treereads

ao3: tree_reads

[tree-reads]

Maribat Masterlist

I’ll Always Be Right There (Daminette, ongoing) Ao3

Couple’s Costume (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Luminescence (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Cheerleader (MariJon one shot) Ao3

A Cozy Morning (Roynette ficlet) Ao3

Stoplight Kisses (Dickinette ficlet) Ao3

Ducklings (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Love and War (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Spare Key (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Wrinkles (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Say Something (Daminette one shot) Ao3 companion to Preemptive Protection by @boldlyanxious

This Area Is Off Limits To Guests (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Pickup Lines (Daminette one shot) Ao3

False Impressions (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Revealing Magic (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Promising Distractions (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Hello, Chaton (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Coffee Cart (Marijon one shot) Ao3

No Attempt To Deny (Roynette one shot) Ao3

Kissable (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Pretty Green Paper (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Camellias (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Jokerize Your Fries (Daminette one shot) Ao3

I Need Help (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Let Me Guess Your Favorite (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Defend My Honor (Daminette one shot) Ao3

I'm Here To Take You Home (Daminette drabble) Ao3

Surprises Let Me Know She Cares (Daminette one shot) Ao3

A Different Kind Of Magic (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Perfection (Daminette one shot) Ao3

They Might Want ‘Perfect’ But I Want You (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Someone You Like (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Mistletoe Mishaps (Daminette one shot) Ao3

I Need You (To Stand By Me) (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Mixtape 1.7 (Daminette one shot) Ao3

Vexatious (Daminette one shot) Ao3

[anxietyproblem]

[hamletpolny]

sir, that’s my emotional support imaginary world

[batsandbugs]

Bruce Wayne's Headache Classification System

Chapter 5 Snippet (heyo I ain't dead!)

Damian growls. “I told you to cease your baseless slander of Marinette. You continued to do so, and I demonstrated the consequences of such a poor decision.” 

“Aww are you sad because I’m being mean to your little girlfriend?” Jason mocks, grin jagged like spikes. “Grow a pair Dami.” 

“How about I take yours for recompense,” his youngest hisses. 

“Enough!” Bruce orders, using the voice his kids knew meant business. “You both are acting like children.”

[evilwriter37]

Saying “this niche, properly tagged, warned, and rated piece of fiction could theoretically hurt someone” is not a good argument. This properly labeled cookie with the allergen information at the bottom that contains gluten could theoretically harm me very badly, but only if I consume it. Tags are like nutrition labels, and warnings are like allergy information. If you know you have an allergy to something, the logic is to stay away from it. It is the same with fiction. I’m not running through stores yelling at people to take all the products with gluten off the shelves just because it could hurt me. Instead I ignore it and go to the gluten free section and find cookies that are right for me. And if running through a grocery store yelling sounds ridiculous, that’s because it is. Stop doing the same with fiction.

[kokichis-dead-dove-club]

this is the best way i’ve seen this put!!

[lynati]

And just like with food, what might be harmful for one person to consume could be quite *beneficial* for others. One man’s trigger is another man’s catharsis.

[randomslasher]

AND if you lack the maturity/self control/awareness to stop yourself from eating things that could potentially harm you, you either 1) are too young to be making your own food choices and should be supervised by a parent/other adult who is supposed to be responsible for you (and the store clerk who put the food on the shelf is NOT) or 2) need to take accountability for your own actions, because if you deliberately consumed something you knew could hurt you as a fully autonomous adult, then you really have no one to blame but yourself.

[nikoford]

I’d like to add that within AO3, “Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings” is, in this food analogy, like the food labels that read “This product was manufactured in a facility where [potential food allergens] are used in the production of some products”. It’s not telling you they’re in there, but even more importantly, it’s not telling you they’re not. This is not the same as “No Archive Warnings Apply” which would be the certified [food allergen] free food. One guarantees a certain experience, the other has given you no promises as to what may or may not be included and is very much a consume-at-your-own-risk product.

[sevdrag]

perfection

[fandomofone]

Eat responsibly, people. Jesus, the fact that you have to even say this.

[hawkeye221b]

I wanted to meme before the big day.

Not yet, Brutus.. not yet..

[walmart-the-official]

Proud to consistently make tumblr less useable and anti-user-friendly!

[rabid-transcendentalist]

[writingdose]

© _ADWills

[deus-ex-aquila]

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

Rome has got a tyrant who we need dead now

CALL MJ BRUTUS, 877-STAB-NOW

[eonblueinmay]

Watching the process of this absolutely stunning painting makes it even more beautiful.

The artist is Sydney Swisher

[daughterofscotland]

Fuck me

[sergle]

anyways here's butter 💛

[goryhorroor]

do you have a favorite movie of all time?

yes

no

definitely not only one

Voting ended onFeb 4

ONLY PUT ONE MOVIE IN THE TAGS (sorry for the caps but i wanna make a new letterboxd list updated with one movie of everyone’s favorite)

[tnc-n3cl]

Writing Poll: Individual Chapters or One Big Doc

Fellow fanfic writers I have a question!

When writing a multi-chapter fic do you

Save each chapter as a separate document

Have everything in one big document

Nuance (elaborate in tags)

Voting ended onJan 13

Reblog for greater sample size.

[frederickchiltonsdivacup]

I'm gonna go check on my WIP. just in case it wrote itself while I was gone. You never know.

[incognitopolls]

If you need glasses to see clearly, have you ever avoided wearing them specifically because you don't like how they look on you?

Yes, many times/regularly

Yes, sometimes

Yes, occasionally/rarely

No, how they look on me hasn't affected whether I wear them or not

Other

Show results

Voting ended onDec 18, 2025

We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

[slytherpuffqueen22]

Daminette December 2025: 9 "Hold Still"

Wayne Manor was unusually loud tonight.

Not in the dramatic, alarm-blaring, Gotham-is-doomed way.

No.

In the Jon Kent complaining while floating upside-down in the hallway way.

“He’s impossible! He’s being impossible!” Jon ranted as he drifted after Marinette, arms thrown wildly in the air.

She carried a small first-aid kit, walking briskly. “Jon, what happened?”

“HE happened! He got scratched by some stupid meta-cat-thing, and now he refuses—REFUSES—to let Alfred patch him up. He’s barricaded himself in the training room!”

Marinette blinked. “He’s… hiding?”

“Brooding,” Jon corrected. “He says it’s ‘not a wound worth treating’ and ‘I have more discipline than to require assistance.’” Jon dropped into a dramatic impression of Damian’s gravelly tone. “He practically growled.”

Marinette sighed. Yep. That sounded like him.

“Where is he now?”

“In there—” Jon pointed to the training room door, “—acting like he wasn’t literally bleeding on the mat.”

Marinette marched up and knocked.

“Damian? It’s me.”

Silence.

She knocked again.

“Damian Wayne. Open this door or I’ll tell Alfred you refused medical care.”

A sharp scoff came through the door. Then shuffling. Then finally—

The lock clicked.

Damian opened the door just enough for her to slip inside, then shut it behind her like he was afraid Jon would sneak in.

He looked… awful. Or at least awful by perfectionist Damian standards.

His suit was partly off, his right arm held carefully against himself. A long, angry scratch ran from shoulder to bicep, still oozing slightly. His face was tight, jaw clenched, eyes stubbornly avoiding hers.

Marinette exhaled slowly. “Damian… why didn’t you let Alfred treat that?”

“It is superficial,” he muttered, sitting heavily on the mat.

“Uh-huh.” She knelt in front of him, opening the kit. “And do superficial wounds normally bleed like someone slashed you with barbed wire?”

His ears went pink. “…It caught me off guard.”

She scooted closer. “Hold still.”

“I am holding still.”

“You’re vibrating with irritation.”

“That is Jon’s fault.”

She bit back a smile as she snapped on gloves. “Lift your arm.”

He hesitated—just a moment—but did it. The wound stretched, and he winced despite trying not to.

Marinette softened.

“Why didn’t you come get me?” she asked quietly.

“I didn’t wish to trouble you.”

“Damian,” she scolded, “I literally live here half the week. You’re allowed to need help.”

His jaw flexed.

She dabbed disinfectant across the scratch. He hissed softly.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“It’s fine.” His voice was low, rougher than usual.

She worked carefully, close enough that her knee brushed his thigh, close enough that she could feel his breath warm the space between them. Close enough to smell the faint scent of leather, metal, and cold Gotham air clinging to him.

Damian swallowed—not subtly.

She tried not to notice.

Tried.

But Damian was looking at her now. Really looking.

With the kind of focused intensity that made her hands shake.

“Marinette,” he said suddenly.

She blinked. “Yes?”

“You… shouldn’t come into the training room alone when I’m injured.”

“Why not?”

“It could be dangerous.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re sitting on the floor bleeding. The only danger you pose right now is bleeding through your shirt.”

He scowled. “It’s hardly—”

“Hold still.”

He shut his mouth.

She applied a thin layer of salve. “You know, you let me do this easier than you let Alfred.”

“Alfred is… persistent.”

“And I’m not?”

“You are…” He paused, searching for the right word. “…unavoidable.”

She choked on a laugh. “Is that a compliment?”

“Yes.”

Her cheeks warmed.

She finished wrapping the bandage, smoothing the tape gently.

“There,” she murmured. “All done.”

Damian looked at her. Really looked.

“…Thank you.”

Her heart fluttered.

Before she could respond, the door burst open.

“HEY—are you alive or—”

Jon froze upon seeing the proximity between them.

“Ah. You’re being tended to.” He floated upside-down again, pointing accusingly. “You let her patch you up but not Alfred?!”

Damian glared. “Kent. Leave.”

Jon floated closer, whisper-shouting to Marinette:

“Seriously, what’s up his ass?”

Without missing a beat, she whispered back:

“Whatever it is… it’s sideways.”

Jon snorted loudly. Damian’s eye twitched.

“Both of you OUT.”

Marinette giggled as she packed up the kit. “Okay, okay—he’s fine now.”

“Am I?” Damian muttered darkly.

She touched his uninjured shoulder gently.

His muscles instantly relaxed.

“Yes,” she said softly. “You are.”

Jon floated out, still laughing. Marinette followed—but paused at the doorway.

“Damian?”

He looked up.

“You don’t have to hide when you’re hurting,” she said. “Not from me.”

His expression softened—barely, but unmistakably.

“…Understood.”

She smiled.

Then closed the door behind her.

On the other side, Damian let out a slow exhale, staring at the bandage she’d wrapped around his arm.

It didn’t hurt anymore.

It also wasn’t the wound that had left him unsteady.

[slytherpuffqueen22]

Daminette December 2025: 8 "Needle and Thread:

The Wayne Manor sewing room was quiet in the best way—soft light spilling from tall windows, fabric rolls lined neatly against the wall, and a hum of calm that didn’t exist anywhere else in the mansion. Damian had built the room after discovering Marinette used sewing as both an art and an escape.

He claimed it was “practical” to set up a workspace for her.

Alfred claimed it was adorable.

At the moment, Marinette sat cross-legged on a cushioned stool, surrounded by fabrics in reds, creams, and gentle golds—her chosen colors for a winter coat commission. Damian sat across from her, sharpening a blade with steady, controlled motions—close enough to be near, but not so close that she tripped over her own thoughts.

The rain outside tapped lightly against the window. The manor felt warmer than usual.

Marinette threaded her needle carefully, humming absently as she guided the fabric beneath her hands.

Damian paused. He knew that tune.

Marinette’s voice drifted out, soft and playful:

“🎶 Jingle bells, Batman smells… Robin laid an e— 🎶”

She didn’t get to finish.

Damian’s head snapped up, eyes wide, scandalized. “I did not lay an egg.”

Marinette blinked at him.

Once.

Then she burst into the brightest, most musical laugh Wayne Manor had ever heard.

“Damian—” she wheezed, clutching her stomach. “I wasn’t saying you did!”

“You sang it,” he accused, pointing at her with the sharpening cloth like it was evidence. “Clearly implying—”

“It’s a children’s rhyme!”

“It is slanderous.”

She giggled again, wiping a tear. “Oh my god, you’re serious.”

“I am always serious,” he muttered.

Marinette set her needle down carefully—she didn’t trust herself not to stab something while laughing—and slid off the stool, still smiling so wide her cheeks hurt.

“Damian,” she said gently, stepping closer. “No one actually believes Robin laid an egg.”

“They should not,” he said stiffly, crossing his arms. “Bird motifs do not equate to biological—”

“Okay, okay,” she soothed, patting his shoulder lightly. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop singing it.”

He frowned. “Good.”

Marinette paused. Then grinned mischievously.

“Do you want to hear the version that says ‘Joker got away’?”

Damian narrowed his eyes at her. “I am not amused.”

“Oh, but I am,” she said, giggling again as she returned to her stool.

He watched her—unable to help it—small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

Her laughter lingered in the room like colorful thread weaving between them.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence.

Marinette stitched delicate embroidery into the coat, humming something softer now—still festive, but gentler. Damian resumed polishing the blade, though his eyes flickered toward her more than toward the metal.

She looked peaceful here. Happy.

He liked that.

“Damian?” she said suddenly, breaking the quiet.

“Yes?” His answer was immediate, too immediate.

She didn’t comment on it.

“Thank you… for this room.” Her needle dipped through fabric smoothly. “I still can’t believe you built me a whole sewing space. It’s… perfect.”

Damian’s chest went unexpectedly warm. He set his blade down carefully, meeting her gaze.

“It was necessary.”

“For the mission?” she teased.

“For your work,” he corrected. “And your comfort.”

Her cheeks flushed lightly. She tried to hide it by leaning over her stitches.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Also,” he added, “it keeps you from sewing in dangerous places.”

“Dangerous places?” she echoed.

“Like your balcony rail. Or your bedframe. Or—” He gestured dramatically. “—the top of the bakery stairs.”

Marinette scowled adorably. “Those are perfectly fine places to sew.”

“No. They are not.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

He pretended not to find it charming.

A few moments later, she sighed softly and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I really do love it here. It feels like… my space.”

“It is your space,” Damian said quietly.

She looked up. His voice carried something warm beneath its usual calm.

Her pulse fluttered.

“Damian?”

“Hm?”

She tilted her head. “Why are you staring at me?”

He blinked, caught. “I'm… waiting.”

“For what?”

“For you to continue your… singing.”

She snorted. “Absolutely not.”

“You seemed to enjoy it,” he said deadpan.

“You yelled at me!”

“I did not yell.”

“You glared.”

“That is my neutral expression.”

“Then your neutral expression is terrifying.”

He opened his mouth to argue— Stopped.

And sighed.

“…Perhaps.”

Marinette giggled again.

“You could,” he said slowly, “sing a different winter song.”

She blinked. That was… surprisingly cute.

“What, you want a performance?”

Damian turned faintly red. “I did not say that.”

“But you implied it.”

“That is false.”

She smiled at him—soft, warm, sincere. “What song do you want then?”

He hesitated, eyes darting away.

“Any,” he murmured. “As long as you’re the one singing.”

Marinette’s heart tripped over itself.

She ducked her head, hands suddenly nervous around her needle.

“Well,” she whispered, “I can do that.”

And she began humming again.

This time, something sweet. Something slow. Something that filled the room like gently falling snow.

Damian relaxed into the sound, his shoulders lowering, his expression softening in a way he’d only allow in this room—with her.

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t analyze. Didn’t correct.

He simply listened.

Little did he realize Marinette was stitching more than fabric.

She was stitching herself deeper into his life.