Hello! This post is just to give some background info for the rewrite of 'The Writing On The Wall.' I'm recharged. I have prescriptions for my depression. I'm also a better writer than I was in 2024 so I'd like to reapproach this from the beginning. So let's do this together.
This is an enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, “Pride & Prejudice but make it Gotham” kind of story, with a mystery thread running underneath it. It’s not a nameless reader-insert anymore, but it is written to be immersive in that “you can absolutely slide yourself into this OC’s shoes” way. Blair Birch is the main OC: specific enough to feel real, open enough that readers can project. (Think: an OC you can inhabit, not a blank placeholder.)
Eventually it will contain smut, but this fic will be the first time I attempt something like that so it's gonna be a bit further down the road and I'm not sure how detailed I feel brave enough being.
Ages / Continuity Notes
We’re using a “current-ish continuity” vibe where Alfred is deceased, and that absence matters. The manor feels different without him, and everyone feels it in their own way.
Ages are adjusted slightly so the “older brothers” feel closer together and Damian being in college makes sense:
Bruce: 50
Dick: 34
Barbara: 34
Jason: 30
Cassandra: 28
Tim: 25
Stephanie: 25
Damian: 20
Blair Birch (OC): 20
(If we need to tweak a year or two for timeline smoothness, we will. Plot > calendar.)
About Blair Birch (OC)
Blair is non-binary (they/them) and tends to lean femme-presenting when they have the energy for it, but gender expression is fluid and practical. They are not “perfectly mysterious” in a manic pixie way, they are mysterious in the way exhausted people become mysterious: because survival makes you private for safety.
Blair is:
brilliant with words and blunt with people
a music snob (especially rock/metal and adjacent genres), with opinions sharp enough to cut glass
full of practical hobbies and competent hands (the kind of person who can fix a thing while being mad at it)
shaped by a traumatic upbringing and a life where money was always a problem
visibly marked in small ways: scars, signs of hard work, and the kind of physical details that show up as the story unfolds.
Blair’s life is built on routines, jobs, deadlines, and a relentless refusal to accept “charity.” If help arrives, it must be a transaction. It must be earned. They can't feel like it's a trap or it comes with strings attached.
Batfamily, as they appear in this story
This is not a “Batfam domestic fluff only” fic. The family exists as a living system with friction, love, and secrets.
Bruce Wayne: A father trying to hold a crumbling ecosystem together after Alfred’s death. He’s protective, suspicious, and quietly desperate for the manor to feel like home again, even if he’ll never admit that out loud.
Dick Grayson: The one who notices patterns in people. He’s the first to clock that Damian is hiding something, and he has the dangerous habit of being right. He's also too mischievous for his own good and pushes his way into Damian's business.
Barbara Gordon: The strategist with a sharp moral compass. She’s practical, observant, and not easily charmed. Unless your name is Dick Grayson that is.
Jason Todd: A storm disguised as a person. He reads Blair’s survival instincts like a language he grew up speaking, and he doesn’t always know how to be gentle about it.
Cassandra Cain: Quiet, strong empathy. She sees what isn’t being said and often understands Damian before Damian is ready to be understood.
Tim Drake: Weaponized intelligence with a human heart. A little too good at making connections. Blair and Tim clash or click depending on the day, and Damian absolutely does not enjoy that.
Stephanie Brown: The one who cuts through tension with brightness that’s sharper than it looks. She’s not fooled by Blair’s defenses, but she respects them.
Damian Wayne: College-age, proud, exhausted, and furious at the one enemy he can’t stab: failure. He’s used to mastery. Creative writing humbles him, and being humbled makes him reckless.
Teaser:
Damian Wayne is used to winning. He’s trained for war, raised on impossible standards, and taught that excellence is the bare minimum. So when a creative writing professor hands him a failing grade and tells him his work is “emotionally vacant,” Damian does what he always does: he searches for the weakness, the loophole, the solution.
The solution has a name: Blair Birch.
Blair is broke, overworked, sharp-tongued, and completely unimpressed with Wayne money. They agree to tutor Damian for one reason only: the paycheck is too large to refuse. But the tutoring sessions don’t stay academic for long. Damian notices the way Blair disappears the second time is up. The way they flinch at certain names. The way they sprint into the night like they’re outrunning something.
The campus has been whispering about a ghost.
Something moves in the upper windows of Chatsworth Hall. Things go missing. A “renovation” wing stays too quiet. Damian’s instincts insist it’s not supernatural. It’s sloppy. It’s human.
And when Damian starts pulling at threads, he finds Blair at the center of more secrets than either of them can afford.
Because Blair is hiding a life. Damian is hiding a mask. And Gotham has never been kind to people who carry secrets alone.
Vibes / Comparisons
If you like:
Pride & Prejudice-style tension (class clash, assumptions, grudging respect turning into obsession)
academic rivals / tutor dynamics
Gotham noir atmosphere, “haunted building” rumors, and mystery breadcrumbs
slow burn romance with sharp dialogue and softer moments earned the hard way
So I made this blog like 14 months ago and then sort of abandoned it. I just hit more of a turbo depression than I even realized and I just couldn't really even fathom actually posting. About 6 weeks ago I started reworking my old story on here and I think the new work will be better and more importantly I'll feel better about it. So here's hoping that I kill the gremlin who eats my will to share my work on the internet and fully regain control of my thoughts.
So my college finals really kicked my ass. I'm in the process of updating the story and I have a few other ideas in the works too. I'm planning on having the update within a week.
“Does anyone here know the importance of giving honest feedback to your fellow writers?”
(Y/N) looked at the whiteboard in front of them transfixed.
“No one? Ok, so to give good feedback…”
The energy required to answer the professor, Ms. Miller was practically nonexistent. Last night was spent working at the gas station and the hours prior to class working at Café Al-Fajr. They began wringing their hands together to stay awake and it wasn’t having much of an effect. It wasn’t that Literary Criticism and Theory was boring, in fact this class is a current favorite, (Y/N) had simply been burning the candle at both ends.
“I need a night off soon.”
They shifted their gaze to watch the students walking past the windows of the building. A deep scowl and narrow eyes marked their expression darkly. Two girls walked by giggling passing three guys jumping around showing off for them. It pained them to admit it but (Y/N) was practically a misanthrope. To them absolutely nothing was worse than seeing people being so carefree at Gotham University. (Y/N) had to work incredibly hard just to get to Gotham City let alone to be able to enroll here. They couldn’t understand how hard they worked to pay off the ridiculously high payment plan per semester.
“Alright that’s it for today, remember to upload the feedback for each of your classmates before next week’s Thursday class.”
They sound of shuffling papers, bags, and footsteps muffled Ms. Miller's announcements as the class began to quickly evaporate out of the room. Just as (Y/N) was about to head to the door Ms. Miller softly spoke up.
“Excuse me (Y/N) could I spare a few moments of your time?”
They nodded at her direction and walked slowly to close the gap between the two of them. It made them nervous to be asked something so entirely random and out of the blue like this. What sort of shit could this be? Opposite of (Y/N) Ms. Miller smiled sweetly as she was holding on to some sort of paper. It was more nerve wracking to imagine someone delivering bad news with a smile. Once (Y/N) stood in front of her and took a deep breath Ms. Miller tried clearing the air.
“Oh no (Y/N) everything is fine! I just wanted to ask if you are interested in helping someone.”
“Oh, what do they need help with?”
“So I have a student in another one of my classes who isn’t doing so hot right now. He puts in a lot of effort but he’s struggling to get a good grasp with writing. I know he could be doing better than he is if he had the right tutor”
(Y/N) inwardly groaned and outwardly exhaled. Jesus Christ not another time sink, they already had sparingly little time as it is. They would have to block out time from other work which was financially more lucrative than just the $12 payout for the hour of tutoring that the university provides.
“You want me to tutor him? I’m not sure I have the time for that.”
“Hear me out (Y/N) I recommended you specifically because you’re the best writer I have in class. I’ve never given out a grade as high as the one I gave to your last paper. Also when I spoke to him yesterday we discussed the cost and he’s willing to pay significantly more than the normal fee out of pocket himself.”
“How much more?”
“$100 per hour for a minimum of 3 hours of your time.”
“Shit”
(Y/N) wasn’t prepared for that, holy shit that was a lot of money. This guy had to come from one of the more loaded families around here. For that kind of cash it wasn’t a lot of work at all to tutor some spoiled brat.
“I told him that you worked part time and might not be available otherwise and that’s what he offered. Great right?”
“Yeah, tell him I’ll do it.”
Ms. Miller hands them a notebook and a pen.
“Just put your contact info here and I’ll hand it to him after class today.”
(Y/N) scribbled it down on the paper and waved to Ms. Miller before hastily retreating out of the door.
Damian Wayne was a master of many things. Before he was a teenager he’s already perfected his skills as a detective, pilot, hacker, medic, and business. He was an expert in quite a few fighting techniques and weapons as well as a trained assassin. To put it plainly Damian is a genius, a fact that he’s well aware of. Damian was so secure in his abilities that the shock of the paper’s grade in front of him hit him like a hollow point bullet. The 66% in bold red letters went right through him. He’d never received a grade THAT low before in his life. He’d have to put in effort on the upcoming short story assignment. He put in a few hours working on something he was proud of and turned it in confidently. The grade of 72% menaced him greatly, what was he doing wrong? For the essay assignment he had put in days and all nighter even taking himself off of patrol for the night. His absolute best effort possible could only net a measly 77%, why was this so hard?
Immediately after he received that grade he approached Ms Miller after Tuesday's English 201 for an explanation. She had generously gone over the work and her feedback for Damian in a way that made it hard for him to blame her for giving him the grade. To compare his story to the top grade she pulled out a printed copy of (Y/N)’s short story Needled and asked him to read it to see what essence he was missing. It only took a few pages for him to see that this one was written in ways he couldn’t have thought to express. His story compared to it was like the work of a child.
Damian asked what he could do to improve his grades. It was early October and he had to act fast to turn it around to preserve that 4.0 gpa. His response to her suggestion was to scoff. Tutoring? Him? No, he taught others around him and he was above the average college student. Unexpectedly she made an offer that intrigued him, she could arrange for him to receive instruction from the author of that story. Well, if the instruction was from someone more masterful it couldn’t sting too badly. He offered up extra cash to sweeten the pot and Ms. Miller said that she would get back to him by next class if they accepted.
He walked briskly and with purpose to class today, hopeful to be told some good news. Damian weaved in between groups of people moving throughout Lockhart lecture hall effortlessly ignoring other students calling out for his attention. He was never in the mood to socialize with the hangers on but he didn’t have the patience to fake it. That’s another skill his father had that was superior over his own abilities. He wondered if the forbearance of the public facing Bruce Wayne fueled the brusqueness of the Batman. All those thoughts cleared away once he was in front of Ms. Miller’s desk.
“Hello Damian! They agreed to help you, I got their contact info right here.”
“Excellent, thank you.”
Damian went to sit before Ms. Miller spoke up again.
“Just to warn you (Y/N) is a bit rough around the edges but they are really passionate about writing. Don’t get too discouraged.”
Damian nods and heads to his seat, what the hell was that about? He looked down at the sprawling handwriting for (Y/N)’s contact. He thought, so good at typing but poor handwriting huh? After deciphering the phone number he sent the friendliest text he could come up with.
“Hello (Y/N) my name’s Damian. Do you have any free time soon for tutoring? Preferably sometime after 5pm but before 11pm?”
Much to his surprise his phone vibrated quickly with a response.
“I’m going to be working the next two evenings unless you want to meet up tonight. I stay pretty busy so you’ll have to make time to match my schedule.”
He blinked at the response, I suppose he was warned. He wondered what you were like in person.
“Tonight is fine. I’m reserving private study room C for us in Chatsworth Hall at 7pm.”
He completed the reservation online and sent (Y/N) a copy of it.
“Ooh fancy. Fine, I'll be there. Although you should really ASK if a time/place is ok with a person BEFORE you book something. Don’t be late.”
He smirked reading that response from (Y/N). He couldn’t wait for their face go white when he walked in the door. It was always highly amusing to watch someone feel so superior before ultimately groveling at his feet. Tonight was going to be very interesting.
The clock on the wall ticks forward steadily, its unrelenting pace a constant reminder. (Y/N)’s eyes focused on the face of the clock. Sitting inside of study room C (Y/N) had unpacked and made themselves comfortable with their notes neatly around their laptop. 7:12pm. He’s late but at least if he doesn’t show up the room is still booked to work in. Although (Y/N) could really use that extra cash right now. They could have used that cash to ration out groceries for weeks, maybe even longer. (Y/N) was wrapping up work on the feedback for one classmate when the knob of the door turned.
7:16pm. Of course some vigilante complications would have to happen today. Damian had been a few blocks away earlier and spotted some of the Joker gang destroying a retail shop. The assault to their skulls didn’t take long but waiting for GCPD did. From the clues he could gather of the goons this was the start to some Joker shenanigans. That would have to wait though, regardless of what the appointment was Damian hated to be late. What excuse was he gonna use? Car trouble, business meeting, traffic, or maybe a medical emergency?
The door opens and Damian sees who (Y/N) is for the first time. They are smaller than he is but gender neutral in appearance. A large oversized hoodie envelopes their body with the hood over their head and a beanie. Nails painted a shiny black to match the overall look. He opened his mouth to give his chosen excuse of absence.
“I don’t want to hear it, whatever the reason for you being late I’m still charging you for the whole hour.”
Damian raised his eyebrow at them. They haven’t even looked up from their laptop at him, hands furiously typing away at some project. He stood there waiting to make eye contact with this person. Instead all he could look at were the amalgamation of cartoon stickers on the front of the laptop.
“That’s fine with me.”
(Y/N) looked up and met the green eyes of Damian Wayne. Their neutral expression melted into a more irritated look and they stopped typing.
“You got the cash?”
“Yes-”
“Let me see it.”
Damian takes out his wallet and hands (Y/N) $300 in cash. They count it and quickly pocket it with great speed.
“So are you gonna sit down or what?”
If anything (Y/N) had to have gone from curt to rude from seeing him in person. He moved over and took the seat directly next to them. Perhaps they were some hick from the sticks who didn’t have a face for the name yet. He stuck out his hand for a proper introduction and awaited the flushed look of embarrassment surely to follow.
(Y/N) looked at him and left his hand hanging there.
“I know who you are. Are we working on your writing or not?”
“What’s your last name?”
“It’s irrelevant, I read through the last three assignments you turned in and made some notes for you”
Damian was transfixed in that moment inside of the study room. This nobody was talking to him the way he treats a weak opponent. Would you talk to him like that if you knew how many people he sent to an ICU let alone killed in the past? Beyond that he hoped you knew how stupid it was to talk to a customer like that.
“So Damian you have a pretty strong grip on your vocabulary. The words are used correctly but sometimes you overwrite in a few places and then suddenly stop. The overall tone of your work is lacking and it feels kind of like a paint by numbers piece.”
Damian scoffs at the comments (Y/N) made at his work. Were they just trying to tear him down a notch?
“It’s not that bad. I’ve always done well before and I’ve read particularly bad writing before.”
“It’s not that it’s objectively the worst thing ever written, it’s just that it says absolutely nothing.”
“I turned in an essay on the importance of creative writing and I explained the importance of creative writing. What more was there to say?”
He leaned in to look into their eyes and examine their countenance. His voice was booming with authority and he felt the urge to watch them wither. (Y/N) matched their gaze and returned the attitude in kind.
“You used a bunch of middle school writing cliches and repeated the same idea multiple times until you got the word count. These same exact opinions are reworded from the top three results of the Google search on the importance of creative writing. Are you here to argue with me or learn something?”
He found himself growing confused about his current feelings. Damian’s incense at (Y/N)’s audacity was annoying like a fly that needed to be swatted down. On the other hand there was a spark of excitement and curiosity. How far could this go? (Y/N) however found themselves growing more vexed by the second. Who asks for help and acts this way? Daddy’s little pompous asshole, that’s who.
“I do want you to help me”
“Okay. Read over my notes and rewrite this paragraph here and let’s see how it is. I can give you advice and some pointers while you work”
Damian parsed through the notes and began writing a few sentences and promptly scratching them out. He looked over at (Y/N) typing away curious as to what they were doing. Maybe they were grading him already or writing about him on some trashy gossip forum?
“What are you working on (Y/N)?”
They answered without looking up at him for a second.
“I’m working on feedback for my classmates to post, why do you need help?”
“No I was just curious”
“You should try to concentrate on your own work, you don’t have anything at all right now.”
Silence filled the room with an almost palpable presence, as if it was a part of the tutoring session. He decided to try out the “people skills” he observed from Dick and his father to make small talk. After all, he had to find out why you disliked him so much. He tried his best friendly smile and leaned in a bit closer.
“So is writing a big passion of yours? Are you majoring in English?”
(Y/N) stopped typing and rested their hands gently on the table. They slowly turned over to meet his eyes. This was teetering on the edge of a breaking point for (Y/N). They knew exactly why he was here now and what he wanted.
“Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Damian Wayne. I don't write assignments for anyone. Many spoiled babies before you have tried and gotten nowhere. You will get nowhere. If that’s all you wanted from me you can leave. I’m keeping the cash though.”
Damian’s eyes widened and he sat back into the chair.
“You think I’m trying to buy an assignment from you? No, I’m not.”
The silence deafened the room and overwhelmed the two of them. First the pair looked at each other sharply but it didn’t take long before it was obvious to any observer that both were uncomfortable. Damian decides to be the bold one and shatter the stillness like glass.
“Truthfully, I hate not doing something well. It bothers me to not be the best at this like every other subject. I wanted to learn from you because I read your work. It’s…… adequate. Since you are the best here I’m going to learn from you and then I’ll write something that crushes you.”
Damian neutralized his expression with practiced ease and waited to see your response. He wanted to see (Y/N) crack. Instead he saw a thin smile and their eyes rolled.
“That’s a pretty lofty goal for someone who’s trying to break a B but let’s see how far we can get you there.”
And just like that the study session took on a new life. (Y/N) and Damian discussed the paragraphs he wrote, covered some notes, and overall made a bit of progress. Soon the clock chimed for 10:00 and the session was over. As they both packed up their things Damian spoke up.
“So you are working the next few days right? Let’s pick this up again on Sunday.”
“There you go again making plans-”
“I’ve already booked it and I have cash. Is there a problem?”
“Only because you're paying over 8 times the university rate.”
(Y/N) made a move to exit before Damian abruptly stopped them dead in their tracks with his voice.
“It’s late (Y/N) allow me to walk you home.”
“Nope, not gonna happen.”
(Y/N) practically bolted out the door and out of the library at a pace Damian didn’t imagine them capable of. He felt his instincts hum in the back of his mind, something was off here. What were you hiding from him? (Y/N) is another flavor of the week mystery for him to solve and he decided he’d crack the case.
The Writing on the Wall (Adult! Damian Wayne x AFAB Reader) pt. 0
Hello! This post is just to give some background info for the fic I’m writing.
It’s a sort of enemies to lovers and pride and prejudice style work. Eventually it will contain smut but it’s gonna be a slow burn. The reader starts tutoring Damian when he finds himself struggling to express himself in his writing. I plan on having one big romance but with multiple characters flirty with the reader. The ages are gonna be moved around for our BatFam to make the boys closer in age.
Bruce: 50
Alfred: 73
Dick: 35
Barbara: 35
Jason: 30
Cassandra: 28
Tim: 25
Stephanie: 25
Damian: 19
Y/N: 20
Just to explain a bit about the reader:
Reader is sort of gender fluid but prefers to be femme presenting. They are written with gender neutral pronouns though so I guess anyone can put what they want there. The reader will have some physical details revealed such as scars. Also some unique hair styles/colors. Reader is sort of a music snob and will have many specific music interests in rock/metal bands. Reader has many practical hobbies as well as a trauma related upbringing.
