not-so casual batman fan

Rules: keep your ai content/usage away, if you like batcest please don't send/request content of it, always reblog the tws

I HAVE AN OLD DOG AND I'M SCARED OF LOSING HIM STOP SENDING ME ASKS ABOUT DEAD/DYING PUPPERS

Odd One Out (original no pack au)

An Omega Without A Pack (elseworlds)

Some ficlets

Fic links to ao3

Fanarts (gifted)

Humans Are Space Orcs: JL Edition

Miscellaneous

Mini AUs

Clark feels the condensation run down the tub to pool in his hand, and stares, defeated, at his best friend.

"Then why have you been searching for who ate it for the last five hours?"

Bruce sniffs, looking in the opposite direction to the melting ice cream tub. "Principle."

It's a good thing his invulnerability applies to his own strength, or the force with which he pinches the bridge of his nose might snap it clean off his face.

"Alright, Bruce. Fine."

A tap on his shoulder shorts out Clark's frustration, and he turns, seeing Tim at his elbow. "Alright, B. It'll be in the freezer, alright?"

"Hn."

Tim plucks it from Clark's grip and disappears out of the door. Clark is about to follow when something in his gut pulls, telling him to stay, and he halts partway through taking a step.

"Clark?"

"Yes, Bruce?"

"Sorry. It's not your fault someone ate my ice cream."

Clark sighs, and turns back with a smile. "'S'alright, B. I'll see you next week?"

Bruce's nod bids him his leave, uand he wastes no time, ducking out the door, and almost slamming into Cassandra.

"Don't tell him."

"What?"

"Do. Not. Tell. Him."

"I won't."

She nods, he nods, and he's finally given his freedom.

She needen't worry, he thinks, flying back to Metropolis.

There's no way in hell he's telling Bruce that he ate his own ice cream, and there is no thief to be found.

those u need, keep your hand save

Thank you to everyone who got me to 250000 likes!

When he first starts bringing pups home, Alfred’s like “You better not be thinking of claiming him, Master Bruce.” Or “Tut tut, surely you don’t think it’s your place to be the boys mother? What have I told you about trying to force people to be pack?”

Alfred is nothing but grandfatherly to the batkids, so they don’t realize he’s the reason Bruce won’t scent them. Instead they all blame Bruce.

YOU are a mindreader. I wrote this in my notes app last year along with the other npas that I have...never put here for some reason. I don't know.

trying to write talia having her cool saviour moment for woozy post-torture bruce and stalling out because I can't decide what she's wearing?? brother

bruce looking up at his wife in awe and admiration and i'm just twiddling my useless fucking thumbs going 'weirdly sexual battle suit or strategically unsound two-piece that shows her entire midriff' WHY IS THERE NO REASONABLE OPTION DC

Pregnant Bruce is diagnosed with an illness which will likely kill him if not immediately treated, but the treatment would likely kill or severely injure his much-wanted baby, and he has to make a Decision.

Such angst, no matter where you pick up that story or how it ends? If c@ncer/severe illness is triggering, it could even be radiation or some weird immune thing from a Kryptonian pregnancy? Or maybe a toxin that can't pass along, but the antidote absolutely would cause a problem? (Okay thanks again, love your work, please feel free to ignore/delete if it's not grabbing you atm <3)

"We have to induce."

Clark's head snaps up, eyes wide as he takes in Bruce on the couch opposite him. They hadn't even been speaking, just reading, and now—

"What?" he wheezes.

"Kryptonian pregnancies gestate longer than human ones." Clark nods, still trying to catch up. "I talked to Leslie, and she wasn't sure why I've started..." Bruce gestures towards himself, and Clark nods vaguely. He's been throwing up again, not sleeping, dealing with cramping, all sorts of gastro issues, and neither of them knew the cause. Bruce didn't even have so much as a hunch, even given his first pregnancy, with Damian, being as hard as it was. "But then I talked to Emil, and we figured it out."

"And we have to induce? What's wrong?" Clark flies over the coffee table, sitting down next to Bruce to grab his hands.

"Emil says that the fetus has accelerated its development to meet full development by the nine month mark."

"And that is bad," he guesses.

Bruce snorts softly, leaning over to sag against him. Clark easily takes his weight, wrapping an arm around his back to give him a place to rest his head.

"The baby needs more than I can give it. My body cannot keep up with the demand of the accelerated growth. Leslie found that I am deficient in...everything," Bruce sighs. "I can take supplements, I can eat more, I could go on bed rest, and I could carry the baby to term."

Clark closes his eyes, as if he can hide away from the uncertainty in Bruce's voice. "What is the 'but', Bruce?"

"But my body is rejecting the surge of Kryptonian hormones being produced." Dammit. This is what they've been worried about from the beginning. "My immune system is trying to fight the pregnancy, but the baby is drawing so much from me in order to develop that—"

Clark flinches. "It's killing you."

"To stabalise me, Emil would have to fight the Kryptonian genes, but to do so would hurt the baby."

"You," Clark says immediately. "We said— we said we'd choose you, Bruce."

Bruce pats his thigh, sighing a soothing: "breathe." Clark obeys, and Bruce waits a few beats before resuming. "I know we did. But if we induce... I called Talia. She is working with Emil to make the artificial womb they used suitable for our baby."

"How long have you been doing this, Bruce?!"

"Since I got sick." Bruce voice is hard. "You are scared, Clark, because your entire species rests on the fate of this pregnancy. I am scared because my life rests on this pregnancy."

"No, Bruce—"

"The artificial womb that was used to house Damian after I 'lost' him will keep our baby safe until they are ready, while Emil tries to reverse the breakdown in my cells from the Kryptonian cells latching onto them."

Clark draws in a breath. It sounds like a virus.

"Are you alright to do this?" he asks, rather than say anything racing through his mind.

Bruce doesn't speak, and Clark eases back from the hug to get a look at his boyfriend's face, twisted with unease.

"Bruce?"

"I'm scared," he repeats. Clark can't help the small noise that escapes him, taking the admission like a blow, knowing how much it takes for him to admit something like that. "What if it goes wrong? What if deciding to save myself dooms our baby?"

"Then so be it, Bruce. We promised each other that you came first in this pregnancy."

He knows his words aren't comforting, but he doesn't know what else to say. They swore that to each other from the beginning, and Clark refuses to let any chance of having a Kryptonian child take his boyfriend from him.

"It has been days, Mother. I understand that there are influences upon him at this time, but there comes a point—"

"Leave your father be, Damian. He cannot be that bad."

"He is grumpy."

Talia sets her phone down on the table beside her bed, selecting speakerphone as she rolls her eyes. Oh, how she does not miss when her and Beloved's cycles fell together. It was a miracle that they managed to stay together long enough to produce their darling son at all.

"Oh?"

"He is not quiet, he is not sullen, he will not even brood, Mother! Father, of all people! He just frowns, and grouches, and grumbles, and—"

"I am well aware, Damian." She stretches out across her mattress, arms wrapped around a cushion, and stifles a yawn. Her son seems to have forgotten about time zones, but she cannot bring herself to hang up on her soul.

"Well, then..."

"'Then?'"

"How did you handle it? When you were together?"

A smile arrives on her face, and she is glad it is not a video call, for the teasing she receives from her son is unrivalled by even his father. "Well," she hums, thinking back on those tender years. "Leave it with me, habibi. I will handle it."

"Really? Thank you, Mother."

"You are welcome, my son. I love you."

"I love you too, Mama."

Her heart all but explodes with warmth, but Damian hangs up so rapidly she barely has time to catch the curse she should really chide him for before he is already gone.

Oh, well. She will just have to leave even more lipstick stains on his beautiful, soft cheeks when she sees him next.

She picks up her phone and studies it for a second, then makes her decision. She knows what to do.

Five minutes later, the job is done, her own heart is warmed at the reminders, and she can finally roll over and go to sleep, a chance she gladly takes.

The next morning, as she sits out on the veranda, watching over the early training session, her phone rings once more.

She smiles at the contact name, and sets aside the book she was neglecting in order to answer. "Good morning, Beloved."

"Tal."

"He was adorable, was he not?"

"You've... you've never shown me these."

"I suppose not. But looking at them is such a joy, it is truly hard to share."

Her beloved sniffs quietly, and Talia turns her back on the training, only allowing her smile to appear once they can no longer see her.

"Feel better, my love."

"You too, ya amar. I will leave you with a gift of my own."

The dial tone rings in her ear, and she pulls it away from her ear, summoning the notification bar to seek out the promised present.

Damian's face beams up from her screen, snow smeared across his face, a bobble hat pulled low over his brow, and his hands are focused on batting away the Great Dane seemingly determined to lap up that snow.

She sighs, and settles a hand over the dull cramping settled into her pelvis, blinking back intrusive tears summoned to her eyes.

She curses her cycle, and hearts the message.

Maybe Father is free today...she thinks she can persuade him to spend the day together.

Most devastating...I'm not sure. I see my writing from a structural perspective, rather than an experiencing the plot perspective, so it's often hard for me to grasp the emotional tone of my scenes in it's entirety.

If I had to guess...