Mar 26
An old lullaby
seen from Yemen
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Australia
seen from Singapore
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from Canada
seen from Romania
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
An old lullaby
speed paint of my damian wayne drawing
Sweet Tea and Soulmarks - Chapter 5
Damian Wayne x Southern!Reader
Previous - Masterlist
Summary:
Jon comes into town for a visit, acquires a new dog, and startling things are happening at Gotham General.
Word Count: 4,546
a/n: a special thanks to @marinersapartmentc0mplex who beta'd and gave me some feedback when I got stuck toward the end of this chapter.
Wednesday May 16th, 2025
Jon, despite being someone Damian considered a friend, had a perfectly curated collection of habits that would test even the patience of saints. He consumed anything, everything, and could easily clear out a fully stocked fridge with one trip. He had a habit of abandoning his shoes in inexplicable places, yet never on the rack by the door, where they belonged. Once, after a week of Jon inviting himself to Damian’s apartment, he’d gotten so fed up with the habit that he’d started chucking said shoe at him every time he tripped over another misplaced pair.
And then there was the curiosity. Even among his family, one with an infamously poor grasp of privacy, there existed unspoken boundaries. Soulmarks were among them.
None of them pried in or mocked each other's marks too often, and mockery, when it did occur, was brief and veiled in a strange sort of respect. The initials on Todd’s temple weren’t unmentioned, save for the rare days when the dark mark almost seemed to bleed ink. The unidentifiable logo on Drake’s calf was teased no more than Damian’s own pawprints. And as for his father, no one dared to speak of the still, colorless line around his throat, such a taboo topic that it had taken Damian nearly fifteen years to piece together enough pieces of that story to figure out it was spoken of because his soulmate was dead.
Jon, naturally, had never gotten that memo.
The first time that Jon had seen the marks - mark at the time - they’d been thirteen. After making the trip with Bruce to go watch one of Jon’s football games, somehow the two of them had ended up waist-deep in a make, drenched and arguing about whose fault it was. Damian remembered the exact moment his friend noticed. The shift downward in Jon’s gaze, the sudden grin, and the brief moment where Jon had pointed at the mark on Damian's skin before tracking him and demanded to know everything about it.
At first, Damian had been irritated. Furious, even. It was a single mark, small and innocent-looking, but it was his. It was private; it was not a badge to be inspected or a curiosity to be discussed. Fate had tied him to someone, and he had no intention of allowing that connection to become fodder for amusement or speculation. To Damian, at the time, it was not a romantic promise. It was a vulnerability. A target.
But time has a way of reshaping even the most rigid convictions.
The marks eventually ceased to be symbols of weakness, of something to conceal. They became a promise instead. Of possibility, a responsibility that he would not ignore - not out of desire, but out of necessity. And eventually, Damian began to realize that Jon’s endless theories were not calculated provocations. They were gestures of care disguised as humor, an effort to lighten a burden Damian himself could barely name aloud.
Still, there were moments when he suspected Jon’s fascination carried a shade of envy. Jon, as far as Damian was aware, either didn’t have a mark or had yet to have something appear. Sometimes it happened only after physical contact with your soulmate, as much as people hailed the idea of soulmarks as romantic, fate was fickle in how it presented this tie to another person.
Yet, beyond the teasing, beyond the insatiable curiosity and the relentless optimism, one singular habit of Jon Kent’s remained utterly intolerable.
He never.
Ever.
Knocked.
There was no text warning of his arrival, no phone call, just the door swinging open before Damian could even react, and Jon was breezing into the apartment, flinging himself onto the sofa as if it was his apartment and not Damian's. “Food! We’re going to get food. Go get changed.”
“I am perfectly capable of determining when to leave my own apartment,” Damian replied, clipped and measured, already reaching for the door to shut it. Jon, of course, had left it open behind him. Not wide, but just open enough for the draft and noise of the city to bleed into the apartment.
“Sure,” Jon said, stretching out like a cat on the sofa, throwing his feet up onto the coffee table, “But I’m here now, and I want to go get lunch at a diner.”
Damian's jaw flexed as he closed the door quietly. He’d been raised better than to slam things, even when he was frustrated. Even if his siblings seemed to enjoy it so much. He wouldn’t fall into pesky habits such as slamming doors.
If it were anyone else, Damian would have kicked them out of the apartment, refused to go to lunch with them. But Jon was his best friend, and it was only once a month, maybe twice, that Jon made the trip to Gotham. And every single time, Damian found himself conceding to whatever Jon wanted to do, even if he was so tired after a shift, all he wanted to do was collapse into bed until he absolutely had to get up again.
Normally, it wasn’t anything that required too much energy: a movie, lunch, a brief shopping trip.
“Fine.”
Jon grinned, “Knew you’d see it my way.”
Jon shifted his weight, glancing around the apartment as Damian moved through it with practiced efficiency. He knew where everything was at all times. Getting a different shirt, jacket, keys, shoes, and wallet. A routine, the same motions every time he left the house, no matter what he was leaving the house for.
Damian knew it was coming before the words left Jon’s mouth. Every time he was in his apartment, he just had to say something about the lack of decor. And Damian would never admit that Jon was sort of right.
“You know, this place could really use…I don’t know. A plant. A photo. Something alive.”
“It’s Spartan.”
“It’s depressing, you have the aesthetic of a high-security waiting room.”
Damian turned, finally facing Jon with his shirt half buttoned up. “It’s efficient. Everything here serves a purpose.”
Jon gestured broadly to the apartment as a whole, “Yeah, the purpose being ‘don’t get attached to joy’”
“Not everyone requires clutter to feel content.” Yet these days, Damian was more at peace in the cluttered rooms of Wayne Manor than he was in his own apartment.
“Clutter? That’s what you call personality now?”
Damian ignored him, pushing Jon’s feet off the coffee table and glaring at him slightly. “If you’re going to invite yourself into my day, at least have the decency to walk.”
Jon bounded up, grinning, before slinging an arm around Damian's shoulders, “Lead the way.”
Damian’s sigh was nearly imperceptible, but like always, Jon caught it. “Admit it, you’d miss me if I stopped showing up.”
Damian shook his head, “If you ever stop showing up unannounced, I’ll have a plaque commissioned to commemorate the occasion.” But if Jon ever stopped showing up entirely, that indeed would be a sad day. A day that Damian hoped would never come to pass.
They made it two blocks before Damian began regretting his decision to walk. Jon talked the entire walk - about the flight over, about a stray dog he’d seen chasing pigeons near the park. His voice filled every pocket of silence Damian might have enjoyed, words tumbling out with the same thoughtless momentum that seemed to carry him through everything in life.
Eventually, they made it to the nearly empty diner. The smell of the grease from the kitchen assaulting their noses. By Damian's standards, this was not good food. Even in spite of moving to Gotham, the center of grase, Alfred would never allow Damian to call this good. He’d seen what happened whenever Jason insisted that diner food was genuinely good.
Jon slid into the booth before Damian could choose one, immediately flagging down the waitress, “Two menus, please.”
The waitress grabbed the two menus without fuss, before walking away, and Jon spent all of thirty seconds looking over them before dropping them onto the countertop and leaning across the table toward Damian. “So, life updates, give them.”
Damian didn’t look up from the menu. “You are aware we saw each other less than three weeks ago.”
“Yeah, and that’s three weeks of life updates. Plenty of time for something to happen. New scar? Something?”
“No. I have been occupied. Work. Chores. The usual responsibilities that accompany adulthood.”
Jon laughed, “You were the one who decided to become a surgeon. You chose something that eats up all your free time. You could’ve become something that gives you more free time.”
“I have plenty of free time.”
Jon raised an eyebrow, protesting the validity of that statement, “When was the last time you went out and did something fun?”
Damian paused, looking up from his menu, “I went out to a bar with some of my coworkers after a work shift. One of those in attendance was one of the nurses who gave everyone updates on the gossip happening in the hospital, at least until she decided to bother the new vet who works at Guardian Paws Rescue.”
“New vet?”
“After gaining the grant money from my family, they expanded to have a small vet clinic on site. She moved to Gotham from Texas roughly two weeks ago for the job, having experience working with exotic animals at her previous place of employment. Several titles in various horseback riding disciplines, barrel racing, reining, and cutting, primarily with her horse Dunn Stop Belivin’.”
Jon stared at Damian for a moment, “And you know this because you’re…friends with her?”
“She works for my family's company. I keep tabs on those employed by Wayne Enterprises.” Damian paused for a moment, looking away from Jon for a moment, “And I keep running into her randomly. It's improbable at this point, so I did a brief background check.”
“You know how creepy that is…right?”
“It’s called being thorough,” Damian closed the menu down and closed it, “Just enough to make sure she doesn’t have a criminal record or any shady history. I did not look through her social media and then her friends' social media. Regardless, she seems competent. Enough that I may take Alfred to her for a checkup, or request a housecall.”
Jon perked up at that, “That is…the biggest compliment I’ve ever heard you give anyone.”
“Alfred’s health is important. His care must be entrusted to someone competent. That is all.”
Jon leaned back, crossing his arms and looking Damian up and down as much as the booth they were seated in would allow him to, “Yeah, sure. That’s all. Totally not because you’re impressed by her skills, or because you secretly like the idea of interacting with her more. Or maybe, you think she might be your soulmate. I mean, come on, paw prints? A vet? You calling her competent?”
“I have met other competent vets who were not my soulmate. Statistically, her being the one is improbable-” Jon didn’t even wait for Damian to finish speaking before piping up. “But not impossible.”
“There is currently no evidence that she’s my soulmate. Until there is, there is no reason to consider it.”
The waitress came back before Jon could answer, and took their orders. For the rest of the lunch, Jon was weirdly willing to avoid the topic, which usually meant he was planning something. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Jon would run into someone who had even the slightest possibility of being related to the pawprints across Damian's body, and Jon would be convinced they were the one. That had yet to be true, and likely would not be true anytime soon.
It didn’t take long to find out what Jon was planning. When the check arrived and was paid, right as they were walking out, Jon hummed all too casually. “You know. I’m sure we could use a new cattle dog. Think Guardian Paws has any that need adopting?”
Damian stopped mid-step, fingers curling into his palms slightly. “No.”
Jon, on the other hand, looked positively delighted. “No, What?”
“No, we are not going to Guardian Paws.”
Jon's grin widened, the kind that made Damian wish he had never brought it up in the first place. “Come on, you were the one who brought them up! I’m just saying, maybe we could swing by, say hi, look at some dogs-”
“You have a dog, Jon.”
“Yeah, but he could use a friend.”
“You live on a farm. Your dog has cattle for company.”
Jon shrugged, “Emotional support cattle dog.”
Damian exhaled through his nose, long, taking a moment to center himself for what was inevitably going to happen. He briefly wondered if disappearing into an alley and leaving Jon by himself would be too cruel. “You’re transparent.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
Jon was already walking ahead, checking his phone as if he needed directions when Dammian knew he didn’t. Jon used to volunteer with him sometimes when they were younger; it was one of the reasons they were such good friends now. “You know, you could’ve just said you don’t want to see her because you’re shy.”
“I am not shy.”
“Uh-huh. Then prove it. Come help me pick out a dog.”
After one extended beat of silence, and Jon throwing his arm over Damian's shoulder again, “You’re going to follow me anyway. You can’t help it. I’m too irresponsible to be left alone. Especially with Bruce’s no meta’s unaccompanied in Gotham rule.”
“Ten minutes. No more.”
Jon beamed. “That’s all I need.”
The brick walls of the exterior of the shelter came into view too quickly for Damian's comfort. Jon didn’t even give him a moment before bursting inside and practically skipping up to the receptionist counter, looking at the woman behind it with a grin on his face. “Hi! I’m looking for a good cattle dog?”
You weren’t here, or at least, you weren’t currently visible. Maybe it was your day off, or you were busy with something else. But that hope was dashed quickly, right as the receptionist started to answer, a honey-thick and unmistakable voice called out from the back. “I got it, Marcy!”
You stepped out from the hallway that led toward the kennels, tugging your ponytail a little tighter before you glanced toward the front counter. The moment your eyes landed on Damian, your grin faltered into something halfway between amusement and disbelief.
“Well, I’ll be dammed. If it ain’t Doctor Disaster again. You just followin’ me around the city at this point, sugar?”
Damian knew this was a terrible idea, and by the way Jon perked up at the nickname, turning to Damian with delight, it was even worse than he had initially thought. “Doctor what?”
Damian’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Coincidence.”
“Mmhm.” You didn’t sound convinced, but you still turned your attention toward Jon anyway, “You’re lookin’ for a cattle dog, right, sugar?”
At least he wasn’t the only one you called sugar.
“Cattle dog, preferably one that won’t chew my furniture.”
You laughed, “Can’t promise that last part. They’re smarter than half the people who buy ‘em, and they know it.” You started toward the kennels, motioning them to follow, “Y’all comin’?”
Jon followed instantly, humming a tune under his breath. Damian lingered a second longer before sighing and stepping after you.
The kennels were just as loud as he remembered them. The second any of them saw people, the dogs burst out in a symphony of barks and whines, almost every dog wanting to interact with the new people walking through. Yet, they almost seemed calmer than when he used to volunteer here, like they were getting more playtime since you started here.
You paused at one of the enclosures toward the back, kneeling down. “This here’s Maggie. Smart little girl, bit of a spitfire. I let her up into my apartment so she could play some, had to spend thirty minutes tryin’ to wrestle my sock from her mouth. But I figure she’ll be loyal to her person.”
Jon crouched beside you, grinning when the blue-merle heeler pressed her nose against the bars. “Oh yeah. I like her.” He stuck his hand inside the bars, giving her a scratch on the head.
“D’ya wanna take her to the back and play for a few minutes? She’ll probably show off for ya.”
Jon’s grin widened as he looked over his shoulder at Damian, “Hear that, Damian? I get to meet a genius dog.”
“She’s clever, not a miracle worker, it ain’t like she can fly like the little white pup the supers got.”
Jon grinned, turning his head back to you, “Krypto! Yeah, he’s cool.”
You stood up, fingers unlatching the door to the enclosure, letting Maggie loose. “C’mon. I’ll show you the play pens.”
True to your word, you walked both Damian and Jon back to the sectioned-off bits of yard where the pups were taken out to do their business and play for a while, grabbing a few treats and a ball along the way. Maggie trotted alongside happily, despite not having a leash to keep her confined to anyone's side.
Once the pen was open, Maggie ran inside of it, and you handed the ball to Jon, who nearly instantly took off and started playing fetch with the pup. Chances were, even if this was just an excuse to meet you, Jon would be going home with the pup. Damian could already tell that much. Even from just a short meeting, you’d managed to pair him with a dog that was just perfect for him.
Was it luck? Or were you just that good at reading people and what they wanted? Damian couldn’t tell.
You leaned against the fence near the gate where Damian was standing, just watching Jon and Maggie play. A lot of people would have chatted to Jon while he was playing, trying to convince him that he should adopt the dog. But you just let them get to know each other naturally.
“This here really just a coincidence?”
Damian hesitated for a moment, looking at Jon. “I mentioned that the shelter got a new vet to him, and he wanted to go investigate.”
You tilted your head slightly, studying Damian for a moment, “I don’t reckon that’s the whole story.”
Damian turned his gaze to you, eyes meeting yours, studying you right back. If you were going to do it so openly, there was no reason he couldn’t study you right back. Animal print scrub top, dark jeans, a relatively average outfit for a vet or anyone working with animals.
He chose not to answer your unasked question, figuring you probably wouldn’t push into the topic any based off how well you took his wave off at the grocery store. “Are you experienced with cattle?”
‘Course. What’d ya need?”
Damian hesitated again for a moment, “I have an older cow, around fifteen, maybe older.”
You whistled, “That’s gettin’ up there. You askin’ cause she needs a checkup?”
“Yes.”
“Ask Marcy for my card when he takes her home.”
“You’re very confident he’s going to get her despite just meeting him.”
“I know a good placement when I see one.”
Saturday May 18th, 2025
Damian was halfway through stripping off his gloves and replacing them with a new pair when Nate poked his head into the small supply room.
“Wayne,” Nate whispered, almost conspiratorially, “You’re gonna want to see this.”
Damian didn’t look up, since going out for drinks with Nate and the group, there had been a few incidents, usually it was some silly video that he saw while on break. It set enough of a precedent to ignore his rambling a majority of the time. “If it’s another TikTok, I don’t care.”
Nate grinned, stepping inside and closing the door behind him, “Nope, three patients, bite marks. Like, I know it’s Gotham, I grew up here, but three people in one day, all with non-animal bite marks? C’mon, that’s more than a little strange.”
Damian paused before pulling his gloves off the rest of the way and looking up at Nate. “Human?”
Nate nodded, “Something like that. Definitely not animal marks. How’d you know?”
Damian didn’t answer right away. He just stares at Nate, the sterile LED bulb above flickering faintly. Even in a relatively well-funded hospital such as Gotham General, the lights still acted up far more than they should have. That seemed to be a persistent fact through all of Gotham, though.
“Last week, I saw a bite attack too. Human.”
Nate blinked, his grin faltering. “Wait, seriously?”
“Yes. Seriously.”
Nate hummed, pretending to think for a moment, before grinning again, “Want to pull the files with me and see if they’re related at all? The three I just saw came in, same attacker for all three of them. GCPD stepped in to intervene, brought them here for treatment, and then whisked them away for witness statements.”
Damian frowned; it was eerily similar, that was for sure. Five people in a month? The first was a coincidence, the second a potential issue, but now this was shaping up to be an entire case. Something he might even have to pass off to the rest of his family. “Same attacker?”
“Yup. Apparently, some guy went feral in the Narrows. Bit a woman before going after the two closest people.” Nate leaned against one of the racks full of medical supplies, glancing over at Damian. “If nothing else, it’s interesting. Not exactly the normal Gotham freakisness.”
Damian sighed, looking at the unworn pair of gloves in his hand. Technically, he had charts to finish before the end of his shift, and then he could go home, crash into bed, and relax for the rest for a few hours before starting this same routine all over again. But if this truly did have a connection to what Robin had seen not just a few days ago, it would be worth it to stay late and finish those. What was an hour of sleep sacrificed when there was a potential new villain within Gotham?
Damian tossed the gloves aside, the decision already made. “Let’s go.”
Nate blinked, “Wait, really? You’re in?
Damian was already moving, brushing past him, shifting from resident mode to Robin mode without even realizing what he was doing. This was ingrained in his blood; even if he wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to ever truly get rid of the habit. “You said the GCPD brought them in. Their files will be locked within the hour. If we want to see anything, it needs to be now.” Not exclusively true. It depended on who was put in charge of that, and with a Batcomputer and Barbara, nothing was ever truly locked away.
Nate scrambled to follow, “Dude, they’re not going to lock away the medical files. They don’t do that. But yeah, okay, let's go.”
If someone with enough power were involved, things certainly would be locked away. Especially if GCPD got spooked enough. But Damian wasn’t going to argue with Nate about it. That would be seen as strange, wouldn’t it? “You asked.” A lie by omission: Nate didn’t need to know that the moment he’d said the same attacker, Damian’s mind had snapped tight around that memory of the attack in the street. Nate could think that Damian would do something if asked, the same way he showed up to the bar when invited, despite not confirming that he would be coming.
They pushed past the residents’ hall, passing Mira talking to one of the night-shift nurses whose shift had been extended past what would be considered humane. Damian didn’t slow, and Nate kept following, just a half step behind.
“Okay, but like. This doesn’t feel…normal, right? Even for Gotham that’s-”
“Improbable,” Damian supplied. “Which is why we confirm before speculating.”
Nate snorted. “Speculate? Dude, Gotham PD probably already has a name picked out for him. ‘The Gnawer.’ ‘The muncher.’ ‘The-”
“Stop talking.”
“-’ Bite Knight’”
Damian stopped walking just long enough to stare at him, blank and flat, briefly evaluating if his tentative friendship with Nate was a mistake or not.
Nate only grinned wider. “C’mon, that one was good.”
“It was not.”
It wasn’t too difficult to find a computer that was unoccupied and not surrounded by anyone else. The hospital was large, and late hours meant there were fewer wandering eyes, but not no eyes. Gotham couldn’t afford not to have an almost fully staffed hospital after the sun went down; if they did, that was certainly when some rogue attack was going to happen.
Damian chose a workstation with its monitor angles just shy enough from the hall to give him cover, sliding into the chair. Nate4 followed, although with less grace and more sprawl.
As the login screen dissolved into file indexes, Nate let out a long, low breath as the files populated onto the screen. Including the one that Damian had treated. The dental pattern on the case he had was different, was the MO was nearly identical. The intent was the same, the attacks weren’t though out, they were violent, messy, panicked.
Nate leaned forward, voice dropping. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking, right?”
“I doubt it.”
“Okay, well, I’m thinking this is the start of some Gotham freak-of-the-week bullshit. And yet another reason why I need to buy a car, like everything else, wasn’t reason enough.”
Damian didn’t answer. He didn’t have enough data to form a proper pattern yet, not enough to form a full case around this. But this was more than enough reason to alert the others about what was going on. And it wasn’t like he could rely on Nate for help with the case. He was a doctor, but still a civilian. What he needed was the batcomputer to figure out who the assailant was. As much as these medical files proved that this was a consistent stream of attacks, it didn’t tell him anything about the assailants.
“We should flag this to Infectious Disease. Or Psyc. Or both. Or hell, even administration. Someone’s gonna have to track this.”
“Agreed.” He had work again tomorrow, but Damian certainly would be showing up at the manor tonight, telling Bruce, and letting him tell everyone else. “Just. Go tell our attending. They’ll know who to inform about this better than we would.”
Nate stood up, moving to go before pausing for a moment, “I’ve been meaning to ask, but do you want to be added to the group chat?”
Of course, of course, Nate would see a pattern and think it was interesting, ask Damian if he wanted to see, and then not fully realize the weight of the situation. He didn’t know exactly what hornet's nest he’d just willingly stepped into. Damian would have to work to keep him out of it, try to curb some of his curiosity.
“That’s fine.”
Grinning, Nate started down the hallway, and Damian kept staring at the charts. Every time he thought that Gotham was starting to chill out, something new had to happen. Almost like the city herself was laughing at them for relaxing for even just a couple of months.
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this shit is scary as hell
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Sweet Tea and Soulmarks - Chapter 4.5
Damian Wayne x Southern!Reader
Previous - Masterlist - Next
Summary:
Unclassified Assault - Case File 417A-1
Word Count: 659
a/n: A peace offering while I work on chapter 5 cause it's taking me FOREVVERRR. School started, fanfic author curse hit me, etc. Enjoy (also if i missed you in the taglist of you would like to be added let me know!)
Unclassified Assault - Case File 417A-1
Filed By: Robin
Date of Incident: May 15th, 2025
Time of Incident: 23:34
Location: Corner of Burnley Ave. and 12th street, East End District, Gotham City.
Incident Description
While conducting routine patrol, observed a violent altercation between two adult males near the intersection of Burnley Ave and 12th Street. Initial assessment suggested a standard street-level incident: mugging, spontaneous brawl, or intoxicated argument. Within seconds, it became apparent that the behavior of the assailant was abnormal and highly aggressive, exceeding any pattern consistent with human aggression.
Assailant exhibited erratic, animalistic movements: sudden lunged, uncontrolled clawing with hands, and biting behavior targeted at exposed skin of the victims’ shoulder and upper torso. The victim was dragged to the pavement and subjected to repeated biting attempts; defensive maneuvers ineffective against the assailant’s speed and unpredictability.
The assailant displayed unusually high pain tolerance and recovery, returning to aggressive posture within seconds of being thrown to the ground. Verbal deterrence, including formal warnings and commands, had no effect on the assailant’s behavior.
Physical containment executed using standard restraining techniques: lateral sidestep followed by ankle hook, knee stabilization on the assailants upper back to prevent further movement. The assailant displayed unnatural strength at this point and required re-containment. Tranquilizer administered through exposed skin on neck: onset of sedative effect achieved within 45 seconds. The assailant was subsequently secured and handed over to GCPD.
The victim fled the scene prior to the full containment of the assailant; no further direct intervention required. Assailant and victim identities later verified via facial recognition and surveillance footage.
Preliminary assessment indicated behavior outside of normative criminal activity; potential physiological, chemical, or environmental factors influencing aggressiveness. Incident logged for further analysis and cross-referencing with potential similar incidents in the future.
Assailant Information
Name: Ethan Marlow
Age: 32
Occupation: Veterinarian, Cosmopawliton
Height: 5’11 (180 cm)
Weight: 180lbs (82 kg)
Appearance: Caucasian male, medium-length dark brown hair, unshaven, bloodied and disheveled clothing. (Gray hoodie, torn jeans, barefoot at time of incident)
Distinguishing Marks: Jagged scarring along forearms and knickled; elongated, cracked fingernails; irises dilated beyond normal response to low light, extraneous saliva production
Behavior: Uncontrolled aggression, verbal deterrence ineffective. Exhibited clawing and biting, extreme endurance, and disregard for personal injury.
Status: Tranquilized and in custody with GCPD
Victim Information
Name: Marcus Delaney
Age: 28
Occupation: IT Specialist, freelance
Height: 6’0 (183 cm)
Weight: 190lbs (86kg)
Appearance: African American male, short-cropped hair, clean shaven, civilian clothing (black jacket, jeans, boots)
Distinguishing Marks: None
Behavior: Scared; ran before assailant was fully restrained
Status: Currently Unknown
Supporting Evidence
Video: Domino footage attached
Physical Evidence: Assailant blood sample
Witnesses: None
Threat Assessment
Threat Level: Six.
The assailant presents an unusually high risk due to unpredictable, animalistic aggression combined with lack of awareness of personal injuries and resistance to verbal commands. While unarmed in a conventional sense, the feral strength, sharp nails, and biting behavior make the individual a significant threat to civilians in close proximity. However this is the only confirmed attack.
Theories
Given the assailants behavior and inclination to biting, there is a strong possibility this incident is related to a bite wound I treated at Gotham General on May 9th. There is not hard evidence to confirm this, simply pattern recognition and similarities.
The victim of the Gotham General bite wound described a similar situation, unclear on how he made it away from the assailant. Notably that assailant was described as a woman. He suggested that she might be a meta-human but I disagree. This seems to be something else entirely.
Case file for the Gotham General bite wound incident has been created and uploaded with the title 417A-1.5 with more information. It is currently unclear if this will be a larger issue, however I believe these two incidents are connected, which would make this something to keep an eye on.
Follow-Up Actions/Recommendations
Keep a lookout for similar attacks, or reported cases from local hospitals and clinics.
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Sweet Tea and Soulmarks - Chapter 4
Damian Wayne x Southern!Reader
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Summary:
A grocery cart accident, a vet appointment, and a sleepless night full of questions.
Word Count: 4,920
Saturday May 10th, 2025
You had officially been living in Gotham for ten full days. Full time living, not just summers spent with your father and brother. No, you were living, with a job and everything. It was a different kind of settling in, one you’d never had to do before.
Marcy, one of the girls who worked at the shelter had started becoming your friend that quickly. She’d won the straw-draw to name the pup Robin had brought in and named her Muffin. Sometimes you had lunch together, sometimes she brought donuts to work in the morning. She’d make a good vet tech if she ever decided to go down that route.
Apparently, Robin dropping animals off at the clinic was a relatively common occurrence. You might have appreciated knowing that before accepting the job, but hindsight was a luxury. Still, Robin was one of the good guys, and you forced yourself not to be bothered by the occasional unexpected visit. You had given him the number for your work cell after all, so him coming back shouldn’t be a surprise. You just hoped it wasn’t too often.
At least it wasn’t Batman himself or any of the others making appearances. Not that you had anything against them. As much as you joked about how they were good eye candy or how good of farm hands they’d make, you had zero desire to actually meet them in person. If you ever did, it meant you were in some kind of trouble. And you were making it quite a point to survive Gotham unscathed.
Which was why you weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea of grocery shopping at eight in the evening, but staring into your fridge left you little to no choice. A jug of sweet tea, and a single apple stared back. Yeah, you needed to go get more food. So you pulled one one of your oldest, most worn pairs of jeans, threw on a superman themed hoodie that still smelled faintly of your mothers detergent, and shoved your hair under a battered ball cap.
Five minutes, it had taken you a full five minutes to make peace with your appearance, to make peace with the fact if you ran into anyone you knew they would be meeting the cryptid version of yourself.
But this was Gotham, and you weren’t likely to run into anyone you knew here. This wasn’t your hometown where the grocery store doubled as the unofficial gossip hub for the entire county. Here, nobody made small talk with strangers unless there was a reason, like bumming a cigarette. You didn’t smoke, so that wouldn’t be an issue.
It wasn’t quite nighttime yet, the street lights had just turned on, but the sun was in the sky, barely there, but still present. You’d have to be quick about this.
You glanced down at your crumpled, handwritten list as you rounded the corner into produce. The last stop before freedom. The cart you’d gotten was a mess, one of those half-busted ones with a front wheel that had a mind of it’s own, drifting hard left like it was fixin’ to take the long way ‘round the barn. Between reading your list, and fighting with your grocery cart, you weren’t exactly looking where you were headed.
It was the kind of thing Gavin would have scolded you for immediately.
And you were reminded of that in the most humiliating way when your cart slammed into the back of someones legs. The impact made the items in your cart that were previously carefully stacked tumble and mix with one another. Great. You’d almost made it through this grocery run without incident, but your life wasn’t exactly known for smooth sailing. At times it felt like one long comic joke: finding your soulmate, who turned out not to be your soulmate, the skyline of Gotham scrawling itself across your lower back, and ending up working at the one clinic Robin seemed to frequent. Yeah. Cosmic joke, the universe was laughing and you were the punchline.
“Oh, Lord, I am so sorry, I wasn’t watchin-” You paused mid sentence because of course it was him.
Damian, the guy who spilled coffee on your notes, and the one whose friend you weren’t convinced actually had a dog.
He blinked down at you like you’d slapped him with a cabbage, and because your brain and mouth weren’t on speaking terms when you got flustered, the next words tumbled out before you could even think about stopping them. “Does your friend even have a dog? Actually no, hang on, how’d you know I was even a vet?”
He took a beat before answering. “Your papers at the cafe. And I’m fairly certain she has a dog.”
There was so much wrong in that sentence you didn’t even know where to start. Fairly certain she has a dog? What kind of friend doesn’t know if they have a dog, but in the face of everything else that was a moot point. “So lemme get this straight. You meet some gal whose papers you snoop through, figure out she’s a vet, then you see her again in public an’ send your friend her way? You don’t even know if she's any good - which I am, thank you very much - by really, sugar, you think that’s smart?”
“Wayne Enterprises helps fund the clinic, and they trust its hiring practices.”
That explanation did not help his case one bit. You didn’t even know why you were pushing back to hard. If his friend really was just using a fake dog as an excuse to get your number, Damian at least looked like the kind of man who could take rejection. Which you would, reject him that is. Despite how pretty he was. But the way he said things, like they were gospel truth, made your hackles rise.
You weren’t stupid, you knew what Wayne Enterprises was, their reach, their reputation. But never in a million years would you trust that something was good just cause a big-name corporation threw money at it. That was like saying a hog was clean just cause’ somebody sprayed perfume on it.
“Why in the hell does a company cuttin’ checks to a shelter automatically make it a good one?”
He hesitated, looking at you like you’d sprouted horns, and a muscle in his jaw jumped. You’d struck a nerve, but despite that, clipped and quiet he said, “Because I know where the money comes from.”
You crossed your arms, weight shifting to one hip, “Try again, Doctor Disaster.”
His Green eyes locked on yours, steady and unflinching, “Wayne Enterprises is my family’s company.”
You blinked at him, sure you misheard. “...Your family’s company.”
“Yes.” His tone was sharp enough to cut glass, but it didn’t impress you all that much, “Bruce Wayne is my father.”
Gavin was going to have a field day. Out of all the people in the city you had to run into - multiple times at that - it just had to be Damian Wayne. The Damian Wayne. And here you’d been, calling him Doctor Disaster like he was some random intern who couldn’t carry a cup of coffee without causing collateral damage. You could feel the heat crawling up your neck, talk about embarrassing. “Well, shit. Here I was thinkin’ you were just some over-serious doctor with a stick shoved so far up his ass it was hittin’ his tonsils.”
His jaw tightened, “You’re remarkably blunt.”
You puffed a breath through your nose, shouldn’t be rude, not when his family gave the shelter the money to let you have your job. But he was a little - just a little - insufferable. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”
He narrowed his eyes at you for a moment, lord his lashes were thick, you were almost jealous over that. Why did men always get to have the pretty lashes? While you had to fight with mascara like it owed you money?
“Just don’t run into me with your cart again.”
“I already said sorry!”
“I suppose you did.” He glanced down at your cart then, then back up to you, “I still owe you for the coffee.”
“You don’t gotta pay that back.”
“Interest, I spilled your coffee on your papers and you bought me coffee. I’ll pay for your groceries. Consider it settling the score.”
Your mouth almost dropped open, that wasn’t even a remotely fair trade, but your bank would certainly thank you for saying yes. “Seriously?”
He gave a single sharp nod, and waited for your response. Patient, waiting for you to catch up to the conclusion he’d already drawn.
“Well…I guess I can’t say no to that.”
“Good.”
He didn’t have the same harsh accent that most people from Gotham did, it didn’t grate on your nerves like Gavin’s did. So he likely didn’t spend the early years of his life in Gotham. You decided to push your luck with that. “You ain’t from Gotham originally.”
He still hadn’t looked away from you. Eye contact was polite, but this was almost felt downright intimate, being stared at like this. “What makes you say that?”
“You don’t sound like it.” You started shifting your cart around him, grabbing a few apples from the shelf. “Folks from here talk like they’re speedin’ downhill with no brakes. You don’t.”
“I spent part of my childhood overseas.”
The answer was vague as hell. Overseas could mean Europe, the Middle East, Timbuktu for all you knew. And he didn’t seem like he was going to narrow it down for you, nor could you guess based on the sound of his voice. Other than it sure as hell wasn’t australian, scottish, or irish.
“Overseas. Well ain’t that just the vaguest answer you coulda given me.”
“Specificity is unnecessary.”
You snorted. “Boy, that is the fanciest way I ever heard someone say ‘none of your business’”
His mouth twitched upward, not quite a smile, but it was looser than the straight expression that you’d seen him have up to this point. “You’re perceptive.”
“Or maybe you’re just obvious. Lucky for you I got better things to do than needle a man who just offered to pay for my groceries.”
That earned you a sidelong glance, you weren’t sure if he was annoyed or something else entirely, but you kept on shopping anyways. And he followed you along with his own cart. He wasn’t too close to you, but was near enough that anyone who spotted you would know you were shopping together.
Really it was only two more items you needed, and you didn’t even have to leave this aisle to get them, so he didn’t have to go far. But it was strange, moving through the aisles with him in silence. Like y’all had decided to go together when in reality, you were still practically strangers.
Well. Maybe not strangers anymore. You knew his name, he knew yours, and this made three separate run-ins with him in ten days. That was more than you saw half the neighbors back home. Acquaintance then. That seemed more accurate to describe the relationship you had with Damian.
He checked out first, smooth and efficient, much more put together than he was the first time you’d met him. Then he waited while the cashier rang up your things. It had been the agreement, but you didn’t even have a chance to reach for your card before he was handing his card over without so much as glancing at the total.
Wealth much be awfully nice. Not having to worry about the cost of groceries, or the way gas prices could knock the breath out of you. It wasn’t like you didn’t make a good chunk of money, most veterinarian’s did, but it still wasn’t enough to have no worries about money. You didn’t let yourself feel guilty about letting him pay for your groceries, when all you’d done was get him a four dollar cup of coffee. Not when he had more money than you could ever dream of, and hadn't had to break his back to earn it. This was pocket change for him.
When all your things were in bags, in your cart, and you had the receipt in hand he turned to you, “Now we’re even.”
“Yeah.”
Even. you weren’t so sure about that.
Monday May 12th, 2025
You got the phone call from Mira on Monday, asking to set up an appointment for her pug. You had free time today, so you saw her that same day. Her little pug trotting next to her on a leash, an older fellow named Rebel, and with a lot of attitude. He wasn’t mean, not growling or trying to bite at you, but rather in the way it felt like he was glaring at you in disapproval.
Attitude she had called it. It wasn’t an inaccurate descriptor.
Mira talked your ear off while you checked rebel over and gave him his vaccines. And, to her credit, she didn’t once mention Damian like you thought she might. It seemed like she really was just looking for a new vet for her dog, and you were more than happy to be that vet. Beyond asking about Rebels' health, she started opening up about herself.
“Okay, I'm not trying to be weird here. But I’m just endlessly curious. Do you have any soulmarks?”
“I do. Why?”
“I don’t have any. Half convinced I don’t have a soulmate. But the whole idea, that the universe of whatever, picks out someone meant for you? It’s kinda romantic.”
You gave a small laugh, “Romantic, sure, if it works out. Ain’t no guarantee you’ll ever meet ‘em.”
Mira tilted her head, studying you like she was trying to figure out a puzzle. And maybe she was, most people in Gotham looked at you like that when they got into conversation with you. “If you don’t mind me asking. What does yours look like?”
You let out a small huff through your nose, more amused than annoyed. MIra was being normal about this, which was more than you could say for most folks. This kinda conversation always came up eventually, especially when they found out you were one of the “lucky ones” who had a soulmark. Two now, actually.
You used to show it off, wearing shirts cut just low enough so that folks could see the script below your collarbone clear as day. That ended up being a mistake, though, and you’d since started covering it. It wasn’t like it was hard, most tops weren’t low enough to show it, and you didn’t want that kind of attention.
Lately, it had become a bit of a mantra for you. You weren’t in Gotham chasing your soulmate, you were here for yourself. Maybe if you said it enough, you could convince the starry-eyed little girl buried deep down who still obsessed over the mark.
But Mira seemed kind enough, and you didn’t seen any harm in it, so you eased your scrub top aside, letting her get a good look at the script etched into your skin. The letter flowed together, connected, looping, and swirling, coming right up to but never quite touching the bone itself.
“That’s really pretty. Any clue what language it is?”
You shook your head, “None. Back in college I had a few language professors take a look at it. Best guess it’s based on Arabic, except it’s not Arabic. Nobody's ever been able to tell me what it means.”
“Very mysterious, then.”
You put your collar back in its place, and slipped your fingers into Rebels mouth, looking at his gums. Might need a tooth or two pulled in time, but nothing that needed immediate attention. It was rather impressive actually, how good of shape he was in for such an old dog.
“Half the gossip at the hospital revolves around soulmarks, people guessing at what they mean. Right now they’re tryna figure out who has the biggest mark. Honestly, sometimes I wish I was part of that group. Like I had some magical connection to another soul out there. But on the bright side, it means I can date whoever I want with little to no restrictions.”
“Havin’ a soulmark don’t stop you from datin’”
Mira tilted her head, pursing her lips as she thought over your words, “I mean I guess. But doesn’t it kinda hang over your head? LIke, what if you’re with someone and then BAM, soulmate walks in, and suddenly you’ve been investing all this time into the wrong person?”
You shrugged, giving Rebels head a small pat, you were done with the examination, but you didn’t have any reason to hurry. The shelter was taken care of, and you weren’t needed for anything at this exact moment. So you chose to continue the conversation. “That’s one way to look at it. But I reckon soulmates don’t always gotta be about romance, and sometimes the universe don’t know what the hell it’s doin’.”
Mira laughed, bright and genuine. “You really don’t buy into the fairytale version, do you? And have you ever heard of two soulmates who did find each other and didn’t end up becoming something romantic?”
You shook your head, slow, feeling that familiar ache that hadn’t quite left in the past few months. “Nope. But the truth is, there ain’t no guarantee you’ll even meet ‘em. What if you never cross paths and end up putin’ your whole life on hold, waitin’ on somethin’ that’s never gonna happen? Or worse, what if you think you met your soulmate, only to find out later they weren’t the one at all? What then?”
You’d left. That’s what you had done in that situation. But it wasn’t as simple as you were making it sound. It wasn’t two people who had mistook each other for their soulmate only to end up wrong. It hadn’t been an accident, wyatt had straight up lied to you about it. Told you it was some language he made up as a kid. After that, you stopped putting so much stock in fate. Or at least you tried.
Because you were still here, standing in Gotham after it’s skyline had appeared on your back.
No, you had moved for yourself. You’d moved to build yourself a new life, to grow as a person. You hadn’t been chasing some mark. It had been logical. Gavin was here, your new job was here. It didn’t matter if your soulmate was here or not.
Mira’s response pulled you out of your spiralling thoughts.
Mira’s response pulled you out of your thoughts, “That’s…wow. I’ve never actually heard anyone bring that up before. I’m so used to people being comforted by the idea that the universe has a plan, that everything will work out for them.” She studied you for a beat, “You always had that opinion?”
“No.” The word came out plain and sharp, like closing a door.
She seemed to catch the edge in it, but she didn’t push. Instead, the she let the silence slip in and filled it by scooping Rebel off the table and squishing his wrinkly little face between her hands. The old pug gave a grumpy snort at her actions.
“How much do I owe you?”
You kept your voice purposefully steady as you told her the rundown of shots and vaccines. At checkout, you let Marcy handle ringing her up while you filed the chart away, your back turned but still half listening to Marcy cooing at Rebel like he was a baby.
After she’d paid, she stood by the door for a moment, leash looped around her wrist. It was an awkwardly long amount of time, but she turned back toward you, “Hey. I know we don’t really know each other. But if you ever need to talk, call me okay? I’m a good listener, I swear.”
You studied her for a second. Maybe she meant it, or maybe she was just being polite. But when were folks in Gotham this open-handed with strangers, so you decided that the words were genuine kindness. And maybe, just maybe, you did need someone to talk through all this mess with. Someone who wasn’t family, sometimes a stranger's opinion was just what you needed.
“Alright.”
Gotham wasn’t quiet at night. Even with summers spent here, it sat wrong in your bones. Back home, nights had their own rhythm. The steady whir of cicadas singing in the trees, coyotes yipping way off in the distance, maybe an owl hooting once or twice. Comforting sounds, familiar sounds. Here, it was traffic blaring, sirens wailing down cracked streets, and the occasional fight spilling out of some alley. They city never slept, truly.
But the racket outside wasn’t what had you wide awake at three in the morning staring at the ceiling like it might have some answers etched into its paint.
No, it was your own head that shouldn’t shut the hell up. You kept thinking about Wyatt, about how it all went sideways. Y’all had been living together for awhile, and it wasn’t bad. LIfe was steady, maybe even sweet. He read bulls for a living, cocking as all get out and handsome in that rugged, first and denim kind of way. He’d spent hours with you at the barn without complaining, even if all he did was lean on a fence post and grin.
Then one morning, you’d gotten up early, went to shower, and there it was. A new mark on your back. That skyline. You knew it the second you saw it, knew it deep down in your bones. Gotham. And just like that, everything you thought you had cracked clean in half.
The apartment you’d built a life in had turned into a damn battleground. Words flying, and voices raised until the neighbors knew your business just as well as you did. Wyatt had denied it at first, swore up and down that he hadn’t lied, hadn’t kept anything from you. But the more you pushed, the more that mask slipped until he finally admitted it. He hadn’t known what the scrawl on your collarbone meant, and he’d spun lies to keep you from knowing that. Said he’d made it up as a kid, and you believed him, back then. Lord help you, you’d believed him.
After hours of yelling and crying and doors slamming, you found yourself packing a bag with shaky hands and driving through the dark with one busted headlight to your mama’s place.
She’d taken you in without a single question, just pulled you into her arms and let you sob against her shoulder. She even made peach cobbler in the middle of the night so you had some comfort food.
Wyatt showed up the next day, pounding on the door like he had any right to. You fought again, briefly, until your granddaddy came out with a shotgun in hand. He’d told Wyatt to “get the hell off my property before I put lead in your ass” and Wyatt was gone. Then he’d drug you back inside grumbling about how Wyatt wasn’t good enough anyways, and sat you down to watch a football game with him.
You never went back to that apartment. There wasn’t anything in it worth facing him for. Clothes could be bought again, books weren’t worth the trouble. And the pictures, every smile, every kiss caught on film, you’d let those rot where they were. The thought of stepping foot in there made you stomach twist.
That didn’t stop Wyatt from trying to talk to you anytime he saw you in public. He kept trying to sweet talk you, beg you, guilt you. You’d learned to dread someone knocking at your ma’s door when before it had always been a fun surprise.
Couple months later and you announced to your mama that you were going to visit Gavin. And if you found a job out here in Gotham, you didn’t plan on coming back. She’d let you go, though the look in her eyes stung worse than any words. All she said was “You’re just runin’, baby girl. You can’t outrun yourself.”
You should call her soon.
You spent a week in Gotham Crashing on Gavin’s couch, pretending like this was all normal. Pretending like it wasn’t the first time you’d set foot in the city since Pa died. Pretending like this was just some sibling visit and not some half-baked plan to turn your life upside down. Gavin never called you out on it, not once. He let you play house, let you cook for him and his girlfriend, let you try to convince them to adopt a pet.
Maybe he figured you’d open up when you were ready. Maybe he just knew better than to push.
Then you found the job. Called your mama, she packed your stuff and shipped it up for you. But now, laying here in the dark the doubts crawled up your throat like smoke. Had your mama been right? Were you just running?
Wyatt wasn’t dangerous, he wasn’t evil. He was just a selfish bull-riding son of a bitch who had lied to you and then refused to let you go. It wasn’t like you had to leave Texas or he’d come after you physically. No, even in the argument, even in the nastiest part of it, he’d never even clenched his fists together. That just wasn’t who he was. He’d argue and yell, but he’d never make a fist and aim it in your direction.
You weren’t naive, you didn’t believe that moving to Gotham would make sense of anything, not your soulmarks, not your busted heart. This wasn’t about fate, not really. You’d sworn up and down to yourself that you weren’t chasing that fairy tale. It was just about leaving Texas, about figuring out who you were on your own.
But maybe, just maybe, you’d picked Gotham because of the mark.
You hated admitting it. Even just in the quiet of your own head. Maybe it was cowardice, but if you were being honest with yourself? The second you saw that skyline on your back, you knew. There wasn’t another city in the world that you were gonna end up in.
You rolled onto your side, staring at the strips of light seeping through the shutters like if might spell out answers on your wall. Some secret, some clue, some voice to say that you weren’t crazy for coming here.
And you wondered what Pa would’ve told you.
The man who made you by accident with a woman he barely knew at the time. Yet with another kid at home, he still gave you summers in Gotham with Gavin like you belonged. The man who cheered through every barrel race, every show ring, every buckle you’d ever chased. He’d brought Gavin along every time too, like you were proper siblings, had even told the school he would be missing a week to do it one time.
You hadn’t won anything that time, except a broken arm after Dunn bucked and managed to get you off. You tried to insist you could finish the run, but neither Gavin nor Pa would let you. Ma rode it for you though.
He’d probably tell you Gotha wasn’t for you, mark or no mark. He’d tell you that you belonged where the skies were wide and blue, where you could run barefoot in mud and not worry about smog turning the air sour.
But you could hear the other side of him too. The voice that always pushed you forward when you knees knocked. The voice that checked your closet for monsters and spun wild tales about how Batman himself would swoop in and save you if anything bad ever happened. Tales so ridiculous that as an adult you knew they simply weren’t true.
Only this? This was different. Nobody could come to the rescue this time. Nobody could stop the thoughts in your head. You had to find a way out yourself. You had to pull yourself up by your own boots, and get back on the metaphorical horse.
Maybe this wasn’t you running, maybe this was finally you stopping. You weren’t chasing any trophies or belt buckles, you weren’t chasing your degree at college, you weren’t chasing Wyatt.
Except weren’t you chasing something? It wasn’t about your soulmate, but it was about the city. You were still chasing the idea that the universe had put that soulmark on your back because Gotham was where you needed to be to move on. Was it a curse, or was it a compass? You didn’t know.
You wanted it to be a compass. Deep down, you were still that little girl who traced the script on her collarbone and dreamed of what her soulmate might be like. You’d whispered stories to yourself about it, wondered if he’d have kind eyes, or a laugh that carried, if he’d know the right words when you didn’t.
You decided for yourself right then, that being in Gotham wasn’t a mistake. There wasn’t any point in wasting time thinking about that. You would keep living, soulmate or no soulmate. You’d find your place here in Gotham. And maybe, on your journey, you’d find the boy that you spent so much time making up details about as a little girl. And if you didn’t? That was okay. Life kept moving, and so would you.
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