- This universe is separate from the Dark Knight Series and is in a different universe. Superman:Soul Survivor film is the catalyst for the phases in this universe. any film or series from here on out will be amazing art of the phases. If you want you could think of the Dark Knight series as Earth-2, but some events and actors are still current in Earth Prime. Which is going to be the main universe.
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- This universe is separate from the Dark Knight Series and is in a different universe. Superman:Soul Survivor film is the catalyst for the phases in this universe. any film or series from here on out will be amazing art of the phases. If you want you could think of the Dark Knight series as Earth-2, but some events and actors are still current in Earth Prime. Which is going to be the main universe.
We know we’re getting the Batman Pt.2 and a lot of people,(myself included) want to see Robin. Specifically Dick Grayson’s Robin. We also are getting the Batfamily in James Gunn’s DC Universe. And I’ve made a cast for that.
This one I wanted to do characters I think we could see, and having watched the 2004 ‘The Batman’, show I think a younger Batman with sidekicks could be a fun and entertaining development for Battison’s character. So taking inspiration from that show I will cast Robin, Dick Grayson and Batgirl, Barbara Gordon.
Batgirl:
Barbara Gordon……Bailey Bass
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Bailey Bass would kill it as Barbara in this universe,she could definitely bring a sassy and quick wit to Babs. Especially on the younger side depending on if she’s was Battinson’s first protege. I feel like in this world she would have her father not wanting her to join law enforcement especially since Gotham’s is so corrupted. I feel like Batman would not want to take her on as a partner and because of that she’s going to be Batgirl even more. Eventually he’ll come around and “let” her help and provide her with training and become a mentor for her especially with her father being busy helping to clean up Gotham, she’ll be working along side him without him aware of it.
And similar to the Batman 2004 series, introducing Batgirl first made Batman open up to the idea of working with some and we’ve seen this version of Batman doesn’t care about anything but the mission, until he learns just being vengeance isn’t enough. He needs to be something more.By having Batgirl first he’ll learn to not only let her help him, but he’s also establishing that foundation of training and mentoring that is important for Robin. Robin is a lot more closely tied to him because he’s his son, while Barbara isn’t his daughter he would be use to having a younger sidekick.
Robin:
Dick Grayson……..Noah Jupe
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Having a younger Robin allows Batman to have time with him to grow, mature and eventually if you get to other characters we can see how by having Robin this bright young kid has allowed him to have that same hopeful and optimistic feeling he didn’t have before. Robin has been a vital part to Batman throughout history and I don’t see how this version is any different. Robin in this version could be very brash and angry at first just like a young orphaned Bruce felt. He can help Dick with these feelings, he can understand that Dick wants revenge and if it had been a few years prior he probably would have helped him do it. But at this point he isn’t as brutal, he knows he can’t ask the boy to just let it go, or let the police handle it. He knows that Dick will need a way to channel this frustration and he can help him by training him into a symbol, a beacon of hope that even Bruce needs sometimes too.
Dick is the first Robin and in the future will become this universes Nightwing. Seeing him grow up and eventually leave Bruce could help Bruce learn from his mistakes his own upbringing and not let them tank Dick’s upbringing.
Lucius Fox:
Lucius Fox……Courtney B. Vance
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Lucius Fox could be very interesting in the Batman universe. While I think Batman can have more gadgets with better upgrades I don’t want them to be to techy. I think that my refining current gadgets Or evolving them like his wrist launching into a actual handheld grapple gun, or the bombs he used to bring down the skyline in the finale turned into gas bombs or flash bombs would be the best approach.
As how to bring him into the fold, you’d just continue from where the first film left off. Like Alfred said he needs to keep up appearances and his spending for his crusade will run out if he doesn’t pay attention. Bringing in Lucius could help him to manage his funds, as well as he’ll have be able to give Bruce insight about what is going on in the company when he’s away and give him some insight about what his father was really like and how much of a humanitarian he truly was.
Dr. Leslie Tompkins:
Dr. Tompkins……….Emma Thompson
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I’ve always wanted to see Leslie Tompkins in Batman films, I think much like other comics and BTAS she gave give Bruce a maternal figure the same way Alfred was a paternal figure in his life. While both think him being Batman is not the way to deal with his trauma, they know deep down this is his mission.
I feel like not only can she become another character to see through the franchise, even Batman sidekicks and other characters can go to her not just for patch ups but she see Gotham for what it is. She worked closely with Bruce’s father, like Lucius she knows who he really was. Her clinic in Crime Alley is a important corner stone and helps lots of people who are able to go to the regular hospital or involve in crime fighting and can’t go. She can be an important support system to the Batfamily and Batman himself if she’s brought to life.
Kate Kane:
Kate Kane……..Evan Rachel Wood
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Kate Kane is Bruce’s cousin and I think by her being one of last ties to his family especially with the information Riddler leaked, who be interesting especially if because of be Batman he is estranged from his family. Kate returns to Gotham with her father who want to help clear up the Wayne name. Bruce at first isn’t receptive to his Uncle or his cousin’s help.
Something could happen to his uncle and because of his involvement with crime Kate finds out and wants to know more about it. Bruce could want to keep her out of it but because of her father getting hurt, she could make it so not only does he have a stake in the corruption but now so does she. Allowing Bruce to have connections to his could be important to fixing the family image as well as provide support should he ever need it. Kate could be instrumental to helping Bruce navigate his mission in a way he couldn’t think about by expending and allowing her to help she can assist in reaching parts of Gotham Batman can’t be in all the time or get involved in more areas of the corruption he can’t get to or locate but Kate can.
Red Hood x male!reader who’s a cat burglar with a similar M.O. to Catwoman who’s on a crime spree.
Summary:Your a Cat Burglar who’s dressed similarly to Catwoman. You enjoy the thrill of the chase.
—————
“I don't know about you, Miss Kitty, but I feel so much yummier.”
Red Hood stood perched on a rooftop overlooking the Gotham Bay. He sighed and leaned against the wall.
“Someone seems bored.” Oracle’s smug voice filled his ear com. He lowered his head toward the bustling streets below.
“Yeah well the same week the Bat takes a trip out of town, the crime goes along with him.” He grapples several building down the street until he can see a row of prestigious jewelry stores and clothing stores.
“It’s not everyday Batman and Catwoman get to team up to take on a drug lord in Paris. I heard it’s nice this time of year.” She teased.
“Barf.” He jumped down several feet onto a nearby rooftop. “Well if that’s the case I may as well call it a night—“
“Too slow, silent alarm just went off at jewelers at your location. Ruby’s.” Red Hood looked at the store across from him and grappled down to it.
———
A few minutes before 🐈⬛✨
A figure leaps and jumps throughout the Gotham City rooftops. The leap to a larger building and quickly ascends it using claws and acrobatic movements to gracefully pull themselves up to the rooftop. Below is Ruby’s Jewelry Store.
“To easy.” His voice purrs. He free falls down fifty stories towards the roof before using a whip to break his descend.
He looks down at the skylight and sees a security guard walk down the hallway. The thief takes his hand cuts a medium sized hole in the glass. Using his whip he lowers himself halfway into the building before removing three small pellets from his belt. He throws them and they release a blue gas the unveils red lasers. He tucks on the whip and lands on his feet a few inches from the first row of lasers.
He flips, sprints,cartwheels through the laser. Until he is in a diamond exhibit. He begins with the small diamonds putting them in a velvet bag. Next, he finds a diamond and gold necklace.
He begins to cut the glass and removes it from its display. He turns down a hallway and sprints down it until he finds himself in front of a sapphire cat statue. He lifts the glass dome over it and picks it up, unknowingly tripping an alarm.
“Shit.” He secures the statue to his belt and takes off. He finds himself in lobby where several security guards are with weapons.
“Freeze thief!” They point their pistols at him. He takes his whip and disarms them.
“Morons, if it were that easy I wouldn’t have been so quick to get out of here. Now who wants to go first?” He cracks another whip and the guards scatter.
“Pussies.” The thief climb up a pillar and onto a walkway. He jumped up to the skyline he entered and climbs up.
“Going somewhere?” A deep voice questions. He turns to see Red Hood several feet away from him.
He smirks,”And looked what the Bat drag in. Was he too busy to get me himself?” Y/n stood up from the window and eyed the man before him.
Jason drew one of his pistols from its holster. “Give me the goods, I won’t break your hands.”
“That’s kinda hot Big Red.” The confused face Jason had under his helmet would have his brothers laughing for days. The thief used this moment of stun to leap off the roof and lasso a gargoyle and use it to make his escape.
Red Hood chased after him and the two leaped and rolled across the rooftops util Y/n landed on a moving train. Red Hood landed not so gracefully onto a car.
“Get back here!” Y/n smirked and jumped off the train. Red Hood mumbled under his breath before jumping and landed onto a rooftop.
“Gonna hand over the jewelry?”
“Gonna give me a kiss for em?” Jason began firing at him, Y/n swiftly and quickly dodged each bullet and back flipped off the roof. Red Hood walked to the ledge to on then be yanked off himself.
Y/n crouched before him as Red Hood used one hand to hold his full body weight up from falling 75 stories to Gotham’s streets.
“You little—“
“I’m Stray.”
Red Hood scoffed, “Well Stray, how about I send you to the pound for bad little thieves.” Stray eyed his hand before grinning down at the man.
“Y’know Big Red I’d love to watch you get flustered tonight but I’m late?”
Y/n stretched and felt his side before looking around till he looked at Red Hood how had the cat statue in his free hand.
“Looking for this?” Stray hissed at him before an alarm on his watch buzzed.
“You can keep it Red, I’ll be back for it.” He cartwheel down the ledge before leaping off it and using his whip to glide from rooftop to rooftop.
——-
“Sounds like you had a thrilling night.” Roy laughed to himself while feeding Lian apples. They were on video chat on Jason’s laptop. Jason tossed his jacket on a nearby bench and grabbed a beer from his fridge.
“It was anything but fun Harper,” he took another sip before sitting it down and watching the screen. Lian was stuffing her face with apples and yet still kept a tight grip on her chocolate milk.
“I think someone wants Uncle Jay’s grilled cheese.” Jason let a smile slip. “Now we both know it you that wants that.”
“I plead the fifth.” Roy replied. Jason stretched and glanced at his gear and cellphone on the table.
“Any idea who he is, or why he’s picking up where Catwoman would normally go?”
Jason took a few short steps and took his cellphone before dialing a number.
“Let’s find out,shall we?”
———
Stray slip throw the window. A choir of meows and soft purrs welcome him home. “Hello,nice of you to welcome me.” A black cat purrs and circles his legs.
“I’m going.” He opens a cabinet and pulls out several cans of tuna and opens them.
“Here you go.” The three cats run and begin to eat from the cans.
“Spoiled brats.” He sighs and places his bag down on a worn out soft. He checks his watch and again and huffs as he crosses the small studio to a dresser and peels off his suit stuffing it in a drawer under his bed. He opens a door and enter the small bathroom, he quickly gets into the shower.
Several moments later he emerges with a towel around his waist and grabs open a drawer from his dress and puts on his clothes.
He puts on eyeliner and tugs on a jacket, he stuffs his keys into his pocket and leaves the apartment through the front door.
———
He rushes inside the club and puts down his bag and jacks behind the bar. The club is packed and the other two girls at the bar are running around take orders, taking payments and cleaning up for the next few customers.
“You’re late again Y/n.” A girl with a dark pixie cut grins pour three shots of fire ball and passing it to a man who hands her a fifty.
He grins, and grabs a rag tossing it onto his shoulder. “Y’know the train is still back up on fifth and Seventh.”
She shrugs and grabs a trap and places a few drinks on it. The other girl with a blonde bun comes back with several empty and half drunk glasses sets it down before grabbing two bottles.
“You sure you weren’t going to see a guy?”
Y/n rolls his eyes and hands two beers to a young man. “Don’t kid yourself Stella, I’m laying low.”
The two women share a look before laughing and going back to work.
“Yeah well just try to let us know that you’re running late, Mr. Cobblepot was looking for you earlier. Something about a meeting up in his office.” Y/n cussed to himself taking a tray and several glasses with a bottle of Whiskey.
He rushed into the office as Black Mask and Penguin held a stare off.
“Sorry for late arrival Mr. Cobblepot, I got caught-“
“Nevermind that Lad, so this nice gentleman and his friends out. There just leaving wasn’t ya?”
Black Mask’s fist are in a tight grip as he gets to his feet. “Yeah, this place is started to smell like a fish market.” He throws a twenty on the tray Y/n’s holding. “Keep the tip kid.”
He leaves with his goons and it’s just Y/n and Penguin. Penguin poor himself a glass of Scotch and sighs.
“Kid, I don’t what took so bloody long, but I’ll let it slide this one time. Now get the fuck out of my office.” He barked while rubbing his temple. Y/n made himself scarce and finished the rest of his shift until early the next morning when the Lounge closed.
———-
“I can’t believe you got your ass handed to you.” Jason reloaded his pistols and walked away from the goons he just beat up from a robbery. He gets on his motorcycle and races down the street.
“Y’know come from the same person who got mind controlled from a plant, I don’t see how you’re in any position to talk.” He turned down a busy street earning several honks from oncoming drivers.
“Low blow little wing, low blow.”
Jason grumbles to himself as he races down the road turning onto a main intersection and flies further into the city.
“Hood, I think I found your cat burglar. Sending the location now.” Oracle’s voice filled his ear for the hundredth time tonight.
“He’s not getting away tonight.” He barreled down the street toward the location on his bike.
“Good luck little wing.” Nightwing sang in his ear before Red Hood switched his com offline. He looks up and stops in the alleyway. He grapples up the building until he finds a window with a cutout on the 54th floor.
He enters quickly and draws his gun. “Here kitty kitty kitty. Here boy?” He scans the room until he finds a door cracked open down the hallway of an office building.
He creeps down the corridor and pushes open the door. It’s an office and at the desk his Stray taking pictures of different files and paperwork.
“I don’t think the owner would take kindly to you snooping.”
Stray’s head shoots up and he grins.” I see you missed me.”
“Unlikely.” He strolls over to him and grabs his wrist prying the camera from his hand.
“What are you doing,give that back?”
“Not till you tell me why you’re here, then I’m dropping your ass off at jail.”
Stray smirked taking his free hand and lightly dragging his claw down Red Hood’s helmet. “You’ve been thinking about my ass?”
Red Hood stuttered,”That’s not—I’m not thinking—“
“Shush.” The two stand still as footsteps and men can be heard from the hallway.
“Find em, I know someone’s here!”
Stray and Red Hood looked at each other before Red Hood dragged him by the hand towards the door.
“If you think about escaping I’ll shoot your knee caps out.”
Stray playful grinned. “Whatever you say.” Red Hood looked around the corner and a group of goons with assault rifles searched the floor. One turned around and spotted him and began firing.
“Your dead rat!” And soon the rest began to fire. Red Hood pulled stray further into the room. There was only one way out and it was being fired out.
“You’re bleeding.” Red Hood glanced down at his arm and turned back toward the door. “Just a flesh wound, we’ve kinda got bigger fish to fry.”
Stray took off his backpack and took out a can of tear gas. “Get ready to run red. He tossed it out the room and the goons shouted before a small explosion rocked the building.
“What kinda tear gas?” Stray took Red Hood’s arm and pulled him out the room. They ran through the office filled with smoke. They pushed open a door and bolted up the stairs.
“Are you trying to get us killed?” Stray pushed open the door to the rooftop before sticking wood under the door.
He began to run with Red Hood not far behind. He looked at the door which was being kicked down.
“Jump.” Red Hood snapped his head toward him. “The fuck are you trying to accomplish?” Not waiting for a response he pulled Red Hood down with him and the two fall several stories until the landed on a moving train.
“And that’s how you get out of that.” Red Hood sat up from falling on his back.
“I’m going to kill you.”
Stray blew him a kiss getting to a crouching position. “You’re very welcome.”
The train came to a halt and Stray jumped off the train car on top of rooftop and Red Hood went after him.
“Hey,stop!” Stray turns to him with his arm crossed.
“What is it now?” Red Hood grabbed him.
“You nearly got us shot up, did you think I wasn’t serious about taking you in?”
Stray grinned,” I wanna see what’s underneath that helmet, I bet I really just get under your skin don’t I?”
“I will shoot you, I don’t care.” He warned.
Stray yawned. “So you want that looked at or you could get an infection?”
Jason was ready to snap him in half. For whatever reason Stray knew how you just irritate him like nothing he had experienced before.
“I have a guy.”
Stray looked hurt, “Damn, I thought I was special.” He began to walk toward the edge of the building. “Come in red I don’t bite. Much.” He whispered the last part.
He jumped and for whatever reason that was yet unknown to him Red Hood followed jumping onto a fire escape. He entered the apartment and turned to see three different cats.
“Are you so kinda Catwoman cultist?” Stray returned from wherever he was with a me medkit.
“Ha ha, funny. Take off the jacket and armor it’s not doing you much favors.”
“I’d have to remove my helmet, I don’t think I want to do that.”
Stray placed his hand on his hips.” Then continue to bleed but you’re not getting it all over my apartment.
Jason looked at his arm and while it did hurt the bleeding hadn’t stopped either.
“Fuck me.” Stray grinned as his removed his helmet and pulled it off. He pouted though when he saw the red mask covering Jason’s face.
“Who knew the big bad Red Hood was a looker.” He took out supplies as Red Hood began to removed his jacket and armor.
“Just hurry up.” He hissed at the pain in his arm. He could see that it was not a flesh wound and was shot in his arm.
Stray peeled off his cowl and goggles and began to clean the wound.
“Don’t get to excited, you’re still not off the hook.” Red Hood hissed when Stray began to clean the wound.
“You don’t trust easily.”
“I don’t trust anyone, what’s your point?”
“Nothing at all Red. Hold still this is gonna hurt.”
“Your enjoying this aren’t you?”
Stray grinned taking his arm and began to remove the bullet. “Red you sure know how to show a fella a good time.”
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Massive thank you to the builders!
P.S. I used the first stage for all my rockstar/concert posts of Rhys and Molly!
← ʙᴀᴄᴋ. ⋮ ⌞ jason todd ✘ reader + platonic! damian wayne ✘ reader ⌝ .ᐟ .ᐟ
⤷ summary ⋮ You and Jason are...on a 'break'. Damian makes Bruce break into your apartment with him in retaliation.
aka ›››› "Do all billionaires use the window?" "Only our family.." word cnt. 7.3k
“Come on, babe… seriously?”
Jason’s voice hits the quiet room with far more weight than he intends, dragging across the stillness like rough gravel, thick with disbelief and a frustration so reluctant it almost embarrasses itself as soon as it leaves his mouth. His brows pull together in a tight, uneasy line—an expression he would never aim at you on purpose—especially not when you’re standing there blinking too fast, your lashes wet and trembling, your throat bobbing like you’re trying to swallow something sharp that refuses to go down.
“You have like a million of them.”
He gestures vaguely toward the counter, where the remains of the china teacup—your moderate-quality, robin patterned, impulse-buy teacup—lie scattered like a small, stupid tragedy. They weren’t heirlooms or antiques, not rare pieces from some dusty backroom chase. These were cups you grabbed without thinking, without sentiment, without ceremony. Eight of them total. A casual, mismatched set.
Well… seven now.
“I’ll buy you one, I swear—”
His hand lifts halfway, caught in a helpless, uncertain arc before the words collapse in his throat and die there, because the moment he sees the tears actually slip free—heavy tears, slow tears, so silent they seem almost reverent in the way they fall—Jason goes completely still.
He stares at you like you’ve grown a second head.
Like he’s witnessing something impossible.
Teacups.
You’re crying over teacups.
Teacups you still have seven of.
“Are you—” Jason stops mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open in a stunned, graceless pause, and the expression that flickers across his face—hesitant, baffled pity—makes your stomach twist with pure humiliation. “Are you actually upset at me right now?”
You shake your head—barely, weakly—because even you don’t understand it. The tears aren’t sharp with anger or hot with blame; they’re just happening, spilling for reasons you couldn’t name even if you tried. You bite your lip hard enough to sting, keeping your mouth clamped shut because you know the moment you speak, the words will fall out trembling and pathetic.
“Hey—” Jason tries again, exasperation threading through the tired edges of his voice, “when you broke that part of my motorcycle I didn’t say shit. When the hell did material things start mattering to either of us?”
“Why wouldn’t my things matter to me?”
Your voice shatters right down the middle, thin and fragile like porcelain under too much pressure, and before he can see the way your face twists with the effort of holding yourself together, you crouch down.
You gather the broken pieces carefully, almost ritualistically, your hands moving with a reverence that feels too gentle for something so ordinary—as though, if you’re soft enough, steady enough, patient enough, maybe the cup will knit itself back together and the part of you that cracked with it will follow.
“They shouldn’t.”
The words escape him with a force that seems to rip straight out of his ribs, unbidden and unrefined, slicing through the stillness of the room before he even fully registers he’s said them. They hit the air too hard, too sharp, reverberating like something brittle thrown against concrete, and he looks instantly, horribly aware of the damage they might cause.
Jason draws in a breath that stumbles unevenly through him, his chest rising with the kind of sincerity he has spent years learning how to smother beneath sarcasm and a bulletproof smirk. There’s something desperate in the way he inhales, something taut and aching, as if the confusion flooding his voice is so deep, so marrow-level, that it drags grief behind it like a shadow disguised as irritation.
Because in his world—one stitched together by scarcity and tight budgets and objects that were borrowed, stolen, or broken before they ever reached him—things were never allowed to matter. Not cups, not toys, not clothes, not anything you could hold in your hand.
In his world, things broke all the time.
In his world, people broke too.
And no one ever cried over either.
He grew up wanting things he wasn’t allowed to touch, told to keep his hands in his pockets and his eyes down, to pretend he didn’t see what he desperately wanted, trained to choke on desire before it had a chance to hurt him.
And the truth—the painful, embarrassing, childlike truth he would never speak aloud—is that he would’ve traded the last unbruised shard of his soul for a cheap plastic cup with a peeling racecar sticker on it, something flimsy and mass-produced, something that would never impress anyone, simply because it would have been his. Just one object that belonged to him alone. One thing no one could rip from his hands, or throw away in a rage, or pawn, or break, or use as proof that he didn’t deserve anything nice in the first place.
And he has no idea how to bridge the distance between your heartbreak and his history.
And now he’s standing here, watching you cry—cry—over a teacup he’s never once seen you cradle to your chest like something precious, never watched you display on a shelf with the kind of pride reserved for heirlooms, never heard you speak about with anything more than offhand fondness when you stumbled across a new one to add to the pile.
It hits Jason strangely, almost disorientingly, the way a dream curdles into something slightly off-kilter, because the sight of your tears over something so… replaceable presses on a part of him he doesn’t know how to unpack, a part of him that twists slowly, tightly, like a knot forming in the center of his stomach.
He’s so careful with your belongings it borders on near-religious devotion, a quiet reverence he never names out loud because naming it would make the feelings behind it too visible, too exposed. Jason never touches your jewelry trays because the clasps look delicate in a way that feels above his pay grade, like the kind of fragile luxury that should only ever be handled by someone who doesn’t have a lifetime of breaking things embedded in the muscle memory of their hands.
He avoids your vanity entirely, sidestepping it like a shrine he has no right to approach, because the shimmering bottles and soft-bristled brushes arranged in pristine rows look like artifacts—beautiful, intentional, expensive—objects that radiate the same untouchable gravity as all the things he wasn’t allowed to want when he was young.
He places his phone on your nightstand with the gentleness of someone setting down an explosive device, using both hands, terrified his weight might scratch the surface or send a lamp wobbling toward disaster.
He even—Gods, even the thought is embarrassing—hand-washes all your clothes when your not home to do the laundry with him.
Even your socks.
Because the idea of shrinking something soft and beloved of yours makes his throat go tight, because the fear of ruining a thing you love is so sharp it borders on physical pain, because he cannot stomach the possibility of leaving the wrong kind of mark on anything that belongs to you.
And yet here you are, shoulders trembling, breath stuttering in fragile hiccups, tears slipping down your cheeks in slow, devastating arcs over a teacup that has seven identical sisters waiting patiently in the cabinet.
The sight doesn’t irritate him.
It doesn’t make him scoff or roll his eyes or dismiss your grief as melodrama the way someone less careful with you might have done.
No—what it does is far worse.
It cracks something open in him, something raw and jagged and humiliating, because nothing—not the memories of his childhood or the poverty, not the violence, not the hunger—has ever dragged him back toward the aching emptiness of where he comes from quite as mercilessly as watching you mourn something he doesn’t have the blueprint to value.
And the awful part—the part that presses under his ribs like a shard of glass—is that he wants to understand.
Jason wants to know why your fingers tremble as you gather the broken porcelain, why your breath keeps catching in your throat like you’re afraid it will escape you entirely, why your tears fall faster every time his voice slips into that helpless, weary frustration he didn’t mean to let bleed through.
He wants to tell himself that maybe this cup carried some hidden meaning, some quiet memory or sentimental thread he never saw, something soft and secret that shattered along with the porcelain and left you hurting in a way he wishes he knew how to soothe.
But he knows that isn't it.
So Jason doesn’t understand.
So he stands there—lost, aching, hollowed by helplessness—staring at the broken pieces scattered between you, each shard glinting with a kind of accusation he doesn’t know how to answer. And for the briefest, sharpest moment, he feels like the fracture on the floor isn’t the worst thing he’s broken here.
And you—
God, you feel so unbearably stupid you could fold in on yourself from the embarrassment of it.
They were just tea cups.
Just cheap little china cups you never bothered to wash the “proper” way like the tiny slip of paper told you to, cups you left in the sink overnight sometimes, cups you barely thought about until one was sitting cracked and broken on your kitchen floor like the aftermath of something far more devastating.
You didn’t even care enough to treat them gently.
You chipped one last week and shrugged it off.
But now—now staring at it shattered beyond repair, splintered into fragments that look like the aftermath of a moment you weren’t equipped to handle—you feel something twist sharply inside you, something raw and humiliating and impossible to explain.
“Jason.” You breathe his name out in one long sigh, trying to smooth the wobble from your voice before it cracks into something pathetic, something you know he’ll mistake for anger. “Please… not right now. I had a long day and—”
“I just came back from an eight-hour patrol, and you’re the one crying, so how is this my—”
“I’m not blaming you!” you snap—not out of rage, but desperation—and the moment the words escape, you hate how thin and trembling they sound.
“Sure as hell sounds like it!” Jason fires back, a sharp huff of frustration leaving him as he begins pacing around the kitchen like the movement might somehow make sense of any of this.
You stare back down at the broken pieces of china, your teeth biting into your lip so hard it almost hurts, and the quiet, exhausted words slip out before you can stop them. “Well how is it my fault you’re taking it that way?”
“Can you stop talking to me like that?”
“How else am I supposed to talk to you?” you whisper, blinking fast, eyes wide and stinging. “What do you want me to do, lie and say ‘It doesn’t matter, Jason, this is exactly what I needed to come home to at ten o’clock at—’”
“If you’re stressed about something else,” he cuts in, exasperation threading through every syllable, “then why are you getting so defensive about the stupid tea cup?”
You stare at him, jaw dropping, because the word feels like a slap. “Stupid?”
“It’s a tea cup.” He groans the words, dragging a hand over his face like this entire moment is exhausting him.
“My tea cup,” you sputter, voice breaking as you gather the pieces into your hands and set them on a plate.
“What—so something you have seven other of matters more than me?” Jason finally asks, and the words aren’t mocking or cruel. They’re lost. Utterly, helplessly lost. Because you crying over something he did feels worse to him than any yelling you could throw his way. Yelling he understands. Yelling has a shape, a form he can wrestle. But crying? Tears he caused? That carves panic into his bones because tears don’t tell him what to do, tears don’t show him where to step, tears don’t give him a blueprint for repairing what broke.
He offered to buy you a new one—twice.
He tried explaining it was small, replaceable, meaningless in the grand scheme of things.
But you didn’t let it go.
You couldn’t let it go.
And he doesn’t even care if his own frustration sounds ridiculous, because in his mind he’s changed so much for you already.
You coaxed him open, gently, carefully, teaching Jason piece by piece what it meant to trust someone without waiting for the ground to fall out from under him—but Jason's the one who actually did the opening.
Jason's the one who learned to speak softer when you’re overwhelmed, who forced himself to sleep through the night instead of wandering the apartment like a ghost, who makes himself step back when he feels his temper flare instead of letting it swallow him whole.
He takes care of himself now—because you asked him to.
He tolerates people he would’ve shoved aside or ignored—because you asked him to.
He has given and bent and adjusted more than he ever thought he could for another person.
And Jason's never asked you for anything in return, so the helpless, aching plea slips through his voice before he can soften it, before he can make it gentle.
“Can’t you just let this go?” Jason murmurs, exhausted, grabbing his jacket from the back of the kitchen chair like he’s already bracing himself for the distance he thinks is coming.
And you don’t care—not even a little—if your reaction looks ridiculous or dramatic or childish, because the truth is that you have adjusted so much for him, bent yourself in ways you never thought you would have to, stretched your patience and your compassion and your understanding until it felt like you were pulling threads from your own ribs just to weave Jason something safe to land in.
You’ve explained every emotion you’ve ever felt to this man, laid them out in neat, vulnerable rows so he could see them clearly, so he wouldn’t have to guess, so nothing inside you could ever blindside him the way life blindsided him growing up.
You’ve explained his emotions to him too, talking him down from the cliffs of his own mind, guiding him back toward safety again and again, never once complaining, never once hesitating, because if he was drowning, then you were already in the water with him, pulling him back toward shore.
Was there ever one night—just one—where you weren’t there after patrol, waiting with the med kit, with the soft voice, with the careful hands?
Has Jason ever once gone to sleep without you bandaging him up first, cleaning blood off knuckles that never deserved to split open, humming under your breath so he wouldn’t mistake tenderness for pity?
Have you ever blamed him for anything—any outburst, any moment of panic, any jagged edge that cut too sharp because he hadn’t learned how to sand it down yet?
Have you ever pushed him to talk before he was ready, forced anything out of him, told him that what he felt was stupid or irrational or inconvenient?
No.
Never.
You’ve given him endless grace, endless patience, endless space to unravel and re-stitch himself at his own pace.
So for this one thing—for this one small, embarrassing, fragile break down—
“Please don’t be upset with me,” you whisper, voice trembling in a way you can’t hide, because you genuinely don’t think your heart can take it right now, because even if the reason for your tears is stupid, the feeling behind them isn’t, and lying about that would hurt more than the broken porcelain ever could.
And Jason—
God.
“…so that’s a no.”
And he breathes it out like you’ve betrayed him, like you’ve taken something from him without realizing it, like your refusal to snap out of your emotion is confirmation of some deep, ugly fear Jason’s never learned how to name.
You look down again, wiping your face with the back of your sleeve, your breath shivering in your chest as you try to swallow down the ache pressing against your ribs.
“I’m…” Jason starts, voice fraying at the edges after a long, taut moment. “I’m—I’m going to go, okay?”
You stare at the floor—at the tiny fragments of the cup, pieces so small they’re hardly more than dust, pieces you couldn’t see clearly through your earlier tears—and you manage a small, hoarse “…Okay.”
Jason stands there for a second and then hes nodding stiffly even though your eyes are still glued to the floor, your shoulders tight, your hands curled helplessly against your sides.
Then he walks away, the sound of him crossing the room somehow louder than it should be, like every step is dragging something behind it.
You don’t move.
You don’t even breathe properly.
You just stand there pressed against the fridge, listening to him tie his boots, the laces whispering against each other, the radiator humming in the background like it’s trying to fill the emptiness settling between you.
Then you hear his footsteps again—approaching this time—and before you can straighten or look up or prepare yourself, he’s standing beside you.
“I love you,” Jason murmurs, low and quiet and painfully awkward, like the words are too big in his mouth. “That hasn’t changed—uh… goodnight.”
Maybe it would have hurt less if he hadn’t said anything at all, because the forced wobble in his voice lands in your chest like a bruise, and you hate that you can hear the part he’s trying to hide.
“…tie your boots,” you mumble softly, eyes still fixed on the floor, “don’t trip, Jason.”
There’s a long, aching pause.
“Yeah, babe,” Jason whispers. He stands there for another second—just breathing, just gathering himself in the silence—and then he turns and leaves.
¹ ʷᵉᵉᵏ, ¹ ᵈᵃʸ ˡᵃᵗᵉʳ
Jason might genuinely be dumber than Damian ever suspected, because everyone at this damn table is staring at him—openly, mercilessly—and he’s still shoveling steak into his mouth like he’s in some kind of life-or-death speed-eating contest, jaw working with single-minded determination as if chewing is optional and survival isn’t.
Father, of course, looks absolutely delighted.
Ecstatic, even.
Jason staying at the manor for more than forty-eight hours—actually sleeping in his old room, leaving his boots by the door, existing in a way that suggests permanence—has turned Bruce into some strange, quiet version of jubilant, sipping his miso soup with the serene bliss of a man receiving endless father's day cards. Damian would not be surprised in the slightest if Bruce Wayne, Gotham’s brooding sentinel, were kicking his feet under the table like a child too excited to sit still.
Jason finally glances up mid-chew, cheeks full, eyes flat.
“What.”
Damian doesn’t miss a beat. “Chew.”
“Yeah, seriously,” Dick scoffs, though he’s grinning in that way that means he’s both disgusted and entertained, “what are you, a dog?”
“Do not compare dogs to him,” Damian snaps before Jason can even gather enough dignity to glare. “Titus eats his food like a gentleman.”
“I’m losing my appetite watching this,” Tim mutters, pushing his plate away and turning toward Bruce. “Since I’m obviously done, can I go work on—”
“No,” Bruce cuts in smoothly, still wearing that faint, impossible-to-scrape-off smile, “eat your asparagus.”
Tim groans, picks the limp vegetable up with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man, and shoves it into his mouth. “Acting like your not avoiding your seaweed.”
Jason tunes them out, shoulders lifting and falling with a silent sigh as he scowls and aggressively inhales the last of his food.
Eventually it’s just him, Dick, and Damian left at the table.
The clock on the far wall blinks a clean, indifferent 2:00 a.m.
Bedtime for the bats.
Or it should be.
Patrol itself had been easy—almost offensively so. Just annoying.
A rundown gambling hall and a half-hearted drug exchange at the docks during the storm, nothing he couldn’t handle blindfolded with one hand tied behind his back.
But Jason hadn’t been in it.
Not fully.
Not even halfway.
He’d moved on instinct alone, the muscle memory of nights like this doing all the work while his mind drifted somewhere far from the smoke and the grit and the snapping bones beneath his fists.
Jason had taken more hits than usual—unnecessary ones, stupid ones—including a sharp punch that split his lip and another that caught him square in the jaw. One ancient asshole had even landed a blow to his knee, of all places.
Dick had actually yelled at him mid-fight—“Get your head on straight!”—voice cracking with genuine worry.
Later, on the rooftop where Tim passed out greasy paper bags of burgers, Dick had tugged Jason aside, fingers buried in the mess of dark hair, muttering about how he needed a damn haircut because obviously that was the reason he was off his game.
And Damian—
Damian had burned holes through the back of Jason’s hood all night, silent, suspicious, eyes sharp enough to slice open whatever secret Jason wasn’t sharing.
“You going to bed here?” Dick asks now, picking up his plate, tone light but probing in that older-brother way he’ll never shake.
“Yeah,” Jason mutters, nudging a sad stalk of asparagus across his plate like the world’s most exhausted toddler.
Damian’s head snaps up so fast it’s almost comical.
He stares—really stares—at Jason, eyes widening, brows furrowing, mouth parting in something halfway between realization and disbelief. Jason, predictably oblivious, doesn’t notice a damn thing.
Dick does, though–oh, he definitely does.
He hides a snort behind his hand, mumbling something about making sure Tim is in his bedroom and not the cave before walking out.
And Damian?
Damian is still staring like Jason has just announced he’s selling his organs to fund a circus.
Now it’s just the two of them left in the dining room, the silence stretching out in a way only Jason receives as casual, and Damian watches as Jason takes a slow swig of water as if he can wash the exhaustion out of his bones before pushing himself up to stand, ready to make the quietest, least dramatic exit possible—only for a metal clatter to slice through the room when a spoon hits the middle of his back with the delicate precision of someone who has absolutely no intention of letting him leave.
Jason freezes mid-step, staring at a painting on the wall as though it might offer him a different reality, one where he isn’t being pelted with kitchenware by a ten-year-old assassin, and then he turns, slow enough to betray just how done he is, to face Damian.
“What did Dick say about throwing cutlery?” he grumbles, trying—God, trying—to summon that authoritative ‘dad’ tone Bruce wields like a weapon and Dick wields like a warm blanket, but it comes out thin, frayed, and completely incapable of intimidating anyone who’s ever stabbed a man before puberty.
Damian doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t blink. He just looks at Jason with those flat, unyielding eyes and says, “It’s been a week, you said on monday 'maybe friday'.” like the words are a verdict and Jason is already guilty.
Jason drags a hand down his face, worn-out in a way that has nothing to do with the bruises blooming under his skin. “Look, now is really not a good time,” he mutters, the words reaching for patience and barely grazing it. “And it’s not like I’m keeping you out, alright? I’m not going either—”
“Who said I needed to go with you?” Damian interrupts, his tone sharp enough to cut, as if the idea that he might require accompaniment is almost insulting.
Jason raises an eyebrow, too tired to even pretend he doesn’t know exactly where this is going, too tired to carry the weight of this conversation but too human not to try anyway. “She’s not going to want to see you right now,” he says, and the words come out softer than he means them to, softer than he wants them to be.
That actually hits Damian—Jason sees it, the tiny break in the armor, the shift from steel to something almost, almost vulnerable. His expression tightens, curls in on itself, and for a moment he looks less like the demon heir and more like a kid trying to fit himself into a shape the world keeps insisting on. “I… don’t recall doing anything… wrong,” he murmurs, the uncertainty so rare it practically echoes.
Jason exhales, a long, unraveling sound that’s half frustration and half something like grief, because the last thing he needs is to drag anyone else into the mess he’s made. “You didn’t,” he says, and he even tries for reassurance, though it lands crooked. “Chill. You’re fine. It’s me—it’s… her. We’re not talking right now. She’d be upset if you showed up by yourself, and you’re not coming with me because I’m not going.”
“You’ve split up?” Damian explodes, his hands slamming against the tabletop with a force that rattles the silverware, the kind of theatrical outrage only someone raised by assassins and billionaires could ever pull off without flinching.
“No,” Jason exhales, the word coming out flat, worn, so utterly unaffected that it almost sounds cruel, though it’s really just exhaustion wearing his voice like a wet coat. He knows exactly where this is headed, knows exactly how drained he’ll feel by the time he finally gets upstairs, and yet he still tries—Gods help him—to keep things level. “We’re just taking a break, okay—?”
“A break?” Damian repeats, the word hitting his tongue like it’s poison, like the very idea defies the laws of physics. He stares at Jason with something between horror and disgust. “What the hell did you do?”
“Nothing!” Jason shoots back, the frustration rising faster than he can tamp it down. “We just had an argument, alright? And frankly I don’t even feel that in the wrong here—we’re going to talk about it like adults later, but right now I don’t exactly want to see her and I seriously doubt she wants to see you—”
And the second the sentence leaves his mouth, he hears it. He hears it. The way it sounds. The way it lands. He watches Damian go still in that frightening, surgical way he has, his lips flattening into a single, rigid line and his fists curling tight enough that the knuckles pale.
Jason closes his eyes, drops his head, raises a hand in something like surrender—but not quite apology, because he hasn’t figured out how to string one together yet. “I didn’t mean it like that—”
“What does what you did wrong have to do with me?” Damian fires back, each word sharpened to a point.
Jason actually stops. Actually blinks at him. And then, with a tiredness so bone-deep it feels like he’s speaking through mud, he says, “I hate to fucking tell you this, Damian, but you’re my brother first. No amount of closeness—yours or mine—or whatever the hell any of us think we are to her is going to change that.”
For a moment, the room goes very, very still. A breath held by someone who doesn’t want to acknowledge they’re holding it.
Then Jason turns—and finds Dick and Tim standing in the doorway like two busted gargoyles caught eavesdropping on a family therapy session they absolutely didn’t have the clearance for. The tension on Jason's face folds into something sharp and undeniably pissed off.
“What the hell?” he snaps. “Fuck off and go to bed.”
Dick looks at him like Jason’s a stray dog someone just threatened to kick. Tim looks like he’s trying to figure out whether this is finally the moment where a 'trouble in paradise?' joke would get him killed.
Jason pushes past both of them anyway, jaw tight, shoulders tense. He sends one last look over his shoulder toward Damian—the kind of pointed look that carries a warning far heavier than the words themselves.
“Don’t even try to sneak out,” he says, low and firm, a promise more than a threat. “You do that and I— so help me Damian I'll make sure your never allowed to step foot into that apartment again, who do you wana be shed listen to?”
And then he’s gone down the hall, leaving Damian alone with a table full of cold food and a silence sharp enough to slice clean through him.
“Hey… bud,” Dick starts, voice careful, slow, like he’s trying to thread his way through a minefield of tension he can feel but can’t quite see. “Do you want to play a video game with—”
Damian doesn’t even pause. Doesn’t even glance. His head shakes once, sharp, decisive, the motion carrying more weight than any argument ever could. Then he simply walks past them, silent, deliberate, leaving the words hanging in the air like smoke, unclaimed and useless.
Dick exhales, just a little, the sound betraying a mixture of frustration, resignation, and something softer, something that almost feels like sadness. Tim shifts in place, uncertain, then sighs and mumbles a small, "I'll tell Bruce.”
Damian is sprawled flat beneath Titus like some unwilling, furry sarcophagus, limbs splayed and pinned, when Bruce walks into the room. Fresh out of the shower, pretending worry isn't gracing his brow because of the fact Damian has not kicked him out yet. Lucy, the monkey Damian has been itching to introduce for days, perches nearby, inspecting strands of his hair with meticulous little fingers, poking as if she’s checking for fleas or ticks.
Bruce eases onto the edge of the bed, reaching down to lift one of Damian’s feet. His hands move with that practiced, silent precision, pressing gently for bruises or tenderness from the night’s patrol—the memory of Dick shoving Damian away from a man and into that tight space between two shipping containers still clear in his mind, the only time Jason had reacted with something close to humor, snorting from his daze as if the absurdity had momentarily broken through the tension.
“I’m not hurt,” Damian huffs, the sound muffled beneath Titus’s fur, thick and immovable. Ace nudges into Bruce's back like hes telling his owner to ignore the little one.
“Humor me,” Bruce replies, voice low and roughened from Gotham’s rain, hands shifting carefully, probing not just for broken bones but for temperature changes and tension in muscle that might betray pain he refuses to admit.
“Father…” Damian’s voice finally cuts through, hesitant, thin, fragile under the weight of silence. Titus has shifted fully, blocking Bruce’s view of his youngest’s face, and maybe that is exactly what gives Damian the courage to ask the question rolling uncomfortably off his tongue.
“Mhm? Yes, Damian?”
“…Your… experienced with women.”
Bruce freezes mid-motion, fingers resting lightly on Damian’s knee. This is not the conversation he anticipated when Tim had peeked into his master bedroom, reporting that the baby needed attention.
Not in a million scenarios did he imagine navigating questions about women or experience with this son, least of all now, when he barley reaches Bruce's hip.
And yet here it is, suspended between them in the quiet room, heavier than any patrol report, any argument, any lesson on discipline—and Bruce knows that his experience isn't exactly…well one he wants to be used for teaching.
“Did you… meet a girl at school?” Bruce begins carefully, slow and measured, the words more an experiment than a question, and he watches, almost with a kind of detached fascination, as Damian immediately snaps upright, yanking his leg away from his father’s hand as if contact itself had suddenly become unbearable. His ears flare bright red, almost glowing beneath the dim light, and the flush spreads up his sharp cheekbones, raw and uncontainable.
“NOT ME!” Damian practically screams, the volume ricocheting off the walls and into Bruce’s ears, which still throb faintly from the night’s patrol.
“The other one!” Damian huffs, his anger deflating slightly as he pets Lucy, Titus, and Ace with careful, apologetic strokes, murmuring soft noises that are half reassurance, half apology, as if the animals themselves need to understand he’s not permanently dangerous.
Bruce rubs at his ears, bitterly convinced that after that scream he deserves a pet too.
“Dick?” Bruce murmurs, voice low and cautious, “I think he can figure out Koriand'r better than any of us could, Damian—”
Damian mutters a name under his breath, sharp, almost imperceptible, and Bruce pauses mid-thought.
Of course, he knows of you; he knows that most of his children are well-versed in your existence, your habits, your presence in the orbit of their lives—but the formal interactions between Bruce and you have been limited, almost clinical: a parent-teacher conference, one short exchange of cash in thanks, nothing else. Hell, the only reason he has your number is because Damian's phone and contacts is connected to his.
Bruce is not annoyed that Damian hadn’t called him immediately when the fight happened, but there had been a flicker of irritation that neither you nor Jason had tried, that the initiative had fallen elsewhere.
That irritation fades almost entirely, however, the moment he recalls the selfie Jason had sent a few days ago, one of those rare, candid things. Jason had been smiling ear to ear, face unguarded, and Bruce’s eyes had fallen on your hand brushing lightly against the whipped cream on Damian’s upper lip, gentle and unaware of the camera.
Jason was wearing one of Bruce’s suits, perfectly tailored from no use, and Bruce thinks it has been years—years—since he has seen that effortless smile from his son, never mind one sent willingly, one shared.
“Jason…” Damian spits the name like venom, forcing Bruce’s memory out of that quiet, tender snapshot he had professionally printed months ago and keeps tucked in his desk drawer. “Says the two of them are on a break.”
Damian’s voice hardens further, the word break pronounced like an accusation. He mutters under his breath, barely audible: “What does that entail?”
Ah.
Well.
Talia and Selina had taught him more than enough about what a ‘break’ meant, and Bruce could feel the weight of it pressing into the room, a tension that seemed almost physical, curling around the corners like smoke.
“Well…” Bruce begins slowly, carefully choosing each word as if it were a scalpel, “Your mother—”
“Father. Textbook definition.” Damian’s face scrunches up, sharp angles softening for the briefest fraction of a second. “Not mother's.”
Bruce exhales, long and weary, the kind of sound that carries the history of too many late nights, too many battles, too many conversations that end in nothing but exhaustion. “It’s different for everyone,” he says, hands flexing on his knees, voice low and ragged, “It could entail not seeing or speaking, just acting as friends, maybe seeing other people—”
“OTHER PEOPLE?” Damian actually yells this time, the word snapping like a whip, ricocheting against the walls of the room.
Other people.
People who could, Gods forbid, have little brothers.
Bruce presses a hand to his temple, already tasting the headache forming, the kind that comes whenever hes thinking about his children's love lives. At least it’s not Cassandra, he tells himself bitterly.
Bruce looks down at his son, defeated, the weight of parenthood settling across his shoulders like an old, heavy coat. “I doubt that’s what they did, but—” He pauses, pinching the bridge of his nose, willing the migraine back into nonexistence, “Look, they probably had an argument and just—”
“Have you done this ‘break’ before?” Damian interrupts, sharp, precise, a predator circling a question like it’s prey.
“Yes,” Bruce says, the word falling flat but necessary, the history of his own mistakes and missteps coiling behind it. “With your mother. All the damn time. In fact I think we never formally ended things. See? No problem. Calm down, Damian—”
Damian blinks at him like a bird caught mid-flight, feathers ruffled, heart racing. “That’s… not exactly reassuring,” he mutters, the words soft but pointed, as if every syllable carries a weight Bruce isn’t entirely ready to shoulder.
Bruce shifts, awkward, uncertain. “She’s nothing like Talia, and you can’t assume Jason will act the way I do, so… I’m sure—”
But Damian doesn’t hear him. He sees you. He recalls the way you scold Jason and him, measured but firm, precise as any lesson he’s ever had from his mother. He remembers the tea, the way you handle it, the soft pressure of your hands on the cup, as if you are instilling care into the ritual itself. He recalls the gentle pat to his head, firm yet soft, praise administered like an art form in the same cadence, the same rhythm as Talia.
He remembers Jason, the way he closes off, blocks the world, melts into something unreadable and strange the way Bruce had with Talia, the way he does with you. He remembers the switch flipping, the calm, the mush of familiarity and affection, all tangled into a strange, fragile symmetry.
Damian looks down at his lap, where Lucy has tucked herself, huffing softly, a tiny puff of air as if she’s exasperated on his behalf.
Bruce tries again, voice careful, steadying, the weight of years of lessons bleeding through: “And… it’s not like Jason can’t handle his own relationships—”
Damian looks up at Bruce and mumbles the money move.
"Father...please? I'm only talking about this with you because I trust you to keep it to yourself."
The pause stretches, dense and thick, a pressure that hovers in the space between them, before Damian watches as his father flops onto the bed, resting his head on Ace’s back as if surrendering to the sheer absurdity of parenthood.
“I’ll take you to her apartment,” Bruce sighs, voice heavy with both command and relief, “Go get the keys.”
Damian launches himself from the bed with such ferocity, such unrestrained vigor, that Bruce can’t help but feel a small, fleeting twinge of jealousy.
“CAN I DRIVE?!” Damian yells from down the hall.
“DONT MAKE ME TAKE IT BACK!” Bruce yells back from the bed, petting Ace with the same gentleness his son does all the time.
You don’t even know why you’re surprised when you glance out the window and see Bruce and Damian Wayne crawling back inside—completely unannounced, completely without costume, like some absurdly wealthy, deadly version of burglars who’ve forgotten the subtlety part of the job. Your brain freezes for a moment, caught somewhere between incredulity and the faint, reluctant amusement that it somehow never manages to suppress around this family.
Bruce moves with the quiet, deliberate precision you’d expect, though somehow even that is comically undermined by the fact that he’s wearing a loose dress shirt and slacks instead of armor, and Damian—sharp, rigid, impossibly focused—clings to the sill like a tiny, lethal spider. And somehow, somehow, this is happening in your living room.
Your mouth opens. Nothing comes out. You think about yelling, about asking, about just… doing literally anything, but the scene is already too ridiculous, too surreal, too utterly Wayne to stop watching.
“…I take it Jason doesn’t know you two are here.” Your voice is flat, calm, deadpan enough to make Damian falter at the window, caught mid-crouch like a startled cat, before he stiffens and composes himself with that rigid precision that somehow manages to look both absurd and impressive at the same time.
Bruce just stares at you, eyes flicking toward the floor for a moment, the faintest shadow of shame crossing his face. “Damian is… very convincing,” he admits quietly, almost reluctantly, like he doesn’t want to admit that his youngest has outmaneuvered him. And that the reason he isn't donning his suit and cowl that would make him feel less awkward doing this is because Damian said you…dont allow ‘costumes’ in the apartment.
You sigh, long and measured, because you know that all too well. “...Would you both like some tea?”
“Green, please.” They say it simultaneously, words colliding mid-air, and then both of them pause, blinking at the strange synchronicity of it.
Damian finally lifts his gaze to you, stepping fully into the warmth of your apartment—the one he’s been missing all week—shoulders still drawn back a little, tight with tension, cautious. There’s a flicker in his expression, a shadow of worry that you might be angry with him, and for a quiet moment, you realize that this must be why he didn’t come with Jason.
Why he felt safe enough to come with Bruce.
The thought makes you smile faintly to yourself. Unfortunately that worry was still for not, since nothing—nothing—could make you think of Jason without some measure of fondness, some involuntary warmth curling in your chest.
“…Two sugars and—”
“Honey.” You nod softly, gentle but sure. “I take it that’s for you as well, Mr. Wayne?”
Bruce notices it immediately—the same airy softness in your voice that Talia once had, long before… everything. The sound of it makes his chest tighten in a almost protective way, the kind of tightness that drives him to think about checking security systems more obsessively, running patrols along streets he shouldn’t need to think twice about, filing addresses away in the back of his mind for frequent, silent surveillance.
Mr. Wayne closes the window behind him with a slow, deliberate motion, the kind of movement that feels both commanding and almost apologetic at once, muttering under his breath with that rare, unguarded humility: “I don’t deserve honey.”
“I agree.” Your voice cuts through the quiet with that clipped precision, that same subtle authority Bruce knows all too well, and both father and son feel it—the unmistakable sting of being scolded by another woman in their life.
“This is all Jason’s fault,” Damian mutters under his breath as he stalks toward the kitchen, each step measured, deliberate, like a small storm contained in a human frame. Bruce sighs and trails behind, a quiet shadow to Damian’s tempest. “I’m putting salt in his hot chocolate.”
“That makes it taste better,” Bruce mumbles, distracted, voice low, already running through possible interventions, calculating ways to prevent this minor rebellion from turning into another justification for why your relationship with Jason is somehow compromised.
Damian turns to him with a look that could have been mistaken for disbelief or horror, eyebrows raised as if Bruce had just sprouted a third head. “You… you poor people are so weird, Can’t afford high-quality chocolate, so you add salt—”
“I’m a billionaire,” Bruce scoffs, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at how Damian seemed to relax slightly.
“Do all billionaires use the window?” You quip from in front the kettle, and only then does Bruce fully register that the two of them have already moved into your kitchen, filling the small space with the weight of their presence. In his defense, Bruce isn't used to such small living spaces.
“Just our family,” Bruce says awkwardly, voice softening, attempting to lighten the mood in a room that somehow feels smaller and larger than he can fit in all at once.
You glance over your shoulder, and the glare is familiar—sharp, incisive, the same one Jason had once leveled at him at nine years old, full of judgment that Bruce could only find adorable.
Bruce catches himself mid-thought, wondering—briefly, absurdly—if your parents happen to be alive or not.
It’s a mystery to all four men how that were asked to be on the Buzzfeed channel. Let alone agreed. Dick had been asked several times to appear, Bruce had no interesting of joining but somehow someone from his PR team got in touch and approved the video.
From being up at the crack of dawn, to boarding a flight to LA and hair and makeup most of the day was an experience Jason hope he’d never do again, no one is sure how he got roped into his but he was ready to crawl back to his window seat in his apartment and read literature with substance versus whatever thirst craved and outrageous nonsense would take up his free day.
Poor Tim slept the whole time and only now did it register what he agreed to do with the finally light and sound checks.
“Where am I?” He quipped up.
————
Producer: Okay you’re here today to read some thirst tweets. Bruce we will start with you.
Bruce pulls a slip of paper from the mug and his brown fuse together.
Bruce: I want Dick Grayson to sit on my face. 🎂
Jason is mental combusting while Tim screech finally waking up.
Dick has a red blush across his cheek as he chuckles.
Bruce: Why would they want that, they’ll suffocate?
The Boys:…..
Producer (Smugly): That’s the point.
Tim and Jason lose it and Dick covers his face. Jason snatches the mug from Bruce.
Jason: Let’s hurry along, shall we.
Jason pulls out another and the color drains from his face and he looks like he could throw up.
Jason: You people are sick.
The production team laugh in the background.
Jason:I am just a hole…a gapping whole for Bruce Wayne. 🕳️
Dick sips out his water and Tim short circuits. Bruce scratches his stubble.
Bruce: But a whole—
Dick take a tweet out: ANYWAY! The next one says—oh god. I want Jason Todd-Wayne to choke me with his thighs. He could kill me and I’d die with a smile.
Jason is frozen in place and Tim just blinks.
Tim takes a tweet visibly shaking.
Tim: Here goes nothing. Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. You slutty little man, I love you. 🥰
Bruce: That was kind.
Tim (Beaming): You what I’ll take it.
Jason doves his hand and reads another one. He chuckles before fully looking at Dick to his left.
Jason: Dick
Dick (Nervously): Oh dear.
Jason (Wheezing): I want to grab Dick Grayson but his fat ass and absolutely reck him from behind. 🍑💦
Bruce eye nearly pop out his skull as Tim falls off the chair. Dick is visibly red as Jason helmet.
Dick: Thank but I don’t think my girlfriend would approve of that.
Jason: Kory would—
Tim: Next one please. (Snatches one) Fuck. I want to drain Bruce Wayne of his unborn child.
Bruce most likely has whiplash because of the way his head spun.
Bruce: What kinda thirst tweet is that?!
Jason (Smirking): A thirsty one.
Producer: I think there’s a few more left.
Bruce takes the second to last one.
Bruce: Dick Grayson and Jason Todd..please Eiffel Tower me. I have two holes for a reason. 🗼
Jason and Dick are laughing their asses off as Bruce just stares deadpanned at the camera.
Tim picks up the mug and reads that last one.
Tim: Bruce Wayne can get this bussy anytime, anywhere, day or night. I’m just a hole for him.
Bruce: And that’s all, thank you for your time. But it’s been…
Jason: interesting
Tim & Dick: very.
——————-
Within a few days the video goes viral everyone from Arkham inmates to Daily Planet staff have seen it. The video is the most watched and top charting video ever for Thirst Tweets.
Bruce is mortified but his PR has never been better, his stocks skyrocketed.
Dick has gotten free coffee at his favorite cafè all week and Jason as be hiding people left and right.
Tim’s friends haven’t let him live down. He even Bernard as picked with him a little.
————
At the Watchtower
Green Lantern (Hal): So Bats…
Batman he glares at him and GL turns on his heels and speeds away fast.
GL(Running at full speed) : Y’know what I think that Guardians are calling!
——-
Let me know if I should make other posts like this or a second part.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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It’s a mystery to all four men how that were asked to be on the Buzzfeed channel. Let alone agreed. Dick had been asked several times to appear, Bruce had to interesting of joining but somehow someone from his PR team got in touch and approved the video.
From being up at the crack of dawn, to boarding a flight to LA and hair and makeup most of the day was an experience Jason hope he’d never do again, no one is sure how he got roped into his but he was ready to crawl back to his window seat in his apartment and read literature with substance versus whatever thirst craved and outrageous nonsense would take up his free day.
Poor Tim slept the whole time and only now did it register what he agreed to do with the finally light and sound checks.
“Where am I?” He quipped up.
————
Producer: Okay you’re here today to read some thirst tweets. Bruce we will start with you.
Bruce pulls a slip of paper from the mug and his brown fuse together.
Bruce: I want Dick Grayson to sit on my face. 🎂
Jason is mental combusting while Tim screech finally waking up.
Dick has a red blush across his cheek as he chuckles.
Bruce: Why would they want that, they’ll suffocate?
The Boys:…..
Producer (Smugly): That’s the point.
Tim and Jason lose it and Dick covers his face. Jason snatches the mug from Bruce.
Jason: Let’s hurry along, shall we.
Jason pulls out another and the color drains from his face and he looks like he could throw up.
Jason: You people are sick.
The production team laugh in the background.
Jason:I am just a hole…a gapping whole for Bruce Wayne. 🕳️
Dick sips out his water and Tim short circuits. Bruce scratches his stubble.
Bruce: But a whole—
Dick take a tweet out: ANYWAY! The next one says—oh god. I want Jason Todd-Wayne to choke me with his thighs. He could kill me and I’d die with a smile.
Jason is frozen in place and Tim just blinks.
Tim takes a tweet visibly shaking.
Tim: Here goes nothing. Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. You slutty little man, I love you. 🥰
Bruce: That was kind.
Tim (Beaming): You what I’ll take it.
Jason doves his hand and reads another one. He chuckles before fully looking at Dick to his left.
Jason: Dick
Dick (Nervously): Oh dear.
Jason (Wheezing): I want to grab Dick Grayson but his fat ass and absolutely reck him from behind. 🍑💦
Bruce eye nearly pop out his skull as Tim falls off the chair. Dick is visibly red as Jason helmet.
Dick: Thank but I don’t think my girlfriend would approve of that.
Jason: Kory would—
Tim: Next one please. (Snatches one) Fuck. I want to drain Bruce Wayne of his unborn child.
Bruce most likely has whiplash because of the way his head spun.
Bruce: What kinda thirst tweet is that?!
Jason (Smirking): A thirsty one.
Producer: I think there’s a few more left.
Bruce takes the second to last one.
Bruce: Dick Grayson and Jason Todd..please Eiffel Tower me. I have two holes for a reason. 🗼
Jason and Dick are laughing their asses off as Bruce just stares deadpanned at the camera.
Tim picks up the mug and reads that last one.
Tim: Bruce Wayne can get this bussy anytime, anywhere, day or night. I’m just a hole for him.
Bruce: And that’s all, thank you for your time. But it’s been…
Jason: interesting
Tim & Dick: very.
——————-
Within a few days the video goes viral everyone from Arkham inmates to Daily Planet staff have seen it. The video is the most watched and top charting video ever for Thirst Tweets.
Bruce is mortified but his PR has never been better, his stocks skyrocketed.
Dick has gotten free coffee at his favorite cafè all week and Jason as be hiding people left and right.
Tim’s friends haven’t let him live down. He even Bernard as picked with him a little.
————
At the Watchtower
Green Lantern (Hal): So Bats…
Batman he glares at him and GL turns on his heels and speeds away fast.
GL(Running at full speed) : Y’know what I think that Guardians are calling!
——-
Let me know if I should make other posts like this or a second part.
It’s a mystery to all four men how that were asked to be on the Buzzfeed channel. Let alone agreed. Dick had been asked several times to appear, Bruce had no interesting of joining but somehow someone from his PR team got in touch and approved the video.
From being up at the crack of dawn, to boarding a flight to LA and hair and makeup most of the day was an experience Jason hope he’d never do again, no one is sure how he got roped into his but he was ready to crawl back to his window seat in his apartment and read literature with substance versus whatever thirst craved and outrageous nonsense would take up his free day.
Poor Tim slept the whole time and only now did it register what he agreed to do with the finally light and sound checks.
“Where am I?” He quipped up.
————
Producer: Okay you’re here today to read some thirst tweets. Bruce we will start with you.
Bruce pulls a slip of paper from the mug and his brown fuse together.
Bruce: I want Dick Grayson to sit on my face. 🎂
Jason is mental combusting while Tim screech finally waking up.
Dick has a red blush across his cheek as he chuckles.
Bruce: Why would they want that, they’ll suffocate?
The Boys:…..
Producer (Smugly): That’s the point.
Tim and Jason lose it and Dick covers his face. Jason snatches the mug from Bruce.
Jason: Let’s hurry along, shall we.
Jason pulls out another and the color drains from his face and he looks like he could throw up.
Jason: You people are sick.
The production team laugh in the background.
Jason:I am just a hole…a gapping whole for Bruce Wayne. 🕳️
Dick sips out his water and Tim short circuits. Bruce scratches his stubble.
Bruce: But a whole—
Dick take a tweet out: ANYWAY! The next one says—oh god. I want Jason Todd-Wayne to choke me with his thighs. He could kill me and I’d die with a smile.
Jason is frozen in place and Tim just blinks.
Tim takes a tweet visibly shaking.
Tim: Here goes nothing. Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. You slutty little man, I love you. 🥰
Bruce: That was kind.
Tim (Beaming): You what I’ll take it.
Jason doves his hand and reads another one. He chuckles before fully looking at Dick to his left.
Jason: Dick
Dick (Nervously): Oh dear.
Jason (Wheezing): I want to grab Dick Grayson but his fat ass and absolutely reck him from behind. 🍑💦
Bruce eye nearly pop out his skull as Tim falls off the chair. Dick is visibly red as Jason helmet.
Dick: Thank but I don’t think my girlfriend would approve of that.
Jason: Kory would—
Tim: Next one please. (Snatches one) Fuck. I want to drain Bruce Wayne of his unborn child.
Bruce most likely has whiplash because of the way his head spun.
Bruce: What kinda thirst tweet is that?!
Jason (Smirking): A thirsty one.
Producer: I think there’s a few more left.
Bruce takes the second to last one.
Bruce: Dick Grayson and Jason Todd..please Eiffel Tower me. I have two holes for a reason. 🗼
Jason and Dick are laughing their asses off as Bruce just stares deadpanned at the camera.
Tim picks up the mug and reads that last one.
Tim: Bruce Wayne can get this bussy anytime, anywhere, day or night. I’m just a hole for him.
Bruce: And that’s all, thank you for your time. But it’s been…
Jason: interesting
Tim & Dick: very.
——————-
Within a few days the video goes viral everyone from Arkham inmates to Daily Planet staff have seen it. The video is the most watched and top charting video ever for Thirst Tweets.
Bruce is mortified but his PR has never been better, his stocks skyrocketed.
Dick has gotten free coffee at his favorite cafè all week and Jason as be hiding people left and right.
Tim’s friends haven’t let him live down. He even Bernard as picked with him a little.
————
At the Watchtower
Green Lantern (Hal): So Bats…
Batman he glares at him and GL turns on his heels and speeds away fast.
GL(Running at full speed) : Y’know what I think that Guardians are calling!
——-
Let me know if I should make other posts like this or a second part.
We know we’re getting the Batman Pt.2 and a lot of people,(myself included) want to see Robin. Specifically Dick Grayson’s Robin. We also are getting the Batfamily in James Gunn’s DC Universe. And I’ve made a cast for that.
This one I wanted to do characters I think we could see, and having watched the 2004 ‘The Batman’, show I think a younger Batman with sidekicks could be a fun and entertaining development for Battison’s character. So taking inspiration from that show I will cast Robin, Dick Grayson and Batgirl, Barbara Gordon.
Batgirl:
Barbara Gordon……Bailey Bass
-
Bailey Bass would kill it as Barbara in this universe,she could definitely bring a sassy and quick wit to Babs. Especially on the younger side depending on if she’s was Battinson’s first protege. I feel like in this world she would have her father not wanting her to join law enforcement especially since Gotham’s is so corrupted. I feel like Batman would not want to take her on as a partner and because of that she’s going to be Batgirl even more. Eventually he’ll come around and “let” her help and provide her with training and become a mentor for her especially with her father being busy helping to clean up Gotham, she’ll be working along side him without him aware of it.
And similar to the Batman 2004 series, introducing Batgirl first made Batman open up to the idea of working with some and we’ve seen this version of Batman doesn’t care about anything but the mission, until he learns just being vengeance isn’t enough. He needs to be something more.By having Batgirl first he’ll learn to not only let her help him, but he’s also establishing that foundation of training and mentoring that is important for Robin. Robin is a lot more closely tied to him because he’s his son, while Barbara isn’t his daughter he would be use to having a younger sidekick.
Robin:
Dick Grayson……..Noah Jupe
-
Having a younger Robin allows Batman to have time with him to grow, mature and eventually if you get to other characters we can see how by having Robin this bright young kid has allowed him to have that same hopeful and optimistic feeling he didn’t have before. Robin has been a vital part to Batman throughout history and I don’t see how this version is any different. Robin in this version could be very brash and angry at first just like a young orphaned Bruce felt. He can help Dick with these feelings, he can understand that Dick wants revenge and if it had been a few years prior he probably would have helped him do it. But at this point he isn’t as brutal, he knows he can’t ask the boy to just let it go, or let the police handle it. He knows that Dick will need a way to channel this frustration and he can help him by training him into a symbol, a beacon of hope that even Bruce needs sometimes too.
Dick is the first Robin and in the future will become this universes Nightwing. Seeing him grow up and eventually leave Bruce could help Bruce learn from his mistakes his own upbringing and not let them tank Dick’s upbringing.
Lucius Fox:
Lucius Fox……Courtney B. Vance
-
Lucius Fox could be very interesting in the Batman universe. While I think Batman can have more gadgets with better upgrades I don’t want them to be to techy. I think that my refining current gadgets Or evolving them like his wrist launching into a actual handheld grapple gun, or the bombs he used to bring down the skyline in the finale turned into gas bombs or flash bombs would be the best approach.
As how to bring him into the fold, you’d just continue from where the first film left off. Like Alfred said he needs to keep up appearances and his spending for his crusade will run out if he doesn’t pay attention. Bringing in Lucius could help him to manage his funds, as well as he’ll have be able to give Bruce insight about what is going on in the company when he’s away and give him some insight about what his father was really like and how much of a humanitarian he truly was.
Dr. Leslie Tompkins:
Dr. Tompkins……….Emma Thompson
-
I’ve always wanted to see Leslie Tompkins in Batman films, I think much like other comics and BTAS she gave give Bruce a maternal figure the same way Alfred was a paternal figure in his life. While both think him being Batman is not the way to deal with his trauma, they know deep down this is his mission.
I feel like not only can she become another character to see through the franchise, even Batman sidekicks and other characters can go to her not just for patch ups but she see Gotham for what it is. She worked closely with Bruce’s father, like Lucius she knows who he really was. Her clinic in Crime Alley is a important corner stone and helps lots of people who are able to go to the regular hospital or involve in crime fighting and can’t go. She can be an important support system to the Batfamily and Batman himself if she’s brought to life.
Kate Kane:
Kate Kane……..Evan Rachel Wood
-
Kate Kane is Bruce’s cousin and I think by her being one of last ties to his family especially with the information Riddler leaked, who be interesting especially if because of be Batman he is estranged from his family. Kate returns to Gotham with her father who want to help clear up the Wayne name. Bruce at first isn’t receptive to his Uncle or his cousin’s help.
Something could happen to his uncle and because of his involvement with crime Kate finds out and wants to know more about it. Bruce could want to keep her out of it but because of her father getting hurt, she could make it so not only does he have a stake in the corruption but now so does she. Allowing Bruce to have connections to his could be important to fixing the family image as well as provide support should he ever need it. Kate could be instrumental to helping Bruce navigate his mission in a way he couldn’t think about by expending and allowing her to help she can assist in reaching parts of Gotham Batman can’t be in all the time or get involved in more areas of the corruption he can’t get to or locate but Kate can.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
- This universe is separate from the Dark Knight Series and is in a different universe. Superman:Soul Survivor film is the catalyst for the phases in this universe. any film or series from here on out will be amazing art of the phases. If you want you could think of the Dark Knight series as Earth-2, but some events and actors are still current in Earth Prime. Which is going to be the main universe.