IDK What on earth is happening :D

Hello! My name is Eri, welcome to my page!

Writing is my whole world, and I'm so excited to share it with anyone who wants to read it!

I enjoy writing fanfic about the Batfam, but may branch out into more DC characters when I learn more about them. I don't like writing about things I don't know about, but the more I know the more comfortable I am with writing about it!

My AO3 account is straw_eri_chan, just like here! It's where my main fics are, where here is where I'll post new ideas I have; if I see people like them, I'll start posting them there too! Here's a link to my page if you're interested in reading there:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/straw_eri_chan/works

Feel free to send me an ask about anything related to me or my fics, I'd love to answer them! Just please remember to be respectful, I'm under eighteen!

My Works:

"Hi." Dick said, his voice too high pitched and too small to be familiar. He was too tiny, too fragile, for Bruce to be around. For Bruce to trust himself around.

And yet, when the small toddler toddled over to his desk chair, and looked up at him with those big blue eyes, Bruce knew he was done for. He gently scooped him up and placed the too tiny Dick Grayson on his lap, allowing his warmth to settle there.

"What brings you in here, chum?" He asked, ruffling the silky black strands of Dick's hair. The boy leaned into it, eyes closing with contentment.

"Just wanted t'see what you're doin'." He mumbled, wiping his nose on his hand then cleaning it off on Bruce's shirt. He sighed internally.

"Just working." He shrugged, allowing the small boy to nestle into his chest, to rest there like he belonged. Bruce of course, did not mind. He couldn't. Dick was never this small, even when he first moved in. He had forgotten how small he was, even then.

Dick nodded, dozing off in Bruce's lap like he did not actually care what Bruce was doing, but instead that he was sitting still enough to nap on. The concept was foreign. Not one of his kids did this, anymore. They were too old, first off, to get lifted up onto his lap. And second off, most of them never had.

Tim and Damian were too old, when they first came to live with them. Cass was rare with her affections, not that they did not mean just as much. And Duke just generally did not seek out physical attention. Dick, back when he was nine years old and got used to Bruce, did this sometimes. And Jason...

Light spilled into the dark room, and Richard’s tiny (too tiny) face peeked through the doorframe. He looked shy, fidgeting and looking up at Damian with those big eyes that constantly made Damian worried he was going to burst into tears.

“Is something troubling you?”

Richard didn’t come any closer, instead choosing to fidget at the door, his little hands tracing the outlines of the wood. “I had a nightmare.” He muttered, voice quiet and shy.

“Do you…want company?”

Richard’s eyes lit up at that, beginning to sparkle like Damian had said something of worth. He nodded and waited for Damian to wave him over before bouncing towards the bed and struggling to get up onto it. To his credit, the mattress was pretty high off the ground; Damaian preferred to sleep with more elevation. He reached down to scoop up his baby brother and rested him up on his chest, where the little bird immediately nestled in. The warmth was very welcome with the comfort it brought, and for some reason, Damian felt like the one on the verge of tears.

He didn’t want to settle down with anyone, so he never believed it was possible. He didn't want to bring a child into the world when his life had been so messed up. Interviews asked him all the time, when he planned to get married and if he wanted kids. He usually gave shallow answers. Maybe, we’ll see, you never know what the future holds. But he knew. A family wasn’t in the cards for him.

And he was okay with that. Really, he was. Clark, Diana, Barry, John and everyone else had become his family through everything. Interviews and filming and movie premieres, they made him feel safe and happy. He was content with that. 

Besides, there was always the fear that the media would get to his child, if he had one. That they would try to mold it and put its life on blast and make it nothing more than entertainment for other people. Bruce would never forgive himself for bringing someone into that. 

But when he watched the youngest Flying Grayson lose his parents in a circus accident, he felt a kind of pull he never expected. Ignoring it was impossible. He couldn’t help the way he got attached, and took the boy in.

Richard Grayson, however, did not like him. Did not like living in the manor, and did not like that he had to leave Haly’s Circus. Which was understandable, of course. 

He stared at himself in a mirror in the hallway. He needed to cut his hair, soon. Admittedly, he liked the length it was currently at. Just a little too long, where he could keep it in a small ponytail or half up. But it didn’t look proper.

And as Alfred had drilled into him in the early days, voice so similar to Tim’s parents, he had to look proper. Professional. Always at his best. As much as he liked the style, his hair was just a little too scruffy to look neat.

“Timothy.” Jason addressed gruffly that afternoon, pulling him from his thoughts.. Nobody called him Tim. He made sure of that. 

“Yes, Master Jason?”

His mouth twitches uncomfortably, like it always did when Tim addressed him, but he had long since stopped trying to convince Tim to call him otherwise. He looked slightly embarrassed, actually. “Will you help me get the blood stain out of my Robin uniform? I don't want B or Alfred to freak out about it.”

Tim raised an eyebrow, but nodded. It really wasn’t any of his business what Jason hid from the family. Tim wasn’t family. He had no obligation to go tattle like a four year old. His job was to do what the Wayne family needed. And this is what Jason needed.

He helped Jason get the stain out of the green of the uniform, then went back to cleaning and whatever else he had to get done for the day. He went undisturbed for the most part, which wasn’t unusual. He was no Alfred, overall.

Bruce looked up from his computer to his eldest. He hadn’t been acknowledged much since Dick had gotten hit with magic the previous day; he was more focused on trying to get it fixed. Zatanna had said the curse would wear off on its own, but the cruelty Dick had spit out to everyone over the course of twenty four hours had began to wear them all down.

And though Dick hadn’t insulted Bruce directly yet, his eyes were sharp constantly. Watching everything he did and making offhand comments occasionally.

“Even after all these years, you’re the same person. Distant, cold, apathetic.” Dick’s voice was calm, but bitter. It was a tone Bruce had rarely heard before this curse. His son always tried so hard to keep his anger inside. He hadn’t been angry outwardly like this since he was a child. “But despite that, you pretend, pretend, pretend.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Bruce said, though he really didn’t want to know what Dick meant. Everything he’d said to the others was harsh, brutally honest. It hurt them deeply, Bruce knew.

“You pretend to care. Pretend to love us.” Dick said, leaning against the desk, pretending to be very interested in what was on the computer’s screen. “Or maybe you don’t pretend, for the others. But you certainly do for me.”

“I don’t pretend to love you, Dick.” Bruce replied. He was appalled at the conclusion. Zatanna had explained Dick would be expressing his complete and unfiltered emotions until the spell wore off, including a lot of bottled up feelings that would force themselves to the surface. But Bruce didn’t think that would be something Dick would say.

Bruce loved his children. All of them. He hadn’t problems showing it, sure, but they all knew he loved them.

Didn’t they?

Dick laughed, and it was a bitter sound. “You know, I wish I could believe you. Maybe sometimes I do believe you. But you know what I think?” He stood up straight again, walking around restlessly.

Bruce could see the tension in his muscles, and he wished he knew what it was from. What was going on in his brain, if he was trying not to say these things, or if it was just the stress of the words he was saying. But he didn’t get too long to think about it, as Dick continued.

(Also, the second chapter has been posted of this on AO3. The Title is "I Love you Forever, I'll Like You For Always." If you want to keep reading on this story, there's a lot more over there!)

Kon looked down at tube-baby and–yeah. That wasn’t really a name. Kon was an idiot.

“I hadn’t actually thought about it,” He admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. He felt bad about it now, but before it hadn’t even occurred to him. Stars, he had to give him a name? He was terrible with names! 

Of course he had to name him, damn it! Tube-baby is not a name!

“Well, I sort of need one if you want me to forge his documents.” Barbara reminded him. Right, right. Birth certificate. Social security number. All that jazz. His kid was gonna need that stuff to, like, be a member of society. Details.

“Okay, um…” Kon hesitated, thinking about it. What if he picked out a name Tim didn’t like? Or one his kid didn’t like? Or one his family didn’t like? What if everyone got mad at him and called him stupid?! Gah!

Okay Superboy. Breathe.

He looked back down at his baby and sighed softly. He already felt better.

There were too many Jonathans already. And not to give into gender construct or anything, but Martha was a bit too much of a girl name for him to decide on for his son. Clark didn’t fit him. He didn’t really know enough of Tim’s extended family to look there for name idea, unfortunately. But…

His middle name was Jackson, Kon knew that. And Tim never seemed bothered by the name, used it sometimes during covert missions. Never had any hesitation telling people, at least in Kon’s eyes. And Tim was something Kon was good at observing. 

The name was normal. Timeless, even. Kon liked it, and Tim must have already liked it, and really, who else mattered? 

Besides the kid himself, anyway.

“Jackson.” He said firmly, decisively. He liked the way it sounded. It seemed more official, stating it out loud. “Jackson Kent.”

They could hyphenate later, if Tim really wanted. But for now he liked Kent. Jackson Kent. His son.

“Middle name?”

“I’m not going through all that right now.” He grumbled without missing a beat, making Barbara chuckle. He looked back down to tube-baby. Jackson. “Hi there, Jackie-baby.” He cooed, earning a halfhearted coo back. He nearly died on the spot. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I don’t actually care if you have my DNA. You’re mine now, you hear?”

Jackson, as Kon was getting used to, did not respond. But his large owl eyes were so cute and perfect he dissolved into adoring coos and smothering his baby in kisses. 

“According to Tim’s files, Jackson is about three months old. He ages naturally, clearly, since Tim said he didn’t activate any accelerated aging.” Barbara says, reading from her laptop. Kon honestly shouldn’t be surprised she hacked into Tim’s private files that fast, but he still somehow is.

Well happy late birthday, kiddo.” He chirped, holding Jackson up to his face. “You’re pretty darn old, ain’tcha?” 

Not as old as Kon when he came out into the world, but he pushed that thought to the side. Not what he wanted to think about. And not important regardless, especially not now. 

Barbara pricked his arm with a tiny piece of Kryptonite he kept far away from Jackson, then did the same to him with a regular needle. The sharp cries he let out made Kon want to either cry to go ballistic on Barbara; maybe both. But he kept his cool and managed to calm Jackie back down with some rocking and talking. A lot of talking. His kid seemed calmer listening to Kon’s voice, more comfortable with everything else going on around them. 

It was a stupid though. But Kon almost felt, well, like Jackson felt safe with him. That he trusted Kon to take care of him and protect him. Which of course, Kon would. With everything he had, in fact.

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing else useful in Tim’s files other than the cloning process.” Barbara commented, souring Kon’s mood slightly. “But the DNA test came back as a match. You’re the father, congratulations. And so is Tim.”

Despite not actually caring if Jackson had his DNA or not, Kon still felt his heart rate pick up at the news. He cooed at the baby and bounced him gently, complimenting his amazing DNA. 

“And hey–listen for a second.” Oracle’s voice was soft, and her hand was warm when it was placed on his arm. “I’m not gonna lecture you or anything like that. You know what you’re getting into having a kid. Partially, anyway. At least I hope you know; it’s not all gonna be sunshine and rainbows. And that’s okay. We’re all here, if you need anything.”

To Damian Wayne Al Ghul, the world was silent.

From the day he was born, all throughout, he heard not a single sound. Not the rustle of wind, not the sound of his mother’s voice, and not the birds chirping up in the trees. Nothing.

His Grandfather told him it was a weakness he had to overcome. That he’d never become a proper assassin. That if Damian even wanted to be treated as his grandson, he’d have to be able to forget Damian couldn’t hear altogether. 

He needed to be just as good–no, better, than any assassin who could hear.

Her hand pinched his cheek and he smiled through the uncomfortable feeling of his skin crawling. He was fifteen. He should be used to people touching him by now. Hell, he should *like* it. Normal fifteen year olds didn’t hate being touched. Normal fifteen year olds would do anything to be in movies like he is. Have the money he does. 

He supposed there was a time when movie sets were a happy place. When they were filled with magic, his mother’s voice, his father’s presence.

When they protected him from cameras and the media and always spent time with him. They’d hug him and tuck him into bed and spoil him rotten.

Maybe that’s why when they died, everything got so dark. 

All he could remember was those damn filming sets. He never thought back to the fun times they had in the house, or out at the park. Not even the night they died. Shot in front of him by a stupid, jealous small time actor. 

Bruce Wayne, half asleep and barely listening to Tim, nodded along and downed half his coffee. Tim’s eyebrow twitched.

“Sir, Master Jason should be downstairs by now. You will have to drive him to school due to Alfred’s absence.”

Bruce blinked up at Tim, processing the words, before catching on and cursing. “Jason!” He shouted, hurrying off to the stairs, clumsy with sleep. 

“Nice acting,” he snarked, standing up and taking the towel that was offered to him to dry his uncomfortably wet face. 

Conner scoffed as he sat up. "Thanks, Rob. Make the invulnerable character get hurt. Not the damn bird.”

Tim scowled at the annoying nickname. 

On the first day filming Young Justice, Conner, who was playing Superboy, took one look at the script and decided to shorten his character's name. It got on Tim's nerves which Conner enjoyed, but the directors heard and loved it, adding the stupid nickname to the script. 

There was no answer over the comm; Batman tried not to panic. He watched as Red Robin swung in, Red Hood as backup, to check on their eldest bird. Dick had gotten hit with something magic related, but none of them had any idea what.

Batman snuck closer and watched Red Robin offer his older brother a hand, only for Nightwing to look up at him with eyes so full of malice it made Bruce’s blood run cold. 

“What the fuck do you want?” He spat at a now very confused and hurt looking Red Robin. Hood also looked surprised; Bruce could tell even with the helmet over his son’s head.