A list of things that are in fact cannon in my own little batfam world
- “Are we getting Jason’ed???” Something you say when you think you’re about to die by the hands of the joker.- Coined by Steph, when she thought she was gonna die at the hands of the joker with Tim. Is now used by everyone.
- WWRHD = What Would Red Hood Do?- was coined by Steph, is now used in every situation possible by every bat kid.
- Evil Baha Blast = The Lazarus Pit- was coined by Duke, when he thought that saying the actual name might trigger Jason. Jason laughed his ass off for about 10 minutes and has not called it by its actual name since.
Will continue this when I come up with more.
Edit: Hey y’all I just wanted to let you know that I stole all of these from random batfam media I have consumed, I didn’t come up with them. Love y’all tho thank you for over 10k likes that’s INSANE. Anyway byeeeee
Edit Number 2: @trixter-god I’m fairly sure I got the “are we getting Jasoned?” One from one of your skits on Tik Tok and I just remembered. credit where credit is due.
I am deeply enamored with the prompt where Danny gets mistaken for (or correctly identified as) some kind of pit creature—god, angel, demon, mermaid, eldritch problem, take your pick.
The rules are simple:
• Danny is a gremlin.
• Danny either has no idea who the hell keeps bathing in his pool, or
• He knows and is doing something specifically to be annoying.
Now consider this:
Danny discovers the Lazarus Pit.
Naturally, everyone else assumes he’s a creature of the Pit. A guardian. A god. A cursed spirit. A mermaid (he got the look). Danny does absolutely nothing to correct this.
But instead of the usual routes—destroying the League of Assassins, adopting Damian, picking a moral side—Danny just… starts chatting and continues to do so for centuries in their world.
Ra’s al Ghul becomes his pool buddy.
They talk while soaking in the Pit. Ra’s gives long, dramatic monologues about destiny, immortality, and the decay of the world. Danny listens politely, floating upside down, occasionally splashing, responding through some kind of ghostly translation magic that turns his very normal thoughts into something vaguely ominous and prophetic.
Ra’s: “The world must be cleansed to be reborn.”
Danny (meaning): “Yeah, stagnation sucks. You ever try bubble filters?”
Danny (translated): “All cycles end in rot, and rot demands renewal.”
Ra’s is thrilled.
Danny just thinks his pool buddy is neat.
Then one day Danny sees Ra’s with the Batfamily.
Danny, with complete sincerity, assumes this is Ra’s trying to invite his other friends to pool time.
So Danny tries to help.
He attempts to guide one of them into the Pit. It does not go well. There is screaming. There is grappling. There is Batman shouting about unknown entities and containment protocols.
Danny is confused. A little offended.
Still, every time he sees them after that, he tries again.
Not aggressively. Just:
• appearing out of the Pit like a horror movie mermaid,
“Enter the waters. The pool is warm. We are bonding.”
The Batfamily is convinced this is a recruitment ritual.
Ra’s is delighted.
Danny is just trying to get his friends to hang out.
——————-
POV: Ra’s al Ghul
In his first centuries, when Ra’s al Ghul was still learning what immortality cost, he met the creature.
Back then, the Lazarus Pit was wilder. Less refined. Less… tamed. Ra’s had only bathed a handful of times when, during one resurrection, the waters did not still.
They shifted.
Something surfaced with him.
Ra’s woke choking on life and madness, and found himself face to face with a being already awake, already watching him with mild curiosity—as if Ra’s were the strange thing in the pool.
The creature was young-looking, but not young. Luminous in the Pit’s glow, hair drifting like ink in water, eyes reflecting death without fear. It did not recoil from the Pit’s frenzy. It was not consumed by it.
It belonged.
Ra’s understood immediately: a child of the Pit, born from death repeated too many times.
The creature spoke.
Ra’s heard:
“You return too soon. The waters remember you.”
What it meant, in a voice filtered through strange translating magic:
“Wow, that was fast. You good, dude?”
Ra’s laughed. He could not help it.
From then on, Ra’s was never alone when he resurrected.
In those early centuries—before the League, before empires rose and fell beneath his feet—the creature would join him in the Pit. Sometimes already there, sometimes arriving halfway through Ra’s rebirth, as if checking on him.
It asked questions. Strange ones.
Why do you do this?
Does it hurt every time?
Do you ever take breaks?
The Pit twisted these into riddles and warnings. Ra’s heard prophecy. Doctrine. Judgment.
Ra’s answered honestly.
He spoke of saving the world, of cleansing corruption, of shepherding humanity forward. The creature listened, chin propped on its hands, occasionally nodding.
It responded with statements like:
“Endless renewal without rest fractures the soul.”
(which meant: “That sounds exhausting.”)
Ra’s took this as sacred counsel.
Centuries passed.
Ra’s refined the Pit. Controlled it. Built rituals, safeguards, entire philosophies around it. Through it all, the creature remained—unchanged, unaging, eternally informal.
Sometimes it vanished for decades. Sometimes centuries. But whenever Ra’s returned to the Pit, there it was again, greeting him like an old friend.
Back again?
—rendered by magic as—
“The cycle resumes.”
When Ra’s finally formed the League, he spoke of the guardian with reverence. He warned his followers not to disturb the waters unnecessarily. It was watched.
They obeyed.
Only much later—much later—did Ra’s bring outsiders to the Pit.
The bats.
——
Ra’s al Ghul has faced the Detective many times.
This encounter is no different: steel, smoke, accusations, inevitability. The Bat stands between Ra’s and the Pit, his allies fanned out behind him, tense and prepared. Ra’s is already calculating angles, exits, casualties.
Violence is imminent.
Then the waters of the Lazarus Pit ripple.
Ra’s freezes.
Slowly—deliberately—the guardian emerges.
Pale glow first. Then eyes. Then the familiar, impossible calm of a being that has watched Ra’s die and rise more times than any mortal ever should.
The Pit-spirit floats at the surface, blinking as it takes in the scene.
The bats.
The weapons.
Ra’s, poised to strike.
The creature tilts its head.
“Oh,” it says—though what Ra’s hears is something closer to:
“Conflict stains the waters before it begins.”
Ra’s does not move. He does not dare.
The bats, unfortunately, do.
One of them shifts, weapon raising half an inch.
The creature immediately misunderstands everything.
Its expression softens. Brightens. Recognition dawns.
“You brought friends?” it says, pleased.
Translated as: “The circle widens. New souls approach the threshold.”
Batman reacts instantly.
The creature reacts faster.
It glides closer to the edge of the Pit, extending a hand—not threatening, not aggressive, just inviting. Like one would gesture toward warm water on a cold night.
“Careful,” it says gently. “First time can be rough, but you’ll feel better after.”
Ra’s closes his eyes.
Of course this is happening.
Chaos erupts.
The bats scatter. Someone swears. Someone fires a grappling hook. The creature recoils, startled, nearly slipping back into the Pit.
It came with its own ecto pool! Yeah he had to build a filter because nobody had taken care of it in centuries but one toaster, half a microwave and a few pieces of a mixer later he could watch the filter putter around the pool while leaving fresh and clean ecto behind!
He even build a manual filter so he could scoop some ecto and drink it, add it as seasoning to his food.
Honestly running away wasn’t all that bad right now.
He even had a neighbor! Grundy was nice company even before he got to drink some clean ecto, made a really mean rat pot too!
Waylon was moody, but he eventually brought a nice couch and even helped Danny hang his hammock.
Sure he missed Sam and Tuck, as well as Jazz and her lectures. But one donated wayne phone, curtesy of a bat having lost one, and some ecto treatment later he could contact them on their fentonphones and still be safe from his parents.
He watched Frank (short for Frankenstein, get it because he’s The Monster) putter around and sighed. Jazz had been so regretful when his parents didn’t take the reveal well, and then he was given to the GIW while she couldn’t help.
His sister was pretty thankful, he was honestly just relieved, when the GIW turned out to be more like him than his parents.
It was the first time since his accident that he got a full check up, food that didn’t attack or poison him and even help with some questions the organization had regarding ghosts.
And since he was technically an endangered species they had hidden him until they could finish with proving his parents wrong, change the law and finally let him live his life.
So here he was now, calling his friends and sister every evening and doing online school while living underground with some funky neighbors.
This was an upgrade! No ghost fights, no weapons in his walls trying to fully kill him.
divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto
word count: 1.9k
synopsis: Damian would do anything to bring you back, no matter the consequences.
a/n: Am I back from my hiatus? Not sure, but I wrote this at 3 am and figured I might as well share it. This is angsty and dark, so don't say you weren't warned.
You had died in his arms.
He held you long after the warmth of your blood had cooled, his fingers sticky where they pressed against your red stained skin. They hadn't stopped trembling, Your final words—a fragile whisper of love that had barely reached his ears—now echoed endlessly in his mind, looping through the hollow silence.
He had been trained since birth not to weep. Taught never to yield, never to break, no matter the cost. But that night, all those lessons meant nothing, all of it fell away as he faced the consequences of his arrogance.
He hadn’t thought the criminal would go through with it. He’d thought he could stop it—that he could protect you, as he always had. But in a single, earth shattering instant, his certainty turned to horror and you were crumpling into his arms, your blood soaking through his gloves, warm and slick.
The man lay dead only a few feet away, his vacant eyes fixed on nothing. But Damian didn’t care. He could hardly remember killing him—the moment had passed in a blur of instinct and rage. All his focus, all his trembling desperation, was on you. On keeping you from bleeding out. But he was too late.
Damian’s tears slipped silently down his cheeks, falling to the marble floor where they mingled with the spreading pool of your blood. For once, he made no effort to hide his grief. The discipline drilled into him since childhood shattered in the face of loss, leaving only a boy broken open by love and the unbearable weight of that realization that he had been too late to save you.
It was unacceptable. You weren’t meant to be gone. Not you.
So, against all reason and every ounce of discipline beaten into him since childhood, he chose the unthinkable.
He went first to his mother. Talia’s lips thinned at his words, her gaze flickering with something between pity and pain. She had seen her son determined before—unyielding in battle, unflinching in blood—but never like this. Not with desperation cracking his voice and tears shining in eyes too much like her own. For a moment, she wavered. But even love has limits, and she knew what he asked would damn him far more deeply than loss ever could.
She refused, ignoring the way something in his eyes broke at her perceived betrayal.
So he went to the devil himself.
Damian knelt before Ra’s al Ghul—the man he had sworn never to bow to again. Pride, that sharp-edged armour he wore so fiercely, had been stripped from him. Damian’s voice trembled, cracking as he pleaded for access to the Lazarus Pit, for a chance to bring you back. He would give anything. Trade anything. His soul, his honour, his legacy—it meant nothing without you.
Gone was the arrogance that once laced every word, the cold composure that made him his father’s son. All that remained was a boy choking on grief.
And so, Ra’s granted his grandson what he desired. Not out of mercy, nor familial affection, but because he knew well the price of defying death, and he saw in Damian’s grief an opportunity—a chink in the boy’s unyielding armour. Love had made him weak, and weakness could be molded. If the consequences of seeing you brought back through the Lazarus Pit did not destroy him, it would remake him into the heir Ra’s had always envisioned.
The pit seethed like a cauldron of emerald fire, steam curling up the stone walls and clinging to the air like a living thing. Damian’s arms trembled as he carried you forward, his steps unsteady, his breath shallow. The heat rose in waves, the scent of brimstone and decay thick enough to burn the throat.
He hesitated at the edge.
“Al-mawt lā yastatīʿu an yaḥtafiẓa biki. Sa’arāki ʿāidatan ilā al-ḥayāh, walaw iḍṭarrartu an amzaqa as-samāwāt bi-yadayya.” The vow left his lips in a trembling whisper that echoed through the cavern’s hollow dark. Then, gathering what remained of his strength, Damian sank to his knees and lowered you into the pit’s churning depths.
The waters hissed when they touched your skin, swallowing you whole with a greedy, bubbling fury until there was nothing left—no body, no shadow, no trace of you at all. The pit had claimed you, and now he could only wait, praying it would choose to give you back.
He pressed his forehead to the cold stone, his voice breaking as he repeated the vow again and again—no longer a command, but a plea. Time lost meaning. The air grew thick with steam that burned his eyes and stung his lungs, yet still he did not move. His heart pounded in his chest, every beat a desperate call to yours.
Then, at last, the water broke.
Your body burst through the surface with a ragged, violent gasp, air tearing into your lungs like fire. Steam clung to your skin, dripping in rivulets of green-tinted water. For a moment, Damian could only stare—his chest caving with a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh. You were alive. He had you back.
But the joy curdled almost instantly.
Your eyes snapped open, glowing an unnatural shade of green—the same eerie hue that was permanent in his grandfather’s gaze, the same green that sometimes flickered in Jason’s when rage overtook him. A guttural scream tore from your throat, echoing through the cavern walls. It was almost inhuman from how raw it was.
You clawed at your own arms, nails raking through skin as if trying to tear something unseen away. Your teeth gnashed, bared like an animal cornered and feral. Damian moved toward you, desperate, whispering your name, words of comfort breaking apart in his throat. He reached for you pleadingly, his hands trembling as he tried to pull you into his arms but you thrashed violently, striking out with unnatural strength that was a side effect from the pit.
The Lazarus Pit had given you life, yes, but it had taken something precious in return.
Your sanity.
When he brought you back to Gotham—back to Wayne Manor—the family was already waiting. No one knew where he had gone or what he had done, only that he had vanished in the wake of your death, leaving behind nothing but the corpse of your attacker. But when Damian stepped through the doors, bringing the remnants of what you had become, horror rippled through the room at the sight of you.
Bruce was the first to speak.
“What have you done?” he whispered. The words were soft, but the tremor beneath them was unmistakable. It wasn’t anger that twisted his face—it was dread.
His gaze was fixed on you, watching the way you snarled and paced inside the reinforced cage you'd been forced in to keep you from attacking anyone.
You were no longer the sweet, smiling girl they had once known. The creature before them bore your face, but your movements were feral, your eyes glimmering with that unnatural green light. You hissed when anyone drew too close, teeth bared, fingers flexing like claws against the steel bars.
Dick stood nearby, his hand hovering near Damian’s shoulder—not quite touching, but close enough to offer comfort if it was ever accepted. His expression was composed, but his eyes betrayed only sorrow.
Damian’s voice cut through the heavy silence, steady but brittle. “I brought her back,” he said, chin lifting as if defiance alone could make it alright. “She just needs time to adjust.”
But the look on Bruce’s face said what no one dared to voice. You were gone, whatever was left was a shattered shell of who you once were.
Jason said nothing. He only stared, the horror twisting his features betraying what words never could. In your feral eyes, he saw his own reflection—the same rage, the same torment that had clawed its way out of the Lazarus Pit years ago. Part of him had always wished he’d stayed dead; contrary to what some believed, the pit was no gift. It was a curse. And now, it was a curse you both shared.
He remembered the madness that had consumed him, the way it had turned scrambled his thoughts, feeding off his pain and rage until it nearly consumed him. He had been lucky—if survival could be called that—to claw his way back to sanity. But the pit had never truly let go. Its effects haunted him still, lurking deep in the darkest parts of his mind. Through years he learned to push back the madness and he could only hope you might find a way to do the same.
Around them, silence settled heavily. Tim, Stephanie, Duke, Cassandra—all of them watched you with a mixture of shock and fear. Their eyes moved from the trembling bars of your cage to the anguish in Damian’s face, their hearts breaking not only for him, but for you—for the peace you’d been robbed of, and the mercy that had been denied you.
Yet Damian refused to listen to any of them, adamant in his belief that you could find your way back. The remnants of your mind were fractured, scattered like shards of glass, but he swore he could still see you within them
You weren’t the same. But there were nights where a glimpse of the old you broke appeared. He'd seen a rare moments of clarity—when your trembling hand reached out to brush his cheek, when his name shakily fell from your lips like a plea.
You begged him to help you, to save you from the madness before it swallowed you whole again. And though the everyone told him to let you go, Damian refused—clinging to those shattered fragments of you as if his love alone could save you from the darkness.
He would not give up. Night after night, he fought—not against you, but against the chaos devouring you from within. He bled for you, held you through your violent fits, his arms torn and scored by your nails as you screamed and thrashed against him. Still, he never let go.
He whispered your name over and over, hollow comforts spilling from his lips as he prayed—silently, desperately—to anyone who might listen. Bring her back. Please, bring her back to me.
But outside those walls, the family’s whispers grew heavier with each passing day. They watched the toll it took on him, the way the light had drained from his eyes. To them, his devotion had become cruelty—the act of keeping you alive, of keeping you like this.
“She’s gone, Damian. You need to let her go,” Bruce said, finally after months of watching his son unravel beneath the weight of his obsession to bring you back. His eyes, shadowed with grief, flicked toward you and then away, as if even looking was too much to bear. “This isn’t her,” he murmured, the words breaking under the strain of a truth Damian didn't want to face.
The mansion had grown dark ever since your death and resurrection. Like Bruce, the rest of Damian's siblings couldn't bear to look at you for long and face what the pit had turned you into.
Guilt consumed them all. They knew you deserved peace, that keeping you alive like this was an act of cruelty. Yet none of them could bring themselves to stop it—not when doing so would destroy Damian completely.
The only thing keeping him from spiraling into the same madness that had claimed you was the fragile, flickering hope he clung to—the desperate belief that somehow, against all odds, he could still bring you back.
Damian’s response came out as a snarl, his voice breaking beneath the weight of it. “You’re wrong,” he hissed, the words trembling with fury and grief in equal measure. “She’s still here. I will save her.”
He had been warned of the consequences, but he ignored them all. Love had blinded him to reason, to mercy, to the inevitable truth. Salvation had come with a cost and Damian was paying the toll.
Translations
Al-mawt lā yastatīʿu an yaḥtafiẓa biki. Sa’arāki ʿāidatan ilā al-ḥayāh, walaw iḍṭarrartu an amzaqa as-samāwāt bi-yadayya — Death cannot keep you. I will see you return to life, even if I must tear the heavens apart with my own hands.
This fanart of Jason in the Lazarus Pit isn’t finished, and honestly I don’t think I’ll ever complete it… but there’s still something in his expression that I kinda like, y’know?
Just imagine with me for a moment theres a new Lazarus Pit and Ra and the bats are fighting trying to claim it when they finally bust through and see Danny. Danny in like a bright neon pink pool floaty with a large sun hat, and some brightly colorful drink and sunglasses just full beach mode maybe even a tiny ducky too in the middle of the pit blasting Jimmy buffet and just ignoring everyone cause hes on vacation.
Danny is monitoring natural tears in the veil, and learns about certain ones that manifest as pools of ectoplasm. He thinks it would be cool to swim around in it, and because ghost forms are mostly based on emotion and how a ghost wants to look, bada bing bada boom, he’s a mermaid.
He’s not mad about it per say. He changes back whenever he leaves the pools. And he’s got bioluminescence! That’s just cool on principle alone. He likes the cool eldritch vibes it gives him, and the claws, sharp teeth, and glowing lures are sick af.
He goes exploring in some of these pools one day only to have something fall in before he breaches the surface. His ghost sense recognizes that it’s a revenant, and the surrounding ectoplasm is messing with the poor thing’s developing core. He can’t let this stand! So Danny, being the good noodle he is, takes the guy by the arm and drags him back up to the surface. It’s a cave of some sort, and Danny’s surprised to find humans standing around the edge of the pool, gaping at him with wide eyes.
He feels like he might have just walked into something he shouldn’t have.
-
When Jason is first pushed into the Lazarus Pit, a white haired, green glowing mer saves him.
