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

also pls more dad gordon, love that so much

whenever you have the chance if this is something u wanna continue, no stress

take care :)

Clark looks at his best friend. "B, do you have any good parental figures?"

Bruce stares at the manifestations of Alfred, Oswald, and Gordon, getting into an increasingly heated argument on the other side of the room.

"I mean...Ra's is technically my father in law?"

Alfred breaks away from the argument to glare across the room at Bruce, who shrinks in his seat. A hand snaps up, hitting the butler, and Oswald glowers at him.

"Leave the kid alone, Pennyworth. You don't have any right to get mad at the kid when you go around refusing to even label yourself family."

"Says the man that nearly killed him a month ago!"

Oswald looks away, shame-faced, and Alfred rounds back on Gordon. "You! If we are to talk about not accepting Master Bruce, I dare say that I am not the one at the top of the list."

A curl of smoke lifts from Gordon's cigarette, and he doesn't address Alfred's comment, still slumped on the floor like he has been since the reason for his spirit being yanked from Earth was revealed.

"You think of me like a parent, kiddo?"

Bruce looks away, and Clark puts a hand on his shoulder, stepping between him and the three men. "You want to head out? I'll babysit."

The vigilante just shrugs. "We don't even know how to send them away. The spell didn't exactly offer instructions."

"That doesn't mean you have to be here for...this." His brief hesitation gives time for the incensed argument behind them to filter back in, and Bruce grimaces.

"I probably do. Hey, Jim."

Clark's eyes jump up, finding Jim hovering behind Bruce, and the Commissioner edges around so the man can actually see him.

"Kid, I..."

"It doesn't matter."

"You think of me as yer dad?"

"I wouldn't feel too special," he grouches. "Clearly there's a lot of that to go around."

"Bruce." Gordon reaches out, putting a hand over his. "It's you. How could that not be special, huh?"

His attempt to pull his arm back is stifled, as Gordon tightens his grip. "We don't need to do this."

"I think we do. Bruce, kid. I love you, you know that? Yer a good kid. But I ain't a good dad."

"I think Barbara would beg to differ."

"Babsie...she know about this?"

"I never confirmed her hunch. But she's been after me to tell you."

"Well maybe you should've listened."

Bruce looks up, a cautious hope blooming in his chest. "Yeah?"

Gordon nods. "Yeah."

A bitter laugh interrupts the sweet moment. "Well if you've got the police commish to be your new daddy, I guess I'm not needed, am I?"

Bruce snakes his hand out of Jim's grip. "Uncle Oz."

"Heya, Chick." The old man waddles closer, hitching one leg up on the desk to half-sit on it. "I thought leaving you with the butler was the right thing to do, I should've looked closer."

Bruce wavers, but ultimately leans in, resting his head against the man's side. "Why didn't you?"

"I failed Tommy and Matty. We tried so damn hard to protect them, they were the only people this damn city didn't stain. And we... I failed them. Failed you."

"You didn't fail me when they died," Bruce corrects. "You failed me when you disappeared afterwards."

"Well. I could. Reappear?" Oswald's eyes flick to Gordon. "If your new Pa don't mind."

"Try me, Cobblepot."

"Bring it, Commish."

"Please don't," Bruce sighs.

"Alright," Oswald concedes, then sends a glare across the room. "But I don't promise to make nice with the butler."

"Nor I," Alfred sniffs. "Might I be excused, Master Bruce? This fiasco has certainly stolen enough of the day away already."

Bruce watches him sadly. "Yeah, Alfred. You can go."

"Then good day, sir."

In a blink, the butler disappears, and Gordon and Oswald quickly follow; there one second, gone the next.

—🌸🐁

Thank you, Cote

Dick throws his wingding, watching it thud into the target.

"Go back to sleep, chum. It's just Dick."

Again.

"Go back to sleep, chum. It's just Dick."

Again.

"Go back to sleep, chum. It's just Dick."

Again.

"Go back to sleep, chum. It's just Dick."

Again.

"Dick."

"Leave it alone, Bruce."

He doesn't turn to look at the man that raised him, stalking to the target to yank them out of the wood and start again. Bracing a hand on the target, he grasps them by the body, feeling them poke at him through the reinforced gloves he'd barely remembered to yank on.

He still doesn't meet Bruce's unwavering gaze on his way back to his mark, then turns his back on him, once more.

"I didn't know you would mind."

The wingding goes wide, clattering to the floor in the darkness of the unlit portions of the Cave. He pants, staring after it, something dark and ugly whispering in his ear, louder than it has been at any point since he left Gotham a year ago.

It's not... it's not Jason's fault. He can't blame him. Bruce is the one that took in another child. Bruce is the one that has changed. Bruce is the one that—

"Why wouldn't I mind?"

He throws another wingding. His shoulder burns with the force, and the thud as it slams into the target is loud enough to cause a flurry of screeches from the bats above.

Dick has been set on fire. It doesn't compare to the heat of Bruce's eyes on him, branding the back of his head with his silent attention from across the Cave.

He throws another one to distract himself, and it thuds directly into the centre of the target, fitting perfectly into the well-worn groove from his precise aim.

"You left."

"And that's that? I'm gone, so you take my home, my mother's name, my name, and give it to some other kid?"

"It's still yours, Dick."

Bruce doesn't flinch as the wingding drives into the rock nrxt to his head, meeting Dick's glare steadily.

"Then act like it," he hisses.

The words travel fine across the suffocating silence, and Bruce's lips pull down. His mouth opens, but Dick holds up a hand.

"I left Gotham. You told me—for years—that I could never leave this family. Were you lying?"

"No, Dick—"

"Were you lying?"

"No. You are my son."

"And you are my Bruce." You are so much more. Words cannot encapsulate who you are to me, and you replaced me like it was nothing. "So try again." He smiles, the smile Gotham's streets have learned to fear, the same lesson he is now teaching to Blüdhaven. "Who am I?"

So caught up in their eye contact as he was, Dick did not realise the reason behind it's intensity increasing: their proximity doing the same.

Bruce reaches out, up, reverently cupping Dick's cheek between calloused palms. "You are my chum."

Dick lifts the final wingding, holding it so the tip brushes Bruce's bobbing adams apple. "Don't ever forget it."

The wingding clatters to the floor, and Bruce is already moving to catch him as Dick leaps up, wrapping around him.

"I won't," he promises, kissing the words into his hair as Dick plasters himself close.

"Good." There's no force behind his voice anymore, it trembles, and he squeezes his arms tight enough around Bruce's neck he could probably knock him unconscious. "Good."

He is not 'just Dick'.

He is Bruce's chum.

Bruce getting an apocalypse warning and all he can do is stay and wait with his family as they try their hardest to come to one spot to meet for the last time before the world ends

More angst if they didn't get to

So....I found the "post"

But that his family doesn't know about it until Bruce is under a spell. And all of a sudden, all the "non-normal" things he does have more logic

But plot twist the kids don't tell him they know. But they start watching him more closely. and they come to the conclusion that he is not only autistic but also depressed

How did they find that out, you ask?

They follow him

And at the beginning, everyone is angry with him, because why didn't he tell them, dose he not trust them. but slowly they realize that they are the reason why he tells them nothing. because they start shouting and arguing that he wants all the attention and that they have problems too.

and at the end they tell him everything and apologize and start making up

Is this logical? I hope so because I am using a translator for this. If you don't understand me, you can just ignore me.

p.s. I really like the way you write

Damian twists his hands together. "I do not understand why we didn't notice. In hindsight, it is obvious."

At the very least he should have noticed, but he didn't. His peculiaritues had to come from somewhere, yet he never considered Father. He, alongside all the others, just dismissed his as too much, awkward, inconvenient, and did not understand.

Not until he was stripped of it.

"I shall cure you!" The wizard had proclaimed, pointing his staff at Batman. Damian had not understood, when he saw that all of Father's scars remained, as they changed in the Cave that evening, and had assumed that the man was simply a poor magician.

But no.

It quickly became apparent that was not the case. Father did not act like Father, the next day. All of his oddities were absent, and Damian had not realised his fondness for them until they were gone. He was plain-spoken, he did not struggle with his words anywhere near as much. He did not rock on his heels, or drum his fingers on any available surface. Affection came easily, and was received even more so. Pennyworth served portobello mushrooms as a side and Father did not hesitate before adding them to his plate.

It was strange.

Damian knew he was not the only one who noticed, but no one voiced anything. Nothing beyond silent looks, raised eyebrows, quirked lips where Father could not see.

Then Zatanna portalled into the living room, heels digging into the chessboard, knocking pieces aside, much to Timothy's irritation, and points her wand at Father's face.

"Odnu!"

Then she's leaping off the table, reaching out to grab him, and reality warps around them as they disappear from the room.

"What the fuck?" Richard had yelled.

Damian shared a look with Duke, while the others loudly speculated what had just happened, and when the other boy signalled, they left the room quietly, obscured by his powers. Being the only two to still reside in the manor with any regularity, they are privy to certain bits of information the others aren't.

Namely, the room Father is prone to hosting the witch in. And sure enough, their approach bore fruit, but to no elation, not when the indicator of his presence is the sound of his tears.

And it is there, listening through the door, that Damian discovers the truth.

Duke pulls him away a moment lqter, swearing him to secrecy, something broken in his imploring gaze, and Damian agreed.

It did not stop the others from finding out.

Not when Father resumed all of his previous behaviours, head bowed under the weight of shame.

All of which made so much sense, now.

Damian saw the realisation dawn on his family and bit his tongue, not saying anything himself. What could he say?

Richard was the one to find the words. When he figured it out, and Damian found him pummeling training dummies in the cave, roaring his anger to an audience of none.

"Cure? Cure?! There is nothing to be cured of! It is—"

And Damian saw there, on the catwalk above the sea of smooth stone, watching his brother deny reality, the truth.

It was something to be cured of.

They framed it that way.

They rejected it. Him.

It may not be something to be cured of, but they told him again and again that it was.

Now they must find a way to fix it.

"I am sorry. We will be better now."

Father cannot hear him, but as Damian stands over his sleeping form, he finds it enough. He has said it now. He will enact it, now.

touchstarved bruce with the JL

he's the youngest and they eventually figure it out and theyre all older siblings to him kinda thing

and they notice him being touchstarved and try to help him when they notice how desperate he is for contact

they get v angry from everything they hear about Alfred: the distance from actually naming their relationship to be family, refusing to comfort after nightmares, arkham bc he's 'too much', taking away food, slaps, locking him in the cellar, leaving him to 'sort his own messes' after a particularly bad patrol

not that Bruce can see anything wrong with Alfred's treatment of him

idk he must've eaten v young to train for this to work

no worries if not something ur interested in building on

Bruce gets deaged. They think he might be twelve. But he's small enough to pass for only ten years old. Scowling, Hal asks if they should comm Alfred, and watch Bruce flinch, then quickly pull his shoulders back, sit up straight, and fold his hands in his lap, sat prim and proper with his eyes fixed on the door.

That plan is quickly tossed.

They keep it on an information lockdown instead, keeping him on the Watchtower.

It's several weeks before any of their magic users are available to reverse it, and when Bruce turns back he just sits there, absorbing all of the memories. How he was tucked gently into laps, held kindly, touched like they cared, and how the whole time he was scared that Alfred would come, souring every sweet moment.

He thinks about that fear, and the anxious cramping in his gut at the idea of going back to the manor.

J'onn watches him, a hand held up to keep the others quiet. Bruce knows he knows, and knows he won't do anything until Bruce says it.

"I think I'm ready."