A canon compliant guide of Bruce Wayne’s officially adopted children
I noticed there has been some confusion about who all in the BatFam is actually legally adopted by Bruce Wayne so I thought I’d try and help clear some things up.
(Full disclosure you can of course headcanon whatever you like, I made this is strictly to help newer fans know what is actually canon💕)
Dick Grayson: Adopted
(Batman: Gotham Knights #17 and Batman #600)
Many fans argue over whether or not Dick is officially adopted, many saying it was never official and he is still just his ward.
Though he does admittedly usually spend the majority of his actual childhood as a ward, Bruce ends up officially adopting Dick as his son(as I have explained before here)in multiple timelines
Barbara Gordon: Not Adopted
(Batgirl and the Birds Of Prey Rebirth)
There was never a need for Barbara to be adopted because she still has a Dad. She is however still very much in the BatFamily and has trained under and with Bruce
Jason Todd: Adopted
(The New Titans (1988) #55 and Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying)
Now I couldn’t track down a comic where we actually get to see Bruce adopt Jason, but there are plenty of instances in which his adoption is referenced -including but not limited to these two- throughout several timelines and reboots
Cassandra Cain: Adopted
(Batgirl 2008 #6)
Now this one is a bit more debatable as aside from this one instance, Cass’ adoption is never really mentioned again even after the timeline gets rebooted. Still the general consensus is that Cassandra’s adoption is considered canon.
Tim Drake: Adopted
(Batman #654 and Red Robin #4)
Though Tim declines Bruce’s offer of being adopted at first, we get to see Bruce adopt Tim as his son about a year or so later. His adoption is also referenced across multiple reboots
Stephanie Brown: Not Adopted
(Batgirls #13, Robin (1993) #174, and Robin (1993) #126)
Now the main reason Stephanie is not and probably will not be adopted is because both her parents are alive. While her Dad is a villain and out of the picture, her mother is a nurse and fully capable of taking care of her.
Bruce does however train her during her brief stint as Robin and much like Barbara she is no less apart of the BatFamily, she’s just not in the Wayne Family
Duke Thomas: Not Adopted (technically)
(All Star Batman #1 and Batman & the Signal #3)
Now Duke is never officially adopted because technically his parents are alive just insane due to Joker’s toxin of which there is no cure. However Bruce does take him in and let him stay at the manor and it is heavily implied he becomes Duke’s foster parent so do with that what you will
Damian Wayne: Not Adopted/Biological child
(Batman and Robin (2011) #0)
Damian is Bruce’s one and only biological child -of the main canon- and therefore does not need to be adopted because you don’t need to adopt your own child
And that’s all of Bruce’s official and unofficial children in the main canon!💕🖤
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aaaaand here is some pre-relationship Aric Jorgan/Trooper nonsense. if you think there's some weirdness about Ven yes i made her a time traveller and i regret nothing. it really doesn't matter to the snippet that much it's just fun flavour
Ven bit her lip, trying to stay hidden as she peeked around the corner. They were almost to Taris, and therefore to the mission. Jorgan would no doubt chew her out for bad leadership or something if she started a conversation that was about anything other than that, never mind that they wouldn’t be able to plan any more until they touched down and heard from the local troops. But they’d been a team for months now, on Ord Mantell and Coruscant, and she felt like she barely knew him. Not that she wanted to know him, really. He was an ass.
But they were stuck together. She ought to be nice to him, and if he kept up his usual behaviour at least she could walk around feeling superior that she’d been the good one of the two of them. Just like when she fought with Nalyan as a kid.
Ven had never been above petty revenge.
“Armory still have the same number of blasters as yesterday?” she asked, leaning casually in the doorframe as though she hadn’t waited behind the wall for minutes, debating with herself. To her disappointment, her entrance didn’t faze him at all.
“This may shock you to learn, Lieutenant, but blasters require regular care,” he said. Ven scowled, snatching the one in his hand up before she could think better of it. Deftly, she disassembled it and inspected the pieces. He’d already cleaned it, to her chagrin.
“Missed a spot,” she grumbled, shoving the offending piece back at him. He narrowed his eyes, but said nothing as he cleaned out the small cranny she’d pointed out. When finished, he held his hand out expectantly. Ven passed him back the blaster pieces one at a time, hating herself for rising to his bait.
“You’re pretty good with a pistol,” he remarked, startling her. “Seems smaller than your usual.”
“We all get pistol training, Jorgan,” Ven said. “And blaster rifles, sniper rifles – Basic training hasn’t changed in the past… how long’s it been since you went through it?”
He glared at her.
“Most heavy gunners don’t bother to keep the skills sharp. And I don’t remember those flourishes from Basic training.”
Ven blinked. Was he talking about the casual spin she always gave a pistol when drawing it, the same spin she’d used to snatch this one from him? She didn’t even know where she’d learned that. It just felt better.
“Military family,” she said. “Including some very… unorthodox fighters for uncles. My uncle Cody used to give seminars on the best ways to punch droids without breaking a finger.”
To her surprise, Jorgan laughed.
“So this was a family thing for you?” he asked, setting the pistol down. Ven couldn’t muster any words for a second, startled. Was he actually reaching out? The thing she’d been trying to convince herself to do so she could have the moral high ground?
Damn him, now he had the moral high ground!
Ven refused to be outdone.
“You mean the army,” she said. “In a manner of speaking. I’m not exactly some officer’s daughter, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“I was just curious,” he said. “Touchy subject?”
“My family’s great!” Ven snapped. Jorgan bristled at her tone.
“Excuse me for asking,” he said. “Sir.”
Ven grimaced. That one was her fault. Moral high ground, indeed.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen them,” she said. “I… may not ever get to see them. Again.”
“Sorry to hear that,” he said.
“My dad’d be pissed that I bit your head off just for asking,” Ven admitted. “Especially – commanding officer and all. I’m sorry.”
He studied her for a long moment.
“You mentioned him before, when we… talked about leadership.”
Ven snorted.
“You mean when you confronted me and all but accused me of not being good enough?”
“I don’t think you really want me to apologise, given how happy it makes you to prove me wrong,” he retorted. Ven laughed, startled. Was Jorgan actually smiling?
“Take it your dad’s the reason you ended up here?”
“He raised me to fight,” Ven said. “We never really had another choice growing up. So he taught me what a soldier should do, and what a commanding officer owes the people under them, and – he taught me how many people don’t do right by that code. So I do right by it.”
That might have been too much information. It certainly left Jorgan quiet and thoughtful as he checked another rifle.
“You grow up in Imperial space, then?” he asked finally. For a moment, she wanted to really answer his question – yes, but she was born Republic, and the Republic she’d known only briefly had her heart more than this healthy one ever could, because it was her father’s. Yes, but the Empire was a revenant, a parasite, not a being in its own right the way the Empire Jorgan knew was. Yes, but nothing Ven could tell him would convey the truth.
But she didn’t owe Jorgan the truth anyway. They were a team, and a good one, but they didn’t have to be friends. Ven didn’t think he wanted that any more than she did.
“Believe me when I say this isn’t personal, Jorgan,” Ven said. “But that’s really none of your business.”
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It is quite a thing to experience, being the only "guy" in a household of women all getting ready for a wedding. Everyone, old and young, is so stressed out and miraculous looking. They're juggling a million things, and they are putting on their gorgeous dresses, and they are being oh so careful to make their makeup pristine. Helping zip up a dozen dresses and helping to put together the appetizers because your mom needs to make things perfect, and recently she's needed you to be her second pair of hands. She doesn't want you to come out. And she doesn't want you to take the pills that you got from Planned Parenthood either. "Not yet," she tells you. She wants to make sure it's safe for you, she wants to get your blood taken first. She wants you to lose weight first. She wants it to be comfortable for her for you to transition. She asks you to arrange some slices of salami into a rose. When you're done with it, your sister asks you if her eyeliner wings are even. She's not really your sister, but your mother kinda adopted her, so even if she isn't your sister, she kinda is. Or was. When was the last time you texted her? It's not like you text your biological brothers at all either. Maybe you two are siblings, but you're just a bad sibling? You compliment her makeup. You wish you looked like her. Maybe you could, someday. The pills call to you from your bedroom drawer where they are still in the bag you got them from the pharmacy in. You go back to the kitchen and cut some strawberries. You focus on cutting the strawberries. On not cutting your hands. It's not a problem, you're trained how to use a knife, but neither a carrot, onion nor celery cuts quite like a strawberry. Guess you get what you pay for from a free federal program. This is a good train of thought. You're not looking at the bride's soon-to-be stepdaughter, and how beautiful the shade of green she's wearing is. You're not noticing her chest. You're not jealous. You're not ashamed. You're not... ok, what else needs doing?
Everyone's ready to leave now. Everyone but you. No dress, no makeup, your hair is a mess... It doesn't matter. You're not going. You can't. You can't really tell people why. Not only is she marrying an asshole, but you don't have a suit. You don't really care about having one. "Have fun!" as you finish loading up the car, and all the girls speed off and away because they're late because that's how weddings are. You finally feel it. You're alone. All alone. Sitting in the wreckage of the storm that was all the preparation. No more tasks. Time for yourself. Nothing to distract you. You can't help it. The memory of everything you just saw and felt can't be denied anymore. It isn't fair. Even if you had a dress, even if you had all the time in the world to do your makeup, you don't wanna cause a scene, you don't want people to ask questions. It's not YOUR big day, after all. It's a more than logical conclusion. It's empathetic. It's sensible. It feels like rain. What a horrible day for rain. And the noisy quiet of your wailing sobs, that you're attempting to fill the space with, it is broken. There's a knock at the door. You make yourself a man again and open the door. It's your sister. She left something behind. You let her in so she can get it. She gives you another hug before she leaves and she says something you're not expecting. She asks you, "Are you okay?" and you can't even sob out a lie. "You can still go to the wedding in just a nice shirt and pants, you know?" she suggests. She's so close, but she doesn't get it, "but it's not a dress." you don't even think, it hurts so bad. but oh god. you said it. she frowns at you. oh no. "i'm so sorry, honey." oh god. "You're right, it isn't. I love you though." and she pulls you back into her embrace. She lets you cry into her should for a few minutes, "but watch the dress." And she leaves with whatever she came back for. I don't even remember anymore. I just remember the sweet taste of freedom dissolving under my tongue from that first little blue tablet. I remember two years ago today.
May 8th, 2021
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i know it’s not wipwed but i am having feelings abt my two oldest* OCs okay
“If you mean to say that I am a poor judge of character, there is no need to waste breath,” he said, stiff.
She huffed out a breath and then turned, sitting on her hip to reach out with the hand not holding her staff. Catching his hand, she tugged it from his elbow, and he scowled at her, trying to pull out of her grip. She curled her fingers into his palm and held tight.
“Someone always has to leave first,” she said, squeezing once, “and it was never going to be you.”
He looked away, throat suddenly thick. She was wrong. Valyn would never have gone to such lengths, would never have— If he wanted the throne, why had he never asked? Callebero had never held back from giving him all that he could: his company, his favor, his support in all matters. What was a crown in comparison to such things?
His breath hiccupped, stuttering in his chest.
“Oh, abja,” Malia said. “Little brother. Come here.”
With the hand still clutching his, she pulled him close, and he turned to her, hiding in her embrace. He was too tall and they were both too old to be sitting in the dirt like this, but Malia wrapped her arm around his shoulders and held him close. One hand soothed up and down his spine as if he was a little child, and the other held tight to his.
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