MisguidedMartyr



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    You grow into the person who would’ve protected you as a child.

     

    Alfred finds himself left with a little boy to care for. Not just any boy, but a Wayne, destined for greatness like his parents. He does his best to raise him, and it hurts his heart - really it does - but sometimes that means discipline.

     



    Bruce knows he’s not good. Well aware that he deserved what Alfred gave him when he was a child. But now that he has children of his own, Bruce can’t fathom disciplining them like he was.

    That doesn’t mean Alfred was wrong to inflict those punishments on Bruce. Bruce deserved it. Just not his kids.

    Never his kids.

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    05 Nov 2025

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    The sun peeks through the gaps in the weaving of the half-closed curtains, illuminating Damian from behind: enough to darken his features, but not enough to obscure them, and it highlights the cowlick springing from Damian’s head as the wax he probably spread through his hair this morning loses its hold. His delicate face is scrunched up in concentration, sharp, dark eyebrows furrowed and mouth pouted; his posture is hunched, shoulders slightly pulled up, almost as if he wishes to hide his newest project from the world.
    Bruce takes the tiny notebook out of the inner pocket of his jacket before he realizes what he’s doing. He flips over to an empty page, clicks the pen twice, and starts sketching.

    Or,
    Bruce secretly draws Damian drawing, and Damian finds something that connects him to his father some more.

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    08 Oct 2025

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    Damian knows about consequences. He knows about discipline. He knows punishment. Father is a fool for being so naïve when it comes to the real world.

    Or

    Kisses don’t make things better… do they?

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    07 Oct 2025

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    “I know what you’re going to say. Poor little rich boy. But he -- really was, okay? At least I lost my dad when I was older. I had training to deal with everything. I had people helping me. He had nobody.”

    In the middle of a Justice League meeting, Oliver stands up for Bruce Wayne.

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    28 Sep 2025

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    Bruce needed looking after. He was smarter than most people gave him credit for (a low bar), but he got into more scrapes than any of Ollie’s other friends (a very high bar).
    Case in point, the man was currently slumped against the governor of somewhere or other, laughing uproariously, spilling champagne onto his own suit. Ollie frowned, lowering his glass. He knew Bruce’s real laugh, and this wasn’t it. It rarely was, in public. But this wasn’t even Bruce’s society laugh. It was too tense. Strained.

    Written for the DC Rarepair Week, Day 4: Out Of My Depth self discovery | first love | parenting

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    24 Sep 2025