Disclaimers: use of y/n, no gendered terms for reader, no real romance but maybe later down the line for the story, not following any real comic lore, just my brain, lowercase because I'm lazy, reader is over Bruce's shit but he hasn't even begun. Reader does not know who batman is below the mask yet
note: reader has a non specific physical disability that affects their knee strength. they use an ambulatory cane on high pain days, but can walk without it. this is purely self indulgent.
you sit, staring up at the looming shadow in front of you, only illuminated by the streetlight behind him. not even the desk lamp you were hunched over could reach is face, but then again he was a wall of a man.
"i trust you can make it for him?"
you blink, dumbfounded, "i mean, yeah i can make it, but with little due respect, that,” you point, “is a child! he's like, 10 and you want me to make him a suit?!"
"I'm 12!" the small boy shoots up, bouncing over from the display wall of buttons and trims, coming over to rest his head on your desk.
"I-hun, that doesn't make it any better," you sigh. you don't want to break this little boys heart, but can you really endorse a child going out to fight crime? even if under the wing of the batman?
speaking of, batman leans further into the light, either to intimidate or level with you, but at this point you've moved passed any point of fear. you've seen this man in just a cowl and boxers to draft several patterns, he has nothing on you. and you know he hates it.
"you will be paid more than fairly, just name your rate"
"4 billion"
"done"
"wait, what?" you were being facetious, but from the half of his face you could see, this man was not playing. how the fuck does this man make money?
while processing this, batman had already pulled out a check book. you dive over the desk, "no, nononono no, B, i was kidding i wasn't serious, i just... do you have any plans..? inspiration..? a starting point..?" i can't believe i'm agreeing to this.
"I DO I DO!! Here!" the kid shoved a drawing in your face. it was one of those print outs to decorate a ginger bread man you’d see in school libraries, but had the brightest crayon colours all over it. a big banner covered the top of the page, in very neat writing, but still with the charm of a child's hand . it read 'robin' with 'hood' scratched out beside it. with green shoes, a big yellow cape, a hat with a feather, a red tunic and-
"what colour did you want the pants to be, hun?"
"I don't want any! i want a leotard!"
you sit, silently blubbering like a fish. once you had some semblance of comprehension, you immediately flick to the bat.
you're letting him go out, with no pants? the amount of time over the last 3 years you've spent with him, he should be well aware of what you say with your eyes.
and he was.
and he did nothing about it. he had the audacity to shrug.
you right about jumped out of your seat to strangle this man. you don't care if you're knee gives out, and you really don't care who he was, he needed someone out there to smack some sense into him, and if it was you, it will be you (you would later find out that someone was trying to, but B is as stubborn as he is quiet).
"mm ok, how bout i cut you a deal, hun? can we settle on some tights?"
he thought about it. he thought hard about it. he thought so hard his face scrunched along with it. he thought so hard you were sure he had stopped breathing and was about to turn blue.
"kid, i ca-"
"OKAY!!" he almost nocks himself over with how aggressively he threw his head back. this is the kid the bat wants to take out? i mean, if this is the energy he has at 2am then i guess?
you really didn't know anymore. but you're not out there, and the crime has gone down since batman jumped on the scene, and you're not the one in the kevlar spandex suit.
no,
you just make the kevlar spandex suits.
But money's tight.
no one buys from a 26 year old sewist with student debts up to their ears. no one comes to a shop so close to crime alley to fix their high priced suits and dresses, or commission one, carting wads of money thieves can sniff on their collars.
money's tight.
so you offer up 800 dollars.
he's a small kid, it won't cost much on your side.
the bat slides you a check, one you've seen before. always anonymous, and always twice as much as you offer.
Hcs about Godbrand trying to teach sex ed using boat metaphors to his kid whom does not happen to understand or care about boats.
OK so I didn’t see this and it took weeks to come up with a boat metaphor about babies because I literally couldn’t think of anything
“Now when you build a boat”
“Never gunna do that but continue”
This was getting more frustrating by the second. Was he sure this was even his offspring? He looked back to see his lover stifling a laugh. Yeah. This had to be his kid. They shared his unruly red hair and brash attitude, they had his lovers eyes. He rubbed his temples and have a deep sigh.
“Okay sex is like boats.”
This made his beloved burst out in howling laughter. His eye twitches.
“Actually I want to hear this please go on dad.”
He was finna loose it soon.
“You won’t be in your little boat forever. Soon you’ll realize you’ve circled up with others, comfortably at anchor, jostling against each other quite companionably off the shores of that nonsensical, psychedelic land of toddlerhood. You’ll notice all the boats now look a lot alike. And when you find a nice shiny new boat that feels right you’ll want to go to the Captain seat and-“
“ OK what are you even talking about??”
“ if you would let me finish I could tell you.”
“ what are you even trying to explain first off you’re making no sense!!”
“BOATS MAKE BABIES”
“WHAT ARE YIU SAYING”
By this point his lover was on the ground laughing and crying holding there stomach. He sighed deeply. This was never going to work he was going to have to find a different approach.
“ I swear to God dad what does that even mean what do boats have to do with babies??”
Before he could answer his beloved was by his side. He did not want his child believing in any stork bullshit or any type of birds and bees. That was human nonsense and he didn’t need it.
“ well for one we both made you-“
“What.”
“ Number two how do you think children get here like I just want to hear what you think.”
They were silent for a while. He could almost here the cogs in their brain turning.
“You…. used magic??”
“ well it certainly is magical.”
He turns of them with a shocked face. Where they just gunna tell them they were fucking?? What is going on??
“ there are a lot of ways that children can be brought into this world but we asked uncle drac to use magic and bring you to life.”
“I KNEW IT.”
Godbrand looked at them with the most incredulous face he could muster
A/n: This was a challenge to write. I wanted him to seem protective and not possessive and that line is so thin. ugh Connor is just so dreamy.
word count: 1.6k-ish
warning: swearing
woah what is this -> masterlist
Connor was your befriends big brother. However, the thin line between “Big brother” and “husband of 50 years” was a thin one. So thin, Connor didn't realized he crossed it constantly with you.
Once when Zoe's had a sleep over with you, Jared,and Evan. Connor insisted that you sleep in his room. Just to make sure you were safe of course. He slept outside the door for maximum security measure. Connor always knew he needed to protect you. He thought Zoe was more then capable of defending herself,but you. You were a totally different story. He would go threw hell and back for you in a heart beat.
“Connor, I'm going to the party Friday. Did you wanna go?” Zoe asked from the backseat she was sitting at. Connor was behind the wheel, and you were sitting next to Zoe.
Connor groaned. “why do I wanna go to a party with dumb jocks?” he said trying not to let road rage over take him. The traffic after school was always the worst. Connor behind the wheel was even worst.
“Fine suite yourself. But anyways (y/n)” Zoe said turning to get a better view of you. “What are you gonna wear?” she asked seaming a bit too excited.
“well-” you started but got cut off by Connor.
“you're wearing some pajamas, and a hoodie. I can provide one for you if you don't have one because you don't need to dress fancy to stay home with me” he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“But Zoe gets to go! Why cant I!” you say.
“Zoe's going with Evan. Its uh- like a date.” he said
you groaned now. “So if I found a date I can go?”
the boy stayed quiet.
Zoe laughed at the frustration building on your face. “Connor! Who said I couldn't go?” you said as your face burnt up.
“I did! You didn't even ask!” he said with a cocky grin.
“Well Connor, can I go?” you ask in a sweet sing song voice.
“No” he said his tone soft and sweet.
Zoe laughed out loud now. Your hands were now in the air.
“we'll see about that!” you said getting out the car.
Connor looked at Zoe in disbelief.
The next morning Connor had already promised to take Jared and Evan to school along with you of course. First was your house. Connor would never let you wait on him. Zoe and you usually sat in the back together. Connor didn't mind because you sat behind him and he would peak at you threw the rear view mirror to make sure you were ok.
He pulled up to the Hansen household. He got in fidgeting as always. Next was Jared house.
it beckons upon Connor as he pulled into Jared drive way.
Jared opened the door. “nope. (y/n) get up here. Jared get in the back.” Connor said as Jared gasped dramatically. “but Connor you said nobody can sit in the passenger seat”
you said. Connor just looked at you pleading. “If he sits next to me, ill get a headache and then nobody is going to school.” you nodded and climbed into the front.
From that day forward it was now you official seat.
The way to school was agonizing long for Connors likening. There the car was, stuck at a red light. Connor wanted to curse. He wanted to scream. It was taking everything in him not to. The concerned look on your face stopped him. He placed a hand on your knee. You didn't question it one bit. Instead you smiled and placed a hand on top of his. A Blush coated his cheeks. He faced his palm up now, and interlocked your fingers together.
He calmed down instantly. His whole attitude changed. He was so relaxed. Everyone could tell you two were totally holding hands but decided to not say anything about it.
Zoe smiled wide from the backseat. She was so ready for the party. All week she had been talking about it. And to be quite frank you were getting tired of it.
“So Connor what will you and (y/n) be doing?” Zoe asked.
“ABC Family is having one of those Harry Potter Marathons. ” he said turning into your drive way. Zoe couldn't help but gush at the idea.
“Connor that's so cute I'm sure they'll love it.” she said. Connor smiled wide and goofly. The grin was enough to place one on your face when you jumped in next to him. You didn't ask about the reason for his smile.
You held his hand as usual. His hands were always so cold at first. “Ok Connor I know you said I couldn't go, but I got this new shirt and it's really nice and the party is a one time thing and-” you said talking as fast as you could.
“No.” he said not even looking at you.
“Come one please~” you said squeezing his hand softly.
Connor let go of your hand. Your heart sank to the pit of your stomach. You turned softly to face the window.
“why cant I ever do anything!” you ask nearly yelling.
Connor slammed on the breaks. “listen if you have an issue, then we don't need to talk.”
when you all got to school you were the first to get out. You would usually let Connor walk you to class but the anger was way too much for you. You were confused. You wanted nothing to do with Mr. Murphy for awhile. You had no idea why he had to be like this. He was always this way. So stubborn.
All day you avoided him. You didn't sit with him at lunch. In class you didn't speak a word to him. Connor was slowly breaking at the seams. He couldn't take it anymore.
You were at your locker. Connors locker was across the hallway from yours. Usually he would be stsnding by yours as you both waited on Zoe. Connor kept his distance. He knew not to step foot near you while you were mad.
Down the hall some random jock was walking your way. Without Connor next to you, nobody was scared to approach you. He walked down with confidence.
“hey (y/n).” he said as he begin to flirt with you. He was shameless. Your eyes darted across the hall to see Connor already balling his fist. His knuckles slowly going white. He was hearing every single word this guy was saying to you. He couldn't stand it.
The jock blocked you from walking away when you tried to. You weren't having any of is words.
“so cutie, you need a ride home?” he said smirking.
Just as you were gonna answer, a pissed off Murphy stepped in front of you and him. “No asshole. They don't.” he said said pushing you back slightly.
“what did you call me?” the jock said in near disbelief that anyone talked to him that way.
“I called you an 'asshole'” Connor said looking the boy up and down. They stood at eye level with each other. The jock was only slightly more built but that never intimidated Connor. The jock took a step forward, inching closer to Connor. He wanted to explode.
“want me to teach you a lesson Murphy?” the jock said as he shoved Connor. Connor took a few steps back before his fist came flying at the jocks face. His fist hit him strait in the nose. Blood pouring down the jocks hand as he felt to see if his nose still existed.
Connor gripped your hand. “Come on (y/n)” Connor said as he spat on the floor next to the bleeding boy.
Anger still was built into the boy as you both made your way to the car. You didn't speak. You didn't want to make him anymore upset then what he already was.
The car was silent.
“I done want you to go because I want to protect you. From assholes like that jock. I want to make sure you're ok” he said clutching the steering wheel.
“you're the only person I've ever gave a shit about, and I don't want you taken away from me” a tear rolled down his cheek. He avoided eye contact.
You reached around and started to unzip his hoodie. He gritted his teeth a bit. “what the hell are you doing?” he said pulling into the drive way.
“you said you would provide a hoodie for me, right?” you said looking up. His face a short distance from yours. A blush kept on his face as he nodded.
You slipped the hoodie off of him and placed it on, zipping it up in accomplishment. “I'm not going anywhere Con” you said as he turned to hold you. Arms snaked around you so lovingly. He breathed into you.
“So are we going to sit here or what? I think Harry Potter is on.” you said. He looked down at your smiling face. He melted inside. You smiling in his hoodie. He couldn't help himself. This sight was too much. He reached down and cupped your face. He inhaled deeply as kissed you deeply.
You faded into a kiss that seamed like it lasted forever. He nibbled at the bottom of your lip before his phone stared to ring.
Split Seams and Stitch Pickers - Gotham's Sewist | Bruce Wayne x GN!Reader
Series Masterlist
Summary: After the whole babs was shot, dick confides in reader, saying he doesn't want to live as an extension of batman his whole life.
Reader is 31, Dick is 18/19
Cw: kinda angst, dick has a panic attack and reader helps him the way I am helped through attacks by my mum, so it will not apply to everyone, dad issues.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Never in your life would you have expected to be a parent. You didn't really see that in your plans for the future.
You never hated kids, but never were over consumed with baby fever either. You just made sure the ones around you felt safe in your presence and left it at that.
Most came and went, knowing you as someone to patch them or their clothes up if need be. And when they grew up, turning into teenagers, their angst claimed independence from all adults, including you. But you took it to no heart, knowing they'll come back as formed adults if need be. No harm no fowl.
But somedays, when the teenagers come to you for solace, you absorbed every drop of parental knowledge from every ancestor before you, just to help them.
+++++
"Richard, Hun, I need you to breathe."
Dick arived at your door in shambles. Half his Robin suit on, one shoe completely missing, and gloves definitely on the wrong hands. He was hyperventilating, shaking and crouched in the doorway to the alley, muttering something along the lines of 'needed to get out'.
"He... he doesn't want... he said I... he..." Dick couldn't stop, mind running a mile a minute while you try to assess and assist.
Okay, step one.
You grab under his arms, moving him quickly onto your carpet instead of the wood and metal edge of the door. You may not be as strong as him, but when adrenaline takes over you can throw yourself in their with the best of them. The tension in his legs gives out, resigning him to choked sobbing on the floor. You pull off his gloves, mask and cape, and bundle them in his arms for him to grip instead of pulling at his skin. He does.
Good, step two.
You grab a cup of ice from the kitchenette fridge, and a water with a straw. You hold both out to Dick, having him make the choice himself. He chooses the ice, taking a shaking hand full of cubes and putting them in his mouth.
You wait for a minute, for his breathing to even out, and for him to calm his nerves just enough to stop shaking. He does, just a little.
Okay, now step three.
You hobble up your stairs, grabbing the soft blanket and pillow off of the chair that sits just infront of the landing. You scoot back down to Dick who has now grabbed the water and is drinking it slowly through the straw. You kneal before him, pulling his head to your shoulder, wrapping the blanket around him, and stuffing the pillow behind. You lean him back over, his hand still grip the sleeve of your hood.
"Okay Hun, can you see the stairs?"
He nods, eyes blinking the tears away.
"Good good, can you see my shoulder?"
He nods again.
"Can you see your nose?"
"Yeah.." he gulps, putting the now empty glass on the floor, still gripping you with his other hand.
"Brilliant Hun, now can you see the big red dog?"
"No?" He chuckles, not sure if he should be seeing it.
"Ah, so I'm the crazy one. Good to know." You laugh.
+++++
After moving to the couch in your studio foyer, you and Dick talked about all kinds of bits and bobs, you consciously not bringing up any topic involving hero's or parental figures, having a gut feeling that won't go down well.
As his sniffles subside, the young adult that was hidden behind childhood tears emerged, leaving you to pick through to the rationality admits the emotions to talk through it.
"You ready to talk about it?"
+++++
Each breath keeps him going, expressing the torment he's been feeling towards his work for a while.
"I want to keep going, I-I like saving people...but... his status and serioisness, is like- I don't want that. I don't want to be him... I'm scared of loosing myself in that... suit. Batman is so different from Bruce it... it scares me sometimes."
You pull him closer, gently leaning his head on your shoulder.
"But I don't want to hurt him... maybe I should just stay Robin... take his mantle... keep quiet," He mumbles, hut you snap up.
"No. Kid, never reside yourself for what you think others want. You are not him, Hun, and no one expects you to be. You are his son, and he loves you, but that doesn't mean he want's you to be beside him your whole life. He may not see it, or say it, or fuck even know it, but it's good for both of you to have separate acts- split the seams, if you will."
Dick chuckles, whiping his tears on the back of his hand. He gently pushes his head into your shoulder, as you bring your hand to ruffle his hair.
"Thank you," he whispers, for you to hear or not. He doesn't need to say it loud, he just needed to say it.
He wasn't used to not taking instructions, but it felt good.
+++
Eight weeks later, you're sifting through your mail. It's not common you get anything other than business inquiries and utility bills, but a news paper isn't common. Especially one from a different city.
But there, on the front page of the Blüdhaven Press, was their new hero,
Gothams Sewist- Those aren't yours | Bruce Wayne x Reader
Masterlist
Reader & B are 32 and Jason is 12.
Was going to post a different story before this one but Tumblr decided to cannibalize my drafts so I lost most of the other one lol. (Yes I write everything in Tumblr, no I will not stop)
I never want children but I adore the baby Robins they are my children I love writing them ♡
Cw: mentions of Jason's parent/home life (drunken mum and criminal dad), mostly parental/paternal fluff.
reminder that the cannon of my fics are very susceptible to head cannons and ooc <3
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When Bruce met Jason, you were already well aware of who he is. Known to mend any item belonging to the kids and families who lived at the lowest rung of the ladder, you were familiar to Jason.
So when you watched the scrawny kid slink into the alleyway where you know the Batmobile was parked, you couldn’t help but go investigate.
“Jason Peter, what are you doing?” You lean against the brick. Scolding isn’t your strong suit, so you relied on the blank faced ask to plant some hesitation in Jasons head.
“Heeeyyyy Y/N! ‘Aven’t seen you in a while, what’s up?” He’s been playing coy around you ever since he was small. When his mum first brought him past the store to patch a hole in his favourite snow jacket, he shyly hid behind her. But her legs couldn’t hide the cheek painted across his face, or curious eyes that seeped up every inch of your studio. He shot up when you asked him if he wanted to pick a patch out of your embroidered embellishments, and he picked the pumpkin. And that’s where the name stuck.
“Pumpkin, are you stealing the tyres off of the Batmobile?” And absolutely he was, no doubt about it. He had set up a jack and everything. Too smart for his own limitations.
The fight in his face was obvious. To persuade, prolong, or profess to you, but he picked the most Jason answer,
"Nah! Never!"
Sarcasm.
You give him a 'we-both-know-what-you're-doing-right-now-so-quit-it-or-I'm-throwing-you-over-my-shoulder-and-dragging-your-ass-to-the-studio' look, but he flicks back to the wrench and tyre. You roll your eyes, opening your mouth to say something, but before you could, you heard the all familiar flap of fabric.
"What are you doing?" Batman funnels his intimidating dad voice into speaking to Jason, briefly noticing your presence. If he really clocked your presence as your presence, then he didn't show it.
"I don't know, what does it look like I'm doing?" The mouth on that kid would get him in serious trouble one day. All alley kids used a smart mouth and words to their advantage, talking themselves in and out of situations, but Jason used it as a shield. You just hope the day that shield fails is one where you're in arms reach.
"Those aren't yours, Son. I'd recommend that you put down the tool and head home with your friend here." Ah, so he really didn't clock who you where. Truth be told, as smart as B is, he becomes tunnel visioned when faced with a kid. You've seen it, when he interacts with children at galas as Bruce, or as Batman on the streets, he inherently takes on a paternal role. It's cute, you think, but B is yet to face a child disinterested in him. Until now.
"Ugh. One, don't call me son, and two, you weren't using 'em. It's free game." Jason turns his back to the Batman, repositioning the wrench and going back to it.
You knew you weren't ment to endorse this attitude, but God was it funny to see the look of baffled disappointment from Bruce, even with the cowl blocking half his face. You couldn't help it, chucking to yourself. The sound keyed Bruce into who you actually were, turning to you for help to stop the 12 year old from stealing his tires.
You shrugged, noting that 'no, I'm not gonna solve this for you, do it yourself Bruce'. So you watched as Bruce crouched forward, inching like a cat sniffing the air.
Jason knows when he has an upper hand, and your trick is to never act above him. Treat Jason as an equal, and he'll offer you respect. Act like you have authority over him, especially as a stranger, get knocked on your ass from his snippy tongue.
"Kid, I'm begging you, stop stealing my wheels," Bruce pleaded, actually getting onto his knees beside Jason.
This grown man,
was pleading,
To a child.
Shit, I'm so glad I came over here this is so funny.
Jason though it numerous too.
"Begging eh? What do I get if I stop?" Jason, always one to swindle. Raised to do so by that sleaze that he unfortunately calls a father. You have your opinions on how kids are raised, but you bight your tongue to keep your head, and offer refuge to as many kids as possible.
"how about dinner? whatever you want, and a tour of the Batcave," B counters, folding his hands on his knee. You'd seen him sit that way before, when talking to Dick.
The poor man's lonely... and is trying to adopt another kid. Infront of your eyes.
Hmm.
Jason, always the opportunist, proposes, "throw in a bath and i may consider it."
That stunned B, his shoulders dropping a hair, but you suffocate a snicker.
You knew your Pumpkin liked a pamper. hot water burning away the alley grime. But the one bedroom his family resides in is cheap, and hot water isn't to be waisted on a child. So, it's a bimonthly occurrence for him to be picking your window locks to sneak into your shower. You've cornered him before, asking why he feels the need to sneak in, but all he'd give you is a shrug and "i just like being clean".
It took you a while, but seeing how he would put his shoes in your laundry every time, you've leant that the the dirt on his shoes reminds him too much of the dirt and blood on his fathers.
Jason now has a set of towels embroidered with pumpkins that live in your drawer.
"Uh... sure, whatever you want, kid. Just leave my tyres alone," B grovels, "You can extend that invite to your friend, if you desire."
in response Jason recoils, cringing at how proper the Batman sounded. Never does it come off right to act rich in front of an alley kid.
"riiiiighttt... eh, whatever, they can come if they want I don't care." In a second, Jason is up on his feet, and crawling into the passenger seat of the Batmobile, leaving you and Bruce together in lonesome.
Calmly, B tightens the lugs on his car, and you push forward examining him. No matter how he hides in the suit, you still pick up on the shakes, the tired lines, and the deep sighs that wrack whenever he looked at Jason.
Whenever he looked at Dick.
Once finished with the car, Bruce stands, tools in hand, and turns to you; a silent offer.
instead of acknowledging it, you provoke, saying what's been on your mind since he swooped in,
"You're lonely."
Always on the defence, Bruce flattens, "I'm not, Robin just wanted to-"
"Nah now I didn't say it was because of Nightwing, but now you bring it up, I'm pretty sure you just tried to adopt a street kid in front of me. one who has parents, mind you." although it wouldn't be the worst thing to separate him from them.
Bruce heaves, falling into the casual stupor he sports with you, "I was not, I just wanted my tyres back."
"mm, okay. But just so you know, it's okay to be upset about having an empty nest, all parents go through it."
Bruce turns away, heading to the drivers door. with one last look, he asks, "are you coming?"
You shake your head, and wave at the Jason shaped figure looking at you through the black out windows. "No, I've said what I need to. Jason knows that my door is always open for strays, and I hope you do too."
your words held more weight than you'd realise, settling roots deep into him, and chewing at all thoughts that plague his mind.
I'm having quite a lot of fun setting up this story.
if you can't tell, Jason is my favourite boy to write for (all time fave is Steph), and so I took a few educated and creative liberties on what story to follow for him :)))
Gotham's Sewist - Medical malevolence | Bruce Wayne x Reader
Masterlist
this is self indulgent writing about accessibility.
cw: swears, canon typical violence, disability and medical talk, reader accidently runs over their thumb nail with the sewing machine (from experience, hurts like a bitch), no blood just pain,
Not proof read in the slightest.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It's been about 7 months since Babs' run in with the Joker, but it still made you sick. how disgusting that clown is, that if you could, he would be 60 feet under in several pieces. but this isn't about you, and instead you have to leave all the vengeance to Batman, who, in all honestly you're not very happy with. you know he's doing what he thinks is best and what matches his moral code or whatever, but one exception would be nice. the world would be safer if the Joker wasn't running around.
but noooo! no killing never ever!!
you scoff, rolling your eyes at Bruce's nonsense.
no one really said anything about you knowing, but you're aware that at least Bruce and Alfred know you know. neither want to directly address it, the former being stubborn, and the latter recognising it's not his place to talk, but unlike B, Alfred will crack a joke in the most serious way, that half the time you're unsure if he knows what he's doing.
Doesn't mean he's off the chopping block. if Bruce wants to hold his morals over the safety of the kids he's putting in the line of fire, then fine, be that way, but he better put that damn clown in maximum security prison or so help him you will be coming for his ego and dying his suits pink. fill his pockets with glitter. maybe eve-
FUCK!!
you rip your hand back, causing further pain as your thumbnail tears. that's what you get for not paying attention while sewing, I guess. you roll back from your desk, and push the wheeled chair over to your shelf where your first aid kit sits. you mostly use it when visiting the street kids, so it's stocked to the brim with fun and bright band aids. you pull out a Miffy one, wrapping it around your thumb. just as you're disposing of the paper, the bell above your door rings. it's mid day, so randoms coming off the street isn't uncommon, but the rando in question is well welcome.
"hey Babs, how we hanging?"
"eh, sub par. i expect you to know the feeling," Barbra Gordon wheels in, her dad parked in his cruiser outside. Jim hadn’t introduced himself to you in the early days, but since the accident, he comes to you for advice. He felt very out of his depth when all of a sudden he has to rip up his hand made deck to install a ramp, add slopes to every ledge, and navigate Gothams lack of healthcare and physical therapist. He knows the system, sure, but always knew it at a distance. But now, his daughter was thrown into the thick of it, and he felt helpless. To begin he was just asking the basics; what was the best way to alter his house, who were making the better mobility aids, what PT would you recommend? But about 2 months a go, he came to your store, puffy and red in the face, with Babs in her latest surgery. He collapses on the couch in the store front and cried, gutted by how guilty he feels being tired.
Now you call him every other week, just to make sure he doesn't boil over again.
"Know it too well, babe, " you push your chair back past the table, towards the rack along the wall, pulling down the royal purple garment bag. You knew what you were doing. You flop it over the client chair you have, hooking it to your desk, and unzipping the front to reveal the stack of 3 outfits.
"Is that-?" Babs rolled closer, knees bumping the chair arm. She grazes her hand across the fabrics, scared to mark the pressed lapels.
"Your three, custom suits. All accesable with combinations of side zips, elastics, magnetic clasps, and breathable mesh panels in the back. Both sexy and comfortable.” You sell, but there’s no way you’re gonna take them back anyway, payment or not. But neither of the Gordons would do that anyhow.
Babs sighed, a whispy smile on her face. She grabs your shoulder, lightly shaking it. You know this is her way of saying thanks.
It becomes harder to express gratitude in a genuine sense. Being expected to say thank you every time a person does the bare minimum, like opening a door, or not obstructing the sidewalk. Being told that you have to be patient, with yourself, your body, and all the questions from others.
They're just curious, no harm no fowl.
But truly you couldn't care less to be patient for others.
And while new to the circumstances, you can't wait to teach Babs the confidence to tell people to fuck off.
"I can't wait to wear these, seriously," she praised, not taking her eyes off of the suits, "I don't know where I would be without you."
"Probably somewhere naked," you both laugh, but really, you feel the weight of her words resting in your chest.
It's a journey. A chronic, forever journey.
But never would you let her go it alone.
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This wrote more like a list of thoughts rather than a actual fic, but if you're reading this then I did something.
Big love to all the disabled baddies out there, from a disabled baddie myself ♡♡
how horrifying it is to run into. how you won't end up dead, but wish you would be. the incense, searing pain of shattered kneecaps, bruising skull, and white hot throbbing in your muscles never settling down, not even as the Gotham police department drag you off.
it's a good thing this shadow works against the criminals and not for, or Gotham would be a dead zone. not even goons would be able to survive that Gotham, only left for those who syphon energy from the shadows and perpetual overcast.
but that shadow figure, the one that lurks over roof tops? they're a good thing for the city.
but you do wish it would stopped watching you.
late nights are what you rely on to get your work done. the insomnia you developed for college didn't wade after graduation, and so you work best at night. which is fine for you. living amongst crime alley and high traffic areas, you think the paranoia would keep you up anyway, so its easier to work than lay there restless. but now, you cant concentrate with the beady eyes watching you from across the street.
The first few times you caught him staring, you debated going outside and yelling at him, shooing him like a stray cat. But you highly doubt he'd listen.
you know he's there. and you know he knows you know he's there. and you know its a man. or at least a man shaped being. you'd estimate him to be 6'4, with a bulk build, yet still sleak enough for him to flip around like you've caught him doing him doing, looking like a flea jumping around.
Maybe I could spray him with water.
Now, you feel as though he's just a curious kid, like the ones who come in with their mothers and watch you work to stitch up their raincoats.
But, you know, those kids aren't dressed head to toe in black, with a face mask and beanie on.
But the Shadow, who in your daze, had slinked his way into your store, is.
What the fuck
A cold steel feeling staggers though to your bones. Panic. Like a startled cat, or a cornered mouse. Your chest is tight. Your palms and spine feel cold with sweat, eyes prickling with tears of fear.
Fuck me an i going to die? When did he get in here? WHY is he in my shop?! Fuckk!
Bruce, while you sat panicked in your chair, was having his own conundrum.
He really didn't think he'd get this far, but he sorta blacked out and was suddenly in your store staring down a startled you. He's debated this many many times, and how reckless it is. He could just order the fabric himself and, with excessive help from Alfred, sew his suit himself. But he doubt Alfred would let that happen, already upset he hollowed out the back of the study to become the entrance for his cave of operations. So Bruce thought he'll commission a suit with an anonymous check and enough money on it to keep the sewist quiet. He then did extensive background checks on all those with open commissions in Gotham. He chose you because, well, you're quiet. You meet up with friends every other month, but only talk to your clients. Your online activity is strictly lurking, updating the businesses website with images of your work and general availabilities, but other than that, nothing social drives your interests.
Except your job.
So, logically, someone who is dedicated to the craft will not only make him a high level suit, but would also respect client privacy. And maybe, you might not...laugh.
"Holy FUCK ITS YOU! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY STORE??" your system seems to have caught up, and the adrenaline has circumvented to yelling. Not exactly a good response, but your knees aren't exactly in the condition to fight nor flight. So shouting it is.
"I," he swallowed, "I want to commission a suit."
"Uh... like a business suit..?" You approach, faced with an unpredictable personality infront of you.
He hums, "sort of. I desire it to be made of kevlar and steel, yet remaining light and flexible."
"I..., what do you plan to do in this suit? Fight cops?"
"Fight crime."
That gives you pause. Is he for real? I mean, business is dry this autumn, it'll give me something to do I guess.
"Well, um… d-do you know how expensive kevlar is? That could run me $200 a yard, and it's like 3 to 4 yards to make a suit for an average person. And, i mean this with respect, you are built far bigger than an average person." You finally meet his eyes, a steel blue challenging yours.
"My wallet is also built larger than an average person. I can cover all materials plus labor charges, don't fret, I just need to know if you can do it."
Now you really felt challenged. Who does he think he is?
You will come to find he who he is is your most loyal customer, in labour and love. But not for a good while. No, currently your stuck with the socially inept one.
"I have mock-ups; professional patterns drawn up, I just need someone with a talent for sewing."
You can't believe your doing this. Whoever taught you stranger danger is rolling in their grave, even if they're not dead. Your betrayal has killed them and buried them 6 feet under.
"I'll do it. Can I see the drafts?" Your posture finally returning to a professional level, clearing your desk, sweeping your hand to gesture for him to sit in the client chair. Maybe if he sat he'd be less intimating.
He was not. He slid a manila folder that he pulled out of no where over to you, hand clamped firmly on top, yet to let go.
"Um, can ya move your hand? So I can open it?"
"Just..." he hesitates, eyes distant, like he's about to rip it back from you and run away. He almost did. Almost. "Don't laugh. Please."
"Umm, okay?" Using a little more force, you pry the folder out from his hand, opening it with some fear in you, not sure why he was so afraid. Oh. Oh my god. Is he? Omg wait don't laugh omg oh-
"It’s a ba-"
"are you a fury?! Is that what this is?" You blurt. May said your loose lips would sink ships but how couldn't you ask. Bless her soul how right she was.
"No, I'm harnessing my fear to instil fear in others."
"So your afraid of furries?"
"Bats,” he grumbled, “I'm afraid of bats. When I was nine I fell down into a cave and was stuck with a colony of them. They bit and swarmed me until my dad came to pull me out."
"Oh! Oh, yeah. Yeah that makes sense. Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."
The silence stabbed you. You felt sick, you fucked up, making fun of him.
"I'll do it. I'll make the suit, just- I'll need the fabric payment upfront, cause I won't be able to buy the kevlar and-"
The man pulls out a slip of paper from the hood pocket. A check, anonymously signed. To be honest it was a lot more credible than the many wads of cash you’ve gotten before, all vaguely stolen looking, but don’t ask don’t tell i guess. But thee shadow handing you a check is one thing, the amount on it is another.
“this is so much money how do you..? Where? Who are you??” You tattle off, near a whisper. Your grandpa always said count in silence but he may have overlooked how literal you are.
He was much better at being silent, alike this man infront of you. A blank slate.
"Do I at least get a name from you?" You knew it was a stretch, but if he named himself then you could stop calling him names that generally unease you, like the shadow.
"Batman."
Never mind that was worse.
"No not doing that. Mmm could I call you B?"
He hummed, and you swore his cryptics are gonna kill you.
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Please do not copy, steal, or repost my work! Thanks!
