget what Bruce looks like, because the photos the paparazzi take of Bruce aren’t Bruce. Because Bruce is kind, he isn’t a playboy, Bruce was the man who bought him any book he wanted. Bruce was his dad.

And slowly over time Jason blames himself more and more, because well, he killed his dad.

- 🦷 Anon

OWWWWWWW

damn </3 he cant even see his dad's face one last time D:

imagine him begging tim to dig up all the photos of bruce he took and finally being able see his dad with that special smile that he shows to his closest again. It doesnt help that it's Jason's fault for making it impossible to see anymore.

-🦷

OOOOOOOO

Like your best friend is a Kriptonian that knows your heartbeat like it's his own background music,and that can read you better than anyone

Imagine trying to throw yourself off a building and Superman just stopping behind you and saying "you know I will catch you if you fall. Always.",like no bitch I want to die,get the hell out

Or throwing yourself Infront of a car,which flash as your nerd friend,this is like so hard

Shooting yourself?He probably trained himself for that. Poisoning?He is immune to all types of poisoning,and it's the ultimate test subject for cures in case a new poison goes out. Bleeding to death?If he could he would've died long ago by that.

It just sounds so funny in my mind,Bruce just trying to think of a way to die,but giving up because it will be too complicated and there's so much stuff to do,and he just starts silently hoping that an alien crushes him one day,or some rogue finally wins because god he's tired.

Paired with my hc that he started spending more time with the Justice League after Alfred died because he couldn't deal with the silence,this would do well. A Bruce a the verge of trying and suddenly a message for hang out with the league pops on his phone,and he's like "well..maybe another day I'll try"

LMAO

Omg I'm sorry I just answered this ask Lily TT

But imagine the JL purposely giving Bruce at least one thing to do every single day just so he doesn't have the time to think about killing himself.

Like Imagine if almost all the main JL members know Bruce is passively (&active sometimes) suicidal so they have a meeting once a month just to brainstorm ideas on how to their resident bat something silly or a tad serious to do just so he can live another day.

hal will try to mess with him and ask for help grudgingly in the most random times and Bruce is annoyed because this is the THIRD time hal called him while he was on the way to try and kill himself again.

Bruce knows exactly where to drive it.  The knife rests against the hollow beneath his ribs.

His breathing is steady and the house silent as he started to press the knife into his skin, when he heard a soft mechanical whir before the bedroom window slides open.

Bruce reacts on instinct, the knife drops from his chest to his side in one smooth motion, disappearing beneath the fall of his sleeve as he rises to his feet. His straightens his spine and resets his expression.

The Red Hood steps through the window, his red helmet catching the light in the room. His boots landed soundlessly against hardwood floors as Jason shuts the window behind him with a low thud.

“Hey, B,” he starts, voice filtered through the helmet’s modulator. “The JL said you seemed off after the mission so I decided to come here. Not because I was worried of course—”

He takes another step forward.

Bruce shifts slightly, his movements seeming too controlled, too deliberate.

Jason’s head tilts, noticing something off in the pattern.

The weight in Bruce’s sleeve drags against gravity. He adjusts his stance again, but it wasnt subtle enough.

“…B?”

The modulation clicks off with a soft hiss. Slowly, Jason reaches up and removes the helmet.

His hair is flattened from it, a little longer than Bruce remembers. There’s concern there, buried beneath the usual irritation. The flippancy drops from his mouth mid breath.

His eyes flick to Bruce’s hand.

Bruce angles his body away from him, but it was too late.

Jason steps closer.

“What’s in your hand?”

“It’s nothing.”

The answer comes too quickly and Jason’s jaw tightens.

He moves faster than Bruce expects. catching Bruce’s wrist before Bruce can reposition.

For a fraction of a second, neither of them move.

Jason feels the resistance. The unnatural rigidity in Bruce’s arm. Then he forces Bruce’s hand outward.

The knife gleams under the bedroom light and silence drops like a guillotine.

Jason stares at it and something in Jason’s expression fractures.

“…What the hell is this?”

Bruce finally pulls his hand free and steps back once, creating space, the knife now fully in his grip. His brows draw together, a faint crease forming as he exhales. A tired, worn sound, like this is all just… exhausting.

“Jason,” he says evenly, “....it’s not what you think.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

“It’s nothing to worry about.”

Jason’s composure snaps.

“What the fuck do you mean nothing?!” he shouts, the words ripping out of him before he can stop them.

He takes a step forward, then another, hands flexing at his sides like he doesn’t know whether to grab the man again or shake him before ripping the knife from Bruce's grip and throwing it to the corner of the room.

“If I had been just a minute later—” His voice cracks, just slightly, but he barrels through it. “I could’ve walked in here and found you bleeding on the floor with a knife in your chest!”

His breathing is uneven now, chest rising and falling like he can’t get enough air.

“And you’re telling me that’s nothing?”

“....I was putting it away.”

“Yeah?” Jason’s voice lowers. “Were you putting it away so you could continue when im gone?”

Bruce doesn’t answer.

Jason laughs once, but there’s no humor in it. He runs a hand through his hair, pacing two steps away before turning back.

“You don’t get to pull this crap,” he says, the edge creeping in. “You don’t get to— to lecture me about recklessness and then—”

His words catch as Jason’s vision blurs for a second. He blinks hard, but it doesn’t fully clear— the shine in his eyes catching the light whether he wants it or not.

“Were you even going to tell anyone?” Jason demands, voice dropping again but no less intense. “Or were we just supposed to figure it out after your body had gone cold?”

“Jason—”

“No.” He shakes his head sharply. “Shut the fuck up and listen to me—”

He gestures at Bruce, at the space between them that suddenly feels too fragile.

“You cant just stand there and act like this is normal.”

Bruce clenched his fist hard enough he could feel the indents on his palm. His expression flickers— something strained passing through it—but his voice stays level.

“You’re escalating a situation that doesn’t require it.”

Jason stares at him like he doesn’t recognise him.

“Doesn’t require it?” he repeats, hoarse. “You were about to—”

He can’t finish it. The word sticks somewhere behind his teeth, too real once it’s spoken.

His hands curl into fists instead.

“Tell me,” Jason says, quieter now, but shaking. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

That silence after says more than anything else could.

Jason’s breath stutters. For a second, he looks away, jaw clenching hard enough to hurt. When he looks back, there’s anger there but he could se the fear underneath it.

“…You were really going to do it,” he says.

Bruce exhales again, that same tired sound that made jasons stomach roll everytime, and runs a hand briefly over his face before it drops back down.

“It’s handled,” Bruce says. “You’re here now.”

Jason recoils like he’s been hit.

“Handled?” His voice breaks outright this time. “That’s your solution? That was your plan— until I showed up?”

Bruce takes a step forward, measured, trying to close the distance.

“Jason, listen—”

“No, you listen!” Jason snaps, backing up just as fast. His chest heaves, breaths coming sharp and uneven. His eyes are bright green now, even as he tries not to lose control.

“You don’t get to just— just check out because things got hard or because you think you’re someone fucking replaceable!”

Bruce stills.

Jason swallows hard, fighting to keep control, but his voice wavers anyway.

For a moment, it looks like he might keep going— like the anger will carry him through the rest of it. But the fight drains out of him all at once instead.

Jason turns abruptly, dragging a hand over his face, and strides to the bed. The movement is sharp, restless. He drops down onto the edge with a muted thud, elbows braced on his knees.

His hands come up again, scrubbing hard over his eyes like he can force everything back into place if he just tries hard enough.

It doesn’t work when a shaky breath slips out anyway.

Silence stretches between them, thick and fragile.

Jason stares at the floor for a second longer before he speaks again, quieter now.

“…Why?”

Bruce doesn’t answer.

Jason’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look up yet. His hands lower slowly, fingers curling together between his knees.

Another few seconds pass.

“…Was it the fight?” he asks, voice rough. “From a few days ago.”

Bruce exhales.

“It was part of it.”

Jason’s breath hitches.

Part.

He looks up then, eyes locking onto Bruce again, something sharper cutting through the exhaustion.

“Then what’s the rest?” he demands. “Because that doesn’t get you—” He cuts himself off, gesturing vaguely, like the image is still too close to say out loud. “That doesn’t get you here.”

Bruce says nothing.

The silence is different this time. Not dismissive nor deflecting.

Avoidant.

Jason notices, sitting up straighter. “Don’t shut me out now.”

Jason lets out a frustrated breath after he went unanswered once more, dragging a hand through his hair. He looks away again, blinking hard, then back.

“I’m not leaving,” he says, more firmly this time. “You should know that by now. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me the full story.”

Bruce’s gaze drops slightly, not quite meeting his.

Still nothing.

Jason huffs out a quiet, disbelieving exhale, shoulders slumping just a fraction.

“God, you’re stubborn,” he mutters with no real bite to it.

Another pause.

“…Look.”

He shifts on the bed, leaning forward again, hands clasping together like he needs something to anchor them.

“I—” He stops, swallows, tries again. “We shouldn’t have said half the stuff we did back then.”

Bruce’s eyes flicker up.

“We shouldn’t have said it,” he admits. “About you— about how you handle things. We were pissed, yeah, but that doesn’t make it right.”

His voice dips, quieter, more honest.

“You’re not… you’re not alone in this. Even when you think you are.”

The words hang there, fragile but real.

Jason takes a slow breath. “…So talk to me,” he says and waited once more.

This time, Bruce does.

“…The mission,” Bruce begins, voice low. “The rupture we were dealing with wasn’t just spatial.”

Jason stills, listening.

“It intersected with adjacent realities,” Bruce continues. His brow furrows slightly, like he’s trying to rearrange the words in his head “I saw multiple versions of myself.”

Jason’s grip tightens around his own hands.

“And?” he presses.

Bruce’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.

“They varied,” he says. “Circumstances. Outcomes. Age.”

He pauses.

Then, quieter—

“But the end state remained consistent.”

“…Which was?”

Bruce’s gaze drifts  somewhere past jason. Somewhere distant.

“Alone,” he says.

The word lands heavy and Jason’s breath stutters.

Bruce exhales slowly, the sound worn thin.

“No partners. No family. No one staying,” he continues. “Different paths. Same result.”

His fingers shift again, absent, almost restless now.

Jason shakes his head immediately. “That doesn’t mean—”

“Perhaps the universe wanted to tell me about my fate,” Bruce cuts in with quiet certainty. “Regardless of what changes, the result always ends the same.”

“That’s not how that works—”

“I drive people away,jaylad” Bruce says, more firmly now. “I always have.”

Jason goes still.

Bruce finally looks at him again.

“You said it yourself,” he continues. “Control. Distance. Lack of trust. It isn’t inaccurate.”

Jason opens his mouth, yet nothing comes out.

Bruce’s expression softens just slightly.

“I thought,” he says slowly, “that if the outcome is inevitable… then prolonging it serves no purpose.”

The implication settles between them, heavy and Unavoidable.

Jason’s chest tightens painfully.

“And that makes it okay?” he manages, voice strained. “That makes it make sense to just— what— prove it right?”

Bruce doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t deny it either. Jason looks at him and for the first time since the fight, the anger takes a backseat to something else entirely.

Fear.

“…You really believed that,” Jason says.

Jason swallows hard, like he’s forcing something sharp back down his throat.

For a second, he doesn’t trust his voice. Opting to reach for bruces hand instead.

His hand finds Bruce’s and turns it slightly, ignoring the faint resistance. his fingers slide over Bruce’s palm, tracing over the scars.

His voice, when it comes, is quieter. Rough around the edges.

“You don’t get to just… decide how everything ends by yourself,” he says.

Bruce’s fingers twitch faintly under his touch.

Jason keeps going, eyes fixed on the lines in Bruce’s skin like he needs something solid to focus on.

“You see a few versions of your life and suddenly that’s it? That’s the answer?” His jaw tightens. “That’s not how this works.”

He drags in a breath, unsteady.

“If you had… if you had actually gone through with it—” His voice falters, just for a second. He swallows again, pushes through it. “You would’ve left us.”

Jason finally looks up.

“And I don’t want that,” he says, more firmly now, even as his voice threatens to shake. “None of us do.”

There’s a slight hitch in his breathing, and he turns his head just enough to try and hide it. His free hand comes up, brushing quickly at his eyes like it’s nothing, like it didn’t happen.

It doesn’t quite work.

When he looks back, there’s a stubborn edge to him again. something defiant layered over the fear.

“And don’t think I won’t drag you back if you try something like that again,” he adds, a little sharper, “I will dunk you in the Lazarus Pit myself, old man. consequences be damned.”

A weak threat. But the intent behind it is clear.

Don’t you dare.

Jason’s grip on Bruce’s hand tightens slightly.

“Promise me,” he demanded.

“Promise me you’re not going to leave us like that. Not willingly.”

Bruce goes very still. His gaze drops to their hands— to Jason’s fingers still wrapped around his own, grounding and real.

Something shifts.

Small. But enough.

His grip loosens as the tension bleeds out of his body, the rigid line of his shoulders easing just a fraction as he exhales.

Then his arm lifts carefully. It settles around Jason’s shoulders in a firm, grounding side hug— pulling him in just enough to hold. 

“…I promise,” he says.

Jason’s breath stutters once, then steadies.

The words are quiet. No certainty of the promise even being kept in the future. yet it made jason calmer all the same.

___________

oh my god i actually finally fuckin finished it💀

thats one wip out of the way XD

Tim notices this and like canon goes to search Dick first to ask him to be robin again. Dick's not sure about it and goes to the manor and finds Bruce completely dissociated from reality in his bed and it worries him. He stays a couple of days patrolling the city as nightwing but it doesn't get better, Bruce has awful nightmares every night and even Alfred is worried.

Alfred and Dick are so worried that they search for an alternative: erase Jason's existence from Bruce's memory. They contact the JL and the JL is so worried about batman that they agree to do it. Clark is the only one that doesn't think it's right and refuses at the beginning until Dick begs him to do it because he's afraid of loosing another parent.

So, Dick and Alfred pick every single picture of Jason, his books, all of the memories from the manor, and seal Jason's room. It helps that Jason was buried beside her bio mum in Gotham cemetery and not in the family plot on the manor grounds. They erase every single case Jason worked on from the batcomputer, every file is put under the best security, his robin suit (different from Dick's) is put under lock, every newspaper article is archived, and it's easy to do this because Bruce hasn't left his bedroom in days.

Dick takes Martian Manhunter to Bruce and one look at the both of them Bruce knows. Bruce begs them to not do it, to please let him keep his son at least in his memories. Dick feels guilty, he's never seen his father beg. Alfred doesn't say anything, he can't watch his own son die. It's no use, they erase Bruce's memories and alter some others, they replace the second robin with nightwing in his mind to not make Bruce suspicious because he's not the World's Greatest Detective for nothing and erasing 4 years from his memory will make red flags pop.

The next day Bruce is back to normal.

Tim thinks it weird and goes looking for Dick again demanding to know what he did. Dick tells him and Tim understands but he says he wants to be kept in the known or he will tell Bruce. Dick thinks Tim has spunk and likes him so he agrees. Later, Dick realizes about Tim's living situation and tells Bruce which leads him to be adopted.

Years pass and then a new figure appears in Gotham, a rogue that seems to predict Bruce's every move: The Red Hood.

One day, Bruce is in his office at W.E. and opens a compartment that requires a retina scan. There's important documents, passports etc. And in it, a copy of Jason's guardianship papers, a picture with Jason, Bruce and Dick on an odd day where everything was good. A funny note from Jason that Bruce kept. And Bruce goes investigating and ends up at Jason's school and talking to his teacher.

Bruce is confused and distressed.

He is furious.

He leaves no stone unturned.

He sends Alfred on vacation.

He tells Dick he's out of town.

He takes a look at Tim and knows that he knows SOMETHING, only telling him to stay out of the way.

He ransacked the Manor and found everything. His hands shake when he finally holds the pictures in his hands, Jason's Robin suit is also found. He breaks back into his computer and finds the files.

How ARROGANT can someone be to think he didnt have back ups of back ups no one else had access to?

And he's not an idiot.

Tim is cornered and questioned relentlessly and by the time he shares what he knows he's storming the Watchtower, raising Hell.

And before he demands to get his memories restored he asks one burning question.

"Did I ask for this?"

The silence is damning.

Some things start to make a terrifying amount of sense. The Red Hood. Who knows Batman so well. Who can predict his every move. Who has a deep seated, personal reason for hating him. Who... cares about Gotham with the same fire Bruce wrote about in the diary no one knew he had.

The Red Hood expected a big, dramatic showdown, with the Joker, and a gun, and an 'impossible' choice, not pounding fists on his door, and a spooked goon waiting behind it. Didn't expect the words "Bruce Wayne, boss. He's here." Didn't expect to be led downstairs, didn't expect to find the Prince of Gotham himself pacing the entryway, looking like he's about to keel over, or spring at someone.

"Mr Wayne," he drawls, covering up how Bruce's presence unsettles him. Won't give him the win.

"Take off the helmet."

"Sorry?"

"Take it off."

So Jason takes it off. Decides screw it, if Bruce wants to do this in civvies, they can do it in civvies, but curses the man for his control issues, how everything has to be on his terms.

"You're Jason, aren't you?" The question is loaded with emotion, and a detachment Jason had expected. After all, you can't expect anything from a man that forgot you at the earliest opportunity.

He peels off the domino too, ignoring his men's uneasy shifting on the outskirts off the room. Bruce gasps, pales a bit more, and, abruptly, crumples. "How could they— Why would they make me forget you? How could they do this?" And Jason just stares as Bruce loses it on his floor, not making any sense. One of his men doesn't last long, darts to Bruce's side, trying to comfort him, and when Jason glares, he gets a "don't be heartless boss, it's your da" that seems to make things worse as Bruce cries harder.

And it's like he said. Bruce is the Prince of Gotham. His other men don't last either, before they're scooting past Jason to help Bruce into a chair, getting him water, offering to call a cab, trying to calm him down, until his tears are silent, and he's left glaring at the floor.

"What did you mean." Silence. "What did you mean, make you forget?"

"Dick. Alfred. The others. They got J— they got someone to wipe my memory. Make me forget you. Make me forget my grief. Took all your stuff. Hid it. Everything. Made me forget my son."

Jason is in shock. He doesn't want to believe. But he knows Bruce's tells, he isn't lying. Not when he glances up and croaks "can I hug you?" he's not lying then either. He nods, before he can tell his body no, and Bruce stumbles up to him.

Wraps him in a hug Jason doesn't return, arms hanging at his sides, and, with Batman's conviction, swears "I'll find a way to remember" before dragging himself away, stumbling back out of Jason's base. His goons watch, waiting, processing that their boss is Wayne's boy, the one Gotham collectively held a vow of silence on, per Dick Grayson and Alfred Pennyworth's request, to respect his father's grief.