#GOTHAM JUST REALLY SUCKS

[batfamfixation]

Batman is not "pro-police" and is sure as hell not a Republican

Some people are under the impression that Batman is pro-police, but that is literally so inaccurate. Batman is for police reform and accountability, and he will personally do it himself if he has to. He is anti-gun and believes a police officer should never shoot unless absolutely necessary. He wouldn't have become Batman if he thought the police were competent. He only works with Jim Gordon, because he thinks most of the police are incompetent. He would and has fist fought with dirty cops. He thinks that getting rid of corrupt cops (and politicians) is an important part of making Gotham a better place. He prefers giving petty criminals jobs and social resources rather than having them arrested.

He is not just for police reform but also prison reform, because he believes the point of prisons should be about rehabilitating inmates. He believes that no one is beyond rehabilitation. That is borderline one of his character flaws. He hires former inmates so they can make a living without turning back to crime. He even has a halfway house that former convicts can stay in until they get figuratively back on their feet. He prefers eradicating crime by addressing the root cause, which is often poverty and a lack of social resources.

AND ANOTHER THING- There's this idea that Gotham is a shithole because Bruce isn't doing enough with his wealth, but that doesn't take into account that he is nowhere near the only billionaire in Gotham. He's up against the Court of Owl elites, and a lot of them are board members for Wayne Enterprises and have a say in what the company can and can not do. The Court of Owls plays a heavy roll in politics and most politicians are puppets of the Court and mobs. Politicians that aren't corrupt get killed by the bad guys for refusing to obey. Look at what happened to Harvey Dent. Look at how much money he has funneled into Arkham to no avail. Bruce can not own and control every aspect of every major business in Gotham. No person should have a monopoly on an entire city.

[starry-bi-sky]

tales of the passerine - danny fenton being bruce wayne's first kid

okay okay. so this is like a continuation/elaboration of my oneshot/prompt i wrote about the idea that Danny was the first batkid. We have a lot of aus where he joins the family after the rest of the bats do, right? So hey! Lets shake things up a bit. Danny is the first to be adopted by Bruce Wayne.

Danny's parents and unfortunately Jazz die shortly after the events of TUE -- how so? I was gonna say an ecto-filter explosion, that would call back to the TUE explosion and trauma behind that. But lets do something new! Carbon-monoxide poisoning.

It's not too unexpected for something to break in the Fenton house, especially with the Fenton parents' questionable understanding of proper weapon handling and lab safety. The water heater broke from a stray shot by one of the weapons, and was promptly MacGyver'd incorrectly. Danny went to stay with Tucker for a guys' night, and came back to a dead silent house.

(Danny's neighbors got a very unfortunate shock when he ran to the next house over in hysterics.)

There was a lot of shuffling around with CPS, the police. People had to be called in to handle the equipment in the lab, and the GIW was rumoring to show up in aid to clearing the scene. When Danny heard of that, he immediately went and dismantled the ghost portal to the best of his abilities. He burned the physical blueprints of all his parents' inventions, their blueprints on the ghost portal, and their most dangerous weapons were destroyed beyond recognition. Anything to prevent the GIW from getting their hands on his parents' tech.

It opened up another investigation, but he was not under the list of suspects. He was placed in the care of Vlad Masters, where they then went back to the rebuilt castle mansion in Wisconsin. Danny, terrified of the future that has once passed and may do so again, shuts down in his grief. Inadvertently, he ends up somewhat repressing his ghost half. Something Vlad, who is grieving Madeline but relishing in Jack's demise and his custody of Daniel, is not very happy with.

Vlad's... gone into a bit of a mental health spiral. He's becoming increasingly possessive over Daniel, the final remnants of his friends and a liminal being like him. He doesn't like that Danny's repressing his ghost half -- both out of genuine concern as a ghost, but also because of his desire to control Danny and groom him into the perfect son. If you ever had a phase where you read Dark SBI found family fics, first off; me too bro, and second off; those are the vibes I'm thinking of.

Danny's mentally shut down from grief! And fear. He's dropped into a bad depressive state -- paralyzed with grief and the terror of the inevitable. Clockwork saved his parents because he believes in second chances, but what's the point of that when his family ended up dead anyways? Danny doesn't wanna believe that he's destined to become evil, and he's holding out onto that hope, but it's a thin line, and he feels utterly hopeless and trapped. He hasn't used his powers or ghost form since he trashed the lab, and Vlad has alarms set up to prevent him from trying to escape.

He's also unintentionally cut off Sam and Tucker -- both of whom are so scared and concerned for Danny too, and are trying their damndest to reach out to him. He keeps ignoring their texts. Danny basically haunts Vlad's manor. He goes out to eat if he has to, attends parties Vlad drags him to, and stays in his room all day if he can.

At parties, Vlad doesn't allow Danny to leave his side, or really talk to anyone -- not that Danny wants to. A product of Vlad's increasing possessiveness. Well, he almost doesn't let Danny leave his side. Danny has a habit of slipping off to hide somewhere for the parties whenever he can, and Vlad reluctantly allows it so long as he stays alone.

This becomes an advantage when eventually, Bruce Wayne returns to Gotham after missing for years, and holds a bright charity ball to celebrate the return. Vlad has been chomping at the bits to get his hands on Wayne Industries, and with the return of its owner there is no better opportunity to wipe out his rival. He goes, and he as normal, brings Daniel with him.

Vlad thinks Wayne will bleed his little heart out for Daniel's poor orphan sob story -- he's a fellow orphan himself, after all. He's not wrong; Wayne's little heart will bleed, just not in the way that benefits him.

Bruce sees Vlad and Danny approaching before they're even close enough to introduce themselves - and like with many of the children he will soon come to care for, it's like someone set a mirror into the past right in front of him.

Danny Fenton's suit is tailor-made for him, and despite the fact that it's his perfect size, the sag in his shoulders, the ducked down head, and the way he hunches into himself all pictures the image of a child in shoes too big for him. There's a far away, glazed over look in his eyes and grief marble-cut into the lines of his face. There's not enough makeup in the world that will hide the dark circles under his eyes.

("My nephew, Daniel Fenton." Vlad's hands are possessive on Danny's shoulders. Bruce immediately notices the way the boy tenses under his touch. "His parents passed recently, and as his godfather I was designated his guardian.") ("I'm so sorry, the loss must've been terrible.") ("Yes, carbon-monoxide poisoning caused it. Daniel was out with friends, when he came home... they had already passed.") (Bruce immediately dislikes that Vlad shared the details of their death unprompted -- he likes it even less when Danny flinches at the reminder and hunches into himself.)

Danny runs off at some point earlier into the charity. At this point, parties are still being held at Wayne Manor (because iirc google search mentioned that was a thing at first before it was changed), so he disappears and hides in one of the empty rooms nearby. It just so happens to be the same room Bruce Wayne hides in when he needs a break from all of the socialization.

Thus begins a long, long process of trust. Bruce can't reveal his hand as being smarter than he looks, but he can be compassionate. Kindness needs no measure of intelligence. He keeps Danny company for as long as he can before he runs the risk of being found.

Rinse and repeat. Vlad insistently wants Wayne Industries, and he'll go to as many Wayne parties as he can to get his hooks into the man. The problem is that Bruce Wayne is never alone, and getting him alone is impossible. Finding him too. It's like the man never stops moving. Always talking to someone, always circling somewhere. He orbits around the room as if he isn't the sun of the Gotham Elite's solar system.

Danny's had such repetitive behavior that Vlad never thinks to believe that Bruce Wayne is disappearing to go talk to him. That "Vlad's" son is even interacting with him at all. Danny never gives him a reason to think so, and neither does Bruce.

Danny doesn't actually acknowledge Bruce until a handful of parties in, where he hands Bruce a small slip of paper he smuggled in that says; "don't trust Vlad". Danny's face stays carefully blank, but he's so tense that his hands are trembling, and he's purposely looking away from him. Bruce plasters a smile onto his face, slips the paper into his pocket, and tells him "okay".

(he's been busy with his own goals with the mafia, but he sets aside time to investigate Vlad Masters. He was holding off. Until now.)

Danny does eventually start speaking to Bruce, he's starting to really like the guy. He's starting to see a little hope, even as Vlad is starting to get more and more agitated with him the more he refuses to use his powers.

He reaches out to Sam and Tucker again, and starts trying to reconnect with them. Vlad has spyware on his phone, and he limits the amount of times he can talk to them. A weird parental control lock of some sort that leaves a time limit on how long he can talk to them for. 30 minutes. Danny doesn't tell them anything about Mr. Wayne.

Danny, slowly, wants out of here, and he's slowly gathering the motivation to do it. Vlad is genuinely scaring him -- and Danny wonders just how truthful the past-future Vlad was when he told him that Danny wanted his ghost half separate. He starts trying to come up with an escape plan.

Vlad has anti-ghost wards everywhere around the mansion, and while they're always on, they boost to full power at sunset. The doors and windows are always locked, all main exits have alarms set on them. The only reason it's not super extensive is because Danny hasn't tried leaving at all yet, so Vlad hasn't had to tighten anything.

At night, Vlad locks the door to his room and puts up an anti-ghost ward around the room. The mansion is on the outside westward side of Madison, more entrenched in rural Wisconsin. The closest town is a four-way stop sign with one house on three corners, and an open bar on the fourth. Not much to go.

He refuses to go to Sam and Tucker; Vlad would look there first. It's too dangerous. Vlad would sound alarm bells and have a manhunt looking for him, Danny can't risk going just anywhere. Too much risk of being found, sold out, or caught. There's really nowhere for him to hide.

Until there is. Bruce is telling Danny about the history of Wayne Manor, and says, as casually as saying the weather; "The manor has dozens of empty rooms, I'm sure Alfred wouldn't mind filling another one if he could." And quietly, hesitantly, Bruce places a careful hand on Danny's shoulder, unrestrictive and gentle; "He wouldn't mind getting one ready for you if you need one."

And there it is. There's his out.

Danny, just as quietly, replies; "I'll keep that in mind."

The ball starts rolling.

Now I've been trying to summarize this au as much as possible for length convenience, but Vlad has been steadily growing more and more controlling. More emotionally manipulative. More agitated at Danny for not using his powers.

He wants Wayne Industries under his thumb but he's been steadily growing more and more concerned with Danny. He's started grabbing him, yanking him around, shaking him; trying to goad him into using his powers. He gets angry when Danny doesn't react, or tells him he doesn't want to use his powers. He hasn't outright attacked him, but he's getting there. This has been happening over the time it takes for Bruce to indirectly offer Danny sanctuary at his home.

It all comes to a head when Vlad stops going to parties at all -- something Danny has to pretend he isn't upset about -- because Vlad doesn't want him around other people anymore. Vlad rarely goes now without him, and only leaves to go to a Wayne function or to handle something at VladCo.

Danny can't wait for Vlad to leave long enough to escape. So he leaves during the night of a big storm. Vlad's locked him in his room, but Danny doesn't bother trying to go for it; he goes to the alarmed window instead. Danny's been repressing his ghost half so long that he can't access his powers immediately anymore -- he can feel it, he knows its there, but he can't quite reach it.

He breaks the lock by hand.

Immediately the alarm goes off through the entire castle, filling the room with red, and he scrambles for the rope the Wisconsin Ghost left for him a few months back. Danny's already out and climbing down the side of the castle before Vlad even reaches his door -- the only good thing about the entire room being ghost-proof is that Vlad can't get in that way.

The rope ends before it reaches the bottom, and he's still twenty feet in the air. It won't kill him if he lands it right. Danny takes his chances, and drops. He breaks his ankle, but he survives.

And he fucking books it to the back garden. He hears Vlad shrieking over the thunder and rain.

I'll save the full experience for a future oneshot, but Danny makes it out into the nearby woods and forcibly experiences what it's like to be in a horror game, trying to hide from the thing that's hunting you. There's only one thing going through his mind; "i'm going to die"

I have this mental image for this scene. Very stereotypical horror imo. Where Danny is hiding behind a tree, with a hand over his mouth, and Vlad is a few feet away from him, glowing ominously red through the trees, trying to search for him.

Danny doesn't get away from this unscathed, but he does get away alive. That's all he could ask for. He gets away by getting his ghost half awakened long enough to transform into Phantom and fly to Gotham.

But he gets to Wayne Manor, he gets to Bruce. Or, at least, Alfred answers the door from his insistent pounding. Danny's just in tears and Alfred gets him in the living room, wrapped in a towel, with ice on his swollen leg before he has to step out and alert Bruce.

Bruce already breaks multiple traffic laws on a nightly basis. And that's just with the sheer existence of the batmobile itself, not including the speeding and military artillery attached. He breaks double the amount trying to speed back to the cave and get out of the suit.

Right off the bat: Bruce will know, at least before Dick enters the picture, about danny's powers. He'll figure out something considering the fact that Danny traveled from Wisconsin to New York in a single night. That'll be a bit of complicated affair, but I've already got something in mind.

Actually it'll probably be very soon after Danny joins the family, because Bruce tries to offer to fight for custody for Danny - the state Danny was in at arrival is clear enough evidence for a trial. But Danny immediately shuts it down, says it's not going to work and then Vlad will know Danny's with him and he won't be safe. He tells him that Vlad cannot know Danny was with Bruce.

Danny's biggest regret was not telling his parents he was a halfa, and while he doesn't want to tell mister wayne (yet), he does tell him about Vlad being one. He needs to know why Danny can't be seen with Bruce. So he tells him, and Danny's current plan is to just hide out from Vlad until he turns 18. That way, he has no more legal jurisdiction over him. After that? He's not sure.

And to wrap this up, since this has already gotten very long and I can make more posts about this au later; I've thought about it, and I'm going to say that Danny does become a vigilante before Dick enters the scene. He goes by, as you probably guessed; Nightingale. "Gale" for short.

[cowchickenbeefpork]

every day without fail I pace and talk to myself like I’m fucking gollum thinking about how much the Isabella arc could’ve been a amazing arc where Edward goes through a scenario deeply similar to what he did to Kristen if given the right buildup (aka making him slowly get to the mental state where he would date a girl who looks exactly like his first girlfriend no questions asked)

it’s not just the fact Oswald killed Edward’s lover to get to him just what Ed did to Kristen. It’s also the power dymantic, how this was the first person they truly felt like cared for them deeply, the exception. It’s about how they both have power above that emotional investment (Edward being psychically stronger than Kristen, Oswald having financial power over Edward since he is his boss and Edward also lives under him). It is about how they both decided to keep a part of them after the fallout whether it be Edward with Kristen’s glasses or Oswald with Edward’s frozen body. A perverse trophy. IT IS ABOUT HOW BOTH FALLOUTS WERE TAKEN AS A LESSON ABOUT LOVE TO JUSTIFY WHAT THEY DID.

I’m so mad that they fumbled this arc on both sides. I am in deep unspeakable agony as I type this. Honestly their first mistake was writing Isabella to be someone who matched Edward’s freak since they quite literally had that with Oswald. But whatever I don’t care for this mid show

[anormalkidingotham]

apparently the gotham city comic con just got cancelled because of security concerns or something like that

[nyhti]

Awww, that’s so cute <33 Bruce teaching him martial arts.

Action Comics #318

[slingbats]

I am going to need that rewrite on my desk by tomorrow, 12 point font, times new roman, double spaced

noOOOOOO IT'S TOO MUCH WORK!!! I DON'T HAVE TIME AND I DON'T CARE ENOUGH........ girl help!

my rewrite where uhhhhhhhhhh. everything is the same except the writers actually care about female characters. a lot of decisions were made because of actresses no longer being available so plotlines like fish's are more or less the same but like, Ivy either gets to grow up normally or is never a child at the beginning to start with (you can go the weird plant body route if you have to keep her relatively younger since this is a prequel ig), and I don't... even know what to make of KK or Isabella, and Sofia should just be fucking. dont tell me there isn't a single female italian bodybuilder who can act, I don't believe you. let her be buff. let her take up space. let her be huge and wear vintage fashion.

also Oswald is fat and trans

[sweaters-and-vertigo]

flirting 101

[legerdomain]

Have we considered if Nygma is even attracted to women and it's just some sort of compulsory thing because his relationship with women is so ? but it was different when it came to Oswald

[hailsatanacab]

Ao3

The man’s grin fades as he takes in the scene, slumping out of his triumphant stance with a disgruntled moan. “You’re not the birdie I’m looking for.”

“I’m sorry, Duke, I’m gonna have to call you back. A clown just kicked my door down. For some reason.” Danny says into his phone, before hanging up and dropping it onto the counter next to him, despite Duke’s protests. He’s starting to get the impression that this isn’t the lighthearted joke he thought it was. He turns his attention towards the clown. “And you’re not the pizza delivery boy. Or, at least, I hope you’re not. Won’t be ordering from them again if you are.”

“Oh, a comedian? You best stop it, because that’s my job, and you don’t want to get on my bad side more than you already are.”

“Uh-huh, right. You’re J, then?” Danny holds up the card and gives it a little wave. Birds, Bats, and a guy wearing a really terrible halloween costume. Yeah, he’s starting to put a few things together. 

A spark of anger catches in his belly and he takes a sip of his water to quench it. Best get the full story before he does something he might regret. He’s only just gotten to this city, he really doesn’t want to bring down the ire of its protectors already. Fairly sure he's heard something about "No killing" and "No metas" and "overprotective vigilantes, so don't draw attention to yourself, I mean it, Danny" and shit.

The guy doesn’t answer him, but that’s alright, Danny’s pretty sure this whole box was his doing. He’s never going to let Sam know, but he kinda wishes he’d listened more to her 135 slide PowerPoint presentation—“Staying Safe in Gotham: It’s a Good Job You’re Already Dead, Ya Dingbat”—rather than playing Smash or Pass with Tucker whenever a person came up. Honestly, Danny couldn’t really concentrate on anything after Tucker enthusiastically smashed on Man-Bat. 

Come to think of it, that’s probably why Man-Bat is the only one Danny vividly remembers. Why couldn’t Man-Bat be the one to break into his apartment instead, at least he knows his name! Actually, wait, scratch that—it would be so horrifically awkward if they were to ever meet. Danny’s not one to judge, but there’s no way he’d be able to think about anything else.

“Speaking of being on my bad side,” J mumbles, clearly dismissing him and turning to face the door. He scratches at the back of his head with a crowbar that had been tucked away in his trousers. Gross.

A couple of men burst into the room, both armed with automatic rifles and clad in sinister looking clown-masks. Danny has to assume they’re with J even if they haven’t fully committed to the makeup. 

As soon as they cross the threshold, J swings the crowbar down and knocks the first one on the ground. He writhes, clutching at his head, whimpering as his blood splatters all over Danny’s nice new floor. There goes his security deposit.

“Boss?” The other one asks, not doing the sensible thing and running, which is what Danny would have done. Well, maybe not, Danny's never been particularly sensible.

“I thought you said this is where he lived?”

“He does, boss, I swear it! Duke Marlon Thomas is the name on the lease, it must be him!”

“Really?” J laughs, high and loud and very insane. It sets Danny’s teeth on edge. “Because unless he dresses up as a hate crime every day, this isn’t him!”

Well, sure, Danny’s existence is a crime, but it isn’t a hate crime. He’s back to not being entirely sure what’s happening here, but if he were to guess, this Duke Marlon Thomas is a new bird in the Bat’s vigilante nest and J is here to… Danny turns to take in the bird with the broken wings, hanging limply away from the body, feathers all crushed and bent. Well, J certainly isn’t here to make friends, is he?

“I’m sorry, boss, I—”

“I moved in yesterday, your guys are a little behind with their info. What did you want with Duke? I have his number, I could send him a message to say his mail order clown broke his birthday present. I assume that’s what’s happening here, right?” He shrugs and lifts up his phone, fishing for whatever information he can get. “You do balloon animals?”

“Mail order clown? Balloon animals?”J’s red lips stretch into a macabre grin and Danny is, once again, reminded how much he hates clowns. “Yeah, I’d love to use you as a message. At least someone here knows how to be helpful.”

J punctuates his words with several kicks to the downed man. Danny grimaces at the violence, stomach turning. If this is what the guy does to his lackeys, just what did he have in store for Duke?

“So, what’s your name?" Danny interrupts. "Bobo? Wait, no, it begins with a J… Jingles? That’s more Christmas elf, really. Jolly? Jello, you look like a Jello.”

“Jello?” J stops kicking the poor guy and looks up, confused.

“It’s Jello? Jello the Clown! Good name, really matches your hair. Not gonna lie, hate the aesthetic but kudos to you for sticking to it, I guess.” Danny shrugs again, a congenial smile on his face.

J barks out a laugh, his voice cruel and twisted. “You’re playing a dangerous game, boy, you best remember my name quick.”

“Wait, it’s not Jello?” Danny can’t help but laugh at the affronted look on J’s face. He was right, earlier, Danny really is a comedian. Winding J up is definitely funny. “J… Jester? Jujube? I’m running out of J words. Is it just Jake, is your name Jake? John. Jeffrey! Jeffrey the Clown!”

There’s a brief pause, the only noise J’s panting as he straightens up from beating the poor guy. He slicks his lank, green hair back out of his face and fixes Danny with a grin. Some of his lipstick is smeared over his teeth. Looking at the streaks of blood now decorating his apartment, Danny sure hopes it’s lipstick. Otherwise it’s just nasty. 

“How about this?” J says, all casual and smiles. 

Danny cocks his head to the side and smiles back, humming at him to continue.

J gestures to the goon still standing with his bloody crowbar. Good for him for not running yet, really. That’s professionalism. Idly, Danny wonders just how much money he gets for a gig like this. Whatever the amount, it’s not enough. Gotham really is a different city, huh?

“I’ll have this idiot here tie you up on that chair. I’ll do to you what I was going to do to Gotham’s newest do-gooder, Signal, and when I’m finished…” J wipes the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing sweat and blood across his face. He spits on the floor, keeping eye contact with Danny the whole time. “When I’m finished, I’ll place that little broken bird on your lap and I’ll carve my name into your chest. How about that? Think he’ll get the message then?”

“So what I’m hearing is that it is Jeffrey?” Danny asks, fighting down his own grin.

“Why don’t you just wait and see?”

“Sure! Hey, out of curiosity, what were you planning on doing to Duke?” He keeps his voice light, controlled, but even that is starting to get to the man judging by the flash of anger across his face. Must be used to being feared, he guesses. Sorry, J, but Danny’s seen children scarier than you.

“Show him what it means to join our game, just what exactly he’s getting into. Fight him, beat him, kill him. Take this here crowbar and show his brains to the world.” He taps the crowbar to his chin in mock thought, leaving a thick dab of blood  “Teach him to understand what the Bat’s signal really means, you know?”

“I don’t, sorry.”

“That help always arrives too late. That the good ol’ Bat only ever shows up after I’ve done my business. That you can only count on him to clean up my mess. That I’m going to kill him—you, now, I suppose—and there’s nothing no one can do about it. What do you think, clear enough for our friend Duke now?”

The man laughs again, high and nasally, and Danny turns to put his glass of water on the counter behind him. There’s no amount of water that can quell the raging fire in his belly now. Frost begins to creep around the glass and Jeffrey is really starting to piss him off.

“Do you know how old he is?”

“What does that matter?”

“Humour me. You seem good at that.”

J’s face closes and he leans down to pick up the assault rifle his goon dropped. Poor guy’s not moving, now. He’s just unconscious, Danny can tell, but still. It’s not going to be a pretty recovery.

“Or I could just shoot you now.”

“Or you could just shoot me now.”

J points the gun at the guy on the floor and pulls the trigger.

As the echoes of the shots fade, J cracks into a full-body laugh, clutching onto his stomach and doubling over. 

Danny’s lips curl into a snarl and he has to take a deep breath to calm down. Not yet.

“Children! Teenagers! He thinks he can send kids after me and I won’t fight them? I won’t hurt them? I won’t kill them?”

Danny locks eyes with the other masked goon, trying to motion with them to run away because there’s no way this isn’t going to end in a fight.

"Do you want me to tell you a secret?" His eyes take on a dangerous glint and he waves the gun over to the guy. "It's better when I do.”

But, the guy just stands there, waiting, looking very much like he’s used to his shit. He only moves when his next orders come and the muzzle of the gun knocks against the plastic of the mask. “Tie him up, good and proper.”

Danny doesn’t resist. What’s the point in resisting when he can escape as easily as breathing? Wait, no, as easily as blinking. Sometimes he forgets to breathe.

The man has him sitting in the chair with a rope coiling around his hands when J continues, “I thought I had made my point very clear the first time, and normally, I’m not one to repeat a joke, but I guess he’s too stubborn to learn the lesson. You know what they say: spare the rod, spoil the child. Not that I spared it back then, but still….”

Danny freezes. The goon struggles, straining against the rope to try to bring his hands together again, with no success before Danny remembers that he’s playing compliant right now and lets himself be manhandled again.

“You’ve done this before?”

“You really are new here, aren’t you, kid?”

“You’ve killed one of the vigilantes before?”

J swings the crowbar like a golf club and peers off into the distance as if he’s watching the ball soar through the air, shielding his eyes from an imaginary sun. Then he springs up in mock celebration, fist pumping in the air before bowing at them as if they were giving him a rapturous applause. “Hole! In! One!”

“You killed a child hero.”

“You should have seen his face, calling for his daddy the whole time. It was so sweet,” his voice breaks, he chokes up, and wipes a tear from his eye, “so sad, so emotional. So funny.”

Danny doesn’t say anything.

“Are you going to call for your daddy? I was hoping to make Signal call for his—actually be his namesake and call for big, bad, daddy Bats to come and help him. Really wanted them all to hear it. They couldn’t hear the first one I killed, I think that’s where I went wrong.”

Once the goon is done, he steps back from Danny and moves around the room to stand behind J again. At least he has enough sense to keep himself out of the line of fire. Danny wonders if he’ll run when shit breaks loose. When he breaks loose.

“This was going to really drive it home for all of them, not just the Bats. And then you came in here and ruined it!” J takes the crowbar and pokes at Danny’s chest with it, prodding him hard enough to rock him back on the chair. “So I’m going to ruin you.”

“I mean,” Danny says, pointedly looking at the mess of his front door, “you’re the one that came in here and ruined my perfectly good evening. I was gonna have pizza. Not even gonna get a balloon sword, now.”

Lightning fast, Danny phases through his ropes and snatches at the crowbar when J goes to poke him again. He heaves with just enough strength to knock J off balance while pulling himself to his feet, and dusts off his jeans.

“You’re a meta?” J’s face morphs from surprised to gleeful, another laugh crackling through the air. “Perhaps I was too hasty in—”

“Nope.” Danny rolls his eyes, not seeing the funny side. “Not a meta. I just really hate clowns.”

He pulls on the crowbar again, but J still doesn’t let go, so instead he swings his arm round and forces him on a jaunty little spin if he wants to keep on holding it. They switch places, Danny now near the door and J collapsing into the chair, laughing all the while.

“For the record, I didn’t call for my dad when I died. All I could do was scream.” 

Danny trembles in rage now, holding the crowbar tight against J’s chest, his hand slippery with blood. He doesn’t even think J can hear him, not over the sound of his laughter. 

His death was bad. Painful. Long and unending.

He can’t even imagine what it must have felt like to be lucid enough to call for help.

“You killed a child hero. You came here today to kill a child hero. I can’t let that stand.”

There’s a hitch of a breath behind him, the rattling metal of a gun, and honestly Danny’s a little surprised the guy hasn’t run yet. He turns to face him, keeping the crowbar pressed firmly against J’s chest. He won’t be getting up any time soon.

“Leave. Get out now and you’ll be fine.”

“Yes,” J gasps through his laughter, “get out! He’s mine!”

The man doesn’t need to be told twice. He drops his gun and legs it, so that’s one less thing Danny has to worry about.

Now. What to do with J…

It’s not even a question. He wanted to introduce someone’s brains to the world, didn’t he? Danny kinda doubts he has much of them, but he doesn’t mind obliging. This is one of those favours that he’s happy to help out with.

He takes the crowbar, flips it around in his hand so he’s holding the less bloody side, and starts swinging.

It’s gory. Gruesome. Worst of all, it’s over in a disappointingly short amount of time.

Actually, scratch that, worst of all is that J never stops laughing. It’s weird and more than a little unnerving.

When Danny’s finished, the crowbar clatters to the floor and Danny lets out a long, slow breath. It’s not an elegant solution, not really. Not even fun and from the looks of it, it’s not even going to be a deterrent.

Danny crouches down in front of him, watching as he blows bloody bubbles on the floor with his sputtering breath, giggling as they pop and shower him with spittle. This won’t keep him down for long, of that Danny’s certain.

“You know,” Danny muses, “I don’t agree with child heroes.”

With a snort, he stands, prodding J in the shoulder enough so that he flips over onto his back. “Bit hypocritical of me, right? I mean, I get it. Sometimes you just don’t have a choice. Sometimes you’re the only one that can do something, as fucked as that is.”

The only response he gets is a weak, nasally chuckle. Danny should break his nose, he’s really starting to hate that sound.

Instead, he turns and makes his way over to the box and looks at the bird inside. Danny can’t even imagine what Duke must have been feeling when he put it together. The panic in his voice… 

No matter how much of a beating he’s just given him, J still knows Duke’s name. Knows his family, his friends, his whole life. Sure, Danny was here to spoil his plan this time, but that was pure luck. He won’t be around for the next.

So he’s not really sure what to do now. What’s the protocol for something like this? What’s he meant to do? You can’t put someone like this in a normal jail—even if he managed to stay put, Danny’s sure this won’t be a secret he’ll keep—soon enough, it’ll be open season on Duke Marlon Thomas.

“But it only takes one person, one messed-up, maniacal fruit loop, for it all to come crumbling down. Adults can understand that, they can prepare for that. They know the weight of their actions, they can fully comprehend what they’re getting into. Children…”

Gently, he picks up the bird. The odd angles of the broken wings make the feathers crunch under his fingers and Danny smooths them out as best he can. It fits neatly into his hand, the yellow underbelly still soft and downy. Honestly, Danny’s kind of surprised that there’s not a bomb in it or something equally ridiculous.

“Children shouldn’t need to.”

“You were…” J wheezes from behind him and he can hear the blood catch in his throat. “A child hero?”

“All grown up now.”

J laughs, a wet, bubbling, heaving sound. “Batty doesn’t like to share.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. With this welcome,” Danny snorts, “Gotham already feels like home. I won’t be giving it up. Besides, I’m retired! He’s got nothing to worry about.”

“Retired?”

“I’m not a hero. I was just someone that didn’t have a choice.” He snaps the beak off the bird with a grimace. “Then my own maniacal fruit loop came in and ruined it.”

That sends J into another fit of laughter, the sound so shrill it sets Danny’s teeth on edge. Clowns. Fucking clowns.

Setting the bird down back in the box, he makes his way back over to J and hooks his foot under his shoulder with enough strength to flip him over. Somehow, his laughter is louder like this. What a dick.

“So I ruined him.”

“You… you think you can ru-ruin me?”

“I know I can ruin you. But…” Danny sighs, crouching down beside him again. “It’s probably a bad idea. As you said, the Bat doesn’t like to share and seeing as he’ll probably be here soon, I’d like to make as much of a good first impression as I can.”

The anger is still raging in his gut, the icy tendrils coiling around his core as he looks down at J. The fear in Duke’s voice rings in his ears. How young he sounded.

“No, I won’t ruin you. But I’m going to make sure you can’t ruin Duke.”

“You can try, you—” he cuts himself off with a crazed laugh.

“You know, I failed English in high school pretty hard. My teacher said I wouldn’t know poetry even if Edgar Allan Poe came back to life and smacked me in the face. I said he already did, but he didn’t get the joke and I got detention for talking back. Still… I’d like to think this is going to be poetic. You see this?” He holds up the beak to him. It starts to glow as he imbues it with a little of his ectoplasm and then encases it in a thin layer of ice for good measure. “This is going to stop you singing like a canary. You won’t be the little bird telling anyone any secrets, because this little bird is going to stop you. That’s poetry, right?”

It’s almost comical, really, watching J trying to push himself away from the beak as Danny brings it closer to him. Danny allows himself a little chuckle, but it’s drowned out by J’s barking laugh, short and sharp, as his fingers slip on the blood and he lands flat on his back. Whatever. Danny grabs at his leg and jerks him back before kneeling on his chest—probably a little harder than he needs to, but that’s okay, he can live with that.

Once J is secure—despite his weak scrabbling against Danny’s knee—Danny leans forward and, thumb resting just under his chin, pushes his head up to bare his throat. J keeps trying to gnash his teeth, bite him, wriggle free, but Danny holds him steady. It’s not like he can go intangible or anything. Really, fighting humans is so boring.

Carefully, gently, Danny brings the beak closer to his throat even as J bucks wildly in response.  His wheezing laughter vibrates against Danny’s hand, spittle flying everywhere. Gross.

It takes a precise hand to phase the beak into J’s voicebox, but Danny’s good at stuff like this. It’s just like working on one of his fiddly inventions, really.

As soon as he lets go of the beak, releasing its intangibility, the cold from his ice bleeds into J’s tissue and he stills. The hands that were beating against Danny’s leg go up to his throat.

“Wh—” he starts, but stops immediately, his Adam’s apple quivering as he wordlessly mouths his question. At least he’s not laughing. 

It takes him a minute of working his throat before he can whisper, hoarse and stuttering, “What did you do?”

Danny’s grin is wolfish, stretching far too wide and showing too many teeth, as he sits back on his heels and admires his handiwork.

“Now, listen up, Jeffrey, you’re going to want to know this. Here’s how it works: that beak will be with you for the rest of your soul’s existence. Believe me when I tell you that there’s no one strong enough that can remove it, in magic or might. So you best watch what you say from now on, because if you don’t…”

He conjures up a splinter of ice between his thumb and pointer finger, and turns it around to catch the light, rainbow fractals bouncing off J on the floor. It would make for a pretty picture, without the clown.

When he’s sure J is watching, he carries on, “If you say anything with the intention to compromise or fatally wound a bat or bird—any vigilante, not just Signal—then that little beak inside your throat will grow.”

The ice shivers longer in his pinched grip as demonstration.

“Now, because I’m a nice person, I’ll give you three chances. Within reason, of course, you can’t just order their deaths and only suffer for it once, I’m not stupid. Don’t bother trying to speak around it, either, it’ll sense your intentions and once your three chances are up…”

It explodes in his hands, growing from the size of a needle to the size of a pickaxe, and falling to the floor with a hefty thunk. J watches it all with wide eyes, a whimpering giggle lodged in the back of his throat.

“You’ll end up like the Titanic. Bye, bye, Bobo.” Danny laughs, standing up. “You know, my mom always said if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. Words to live by now, I guess.”

There, that’s a pretty good job, right? That should keep him from spreading Duke’s identity around, shouldn’t it? Like, yeah, sure, Danny’s shaking up the Bat’s turf in a big way by interfering, but surely he can’t be mad at him now, right? He’s fixed the situation! 

“So, Jeffrey, what do you think? Still planning on leaving messages for the birds and the bats?”

“J-Joker…” he gasps, the word sticking in his throat. Heaving in a wet, ragged breath, he tries again, “My name… is Joker.”

“I don’t care.”

Return to sender (dc x dp)

There was a box set right in front of his door. That was already pretty unusual, since Danny had just moved in, and and gotten done with boxes and he knew he hadn't had anything delivered here.

"Let's get you inside," Danny muttered as he got his key out of his pocket.

Unlocking the door, he picked it up and made his way in. He set the box down on the small kitchen table before grabbing a knife from the cabinet. He sat down and set to cutting the tape along the opening.

Peeling back the flaps, he took a peak at the contents only to be faced with a mound of yellow and black sparkly tissue paper, with a letter on top.

"What do we have here?" he muttered to himself, as he took the envelope out of the box.

Ripping it open, he got a small greeting card out. It had a yellow smiley face on it with the word "Smile!" printed above it. He flipped it open, and his eyes fixed on the printed text that said "Because today is your day!" Underneath it, written in chicken-scratch was written the following: "Looks like the bat has a new signal. At least mommy and daddy won't know how fast you replaced them!" it was signed with a simple J and yet another smiley face.

Danny frowned. "Weird."

Then, he peeled back the paper to find a taxidermied yellow-and-black bird Danny couldn't recognize, with its wings broken.

"This is definitely not mine," Danny said as he looked at the bird. Hopefully the real owner of this wasn't going to be too disappointed it had been this damaged in transit.

Danny took up the box to look at the delivery address, only to find that while this was for his apartment, the name of the receiver was marked as "Duke Marlon Thomas". It took one quick google search to find a phone number. Danny thanked whoever the sender was for including a middle name as it narrowed the search greatly. Dialling the number, Danny got up to get himself a glass of water. As he got the glass out, the line connected.

"Hello?" he heard a surprisingly young voice say. Well, assuming apparently made an ass of Danny. Maybe taxidermy really did appeal to all ages.

"Hi, my name's Danny. I think I got your package by accident."

"My package?" The guy on the other side asked, perplexdely.

"Yeah, a big box with a bird in it?" Danny answered. "Listen, man I'm sorry, I think the wings broke during transit, I swear it was already like that when I opened it-"

"What bird?" Now the guy sounded even more confused.

Well now, Danny was starting to get confused. "A taxidermied black-and-yellow bird?" Danny sounded out, then he grabbed the note and let his eyes go over it again. "There was a note too, I opened it, sorry about that." Danny winced, before trying for a joke to hopefully get the guy to soften up on him. "Whoever that J- friend is, he's got a weird sense of humour."

"J- friend?" the voice on the other side of the phone said. Guess, the joke hadn't gone over well, because his voice had gone tense.

"Yeah," Danny answered withholding a sigh, damn his curiosity. Opening other people' letters was not only a gross invasion of privacy but also a federal crime. Hopefully the guy wouldn't stay mad too long. "It was signed with the letter J and a smiley face."

"Whoever you are," said the guy, and the urgency in his voice had Danny straightening up. "You need to get out of here right now."

"What-?"

Just then, the door to Danny's apartment was blown open.

"I hope you're ready, birdie," a voice outside sounded, before a spindly man in a purple suit, green hair and sickly-looking skin walked in.

"Because you and me are going to have so much fun."

[glow-in-the-dark-death]

Ghosts Tell Me

~

Ghosts gather near the place where something bad is going to happen,

Danny with his ghost sense tends to notice before anyone else and tends to react outwardly before the danger even happens, gaining a reputation of seeing the future,

Ghosts also tell Danny things, causing Danny to know more about situations and the people around him, it comes of as suspicious.

~

Danny pulling away a snack from his coworker: "Careful your allergic to these ingredients!"

Coworker: "How the hell...I've never mentioned that to anyone."

~

Danny on a phone call with his friends while doing his nightly walks in Gotham: "Yeah so apparently the second Robin who is now Red Hood has very personal beef with the clown here cuz he got killed by him after being sold out by his bio mom, which really sucks for the poor guy."

Oracle who has been keeping an Eye on Danny cuz he's very suspicious from an outsiders pov: "Hey B, I think we have a problem."

~

Danny notices that the ghost in Gotham tends to gather where something bad is going to happen, the more they are the worse the situation will be: *glowing smoke leaves from his mouth* "Yikes! Very bad vibes here, nope!"

Gothamites who at this point recognize him and know the drill and quickly pack up their things to leave:

~

Just an Idea

[horrorsequel]

realizing that don/jonas fulfils a similar niche to me as riddler/scarecrow. much to think abt

[mad-hunts]

after hearing what jervis had to say, although it was an impulse he didn't want to give into, all jack could do was turn his face downwards. the act of relating to someone saying something like that about themselves and being able to empathize with them — it made his throat sting, as jack had drawn up the proper dosage for someone of jervis's size of both meds. the pain-reliever was injected into the IV first before he had to stop.

jack still wasn't looking at the other while he spoke to him, ❝ that's not true. i may not know you personally, but your life is valuable. if you spend enough time around people who treat you as if you're just a bother to them, though? you start to believe stuff like that in my personal experience. ❞ it was only when he was finished with having the cyclizine (the anti-vertigo medicine) join the other meds in his IV that he finally looked up. and directly at jervis, too, while squeezing the bag of it. why would he be asking for ketamine?

jack might not be so good at remembering all of the pharmaceuticals his dad just hoped he would memorize, but he knew that ketamine was pretty notorious for causing hallucinations. shaking his head was an almost instantaneous reaction once he recalled something and tried to keep his tone light-hearted. ❝ no, i'm afraid we don't have any of that here. what you really need is food anyways; your body seems to be running off of just hopes and dreams right now, after all. no offense, ❞ jack smiled a bit sheepishly at that before turning his back to jervis.

deciding to just get it over with, he then disposed of the needles in the sharps container in the room once his feet had successfully carried him there. this allowed jack a moment to drop the smile he'd put on and stare at the wall in confusion. because even though it wasn't really his business to ask jervis about the ketamine, in his opinion, it was still perplexing. this was of course after jack had given the man the washcloth he'd carried with him. he supposed now that he'd learned a bit too much about nico, that jervis was now the person he was wondering about.

and i say this because he seemed different. not in a bad way, but from an emotional standpoint. the rest of jack's family always seemed so reserved at the best of times. then unfeeling, at the worst. but here jervis was seemingly intentionally trying to connect with jack. it made him feel less like an outsider than he usually did, which he was thankful for. jack only blinked at the idea of lewis carroll also being a mathematician. he honestly never would've guessed he had both an analytical and creative mind. that was just further evidence that it was easy for people to get swept up in seeing only one facet of a person, jack supposed.

whoever jervis's wife might've been, she must've been smart. a small smile tugged at his lips as the other talked about her liking for puzzles and wanting to pursue different intellectual challenges. jack decided to only ask him a short question, then, ❝ it sounds like you knew her like the back of your hand. how long were you two together? ❞ the smile that was on his face soon dissipated just like that, however, when the topic of miscarriages was brought up. oh... that was devastating. jack didn't even know what to say to that.

he turned his attention to his tarot deck due to being at a complete loss as to what he should say. jack's breath caught in his throat at the apology, nodding as a way of saying 'thanks.' ❝ yeah. i'm sorry too, honestly. ❞ that felt like the best way to convey his feelings about it at that point. it wasn't that he was bitter about it, but saying 'it's okay' never felt right to him. jack lifted up the table and chair one by one to move them directly next to jervis's bedside. and then, it felt as if his heart was being squeezed. ❝ we were. julien was always looking out for me and although i was three years younger than him, i always tried to look out for him. ❞

jack spread out all of the cards in a fan-like pattern with one hand upon the table. he cleared his throat to try to maintain his composure as he said, ❝ i try to, ahh, talk to him sometimes even though he's not here. which does strangely help. and allowing myself to feel all the things that come with grief, then letting them go has been like... going from being swallowed by the waves in a shipwreck to surviving one. ❞ jack blinked up at jervis, smiling briefly before running his hand along the cards.

❝ while we've got time to spare, do you want me to read your past, present, and future? it could be therapeutic. ❞

“Both. Please. Although, you needn’t worry about me fainting; I’m not worth the trouble or the concern.”

Jervis folded his arm across his eyes; counted the seconds as he tried to focus on his breathing. The five senses technique wouldn’t do him much good with his present state, as erratic as his thought process currently was; as battered and muggy as his body felt.

“Maybe even a dash of ketamine, if it’s possible? Though I understand if that’s something you don’t have on hand.” A joke at his own expense; pitch-black, crashing and burning.

White walls, white ceiling, white floor. Everywhere, the gleam of white. The scent of antiseptic choking like mothballs. Good old Vitamin K, thin and watery. Enough pills forced down his throat to incapacitate a warhorse. Which will it be today, Tetch, IV or up your nose?

Not entirely a joke, either, if we were being completely honest here. But the boy didn’t need to know that. Pathetic. As though you weren’t wretched enough… get over yourself. Are you that much of a coward?

He didn’t want to look at Jack’s face, couldn’t fathom how the boy would possibly react. Didn’t want to consider it.

Instead, he accepted the washcloth with a faint, grateful hum and carefully dabbed at his mouth, blotting away every bit of blood he could taste. It almost reminded him of how Alice would use sponges to wipe away errant streaks of paint on her canvases—

Jervis cut the thought off before it could finish maturing. It was a wonder those mental shears hadn’t blunted, with how much he’d been using them of late… He shifted his focus on the comments the other made about the Carroll quote. A very faint grin quirked the side of his face; blink and you’d miss it.

“Correct… though I suppose it’s just a matter of perspective, really. Carroll was also a mathematician, but not many people outside academia tend to think about or focus on that particular facet of his legacy. Quite brilliant… geometry, linear and matrix algebra…” He moved his arm, gazed at a hairline crack in the ceiling.

“My wife would frequently read and re-read his essays, after I introduced them to her.” Pale, scarred fingers swept his sweaty hair off his brow. “She was mad for Sudoku and logic puzzles, always looking for ways to challenge herself intellectually…”

Jervis straightened the chain from where it tangled around his neck, carefully tucked it back beneath his shirt; out of sight but not out of mind. “… she’d had two miscarriages, before our daughter was born; I guess the equations and the rules were her way of channeling it; all the pain and sadness and self-blame…”

His voice trailed off again, and he shrugged. There was no point to any of this; he hoped Jack had enough sense to just dismiss it as delusion or fatigue-induced rambling, and ignore it all. He couldn’t rightly say why his thoughts turned in that direction, and he certainly wasn’t looking for any sympathy or pity. He could barely keep his own eyes open, as it was. But there seemed to be an air of warmth and easiness around Jack; in sharp contrast to his sister and father.

In any case, Jervis’ attention diverted as Jack’s shell bracelet rattled softly around his wrist. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he murmured; nothing in his tone facetious or contrived. Merely a sense of pure, genuine empathy embroidered those four words; infusing them like a cloud of purple mist.

He let out a soft breath and shook his head slightly. “Did you have a close bond?” Thoughts of his uncle Stephen and father, Simon, danced in his mind; their uncomfortable silences and lengthy, strained strolls. Memories flickered like shadows, each one a reminder of the distance that had grown between them over the years.

More often than not, the air between them was thick with the lingering scent of pipe and cigarette smoke, enveloping them like a veil. Each moment felt like a thread in a tapestry woven with both love and resentment.

Two sides of the same coin… but then again, when was family ever perfect?

[acid-ixx]

ch.1: again &. again (platonic! yandere batfam x neglected! gn reader)

directory: preq, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four

read until the end for an author's note.

if there was one thing you hated more than the crime-filled streets of gotham, it would be empty promises.

when was the last time they attended your birthday? or your school ceremonies? or any special event that meant for you to be the center of attention?

plot twist, there was no last time, or a time before that or any day that they were there for you.

not your eldest brother, dick, not your dead brother, jason, of course tim wouldn't be there for you, damian's absence is a given, not even your sisters would come, and most especially not your father, bruce wayne.

you never wrote wayne as your last name. in every test, it would always be your mother's last name. in every document that you had to fill, you would violently scratch in the name of your father, wishing it wasn't required at all so you wouldn't have to hang your head in shame everytime someone looks at you incredulously for having the bruce wayne as your father but never once appearing to be with you.

you can't recall a time you had called him your dad, or even considered him as one.

if you could count the times you have seen him in person, it wouldn't even fill ten fingers. even interviewers and paparazzi have more luck in coming across him than you would, his child.

it sucks, really, how despite having nearly sharing the same age as tim, you never once saw him outside of his room. you thought you would've been the closest to him, but the most you have seen him was when you were watching the news with the "new" robin popping up, or worse; when bruce would be seen guiding tim through the paparazzi and not you. alfred had to drag you away from the tv that day because you were already suffering through a panic attack just seeing those two act so close; ripping your hair out just from watching the news wasn't a good way to cope.

you remember being so jealous of him, of how bruce would always spend time with him and not you. it made you wonder, were you special enough? tim is so brilliant, you could admit. and you were, too, having enough comprehensibility as a child to find out they were vigilantes a year or two after living in the manor— but you weren't good enough like tim. you weren't cut out to be like a detective or a fighter.

it was no wonder why bruce chose them over you.

it came to you in the form of talking to tim that had you discovering that no one ever mentions your name inside the house, proving it to be true when tim had hesitated calling your name and even stuttered through pronouncing it. and then he left after finding you were of no use to help him. alfred had to stifle your sobbing after tim left the room, allowing you to cry on his chest whilst you sat beside him.

(name) wayne was so, so lonely.

you would've accepted their absence long ago, but you were a stupid child who needed care and reassurance because your mother left you for good at the age of five. you were too naive into thinking you would receive the same love from your family just like the other kids in elementary would. you were a child who expected too highly of your father, thinking that he would pick you up from school with that picture perfect photographed smile of his and kiss your forehead and tell you that you did a great job at school today.

it was your teachers who would be the one having to walk you up the stage whenever you achieved an award. alfred would be too busy sometimes to attend your school ceremonies because he had to assist bruce with missions. of course, you understood his priorities. after all, he tried his hardest to make you feel less lonely inside the mansion, it wasn't enough but he was there at least.

it was long ago that you stopped praying for your family to attend at least one of your birthdays.

it's ironic, really, for a child to prep and plan for their own celebration just to hope that a single member of their family to even walk by the kitchen and join them in on their already lonesome celebration.

too bad everybody only goes to the kitchen when alfred cooks for them. who would want to taste sadness in a sloppily made birthday cake, right? nobody, not even you would have the appetite to eat your cake with the knowledge that it was you who had to put all the effort to bake it because you didn't want alfred to feel obligated to. knowing nobody would celebrate birthdays with you, save for alfred, it was expected that you started to prefer cupcakes.

because then you wouldn't be scolded for making such a mess.

you never cooked family meals after the incident where nobody came and to not waste food, you had to bring in large containers to bring to school so you could celebrate your birthday there.

it was there that you find more solace in your small group of friends compared to the desolate rooms of the mansion. your family celebrates holidays together as a whole, but you never once attended after that one time where everybody had forgotten to get you a gift for christmas, save for alfred who gave you a bracelet (one that you cherished deeply). you only smiled weakly and hopelessly, sneaking into your room before the family dinner.

it was alfred again who bought you leftovers and sat on your bed for an hour to encourage you that there's still more christmas's to go.

you never believed what he said. not anymore.

there was a period of time where you hated them more than anything, blamed them for everything and became more rebellious, purposely failing tests, fighting your classmates and disrespecting teachers in hopes that for once your father would bat an eye on you. that only resulted in you being taken out of the school and being transferred into another, for a behavioral reform is what alfred stated to you when you annoyed him for answers.

damian started to bully you a bit more harder after that incident, calling you immature and childish, a weakling, an attention seeker. how someone at your age should've known better. you were convinced that he was relishing in the heartbroken glare you gave him, ignoring the way his eyes widened momentarily at your reaction before sneering and walking away.

alfred gently scolded you, but you were too choked up and instead you almost tripped running inside your bedroom, locking yourself in for what seems like hours.

you don't want to remember the immense breakdown you had that evening too, screaming on your blankets and destroying your things and hurting yourself because... because you had lost your old friends for nothing! your caring teachers, your academic progress, everything! every single thing for an ounce of attention! because he didn't have enough energy to come with you to the guidance counselor and he only had you transfer out so you wouldn't ruin the wayne's reputation!

you hate him, you hate bruce fucking wayne so much and you hate clinging onto their empty promises and sorry's to make it up for you. you hate how their promises were never even said directly to you, you hate how alfred was your only source of hope for a medium of communication.

you hate them all.

and worst of all, you hate yourself for drowning in hope. for wishing you were physically stronger so you could at least bond with them through training. for dreaming about a day where they could surprise you and told you they were just testing you and that you actually had worth inside this manor. for praying nightly that they'll smile at you like the heroes you see in tv rather than that of pity.

you wished there was a universe where gotham was safer, more protected with no criminals littering the streets. maybe then they would have more time to notice you crying every night, writing self destructive entries in your diary, sketching what would've been a happy family. they wouldn't have to wear their silly costumes to fight crime and instead would save you from your own demons.

if...

if you were brutally tortured and killed by the joker, or forced to choke on the fear toxin by the scarecrow— hell, even beaten to near death by some random goons; would they have given you a sliver of their love? would they finally look at you and save you from yourself?

because despite your resentment, you would never lie and say you didn't feel blessed that you were thrown to a family of talented individuals.

your drawings of a complete and happy family holding hands together and a diary filled with rants and fantasies of spending time with them proved just that.

you were blessed with them yet cursed at the same time to never reach the same level to be even considered part of their lives.

you were hopeless. you never amounted to anything. you were just, you.

thirteen years have passed by then, and in those years you were proud to say your development as a person, albeit slow, transformed you from a child that succumbed to neglect to an independent person who managed to maintain a comfortable circle of friends, a scholarship for a college far away from gotham, and an apartment of your own (you were a bit in debt due to having to pay for your own because no way in hell would you ask for your father for financial support).

allowance was scarce, your food supplies weren't infinite compared to back when you were living at the wayne manor, and you weren't greeted to michelin star restaurant meals cooked by alfred— but you were content, and that was enough.

though content translated to nightly breakdowns whilst finishing projects or writing essays, the point still stands! at least you had celebrated your eighteenth birthday with drunk smiles and your friends spoiling you to death when you had opened up about your first lonely years of life. everything was going well for you, truly.

you were so, so happy for the nice turn of events. and you wouldn't have made it so far if you hadn't slapped yourself out of the delusion that they actually cared for you.

look at you now! independent and with a life of your own! you'd give yourself a pat in the back.

you hadn't blocked them at all, but their contacts were empty (save for a few desperate messages that date back years ago) and you were fine with that. it's not like tim or bruce or barbara considered you important enough to be stalked. hah, as if!

alfred communicates with you time to time, reminding you to eat a complete meal rather than those one dollar priced noodles that tasted like pure salt. he told you he misses you a lot, you and your annoying, daily rants about life and school. he misses your awkward smile and when you would help him cook whenever the others aren't around. he misses it when you imitate his posh accent when you taste test his food and give commentary about it.

you miss him, too. growing up, you realized just how much effort alfred would exert just to spend a lot of his time on you.

now, he told you that you are still welcome to the manor whenever, and how he cleans your room weekly in case you'll visit him.

whenever you audio call with him, you'd tear up just a bit at the realization that alfred was more of a father figure than your own biological father. because he at least attended your graduation to make up for the other times he was unable to join you.

what's even better was that he gifted you something you had always wanted for your birthday. despite it being delivered to your door rather than him giving it to you face to face (since you had refused to give him your location and him respecting that decision at least), the heartfelt letter he left you was more than enough to let you cling onto pieces of your past. after all, it was him who greeted you by the door when you were first introduced into the family, bruce being too busy with paperwork that day when you were a measly five year old.

you had started to teasingly call him 'alfie' and a few more nickname after that, which results with a chuckle over the phone every time you had come up with a cheesy name for him whenever you get a wee bit irritated at his own way of making fun of you.

if only this was your life years ago, then maybe you wouldn't have been jealous of all your other friends and pushed them away that day, maybe you would learn that sometimes, family comes in the form of the people outside of your house rather than inside.

that reminds you, maybe you should reconnect with your old friends back in elementary and apologized for your sudden explosive behavior.

you were laying on your bed, phone in hand and opened your inst*gram app to stalk through the names you could remember. well... that was what you should've done, if not for the fact that a notification popped up the very moment you pressed on the search bar and you had accidentally opened a chat with your oldest brother, dick.

you would've ignored the desperate messages you have sent him from the past which all varied from inviting him to eat dinner with you or to at least join you to play in an arcade or anything to convince him to talk to you, all of which were unseen, if not for the fact that it was him who sent you a sudden "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" message, alongside a few more replies that spammed through your phone...

oh!

... that was enough to make you sit up and want to hurl.

dick grayson was a man of many talents. the mature eldest child, the ideal good leader despite his anger issues from time to time, and the same guy who set the standards high for the future robins. he is bruce's greatest achievement.

it was safe to say that if not for the support of many, then he would've suffered so many falls and would've never been strong enough to stand up despite the pain and continue his fights. nightwing was what many superheroes strive to be, an image of light in a grove of darkness such as gotham.

so why was it that he felt like he has failed so deeply right now?

inside your room, dick stands with furrowed brows. it felt too clean to look used. your furniture was polished and look untouched, the lights were too bright and the windows were bolted shut. there were no signs of life other than the notebooks and sketchbooks that were neatly tucked on the middle of the bed and the trinkets that scatter through your desk.

dick stalks through the room, careful to not make a noise as he walks over to the closet, opening it and finding nothing.

he bites his lips at the implication that this was probably the second time he visited your room and how it was also the longest time he remained here. compared to his other siblings, you were the one he noticed the least and... now he feels bad for dismissing you.

didn't he promise to take you out for dinner months ago?

damn it, he was way too focused on his mission that night and ended up ditching and forgetting you! oh god, dick facepalmed and clenched his teeth, seething in some air because no fucking way did he actually remember to feed damian's dog, titus, the same day but forgot to take you out for an important event...

it occurred to him that that was the same day you scored a perfect on "the hardest test of my life!" you had bragged to him awkwardly when he wasn't listening nor looking and you, wanting to celebrate what was a small achievement for dick, chose him to spend time with you!

dick had to carefully breath through his mouth then gulp down the shame he feels right now. he- he has no time to focus on the past but rather the present. he has to find out why the hell is your room so lifeless, yeah... then he'll make it up to you today, definitely.

huh?

is it just him, but why does the room seem so small? it looked like it was meant to be for a kid. clearly, there wasn't enough space for a growing individual like you... did bruce not provide you with a bigger bedroom? ah, dick would definitely tell bruce to relocate you to a bigger room, the current one is too small for even a dog in a manor to sleep in.

dick doesn't want to admit it at all, but... he hasn't seen you for the past few months, or not all, really. sure, he had only recently visited the manor since he's bludhaven's vigilante now, but even through his time in gotham he had never seen you other than the times you pulled his sleeves from back when you were a child.

back when you were a child.

how old are you now? you were so small back then, innocent too. he can recall your curious eyes, your chubby cheeks and the way you stutter through your words as you try to talk to him.

you were significantly younger than jason, and was adopted a week before tim was introduced to the family. he remembers you peeking through alfred's back, gleaming with curiousity and whispering to the butler if it was really the dick grayson. he smiled fondly at your dumbfounded expression, the way your mouth shaped into an "ohh," when he was the one who answered that, yes, it was him. then you whispered again if you can take have an autograph from him, to which he chuckled and told alfred that he'll help accompany you to your room.

when your five year old body tried to waddle closer to his body for an ounce of warmth when he had been guiding you up the stairs, that was also the first time he called you baby bird, with the way you coddled him so closely. his hands find itself patting your head, ruffling your hair and grinning as you both make your path through the halls.

he comes to immediately regret leaving you alone after he had introduced you to your room, remembering his duties as a vigilante than that of a brother.

but despite his early memories of you, he wants to see his baby sibling all grown up now.

had it really been years?

when was the last time you ever had a full-on conversation with him?

was there even a time that he had approached you by himself?

he had always called you baby bird after the first time you meet because of the age gap you two shared. the rare times he acknowledges you, you gave him that look filled with such adoration, like you were proud of him for being your older brother. why did he not notice you?

oh, his baby bird...

dick gulped, trying to ease his shivering by sitting on your neatly folded blankets and taking a worn diary in his hand, one at the bottom stack of books. well, if it was a personal diary then maybe you would've hidden it better, right? he figures since it was all placed on the center of the bed like a piece of treasure that... it would be alright to take just a glimpse.

to confirm if you still see him as your favorite brother.

dick's heartbeat spiked, hoping your entries would be filled with, he doesn't know, anything that didn't implicate some sort of hatred for the family, for him. hoping that despite his lack of attention towards you, that there would still be a spark of love for him. if what he thinks was actually true then... he doesn't know what to do with himself.

he flips through the first page, noting how it was bulkier than the others. the paper was filled with glittery decorations, sequence beads and cheap stickers sparkling at every angle the light hits. it was meant to be a design for the 'front cover' of the notebook, colors blended in a cacophony of rainbows and butterflies and flowers beyond the messy calligraphy that merely states "(name)'s diary!"

dick stifles a grin just from skimming through at the amount of mistakes and erasures, clearly written by the the younger version of you; naive to the world and its cruelty. he commends your creativity, his eyes softening at the few doodles that were written on the corners of the pages.

you're just too adorable for your own good, so much so that the thumping in dick's heart beats louder and louder, ears wringing uncomfortable inside your unventilated bedroom. but he just couldn't rip his eyes away from the diary, daydreaming about how proud you must've been when designing your own diary. he could picture your wide eyes, shy and harmless, and your feet kicking back and forth whilst you decorate your stuff.

everything was what he expected it to be on the first few pages of the diary. all your little rants about your daily life, your eargerness to meet your entire family from your father's side, and the hurt you experienced from your mother's sudden abandonment.

he would've skipped through another diary, one that lacked design and color, save for the name plastered on the front, if not for the grim undertones at every end of your entries despite the child-like manner it was written in.

it all started with "i wish to see my father soon and my big brother dick again!", "alfred told me my father can't come to the parent-teacher conference, he says he's in a veryyy important meeting :( but alfred would come!", "dick told me he can't help me with my science project but he promise he'll help me with something else later!" which halfway through the diary, your style fluctuates and lesser effort was exhausted on the writing.

one entry in particular, written on the last page of your diary, shattered a sliver of hope within dick, his breathing momentarily ceased from reading through your sentences; uncharacteristic of you, too mature for someone at the age of ten to write.

"XX/XX/XXXX.

dear diary, it's my tenth birthday today. i celebrated with my friends at school. they told me i always look down whenever it's my birthday. they think that bruce would throw a fancy celebration for me. i tried to hide my laughter from them. it's a really funny joke. i haven't seen him for months. i told dick that he was invited but i don't think he remembers it's my birthday today. alfred told me to come out of my room, he said he cooked my favorite dinner, that he's sorry he got my present late, but i don't want get out of my room. i heard dick is gonna watch a movie with tim later. i don't feel so good, my chest hurts, but i don't want to get out right now.

i'll eat the cupcake tomorrow."

it had been nearly two hours since dick had sat on your bed, eyes dilating whilst reading through your first diary. the cold season had already pricked his skin, but his entire body felt so unnaturally warm, a warmth that scorches him, searing deep into flesh. a lump had form in his throat, accompanying the hellish throbbing of his heart.

"fuck..." he brought his fingers to his head, carefully massaging his forehead but it relieves nothing. he wants to see you right now— he needs to talk to you. god, he has to apologize, he needs to see what you look like right now, needs to know if you're alright.

you're clearly not.

he has to oppress the urge to punch the walls, reminding himself that it's your room he's in and if he damages your already delicate property, then he's proving himself worse than he already is.

he rushes to grab another diary, the one at the top of the pile, skipping to the end of the page.

nothing. all the entries were months ago, all written in vague detail like you were starting to hide secrets. his teeth grinds against each other, frustration seeping through his veins.

he needs to— shit, he needs to find you right now. he needs to find his baby bird and make up for the all bullshit him and his family had done. if you were gone for months, even years; he doesn't even want to think about it.

but how?!

there were no signs of you. anything written your diary, your drawings, the trinkets on your bedside table— they signal no clues whatsoever, all dating back to months, even years. it's not possible at all, for nobody to notice your disappearance. dick would've noticed sooner. he should've noticed sooner. oh, he doesn't even want to think about the dangers that await you outside the mansion. with how naive you were about the outside world, you wouldn't last at all.

his baby bird wouldn't survive gotham's streets, especially not when winter was nearing.

think, grayson, think...

his phone!

he immediately reaches into his pockets to grab his phone, clammy fingers swifly encoding his password and opening his contacts.

your number was the quickest to find, it was the only one without an icon of you and an endearing nickname. he makes a mental note to change that soon and replaced your default name to your nickname.

then, without hesitation, he typed, "hey baby bird!!! <333 long time no see! how are you?!" sending the message without rereading, foot tapping impatiently against the floor as he scrolls through all your previous messages.

messages that he should've replied to with the same level of enthusiasm as you. skimming through the past, unseen texts as your motivation began to dwindle the further he refused to reply back. he promises he'll never make you feel invisible again.

seconds feel like hours for him, as he blows raspberries to pass the time, too concentrated an ounce of a reply to even notice the entirely new presence inside the room.

it's alright to call you, yes? after all, dick just wanted to check in with his baby bird and see if you're doing swell and dandy and... safe without him...!

his thumbs pressed on the call button before he could think through his actions, his other hand runs through his hair, sweat running down his forehead as if he had ran a marathon.

he waited, and waited, and waited until the call beeped and provided its automated response. he calls you again but the line immediately cuts off, he tries to spam you with more messages but they weren't delivered.

you blocked him.

fuck, he messed up big time. he needs to get to the batcave. he needs to find your fucking location before it's too late. dick needs to see you again before he loses it.

but before he could carefully place your sketchbooks back to its rightful place, he sees a silhouette at the corner of his eyes; short figure, arms crossed, and a sneer on his eyes already tells him who it was.

damian wayne.

he forgot to train with damian today.

but it doesn't matter, damian has to see it for himself— what made dick so disheveled, so delirious. damian has to finally see just how much of a wonderful sibling you are.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: this was 4,600+ words and it drained the energy out of me. it was supposed to be posted tomorrow but i was too motivated !! i'm also quite proud of this chapter. it was a pain characterizing dick grayson and the reader. i really hope this is as good as the prequel because it's 3am right now and writing dick's part was a pain in the ass ^^' as always, please do comment or send asks if you like it for quicker updates!!!

taglist: @lilyalone, @secretomelettetroops, @earlqurl, @simpingfor-wakasa, @amber-content, @alishii, @ruiroku, @okaybutfullhomo, @trasshy-artist, @obsessedwithromance, @deadinside-09, @jjsmeowthie, @fairy-lenaa (shoutout to her specifically because i got motivated from their comment!)

[anormalkidingotham]

i don't get why the penguin constantly orders food to his restaurant

[dcxdpdabbles]

Jason: Hi!

Danny: Good evening

Jason: Oh um, yes, good evening. Do you eat to survive?

Danny: What?

Jason: Ha ha ha! I'm joking! Of course you eat, um I eat too! But why?

Danny: I don't-what are you asking me?

Jason: Gotham is beautiful at night! It's when I eat!

Danny: Are you a-

Dick appearing out of nowhere: Hey there, Jay. You wandered off while I was getting us water. Sorry about him. He's very drunk. I'll take him home to sleep it off.

Danny: *Grabbing Jason's writ* Do you know him?

Jason: Yes, he's my brother. See, that's my family. *Shows lock screen of family* I have many siblings, which means I would be totally fine with lots of kids!

Danny: *Let's go* Oh good. Sorry if he's really that drunk I didn't want him going home with a stranger. No offense

Dick: None taken. I appreciate men like you who keep everyone safe. Come along Jay, let's get you home.

Jason: But-

Dick: You asked me to step in when you were going out of control. Remember?

Jason: Right yes. Ugh Bye.

Danny: Goodbye.

Dick outside of bar: That was terrible. You really do suck at flirting.

Jason: I just froze up! Ugh I hope he doesn't think I'm a idiot.

Danny watching them through the window: That's a vampire pretending to be human. I can smell the undead on him and he was going to lure me to a dark alley if his human servant hadn't stepped in.

Jazz: I was gone for like five minutes Danny, how did you find a creature of the night within that time?

Danny: It's a gift. Thankfully, I'm too smart to be tricked by a vampire.

Jazz: ......you would have followed him into the alley wouldn't you?

Danny: He may be a blood sucker but did you see his muscles? What a way to die.

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk! Danny AU- Part 1

[Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4]

To not turn into a giant raging asshole hell bent on murdering people and destroying the world after everyone he loved died, Danny had ran from Amity with his chosen vice.

A bottle. That’s right. Even after Jazz’s talks about alcoholism as a poor coping mechanism as a form of self harm, he still chose alcohol. Or maybe that’s why he picked it, because it reminded him of her, right before the booze took the sting of grief off of her memory. He was never really all that good at listening to Jazz.

And now she’s gone, so it’s moot point. Danny really hated Nasty Burger.

Danny made it all the way to Gotham, bottle constantly glued to his hand. It’s better than Vlad’s creep-o-self looming over him all of the time. He bummed out on the streets, fitting into crime alley like a native. Danny learned to pickpocket. Not much, just enough for a bottle when his ran out. He stayed human. At first he tried to convince himself that it was because he didn’t want to be perceived as a meta in a city where Batman notoriously disliked metas. Then, as he sunk deeper, he admitted to himself in a shameful curl of a whisper that it was really because alcohol affected his human side much easier.

Ghosts need an ungodly amount of alcohol to even get slightly buzzed. Danny’s human side? Only one full bottle the shittiest tequila he could find could even hope to be more than buzzed. It sucked.

He’s spent two years being an alcoholic that didn’t actually get that drunk. Technically, underage drinking was a crime. But then again, so was being a vigilante ghost. So, whatever. He does what he can to dull the grief. Mostly, he slept on covered and hidden nooks on top of Crime Alley’s roofs. Gotham city had taken pity on him and cleared her smog clouds when he was awake at night. Stargazing helped, at least. It gave him a little hope. It gave him a little wish to change and better and live like he wants. But then the night ends and when the day comes, Jazz isn’t there. Sam isn’t there. Tucker isn’t there. His mom and dad are not there.

Danny always went back to the bottle, in the end. Not that it did much.

Which was why, when he saw three looming figures over a tiny child, Danny’s saving people thing flared with a vengeance and his surprised ectoplasm burned what little buzz he had achieved by downing most of the bottle away, leaving him stone cold sober and pissed.

Danny sighed, dumping the rest of the nasty tasting liquid out. There’s no point drinking that little.

He approached the trio, who were beating up an actual child. Ancients, he hated Crime Alley sometimes.

“Give me your shit, you little punk!” Asshole 1 decided to say like a typical mugger, raising his leg to kick the curled up kid below. Danny doesn’t let him land the kick, smashing the bottle on the asshole’s head before any of them clocked his presence. He pivots, pushing a bit of that extra strength he normally keeps on a tight leash into his hands, and punched the other two in a quick fashion, knocking them out.

With that taken care of, Danny turned back to the kid who was still curled up. Danny sighed again, the trembles in small shoulders plucking on his heartstrings.

“You okay, kid?”

The kid uncurls, and Danny stared. Holy shit, is he looking into a mirror? Blue eyes, black hair, and tanned skin. Holy shit, he’s even got similar jaws to Danny.

“Huh.”

The kid flinched.

“Y-y’er the drunk,” the kid flinched again, eyes darting to the broken bottle still clenched in Danny’s hand. “I- I ain’t got money, honest. Please-”

Danny blinked down at the kid, brain connecting the dots after so long without actual interaction. He’s panicking and staring at the bottle in Danny’s hand like it’ll kill him. Danny raised the bottle and the kid closed his mouth with a click, terror worming its way into the kid’s eyes.

“I wasn’t going to mug you myself, kid.”

“But- y’er the- the Alley drunk.”

Danny blinked. Did he get a reputation without knowing again? Goddammit.

“I guess. Am I famous or somethin’?”

“Nobody- nobody fucks wit’ ya.”

“I also don’t hurt kids.”

“…”

The kid stared at him dubiously and with a sinking feeling, Danny realized that maybe the kid already had some terrible experiences with a heavy drunken hand. He promptly chucks the bottle further into the alley.

“I drink, yes. But I’m also not the kind of scum that would lay hands on a kid, let alone anyone that didn’t provoke it first.”

“Oh.” The kid uncurled more, looking at Danny warily, more at ease now that the bottle has left the chat.

“Yeah. I’m Danny. Stone cold sober, right now.”

“…”

Danny waited.

“Peters.”

“Okay. Peters, do you wanna take their shit?” Danny pointed a thumb at the knocked out would-be-muggers behind him.

“Y… yeah, sure. What’s my cut?”

“All of it.”

Peters stared.

Danny shrugged and started looting.

"Y'er so fuckin' weird."

----

See, the thing is, Danny hadn't anticipated saving Peters- "'s actually Jason"- would result in having a duckling following him around. The kid, Jason, glared at everyone who even looked at them wrong. But that's not the problem, because Danny could take anyone who took issue with Jason's looks, it's more like there's a child following him around now and Danny doesn't want to be the reason Jason turns into an alcoholic. It's- well, it made him cut down on the drinking. He even got jobs- legitimate jobs that sucks out his his poor ectoplasmic soul.

Why? Because Jason's apparently homeless. While that's something Danny's okay with for himself, he can't ever condone that for an actual child. Jason's walking around in threadbare clothes and thin soled shoes in the middle of Fall, for Ancient's sake.

Danny grumbles as he piled a bunch of clothes into the shopping bag as he checked out. Gotham's Walmart is a different kind of hell, but Danny feels right at home.

Sure, the work might suck out his soul and he might hate being sober, but Jason's face every time he comes home to an actual place to live, warm clothes, and food was worth everything.