#Jason is trying so hard to be a supervillain

[megamindsupremacy]

It’s so funny that Tim is the Most Likely to Become a Supervillain of the Batfam. Like I agree, this is definitely true. However Jason is Right There and he’s trying his BEST alright?

[dcxdpdabbles]

Mr Flavor Soda Part 2

Mr. Flavor's Soda gains traction once the creator starts selling in a fixed place. Anthony's Pasta also grows in customers when word gets out that there is a surefire way of crossing paths with Mr. Flavor on Mondays and Fridays.

It's mainly because Mr. Flavor has gained a reputation for being hard to find. It was almost as if he vanished from one side of the city to the next without so much as a hint of how he got there.

However, that didn't mean he wasn't well known. He was a young teenager, likely fifteen or so, who always rushed about Gotham doing questionable parkour.

People had seen him climb up fire escapes only to do crazy leaps, looking to be aiming for his knees to break on each landing. He was spotted doing cartwheels across walking lanes, sometimes going over the hoods of cars that stopped on the lines instead of around.

He deliberately looked for the most haunted places in Gotham, walking with a traveling tea set because "the ghosts like to have tea parties." He had picnics in the middle of dark alleys, asking the air if it would like a second cup but pouring nothing from his teacup.

People were often confused by his responses when speaking to him. Nothing he said was particularly bad, but it showed his severe social awkwardness.

Customers walked away bemused but holding bottles of delicious beverages.

Another odd thing about the boy was his refusal to sell any of his creations for more than a single dollar. Nothing in Gotham was cheap. A regular Zesti was at least two dollars and nineteen cents, but Mr. Flavor looked appalled to charge so much.

A kid claiming to be among the original group that discovered Mr. Flavor, bestowing him the nickname, quoted the strange soda maker as saying, "If someone gives me a dollar, then I am one dollar richer. But if someone gives me two dollars, then they are two dollars poorer instead of only one."

It sounded humble on the surface, but it didn't really answer the questions the kid had originally asked him which were: "Why do you only charge a dollar? Why not more?"

Some people in Gotham were weary of Mr. Flavor. He didn't sound all quite there in the head. He wasn't near the level of insanity of the supervillains running around, but it wouldn't be a surprise if they all woke up one day to find out Mr. Flavor had snapped.

The remaining skeptics also regarded his drinks with cautious eyes. Despite his claims and the word of Red Hood, many wondered if Mr. Flavor was putting some kind of drug in his drink, hoping to spread it to the masses with his cheap prices.

If he was even selling soda at all.

Zesti is a familiar and beloved brand, but Mr. Flavor was once seen tasting the beverage and shouting, "Is this cream soda?!" He then bought one bottle or can of every soda option from the same gas station.

Each one was apparent "cream soda" according to Mr. Flavor. It was confirmed that the drinks the young boy made were far from the flavor of what they considered soda.

Now, Tim didn't see anything wrong with that. Jason had brought back samples of the other's work, and though the ingredients were interesting, they were ultimately confirmed to be soda. Or as close to soda as Mr. Flavor claimed it was.

He was just a bit eccentric while wandering Gotham. Nothing to worry about. Tim, knowing Jason, Bruce- and maybe even Dick with how determined his eldest brother was to try one of the sodas- had everything regarding Mr. Flavor under control; he chose to turn his attention to a series of missing people reports hitting Old Gotham.

There was no visible connection with the victims besides all having long chestnut hair. Age, gender, and social class didn't matter to whoever was taking these people- and Tim knew they were being taken. Tim found it strange that people who vanished were last seen near the same area, having built a map showcasing they were being targeted within a triangle that covered well-known shopping districts.

It was a bit of ground to cover, but Tim figured if he wandered around there long enough, he would attract the kidnapper's attention. He opened his closet, dusted off his old wig, and an hour later, Caroline Hill made her way over to Old Gotham.

Tim originally hated his Caroline Hill as he did not like disguising himself as a woman, but over time, he grew to adore how easily he could change her backstory and his mannerisms to fit with whoever Caroline was that day.

Sometimes, Caroline was a first-year medical student working through clinicals and rotations. She was overworked, under a lot of stress from her assignments, and didn't have time to be distracted by a social life, much less a man asking her out.

Sometimes Caroline was a highschool student who enjoyed community service. She was friendly, outgoing, and more then willing to take the lead in projects. She was naive and sheltered not losing faith in people quite yet.

Other times, Caroline was a high school dropout who didn't know what she wanted. She would apply to any job that would hire her, dreaming of leaving Gotham one day to find a dream to chase. To her, life was dull and meaningless.

Caroline was even a fashion model once. She was famous for her streetwear outfits and gorgeous selt-taken shots. Tim was proud to say her submission to LexCorp's phone promotion contest was still being broadcast, and she received checks for her work. She oozed confidence as a woman who knew what and when she wanted it.

It showed in her walk as she strutted down Old Gotham, stopping to enter any clothing Boutique she saw under the pretense of looking for an outfit for a big-shot party. She was dressed like the world was her runway, but not a red carpet.

If anything, she dressed like a woman who used to live in Old Gotham during its glory days, gracefully wearing the vintage outfit.

Her attire drew the eye of more than one person, especially when she ran her hand through her long, lush hair, making it fall smoothly against her lower back.

Tim figured model Caroline would be a much more tempting target, mainly because she carelessly browsed the various shops and little cafes. Anyone who watched her could tell she was unaware of her surroundings, and Tim had to carefully ensure they never doubted her blindness for even a second.

It was well; he was in an antique shop, glancing at lipstick holders, when something finally happened. The door swung open with a bang, and he allowed himself to jump as it would be something Caroline would do.

"Sorry! I gave the door a little too much razzle instead of dazzle!" a voice yells. Tim twists around to see a boy his age, with wild black hair—as if he did try to run a comb through it, but the strains refused to yield—and big, sparkling, far too aqua eyes.

Was he wearing cheap color contacts? Or was he a meta?

"No problem, Danny." Ms. Pinkney, the owner, a sweet woman who had refused to marry and was now approaching her sixties, smiled back. "Are you here again to play with Cyrus?"

"Yup, I'm going to beat him today." The boy chirps, walking over to a display that was roped off. He didn't seem to care for the sign on the red rope that read "WARNING: HAUNTED BY ANGRY SPIRIT" as he stepped over it.

It was the notoriously cursed chessboard and the two original armchairs from the eighteen hundreds.

Tim knew of the rumor that the man responsible for Gotham's architectural style- Cysrus Pinkney- had been in the middle of a chess game with his friend Solomon Wayne on the eve of his fortieth birthday when he had died.

He had been poisoned in the middle of a large party thrown by Henry Cobblepot, and no one to this day knew who his murder had been. Following Pinkney's death, terrible things happened to anyone who tried to sit or even move the chessboard. Sounds of chess pieces clicking on the board, low mutters in a man's voice, and even the chair moving back and forth began to appear.

Figthen that Cysrus still lingered; Henry had gifted Cysrus's wife the two chairs, the board, and the table it sat on. She took it home and learned that only she and her children were allowed near Cysrus.

He attacked all the others, including Solomon and his other best friend, Amadeus Arkham. The attacks were so bad that everyone eventually knew not to bother Cysrus.

He became an Urban Legend of Gotham, and many tourists would travel to Old Gotham just to gawk at the Pinkey's haunted family heirlooms.

Tim watched him confidently sit in an armchair before a chessboard. He gave the opposite chair across from him a wide smile. "Hiya Cyrus."

A lamp near Tim was flung at the boy, who took the hit with a laugh. "No need to be rude."

The lamp shattered against the ground, appearing to have been lifted again, only to fall as the boy reached out and moved a pawn. Tim's stomach dropped. His experience with Greta had taught him that ghosts were very real and, when their deaths were left unsolved, often very violent.

This guy had no idea what he was dealing with.

He opens his mouth when the teenager is suddenly flung from his seat, flying across the room and smashing against the wall. Ms. Pinkney laughs as if she just saw a toddler throw a fit.

"Honestly, grandfather, must you be so rude? Danny is just trying to play with you."

Tim watches her hair shift as if someone- or something- was ruffling her hair. Yikes, it was a poltergeist who unliked Greta was not visible but able to touch anything he pleased.

"Knight G1 to F3!" Danny yells, climbing to his feet. The scraping sounds of something being dragged across the floor as Danny twists around with his arms spread wide as a very large wardrobe rushes at him. He welcomed the attack like an old friend, nose cracking as it broke.

"Going Ghost!" Danny screams through his blood, landing on the ground as the wardrobe nearly crushes him.

Tim's mouth drops open. He's taunting Cyrus!? Not challenging his existence but straight up taunting the angered spirit?!

"Grandfather!" Ms. Pinkney scowls. "Stop this at once! You're usually more friendly than this. Danny is a guest!"

"It's okay, Ms. P! I think it's almost Cyrus' death day. All ghosts tend to get a little cranky around that time. Besides we're scaring the lady."

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for " lady" Danny to refer to him as he still wears Caroline. It's enough for the boy to leap to his feet, pat himself down—ignoring the broken nose—and strut to Tim.

Before the undercover man can say anything, Danny yanks out a bottle and hands it over. "Sorry about that, ma'am. Here, I have one on the house."

A Mr.Flavor bottle is thrust into his hands; the bubbling clear water with the leaping boy has green and yellow undertones. It's the only difference to the bottle Jason showed him not too long ago.

The teenager smiles, his teeth colored red. "You're quite pretty. Have a good day! Don't let your drink get warm!"

Then he skipped right out.

"Wha?" He blinks, and Ms. Pinkney slides right up to him with a ruthful smile.

"I know what you're thinking. I don't believe Danny is eccentric, but he has a good heart." She starts carefully, studying Tim's face with far too much intensity. It's not the kind of attention that one gives someone who they are just trying to convince to leave someone else alone. Her eyes linger on his wing for a few seconds too long.

Isn't her shop smack in the middle of the missing people's map? Interesting.

"Who was that?" He says instead, making sure Caroline's voice sounds breathy and sweet.

She smiles "Danny. But most know him as Mr.Flavor."

Tim looks at the bottle in his hands, feeling the ice-cold beverage- did he just pull it out of a freezer?- and unclips it to have a sip. It's nothing like soda, but it is at the same time.

It was far smoother than other sodas, with far more bubbles, and the flavor made his tastebuds sing.

"Oh, looks like you got Sprite. That's one of my favorites," Ms Pinkney comments. "Rare that one. Danny usually sells out by now."

"Does he come here often?"

The old woman laughs. "I'm afraid you're barking up the wrong tree, dearie."

Not what he meant, but if it kept his new number one suspect to chat more, he is fine with the assumption.

"Does he not like girls?" Tim asks, allowing his features to pull into a pout. He is very grateful that her made Caroline young enough to pass for his own real age.

"I don't believe he likes humans, I'm afraid. Male or female."

Huh?

But Ms. Pinkney's attention was distracted by the chess board, which shook slightly as the pieces previously moved by Mr. Flavor returned to their starting positions. She walked over to carefully lift up the thrown wardrobe.

Tim is quick to help her, slowly restoring the shop to its former glory. It's only after they finish that the old lady glances in the direction in which Mr. Flavor disappeared.

"Grandfather Cyrus is my great-great-great-great-grandfather. It's easier for me to call him grandfather since he's been around for generations, but his closeness has made the family tree a bit sensitive to the paranormal. I'm unsure what Danny is, but he doesn't feel human." She sighs. "I doubt he will find what he is looking for if he continues going about things like this."

"Like what?" Tim asks, stepping closer. "What's Danny looking for?"

The old woman's dark eyes chill down his spine as she gazes at him. "Death."

In the corner of Tim's eye, a man sitting at a chess set nods his head. He decides it's a good time to end his daily undercover work. Tim leaves, strutting with less grace as his mind recounts everything he knows about Mr. Flavor.

He is unaware of the person watching him from the alley, eyes tracing the lovely mane of chestnut hair. The grin that blooms over their face is nothing else but hungry.

[ghostly-penumbra]

What I need of the DPxDC "Bruce confuses Danny for one of his kids and accidentally kinda kidnaps him" is to have Danny's parents go absolute apeshit at someone taking their baby boy! their little guy! the most wonderful, most specialest boy ever!

and now whilst Bruce is just realising what's going on and trying to give Danny back, Jack and Maddie already went through half his rogues gallery looking for who could have taken their son! the villains are in shambles! the GCPD doesn't know if they are supervillains too since they are only targeting OTHER supervillains but anyway they Can Not Restrain Them

Danny sees that and just groans and sinks his head in his hands, defeated, and then hears all the cutesy names they are calling him with and wants to die (again) on the spot "our baby boy! our darling bombon! our little starlight!" (ok, he likes that one), "our sweet, sweet little boy!"

in the end, Danny is reunited with his parents, whom get fined for property damage and attacking cops (it was the cops' fault. acab), and they are hugging Danny and grumbling about the fine ("what did they expect? what parent wouldn't tear down the world for their child?" Jason, looking pointedly at Bruce: "yeah, what kind of AWFUL parent wouldn't?"), but they are understanding enough with Bruce, as it was a mix-up and Danny didn't say anything until later out of awkwardness (they judge his parenting if he cannot recognize he wasn't his kid. no matter that they cannot recognize Phantom as THEIR kid)

they leave, happy and relieved, and Bruce hopes they never really turn to supervillainy

once Jason finds out Maddie beat Joker to half an inch of his life (that clown is hard to kill!), he sneaks into their RV and adopts himself into their home. because i said so

[geevesthevieve]

Deleted scene/alternate opening from "Back to Back" ch. 2

The times when his brain betrayed him by flinging him back into that hell begotten warehouse were always at the worst possible moments.  

It started with him removing his helmet, which was also horrid timing. The filters had a nasty habit of clogging if not regularly cleaned out, which caused the thing to overheat. He’d been sweating as the stuffy air practically had him choking for the past ten minutes. So he’d taken the first opportunity he could and unfastened it, tucked it under his arm, and took clear, blessed breaths… Or as clear as one could at an old, musty factory left to decay with the useless ‘Keep Out’ signs doing nothing for the homeless and the addicts just trying to stay out of the cold or get their fix in peace. Clearing them out while they’d been doing a sweep for the latest wannabe supervillain’s traps that she’d left around this side of town had taken way too long and now Jason just really wanted a cigarette.

Then he heard the beeping. 

Maybe it was the tone or maybe it was how it started soft and got louder and faster with each tick. But Jason’s heart-rate followed suit, ratcheting up.

His vision darkened around the edges and the crumbling plaster and chipped stone became desiccated wood where he was barely managing to drag his mangled body across the floor, his shattered bones shifting as they scraped along the warped, splintered surface. Every fiber of him screamed. His mouth filled with the coppery tang of blood, shaping around nonsensical words that had probably been some pointless desperate plea to anyone that might be around to find him. 

The only reply he got was the ever increasing beeps.

“Hood! Get down!”

Louder and louder, high pitched, grating down on his ears. More insistent like it wasn't the only thing pulsating through Jason at that very moment…well, there was always the laughter. The maniacal laughter and the thud of metal against his ribs. 

It was going to stop soon and then the burning would envelop him. Blisters would form and burst in a matter of milliseconds. His eyes would melt and the world would go dark, but the lightless fire would continue to devour him. It would be fast, but it would take eons. 

“Jason!”

Then he’d be gone again.

Something hard slammed into his side, knocking him behind a pillar, right as the last beep sounded, and the blue and black figure that had shoved him to the ground blew past him as the bomb exploded.

It was bright and hot just like before, and then there was nothing.

Nothing.

Then… 

Ringing.

Piercing ringing replaced everything else, rattling against his skull, making him tremble. Jason blinked hard and coughed as more dust and smoke filled his lungs. He waved his arms in front of him and rammed his elbow into something hard, sending a tingling shockwave through it. He cursed, but his tongue tasted like chalk and dirt. He also was aware that he hadn’t even heard his voice when he’d spoken. 

Pushing past the raucous coughs, and spatting out the powdery taste in his mouth, he managed to somewhat settle the hard thrumming battering against his chest. The constant chiming continued going strong against his eardrums. He clapped his hands over the sides of his head and waited until other sounds started to wash the ringing further back. Then he opened his eyes again, letting them adjust to the new darkness. He squinted around for his helmet, but it was nowhere within his current view. There were only fallen columns and the crushed rusted machinery from whatever had used to be assembled here. 

Jason slowly eased himself up, dodging around the cracked pillar he’d been sheltered by, and gasped as a sharp pain shot up through his abdomen, along with a harsh creaking from his ribcage. His clanging head pounded, and the air hit an open wound at his scalp. He brushed his fingers along it and stared blankly at his bloodied hand when he brought it back around.  

He’d just had to take his helmet off.

Blinking hard, he again tried to do a scan for it in the rubble. It had his comms in it. He hated the little earpieces that went directly in his ear, but he was regretting not having one as a back-up. He needed to let the others know what had happened. Most of the bats were on the other side of the city. It had just been him and—

An icy wave poured down Jason’s back.

“Oh, shit.” He stumbled. He wasn’t sure if it was over some debris or just from his still spinning head. He just managed to catch himself on an overturned conveyor-belt—or what once might have been a conveyor-belt. He barely took the moment to clear the lingering vertigo that had his stomach flipping over too. Bracing himself on his elbows, his eyes raked over the landfill of a factory with much more fervor, the cold flooding through his veins with the force of a burst dam. “Dick!” He yelled out into the dark—screwing protocol. 

There was no reply.

Jason's heart thudded loud again, warring against the remnant ringing. There was enough awareness in him to recall his brother slamming into him. Dick might have actually been speaking to him before that, probably shouting at him to move or something before he’d jumped into action. A blur of the Nightwing suit being flung away seared across Jason’s mind’s eye.

“Dammit.” His chest rose and fell too rapidly. “Dammit!” Shoving himself off the conveyor-belt, he staggered over in the direction he thought he’d seen Dick fly.

---------------------------------

---This is just what the title says. It's from my fic "Back to Back". This was initially how I'd started the second chapter, but I realized it wasn't paralleling the first chapter like it was supposed to. So I scrapped most of it an kept some of the pieces. It's not much different. I just sort of skip this part and summarize it in the actual fic 😁 But I was going through a few things, while working on a few other new fics (I really hope to be able to post soon) and found this. So... figured I'd post it for fun!---

[bigskydreaming]

And on the topic of how Dick might have reacted to the Felipe Garzonas case, especially when still on the outs with Bruce himself....

****

The way Jason Todd warily eyed the device in his hand, one might think it was an instrument of great and terrible destructive power, rather than just…his own personal cell-phone.

To be fair, he was Robin, and pretty used to the idea that even the most unlikely of things could be used for evil in Gotham. It could’ve been stolen and replaced at some point by a henchperson of Mr. Freeze, and using it could unleash some kind of cryogenic freeze ray that would turn him into a Robinsicle. Mad Hatter could be up to shit again, and dialing the phone at this very minute might mean syncing it up with a remote radio signal that would override his natural brainwaves and turn him into Tetch’s mindless minion of like…doom and stuff. Or…or…

Or sometimes, even in Gotham a phone is just a phone, and Freud is still a dumbass. And neither of the above possibilities had anything to do with why Jason was being a giant freaking pansy about entering the last digit of the phone number he would never ever admit to having had memorized for months now.

Nightwing had said to call if he ever needed to talk. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t actually want Jason to call, right? Like, its not as if Jason had remotely been expecting him to do that, so its not the sort of thing someone did just because it was ‘expected’ or shit. He was pretty sure. Rich people manners were weird though. Had to factor that in.

But Nightwing had also even made a point to say not talking to people about stuff was Bruce’s problem and that Jason shouldn’t let it be his problem too, and even though months ago Jason had been a starry-eyed dumbass who was totally drunk on the Bruce is the Bestest Kool-Aid or whatever, ‘Wing had definitely known what he was talking about there. So maybe he’d get it, and having this conversation with him wouldn’t be. Like. The actual worst idea in the history of ever.

Deductive logic said that Jason was getting worked up over nothing and there was no rational reason for him to be this nervous about dialing a fucking phone number. And he’d gotten pretty good at the whole deduction shit, given all the work he and Bruce had put into training his mind to view the world through entirely new paradigms, so Jason was pretty sure his math on that checked out. But on the other hand, Bruce was a hypocritical asshat that Jason was currently not speaking to, so what the fuck did he know about anything?

Aaaaand he was back to square one. Well damn. This was excellent. Very productive. Good hustle out there, Jay.

Sighing gustily, Jason flopped back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying to pretend he hadn’t gotten used to how luxurious and cushion-y his ridiculously expensive mattress was. He’d gotten soft, he told himself. Then he scoffed at the idea that the past year and a half of rigorous Robin training and patrols had made him less tough than the pipsqueak he’d been back when living on the street, getting his ass kicked by bigger and badder on the regular. That hadn’t been hardness, that had been bravado.

But it had gotten him this far in life, so maybe there was something to be said for it after all?

Ugh. Decisions were hard. He objected on principle. He also really wanted to understand why he was this nervous…if he could literally fill the guy’s shoes and kick supervillain ass as Robin, what freaking sense did it make that he couldn’t even call him up on the phone?

Maybe you just know better than to ask him questions you don’t really want to hear his answer to, a smug voice said in the back of his mind. It sounded suspiciously like Willis Todd, which was all kinds of weird and fucked up, cuz Jason was damn sure his abusive a-hole of a deadbeat dad had never said anything that insightful in his life.

Which meant it was his own screwed up subconscious - presenting in the voice of his not so dearly departed douchebag dad, no less - that had Jason reacting out of spite, entering the last number and hitting Talk, all while totally on autopilot. Because apparently we’re all making healthy life choices in this Chili’s tonight, Jason snickered somewhat hysterically while his phone rang once, twice, three times.

Ugh. Was he always this fucked up in the head and he just never noticed, or was it a side effect of running around rooftops in a cape. Inquiring minds wanted to know.

“Hello?” Someone said then, answering on the fourth ring. Jason sat bolt upright, his nervous humor vanishing as quickly and unexpectedly as it’d hijacked him in the first place. For all that he’d only actually interacted with the older man a few times, his voice was instantly recognizable. As was his slight confusion.

Right. Because why would Nightwing have the untraceable number of the latest burner phone Bruce had given Jason, when the ever paranoid Bat had him swapping out phones every freaking week? Duh, Jay.

“Uh, its me,” Jason said hastily, as if he could somehow catch up to and overtake the epically long ten second silence he let lapse before his mouth started making words again. “Jason?”

“Jaybird! Hey! What’s going on?” The older vigilante’s tone instantly morphed into one of surprised delight, so apparent even across the phone that Jason actually pulled it away from his ear and stared at it, as if that could explain Nightwing’s inexplicable giddiness. He’d literally only met the dude three times. Give or take a concussion he was forgetting about maybe? Weird.

Then again, the older man was a circus performer from birth. Might just be good at faking being super excited to hear from people? Whatever. Still weird.

“Uh, you said to call if I was ever having, I dunno, issues with Bruce I guess? So I kinda had a question? I mean, if you’re not busy or anything.”

Just one question? Willis’ voice asked snidely, echoing in time with the rapid tripartite beat of Jason’s heart. Since apparently everything Jason said was trying to come out with a question mark attached to the end of it at the moment. Ugh, fuck you, subconscious, Jason thought forcefully, even as he ransacked the recesses of his mind for that bravado he was thinking about earlier. It had to be in here somewhere…

“No worries dude, I’ve got time. Hit me!” Nightwing said cheerfully. His lighthearted cadences were so at odds with the sweat suddenly breaking out on Jason’s forehead, the younger teen couldn’t help but wince in anticipation of its inevitable change once he got his actual question out. This was a bad idea, he decided, way too fucking late for it to make a difference. He had a hunch Nightwing wouldn’t be content to ‘just forget it’ or whatever even if Jason chickened out now.

So he took a deep breath, shrugged and did what Jason Todd did best. Said fuck it, put pedal to the metal, and drove at full speed for the metaphorical police barricade that was his way of picturing all the things telling him He Should Definitely Just Not.

“Do you think I’m someone who could kill somebody in like, cold blood?”

Aaaaand there went the lightheartedness. Well, he’d definitely stone cold killed that, Jason thought grimly into the silence that followed.

“Huh,” Nightwing said at last. “You’re gonna have to give me a second to switch gears here, Jay. I was kinda expecting something along the lines of ‘how do I avoid Bruce giving me the safe sex talk.’”

Jason flushed and nodded jerkily, not that the older man could see it. Still, it’d been enough of a workout just getting to this point. He didn’t trust what might come out of his mouth next if he kept trying to force it. Thankfully Nightwing didn’t make him wait too long before continuing.

“I think anyone’s capable of killing somebody in the right circumstances,” Jason’s predecessor began carefully. Except that was not remotely what he wanted to hear. Or helpful.

“I’m not looking for platitudes,” Jason grit out, not angry at the other vigilante so much as the whole fucked up mess and his inability to think about anything else at this point. “It’s just a simple fucking question. You’ve met me, do you think like, I’d be capable of just killing somebody or not.”

“I’m not offering platitudes,” Nightwing continued calmly, as if he wasn’t phased by the younger boy’s interruption or sudden aggression at all. “And its not a simple question at all. Speaking from experience, most people wouldn’t think of an eight year old as a cold-blooded killer, but that’s what I could have been if Bruce hadn’t stopped me from killing my parents’ murderer when I first tracked him down. And yet that’s still totally different from when I held a gun on Two-Face barely a couple years later, about to shoot him because somebody else told me to, and because I wanted to hurt him like he’d hurt me. Wouldn’t you agree those are two different situations and two different ‘kinds’ of cold-blooded killer? Context is kinda a big deal here.”

Huh. First off…what the fuck? Jason stared blankly up at the ceiling, trying to hurry up the processing functions of his brain because, again, what the fuck? He was like ninety nine percent positive none of that had been in the Dick Grayson Is The Greatest and Here Are All The Reasons Why brochure he’d had read to him every time someone new found out he was Wayne’s newest stray, and like. Uh. Yeah, that part would have definitely stood out. Because once more, with feeling:

“What the fuck?”

Oops. That hadn’t been supposed to be out loud. Bad mouth. Bad.

Nightwing just did a weird kinda half laugh half sigh combo. Rueful, Jason would describe it, if he were describing it to someone else, which it kind of felt like he was, relaying the conversation to himself now that it’d taken a hard right turn into the surreal.

“Blindsided you with that, huh? Sorry, should’ve figured neither of those are the kinda stories Bruce would want to share with you. Then again, I don’t really have any idea what Bruce has told you about me.”

“Not much,” Jason admitted. Which was a major source of irritation, if he was being honest. The much sung praises of Dick Grayson came from literally everyone he met except for Bruce. Who usually just got a pinched expression whenever Jason brought him up, and a rapid subject change that was not nearly as subtle as Bruce seemed to think it was.

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Nightwing sighed. “I hope you haven’t put too much stock in anything else you’ve heard about me then. I’ll admit to a bad habit of enjoying my mystique, so secondhand hearsay tends to lose my best nuances.”

Despite himself, Jason’s lips curved up and he let out a rueful huff of his own. “I mean, this definitely isn’t where I saw this conversation going.”

The older man chuckled. “Thought I was going to just assume the worst and chuck the book at you?”

“Well. Yeah.” Jason shrugged, even though he knew it wouldn’t come across. “Bruce did.”

Nightwing heaved an exasperated breath. “Yeah, that’s the thing about B. Sometimes, he’s great. Other times, he’s an ass. Its kinda an either or thing. He’s never really mastered the art of finding a midpoint between two extremes. Mostly because he’s never seen the point of aiming for middle ground.”

“Well its not like he’s ever really had to,” Jason griped. It just slipped out before he could stop it, leaving him feeling guilty for bad-mouthing B when he wasn’t around to defend himself. Especially since he knew Nightwing wasn’t the guy’s biggest fan these days. But he couldn’t deny it also felt good, in a way.

To his surprise, Nightwing just laughed. And not even in a malicious, spiteful kind of way, but almost relieved.

“God, thank you. You’d think that ‘hey, so my billionaire guardian kinda has entitlement issues’ would be a water is wet kind of revelation, but try saying something like that to pretty much anyone else…”

“And they look at you like you’re an ungrateful asshole?” Jason finished for him. Not that he’d ever actually tried saying that to anyone before, though he’d definitely thought it a time or two. But he could all too easily imagine the reactions he’d get, which was pretty much why he’d never gone so far as to speak the words.

“Yup,” Nightwing drawled, dragging out the p and popping it with emphasis. “And its not about being grateful or not, its just…there are some parts of everyone that just aren’t up for grabs, for other people to weigh in on or take charge of, you know? And a lot of people just don’t get that…because nobody’s ever tried it with them, or had to deal with expectations that…overstep, let’s call it?”

“Is that why you left?”

Jason winced the second it left his mouth. Too far. Definitely way too far, but he’d just gotten unexpectedly comfortable with the back and forth, and now he’d done the overstepping thing himself and was left with just dead air.

But ten seconds of heavy silence stretched into twenty, and went no further, as Nightwing sighed into his side of the phone again.

“The spiteful part of me wants to say it was more of a push than me just up and leaving,” he laughed again, but this time with unmistakable bitterness. “But even while that’s true, its not really the right answer to your question, because no matter how much of a clusterfuck that was at the time, its not…I mean, I knew at the time how to fix it. Where and how I needed to cave in order to make up with him and let things get back not quite to normal, but at least close enough.”

The pause wasn’t as heavy or tense this time, as Jason could almost sense the older man gathering his thoughts, trying to put them into words. He bit his lip rather than risk any more unexpected utterances escaping. This might not have been where he’d thought his phone call would lead, but now that he was here, hearing the answers to questions he’d wanted to ask for over a year and finding them almost comfortably familiar, he wasn’t going to risk distracting Nightwing or shutting him up for well. Anything.

“But it would have meant me caving. Settling in ways that I just…couldn’t. So in a way, yeah, I did leave, it was still my choice. And all of that was definitely a big part of it. I love Bruce, I do. I just couldn’t live with him anymore. Not without feeling like I had to give up my own autonomy and just be what he wanted. Or what he’d expected me to grow up to be, back when he first took me in. And as grateful as I am to him for that, I can’t honestly say I would have stuck around back then if I knew that was the price tag attached. I’m not…I don’t do well with people trying to force me to stick to one place, one thing. I was born on the road, you know? When I was a kid, I expected to spend the rest of my life living like that. Home was people. Not places. And so Gotham…its never fit me quite right, the way it does him, or even Barbara. Its not like I was miserable there, its just.”

“It wouldn’t have been your first choice,” Jason finished again, quietly. There was silence again for awhile.

“No. No, it wouldn’t have been. Not then.”

[era-the-witchy-birdkid]

DP X DC Prompt/Idea

Long time writer for the DC fandom (mostly Batman specifically Tim Drake joins the batfam early AUs and Titans Tower AU) on Archive, Danny Fenton also known as Astroboy2025, decides three days after his ‘Accident’ to create a Jason wakes up a Halfa in his coffin fic. He only does this to help himself process his emotions after well lets be honest his death and revival. And later once the ghost attacks pick up and he picks up the mantle of a hero as a way to covertly get advice/figure out on how to fight ghosts better by transplanting all his ghosts into Gotham for Fic!Jason to fight.

Danny wasn’t expecting much to come from this, he wasn’t expecting the fic to blow up in popularity for ‘creative storylines’ and ‘unique original villains with a ghostly flare to go against the ghostly Robin now named Phantom’ it was just a vent fic with a bit of wishful thinking on his part with Ghost!Jason and Bruce's relationship being so close (He ends up writing Jason getting hugs and affirmations that Bruce still loves despite all the ghost stuff that happening now whenever his Parents go on a tirade about how all ghosts are evil and need to be ripped apart molecule by molecule)

He definitely wasn't expecting his fans to find out about the real Phantom and figure out his identity from there. (Blame Penelope Spectra she had a history unlike the others in his rogues gallery with a bloody trail across America of sharply increase Suicide rates in more isolated smaller cites/large towns that was being tracked by Redditers that had hard stopped in Amity park just a few days before he dropped the chapter of Jason facing her himself)

While the Amity Park tourism to see a IRL Hero in action, and the Anti-Ecto acts Riots, as they would later be called, made by DC fans throwing a fit about the threat to the world’s first superhero were the lesser consequence in the grand scheme of things. Finding his fan Discord was a trip and a half especially since Tucker had to hack into it into the first place because his fans we're extremely protective of his secret ID and reinforced the server a crapton to be stronger then most banks.

While Sam was insisting on this being a horrible Idea and he should try to dissuade his thousands of fans from the truth of his Identy. Danny was just chill with it after the brief panic. And the Fan Discord was super helpful for getting Advce with! while the jokes that he was Batman Adoption bait was annoying the group was amazing for ideas on how to train his powers and advice on how to better fight ghosts. the Discord even make a Power list for him so he wouldn’t forget a power because he wasn’t training it. plus the comfort they gave after Circus Gothica was A+ even with the jokes about how the Batfam curse of clown trauma, despite matching the look as a human batman isn’t real so as much as his fans joke about him being the prefect Bat bait that will not happen.

To bad after a particularly nasty ghost hate rant in front of him in ghost form while being shot at by his parents that before the server would spawn 3 chapters of Family fluff in his fic, was whatched angrily by a fan who in a fit of annoyed rage said these words. “I really wish batman WAS real, then maybe you could be safe in your home for once”

unfortunately Desiree was out and about and heard the wish granted she had no idea who Batman was so went to read the DC comics after that. Good news the DC universe is so messed up as is that Desiree decided no twisting was necessary she’d just to bring everything to life. Bad news all the supervillains now exist along side the now existing superheros and Desiree is now Kaiju sized and now way to powerful for Danny to deal with alone... 

At least the now real Batfam are taking their sudden existence well? and are willing to help Danny stop the Mad Genie dispite the risk that they would pop into nonexistence (with the entire city of Gotham and the other cities, villains, and heroes made real by Desiree’s power) if she’s stopped

[necrotic-nephilim]

"How else am I supposed to learn if you don't punish me?" With Jason x Bruce ship pls 🙏

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

fucked up BruJay my beloved. this is. honestly more emotional whump than physical and the romance is implied, but i do like this piece a lot, even if i struggled with it a bit. have 2.2k of Bruce and Jason struggling to get along. enjoy <3

Sometimes, Jason did it on purpose.

He knew Bruce’s patrol route better than anyone. Which was by design. Jason wanted to know where Bruce was, what he was doing, and who he was doing it with at all times. And really, Bruce didn’t seem to be stopping Jason from keeping tabs. None of Jason’s carefully placed trackers were removed, and Jason knew better than to assume Bruce had lost his touch. Bruce knew they were there, and he knew they were Jason’s.

So if Jason wanted to avoid Bruce, he knew how to do it. And when he really did want to get work done under Bruce’s nose, it was easy for Jason to dance around Bruce’s schedule and send him tail spinning just trying to keep up with Jason.

But some days, Jason didn’t want to avoid Bruce. He wanted the thrill of the chase.

So he got caught on purpose.

He picked a gang on the side of town Bruce always patrolled at this hour. He used the loudest guns he had with no silencers. He started the messiest brawl he could.

And he waited.

Jason didn’t have to wait long.

Like it always was with Bruce, the entrance was dramatic. Shattering glass as a large form with an unfurled cape descended from the skylight. Jason smiled under his helmet.

There were already at least half a dozen dead. The rest were running around like ants, either trying to get away from Jason or futilely trying to fight him.

“You’re late!” Jason shouted over his shoulder. He dodged a batarang thrown in his general direction. “I expected you to get here at least five minutes earlier.”

“Robbery a block away,” Bruce said brusquely. He turned to a few gang members with tire irons and shivs lifted, ready to charge Jason. “Run. Now.”

They didn’t need to be told twice.

Jason raised his gun to shoot one. He wasn’t particular about who he picked. He knew it didn’t matter. The bullet wouldn’t actually hit them.

Because just on time as Jason squeezed the trigger, a batarang buried into his hand. He swore and dropped the gun.

“Enough, Hood,” Bruce said coldly.

Jason smiled under his mask. “Someone’s gotta clean up this city.” He lunged for another thug.

Bruce’s body was like a battering ram, slamming into Jason. He was heavy enough to knock the wind out of Jason, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Jason groaned, trying to throw Bruce off of him. When that didn’t work, he went for his belt, grabbing his kris dagger and flipping it around.

“Do you hold any value for human life?” Bruce demanded. He grabbed Jason’s wrist and pinned it against the ground. “These aren’t supervillains, they’re normal people down on their luck-”

Before Bruce could finish talking, one of the gang members bashed him over the head with a wooden plank. Bruce’s cowl was reinforced, but the little bastard had managed to hit hard enough to snap the plank clean in half. A grunt was forced out of Bruce and his whole body buckled.

Now that was just rude. Bruce was Jason’s meat, not some stupid punk’s. Possessive jealousy flared through Jason, watching Bruce wince in pain to a wound Jason didn’t give him.

“Yeah, they seem real grateful to their savior,” Jason sneered. He threw Bruce off of him and grabbed the gang member. A wiry thing, probably still a teenager. Jason twisted them around to hold his dagger against their throat with his fingers buried into their hair, holding them still. A horrified noise came out of them. Not that Jason particularly cared. He wasn’t the one stupid enough to try beaning Batman with some plywood.

Bruce was on one knee, looking up at Jason. “Don’t.” His fingers twitched toward his utility belt.

“You can’t stop me,” Jason taunted, pressing the blade against tender flesh until the person was squirming in his grasp and blubbering out incoherent pleas for mercy. “Hands where I can see ‘em, B.”

If Jason was anyone else, Bruce would’ve stopped him by now. A quick flick of his wrist to hit Jason with a tranq dart, was how he guessed Bruce would do it.

But he wasn’t just some rogue. He was Jason. And that made Bruce go still, actually listening to Jason’s demands.

“You’re just doing this for attention,” Bruce said carefully, keeping his whole body tense, but not moving it. “Let them go.”

“It’s working.” Jason shrugged, adjusting his hold on the stranger. “So can you blame me?”

“There are other ways to do it without-” Bruce briefly looked around the room at the bodies littered everywhere- “casualties. And innocent hostages.”

“Innocent?” Jason laughed. He turned to address the person he was holding. “Do you think you’re innocent? Why don’t you tell the Batman where these drugs were getting funneled.”

“I don’t- please, I just help packaging- I didn’t-”

Jason huffed in annoyance. “I’ll tell him for you. The middle school down the street. And if there was extra supply, the youth center just around the corner from it too. You remember that youth center don’t you, B? I slept there sometimes as a kid. It was warmer than the streets.”

Bruce’s mouth faintly twitched. His jaw was set. Jason could see him grappling with the rage of knowing exactly who these low lives were dealing to, while still wanting to tell Jason off for all the ugly murder.

How contradictory that nasty little moral code of his could be.

“Let them go,” Bruce spoke slowly, “and we’ll work together to figure out how-”

“Oh don’t even pretend,” Jason laughed. “Don’t pretend you would work with me for a second.”

“Let them go,” Bruce repeated. He seemed to pointedly avoid admitting to Jason’s point.

Jason let out a long hum like he was thinking about it. “I don’t know. What’s one more to my body count?” He started to press the blade.

Bruce moved inhumanely fast. He kicked up, knocking the knife out of Jason’s hand without hitting the gang member. His hands went for Jason’s throat and he managed to get Jason back on the ground. The gang member ran off, footsteps echoing until they were gone while Jason and Bruce grappled, trading punches and kicks until Bruce managed to pin Jason down. Blood was pouring from Jason’s nose and Bruce had human claw marks across his cheek.

Rough. Animalistic. Just the way Jason liked it.

“Why do you do this?” Bruce spoke through grit teeth. “Why do you make me do this?”

“Like you said,” Jason grunted, trying to twist out from Bruce. “I like the attention.” His struggles only got him pinned harder. Bruce forced Jason facedown against the concrete, with an arm twisted behind his back. Jason’s helmet was torn off and tossed to the side.

“I never want to hurt you,” Bruce actually sounded choked up about it. “Why do you have to take it too far every time?”

Jason would give anything to see his face, right now.

“Maybe I want you to hurt me,” Jason said. He looked at his hand resting against the concrete, blood still pouring out of the wound the batarang left. it was a bright, pulsing pain that danced across his reality, making his blood sing. He hoped it would scar. Another to add to the collection of ones he’d goaded Bruce into giving him.

“Why?” Bruce’s voice broke on the word. It was an ironic thing. How badly Bruce wanted to show Jason his mercy. His gentle side. And how badly Jason wanted Bruce’s violence. He wanted Bruce to fight Jason until Bruce’s knuckles were bloody and Jason was barely conscious. He wanted to feel Bruce’s violence down to the marrow.

Jason craned his head back to look at Bruce and smiled. “How else am I supposed to learn if you don’t punish me?”

Bruce stared. For a long moment, he was silent. Jason listened to his breathing like a lifeline. “You don’t actually believe that.” his voice was soft and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to concern.

Sentimental bastard.

“No,” Jason admitted. “We both know I’ll never learn.”

To prove his point, Jason grabbed a stray piece of glass from the ground and stabbed it into one of the weak spots on Bruce’s armor. It made Bruce’s grip loosen enough for Jason to roll free and try to kick Bruce in the face.

Bruce wasn’t fighting him. He only blocked Jason’s blows, and even then, let some of them hit. It was like fighting a brick wall. Hard and unrelenting.

It was starting to piss Jason off.

“Don’t be afraid to hurt me now, Bruce,” Jason said through grit teeth, throwing another punch. It sailed uselessly over Bruce’s shoulder when Bruce easily dodged.

“No.” Bruce’s expression was unreadable under his mask. “I’m not playing your game, Jason.”

“Damnit!” Jason could feel his anger threatening to take control. He kicked Bruce hard in the shin, forcing the man to his knees. Jason ripped Bruce’s cowl off. He wasn’t stopped by Bruce. Hard blue eyes stared up at him. Practically emotionless. “I know you hate me. I know you’re itching to rip my head off for…” Jason spread his arms, gesturing to all the bodies. “For this! For everything I’ve done.”

Bruce shook his head, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. “I don’t hate you, Jason. I could never-” He doubled over when Jason’s knee connected with his stomach.

“Well you definitely don’t love me,” Jason snapped, ice dripping from his tone. “If you did… if you loved me, you would let me have this.”

“Killing people?”

“Hurting me,” Jason corrected. He snatched his kris off the floor from where it’d fallen to. He stared at the blade. “I’m sick of your pacificism. I’m sick of you pretending you don’t crave hurting someone and pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“I’ve never pretended,” Bruce looked at Jason through careful, hooded eyes. “That want… that need has always been a part of me. I take too much pleasure in hurting people. Pleasure in believing they deserve it.” He studied Jason for a moment. “I never wanted it to consume you the way it consumes me. Because I know it’s something you can’t come back from, once it takes root.”

Jason hated it when Bruce waxed poetic. It was a whole lot of bullshit that meant nothing to Jason. It did nothing to fight the roar of rage building in Jason’s chest.

“Do you want to hurt me?” Jason asked.

He needed Bruce to say yes.

He knew Bruce wouldn’t.

Even if it was the truth. Which now, Jason wasn’t so sure.

Bruce was silent. He didn’t give Jason any answer, not even a change in expression. Bruce just pushed himself to his feet and looked at his cowl that Jason was still holding.

“I love you, Jason,” Bruce said. He grabbed the cowl, but Jason didn’t let go. “I want to help you. Please let me help you in any other way that’s not… this.” Bruce’s thumb brushed over the still bleeding gash on Jason’s hand.

Jason tightened his grip on the cowl. “I’m not giving you the free pass to sleep easy at night,” he hissed. “You can’t take back any of the scars you’ve given me. And we both know sooner or later, there will be new ones.”

Bruce tore the cowl out of Jason’s hand. Before putting it on, he started to reach out for Jason’s face, but seemed to think against it, hand abruptly dropping. He opened his mouth to say something. An apology, probably.

A muffled, crackly voice came from inside the cowl. A police scanner, by the sounds of it. Jason only caught the words bomb threat and hostages.

So much for Bruce’s attention.

“Come with me?” Bruce offered, pulling his cowl on.

Jason shook his head. “You know you don’t want me there.”

“I always want you-” Bruce cut himself off, seeming to realize how dangerously vulnerable his words were. “The offer to come to me will always be open, Jason. You know that.”

Jason’s fist curled and his blood dripped onto the concrete. “Go to hell.”

Like that, the intimacy was gone. Bruce put his emotional mask back on to go with his physical one and turned heel, walking away. Jason just watched him go, some part of him foolishly waiting for Bruce to turn back and say something. Anything. He could get any other hero to handle the bomb threat. He could spare Jason just a few more moments of arguing and fighting. Maybe even something more.

But of course, he didn’t.

[mostsanescarletspiderfan]

When it comes to canon it's often hard to separate what is true and what is bad writing/writer's choice.

For example it's easy to say that batman & robin All-stars is a bad comic but how much of what is "parodying" (Millar shitty excuse for being a mediocre writer) is true?

I'm gonna admit that I haven't had a lot of experience with batman comics (I have read probably around 200 of them? For the affiliated heroes even less I think; 85% of Tim's robin run, Cass Batgirl run, Batgirls, an Azrael mini series, Dick's tenure as batman, Damian year of the blood, batman & robin 2011 I think, red robin and no man's land) but can you actually say that Bruce isn't a an abusive parent? Starting from the 80s up to today the character has had a significant change of personality and story from his earlier incarnations, I wouldn't call him abusive with earth 1-2 Dick Graysons and pre-crisis Jason todd. The characters have some bad habits and issues that they have picked up because of Bruce but they are completely fine, things started to change after the crisis and they have never really gone back have they?

And honestly what does that say on how a character is supposed to be? It's an uncomfortable thought to have about characters that have existed for so long, is the writer wrong for following in the footsteps of those who have done the same before him? Like Gotham war is no different from stories like Tim's 16 birthday or Bruce original parenting plan for Cass.

I can't get mad for how things are today without looking back on how they where, I can't say that batman is a good or bad parent without erasing his actions and the situation at hand (saying he's a "complicated" dad is racist, sexist and ableist because you are trying to justify his actions when he is a grown ass man).

Simply ignoring those stories won't change the fact that they still are there, the fact is that now that's who he is and it's not very fun to read about a superhero who is actually a supervillain.

Also this goes for any character who has existed for decades, writers grow up reading about them different and that's how we end up with stuff like modern day Spider-Man.

[televisionlassie]

The reason I find Jason to be boring is because people are so scared to hold him accountable. You can’t claim to like anti-hero’s or claim that Jason is an anti-hero if you’re going to excuse everything that makes him an ANTI-hero.

There is no doubt in my mind that I would like him a whole lot more if people accepted him as a character that does bad things. I understand he has trauma and his own reasons but trauma is only an explanation, not an excuse. While I like consuming content of the batfamily being a family, when it’s not based in pretty much an entirely different universe it doesn’t make any sense.

Pretty much all of the batfamily (except Bruce because he’s can actually be pretty awful to Jason) has reasons to hate or be mad at Jason.

Jason went out in a Nightwing outfit and killed people to try and ruin Dick’s image, and all the shit he’s done to Dicks other siblings. You really think Dick would just be cool with the fact that Jason beat one of his little brothers and shot another one?

Cass has a moral code probably stricter than Batman, she would HATE Jason for killing. And again same thing with the siblings.

Tim I just don’t understand why he would ever forgive Jason. Jason beat the absolute shit out of him, plus you gotta admit that guy is too much of a cocky bitch to ever just forgive and forget

Unfortunately I can’t say much about Steph as I can’t think of a single time where they actually interacted in canon. But I don’t think she would be too fond of the guy who beat up her best friend and shot Damian.

Duke I think has had one personal interaction with Jason and while it wasn’t too friendly I don’t think he would hold that big of a grudge.

Damian I think would be more understanding but it’s hard to forget how he was shot by Jason and had to have his SPINE replaced because of Jason.

I’m not trying to hate on Jason, he honestly makes me sad because he is filled with wasted potential. It’s not even that they never make him do bad things, it’s that there’s never any lasting consequences.

Many times when I see people who hate on Jason they bring in the death penalty argument, which as much as I hate and believe is stupid, still has some tiny bit of validity. The reason it sucks is because the world of DC comics is not even remotely similar to our real life. Criminals in real life don’t have plant powers or convoluted plans to distribute their weird ass poisonous gas. If they did, they wouldn’t even spend a night in jail because they would be shot on the spot. If Jason did just kill these types of criminals, then he would not be considered an anti-hero, just a hero. But that’s the thing, Jason doesn’t just kill the Joker, or the Riddler or any of the Rogues, he kills the type of criminals we would see in our real lives. THAT is where the validity lies in that argument, it’s not just that Jason is killing supervillains but that he is killing the type of people that we are fighting against the death penalty for. Obviously this argument means nothing to you if you are pro-death penalty but I just wanted to explain.

Jason would be so interesting if he was treated like the character he is supposed to be. A young traumatized person who does bad things for the right reasons but still has to face the consequences.

And if people really want to give him a character arc where he eventually stops killing, it shouldn’t just be he gets tried of killing or tired of arguing with Bruce, but that he sees how his way of crime-fighting can do more harm than good.

It’s just so frustrating to see how people just act accept anti-heros for what they are. It like people are so scared of making or admitting a character to be immoral, that they just erase the consequences of their bad actions to make it excusable.

Anyways, thank you for coming to my rant, Jason Todd fans this wasn’t me hating on your babygirl, I’m trying to help you.

[the-witchhunter]

What I like about Bruce Wayne x Harvey Dent

It has a very “childhood sweetheart” kind of vibe. They didn’t stay together but they stayed friends and life circumstances forced them apart. And by life circumstances I mean becoming a villain and being committed to Arkham on one side, and being Batman and a new father on the other

And there’s something so… compelling about them reconnecting after all that

There’s the familiarity there, but they’re older and very different people. How do they fit into each other’s new normal?

Harvey is out of Arkham and he’s still learning to manage his condition while living outside of the structure of the asylum. Even if two face doesn’t actively commit crimes when he fronts, he’s his own complication when it comes to obligations and dating

Bruce is a single parent of a traumatized Dick. It’s hard enough being a parent and introducing your kid to your new partner, but a whole new complication when he actively fought against your partner when they were a supervillain. And even if he’s not actively causing harm, TwoFace is maybe not the best influence when he’s fronting

Or hell, them getting together further in the timeline. Imagine this when Dick is in his full teen angst fighting with Bruce disco-wing era. Bruce dating a (former) supervillain would just add fuel to the fire.

And Just Harvey trying to bond with a freshly taken in Jason because that’s his partner’s new kid, but not knowing how to handle it and being awkward. Meanwhile stress from Dick coming around and yelling at Bruce about both Harvey and Jason probably results in two face fronting more

And frankly I enjoy bad influence uncle two-y bonding with Jason by hot wiring one of Bruce’s cars and the two of them going on a joy ride Crime Alley style

It makes it all the more awkward and tragic when it comes out TwoFace killed Willis Todd

It has everything! Fluff, angst, comedy, Drama!

[wingdingery]

Trick or treat! Happy for any treat :))))

Hello, anon!! You get… (spins the wheel) a peek in the WIP icebox!

WIPs in the icebox are old WIPs that I’m not actively working on anymore and might never post.

This is an Under the Red Hood AU where SlaDick are (waves hands vaguely) something so Dick “hires” Slade to protect Jason from Black Mask’s contract hit squad, and Jason is very confused.

__________

The thing about Jason is that he doesn’t believe in luck, or divine intervention, or good deeds going unpunished. If any of those things were real, he’s sure his life would be very different.

So when he sees another lackey of the day go down in front of him with a well-placed bullet to the knee, he follows his suspicions to the rooftop where Deathstroke the fucking Terminator is calmly packing away his gear.

“What the fuck do you want?” Jason demands.

“From you? Nothing.” Deathstroke swings his bag over his shoulder.

“You think I don’t know about the five hundred grand Black Mask put out on me?” Jason thumps his fist against his chest and spreads his arms wide. “Well, I’m right here. Come and get it.”

“Tempting,” Deathstroke says, like he’d rather lick dirt off the sidewalk. “Unfortunately, I have a better offer elsewhere, so you and your death wish will have to survive another day.”

“What kind of offer?”

“Security,” Deathstroke says. “You keep kicking; I get what I’m due.”

Jason’s nostrils flare. “I can handle myself.”

“Do I look like I care?” Deathstroke says. “I do what I’m hired for. You have a problem, you can take it up with my client.”

Jason can’t think of a single person who would give that much of a shit to keep him alive. “Who’s your client?”

“If you don’t know, that’s your problem,” Deathstroke says. “Information doesn’t come free. And the answer to that question is going to cost you much more than you can afford.”

Jason scowls. Whoever it is, they’d have to have some pretty deep pockets—some pretty deep pockets and a certain sense of morality that would exclude the first rich asshole that springs to Jason’s mind.

Well, would mostly exclude him, except…

“You get a lot of the squeamish type?” Jason says; then, at Deathstroke’s impassive stare, adds, “Seems to me like a clean headshot would be the fastest way to put ‘em down. Instead, they’re getting away with rubber fucking bullets in the leg. Wonder why.”

“Professional courtesy,” Deathstroke says. “Job’s a job. You’re not going to have many friends in the business if you go around offing your associates first chance you get.”

Jason scowls. “I’m not in it to make friends. You can keep your life advice to yourself.”

Deathstroke snorts. “Do I look like your youth group leader? If you want to die alone, that’s your business.”

Jason absolutely refuses to be shamed about his social life by Deathstroke the fucking Terminator. What the fuck is even happening.

“You’d better not be recruiting for Lex fucking Luthor.” He knows Luthor’s hired Deathstroke in the past. If this is some scheme to get him to join some secret supervillain club, he’s gonna throw a fucking riot. As much as he doesn’t want to be associated with Bruce and Dick and the fucking replacement, Luthor feels like a significant step down.

Instead of answering, Deathstroke just slugs him on the shoulder as he walks by, hard enough that Jason stumbles. “Try a bit harder to stay alive, would you? I’ve got a nice deal resting on it.”

“Well, so long as it’s helpful for you,” Jason says, but Deathstroke is already gone.

[laalaaliaa]

Hello! I saw that ur batfam requests were open so I came here to request!

Idea: You were murdered 5 years ago and they wanted vengeance. They'd spend hours on the bat computer trying to find some clues about your killer. Your killer had left many signs at the scene, including a note written on the wall with your blood, "Catch me if you can, batsy".

They found clues that lead to a warehouse in the middle of nowhere. The warehouse seemed to be empty. They were just about to leave until they got attacked by a masked woman. They quickly took her down and took her to the batcave for questions.

Once they got there, they immediately started asking questions. She stayed quite the whole time, she didn't make a squeak. It wasn't long before things got heated and Damian pulled of her mask in a blind rage.

You can probably imagine the shock they felt when they saw you under that mask. You could only look up at them with an evil smirk. "Damn, I guess you caught me" you said in a teasing voice.

That was all, you can choose what happens next if you'd like (or u can leave it at that). Have a good day!

Damsel in distress

fitting, except you’re not…

batfam x fem!reader

warnings: angsty

thank you for the request, i apologize for not getting requests in fast enough, i got writers block :(

enjoy!

It was inevitable. Your death was inevitable. Everyone dies, whether it be from natural causes, or in worse case scenarios—supervillains. Bruce knew one day that he wouldn’t be able to save everyone, but he didn’t know how soon that day would come. It was like a fresh memory, recoiling in the back of his mind. He couldn’t save you, no matter how hard he tried, he failed you, just like he did Jason. The others didn’t know how to take it, they fought so hard to reach you, but once they did, you were gone for good.

Jason was the second to reach the torn down building. He screamed for you, in hopes you would scream back. You never did. The most heartbreaking thing Jason could’ve ever experienced was in front of him. Bruce held your lifeless body, and he couldn’t help but feel nostalgic. Did he cradle him the same way? Did he fall to the ground in utter despair? He made his way closer, watching the way Bruce held your lifeless body as if holding you would bring you back.

Bruce felt the comforting hand of Jason land on his shoulder, as if he were trying to lift the burden off of him. Bruce held you tightly, lifting his head weakly as he stared at the mocking words written right in front of his eyes: ‘Catch me if you can Batsy.’ He felt mocked, as if his own failures were finally catching up with him. Maybe they never should’ve let you gone out that night. So many things he could’ve done to prevent your demise. He failed you, he failed himself.

Years had passed, within those five years since you’d be gone, they were no longer the same. Bruce found out he had a son, and he couldn’t help but feel pained at the thought of you not being there to welcome him. Jason and Bruce no longer kept in touch, if Dick was lucky, he’d reunite the two, only for a mission and no longer. Damian didn’t know you, he didn’t want to—seeing as he didn’t want to get to know the others either, but he was curious without a doubt.

It was a usual night in Gotham, Bruce spending all his time cooped up in the bat cave, as he sent the others out. Damian wouldn’t say it—well he would—but his father was still stuck in the past. It was as if you were the only thing keeping the family together. He found it absurd. So as he returned from his nightly activities he couldn’t help but call his own father out.

“You’re ridiculous father.” He announced, sheathing his sword as he rid of his mask. Bruce turned in his chair to face Damian, who although tried his hardest to look stern and mean, looked adorable. Bruce chuckled a bit, leaning forward to reach the same height as the younger boy. “You wouldn’t understand Damian.” Damian remained blank, hostile as some would describe, his posture challenging as well. “Explain.” He uttered, his arms crossed like a brat.

Bruce scratched his chin in thought, different memories of you scattered around his brain as he tried—although failed miserably—to explain the importance of you. Damian still remained adamant that you were someone who brought weakness upon the family. Allowing them to become weak and vulnerable, but in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wished he’d met you once. Shame.

“Y/N, was important because she somehow sought the better in all of us. She cared about us and was tough at times, stubborn even, but she held us together and helped us when we were lost. She died five years ago, today actually.” Bruce’s voice became weak towards the end, Damian wanted to scoff, and he did, causing Bruce’s vulnerable state to become covered with a blank stare. “You would’ve liked her.” He finished off, turning his back to the boy as he continued looking up files and information from the night of your death.

Damian left him alone, the silence of the cave comforting Bruce like a warm hug. It give him the extra boost of energy to continue searching for information. He had clues, yet they remained scattered, prompting him to feel frustrated. You were gone, he knew that, but you deserved justice.

—

“Bruce, can you come look at this.” Dick yelled with a mouthful of almonds. Bruce decided to let the computer go, hours spent with nothing to help your case. Dick was determined, with the old clues given, he had somehow pinpointed each location clue. Your favorite spot, favorite restaurant, favorite cafe. They knew everything about you, and Dick couldn’t help but resent the person more. As he continued to type away at the computer, a new clue popped up. He faltered, his fingers hovering above the keys as he eyed the location carefully.

“Bruce I,” He cut himself off, a new found determination in his veins as he turned his chair, flinching at the sight of Bruce standing directly behind him. His facade remained cold, gazing curiously at the computer before gazing at Dick. “Let’s go.” Bruce commanded, a new found hope blazing in the two men. Dick stood, sprinting in front of Bruce before he could continue towards what Dick assumed was the bat-mobile.

“Wait we need to think rationally about this, it could be a trap for all we know.” Bruce seemed to be in thought before pushing him to the side. “We either wait, and likely lose the chance of finding our culprit,” He started, hooking his cowl over his sharp features. “Or we go now and get the justice Y/N deserves.” He persisted, causing a determined expression to fall on Dick’s face as he nodded.

Dick walked ahead of Bruce, mounting his bike before slipping his mask on. He turned the bike on, the roar of the bike lively as he revved it a few times. “Bruce,” He called to his retreating figure, Bruce glanced at him from behind his shoulder. “If we’re doing this, Jason deserves to be there too.” Jason, his estranged son who wanted nothing to do with him anymore. “Send him the location.” Bruce muttered, jumping into the bat-mobile before the two sped off into the night.

—

You shrinked into the shadows, the sound of the lock keeping your refugee hidden, destroyed. A faint smile fell on your lips as you watched Bruce leading the pack, his stone cold facade one you could never forget. It was pin-drop silent, you couldn’t even feel yourself breathing at that point. “Guys I found some papers.” You heard Dick’s voice, voice you’d grown to miss over the years. You shifted in your spot, catching glimpse of Dick as he held the stack out towards Bruce.

Bruce clutched the papers tightly, information about yourself on each and every single sheet. “Look around for any clues.” Bruce grumbled, his head shifting towards where you stood. Your breath hitched, all the hard work you feared would be crumbled if he caught you, but his head immediately turned at the sound of Jason’s voice. “This is a waste of time, I could be doing more important things.” Bruce eyed him shortly before turning back where they came from. Dick continued to scan your items, quickly picking up a device you’d been working on.

“B-man I think we-“ Dick’s statement was cut short as you tackled him from your spot, kicking the device out his hands, watching it slide away. You were alert, but clearly not enough as Jason came from behind you, kicking the back of your leg and knocking you onto your knee. You were quick to stop the knee you almost received to the face, using your arms to block before using your weak leg to sweep Jason down. You bounced backwards, keeping your distance as you eyed each of them.

“Who are you.” Bruce pressed, using his harsh voice as he prepared a batarang. You remained silent, rushing towards the two boys who stood in your way as you took them both on. The only sounds you produced were when they had gotten a hit on you. You’d hiss, or groan, and they felt more determined by then. As you continued to battle it out, you were duped and stunned by Bruce’s smoke bomb, making you cough harshly as you tried to remain alert.

You failed miserably, Bruce used your blindsight to attack you a few times. After his last strike you landed on the floor, blood pooling in your mouth before you spat it out with a glare. As you tried to stand, you were pushed back down by Jason who used his foot to press you down. You winced, eyeing him silently as you assumed he was glaring at you from behind his helmet. You opened your mouth to speak before you were knocked out by Jason who punched you. Hard. Very hard.

—

When you awoke from your dazed state you were tied down to a chair. You knew where you were, the bat cave, and you knew you were gonna be interrogated. Once you finally gained recognition of everything around you, you groaned, feeling the punch you’d received from Jason. You were gonna get him back for that. As you continued to contemplate, the door across from you opened, and in walked Bruce. He was angry and had every right to be, you were surprised he didn’t attack you in your vulnerable state.

“Who are you?” He asked the same question he had asked you back at the warehouse. You only shrugged, slumping into your chair as you gazed mindlessly elsewhere. He slammed his hands on the table, gaining your attention before sliding over the papers you recognized. “Why do you have Y/N’s files.” You acted confused, looking deep in thought as you bit the inside of your cheek before opening your mouth, “How do you think I murdered her?” You tried your hardest not to laugh as you held your evil facade. It truly was hard.

He eyed you one last time before leaving the room. Every few minutes or so the others would come in, asking various questions only to be answered with fake answers. They knew you were lying, which only made it more fun on your end. As you threw your head backwards the door opened once more, you didn’t look, too tired to deal with whoever it was. However you were shocked by the baby like voice the person produced. “Your a fool who wanted to get caught. Why?”

You lifted your head forward to catch sight of yet another Robin. This one you didn’t know existed. “Wow another one, what type of child labor project is this?” You joked, even producing a laugh at your own joke. “A wannabe assassin, I see you use a sword, a league of assassins sword.” He continued, ignoring your terrible joke as he eyed you sternly. “Congratulations little Robin, but I prefer talking to people above 5’2.” He was slowly starting to become aggravated with your behavior, causing him to unsheathe his sword as he pointed it at your neck.

You smirked, licking your lips as you spoke. “Aren’t you a superhero, superhero’s don’t kill.” You reminded, watching the way his expression never faltered once. “I’m not like my father, I kill if I have to.” Your smirk fell, your mouth slightly open at the revelation. Father. As the two of you continued to stare at one another the door slammed open, the rest of them appearing as Bruce pulled the youngest Robin backwards. “We don’t kill.” He jabbed, making you smirk victoriously.

Your victory didn’t last long, the younger boy pushed Bruce before he used his sword to cut your domino mask, cutting a small portion of your cheek as well. You winced, your head falling forward as the mask fell off in two pieces, You knew there was no use in pretending no longer. You lifted your head, shocked looks appearing on each of their faces as you smirked. Your voice was silky smooth as you talked in a teasing tone.

“Damn, I guess you caught me.”

[thirdrootwriting]

Brother of my Brother (Infinite Crisis - Bad End) pt3

Back to Jason POV. There is some gore, torture, and gun violence in this one.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

The thing about Lex Luthor was the man had an insatiable need to stick his fingers into every available pie, the greedy capitalistic little Jack Horner pig. If some serious shit went down, there was an absolute guarantee that Luthor had started that shit, worsened that shit, or offered some incredibly condescending ' help' with that shit that was -in reality- probably just a disguised ploy to fuck with Superman.

(And holy hell, Jason could admit that he personally had raging inferiority issues, both before and after his resurrection, but the way Luthor was with Superman made his relationship with the original Robin AND Robin 3.0  look like the model of mental health by comparison).

All this in mind, if you wanted to know something and didn’t feel like trying your luck snooping around Batman's shit, the next best thing was to hop a city over to the next autocratic billionaire. Armed with that knowledge, and with the street cred of being known as one of Gotham's rouges, it's not hard to growl and posture in front of the right seedy bar-owners, fixers, and middle-men to track down a villain that's been getting cash flow from Luthor.

 People in that sort of game might be hard enough to keep their composure and claim ignorance in front of the Big Bad Bat himself, but are always willing to spill the latest gossip to a guy with a rap-sheet, well-used guns, and blood under his nails. It's how they connect thugs and D-list villains to people Luthor or Talia for use as cannon fodder, and while it's annoying as fuck to be seen as nothing more than a gun for hire, it is useful.

So useful, that only three days after reading that stupid memorial page, the Red Hood's got his gun under the chin of some little mathlete, computer nerd called the Calculator (stupid name), the guy squealing about the Secret Society of Supervillains (stupider name) that Luthor had set up with Talia, who really could do better in terms of company, and that fucking creep Deathstroke.

Three fingers shot off at point blank and one knee crunched to bony, gritty pieces under his boot, and the Red Hood's heard way more than he cares to regarding this little fun-time club of murders, their plans for a world-wide prison break (like Arkham didn't have those regularly on its own), the JLA's nasty little foray into memory alteration (the good guys pulling, morally objectionable, authoritarian shit? Say it ain't so!), and how the Luthor leading them had actually been an alternative universe fake trying to pull some sort of multiverse ending evil scheme.

Fun times all around, and the Red Hood could not give less of a shit about any of it if he tried.

Hood readjusts his weight, putting more of it on his left leg that's bearing down on the Calculator's ruined knee. The man underneath him lets out a whimpering, scream. Hood lets his gun's aim wander slowly down the guy's body, he thinks about pointing it at the fucker's crotch just to see if he'll start crying again but decides to have a bit of class and lets the muzzle rest on the Calculator's other, intact knee instead.

"That'd all be real interesting if I gave a shit about what you were getting up to Noah, but I what I want to know is how things shook out. The world's still standing right? So whose dead now that the dust's settled, and how they'd get there? That's the real question."

Hood taps the gun muzzle twice against Calculator's knee. He won't actually shoot, too much chance of hitting a blood vessel and having the guy go unconscious and useless from blood loss, but he doubts this computer geek knows that.

Way too many villains get into this gig all excited about torture, extortion, and killing with absolutely no defenses on what too do if the tables are reserved. It's always hilarious watching them shit their pants and scramble when they suddenly weren't the meanest thing in the room.

"I-, I-, the Luthor we were working with, the one from Earth-3, he ran so the heroes didn't get him, but he's dead already. He made the mistake of trying to go to ground in Gotham, and the Joker got him. Apparently the fucking clown was pissy he didn't invited to festivities, as if anyone half-way sane is willing to team up with his crazy ass." The Calculator grunts out, eyes wide and desperate as they track the gun that's poised over his one remaining knee.

Ugh, what a fool-ass rookie mistake. You only tried going to ground in Gotham if were unhinged and bloodthirsty enough to be too much of a pain in the ass to attack or you were homegrown on its cursed soil and knew how to avoid the city's resident cast of horrors. Hood's willing to guess any version of Luthor's a dangerous genius, but unless this version liked peeling people's faces off and eating them for a midday snack, he'd undoubtedly instead got eaten alive himself by Gotham's hungry jaws.

A least if the Joker got him, the guy definitely didn’t die a nice, easy death. Jason knows that with a painful certainty.

"Mmh, closer to having something actually useful to say. But hey, you went to ground in Gotham too, huh Noah, and it seems that's working out a bit better for you!"

Hood grinds his left heel down again. His boots are too thick to feel the grit of shattered bone, but he can hear the mess of tendons, viscera, and bone shards underneath the Calculator's latest, warbling scream. The guy pissed his pants right around the time Hood shot off his second finger, and the whole air would likely have the sharp mixed stinks of urine and blood if he removed his helmet.

"Was working out for you, I should say. You must be a local boy, huh?" Hood pauses, till the Calculator's eyes have refocused enough to show he's paying attention to Hood instead of his own pain.

"So, from one Gotham boy to another, how'd it shake out for our Bats? I hear our latest little Robin got out fine, and god only fucking knows that we ain't lucky enough to hope Batman got offed, but how'd birdy number 1 fare?" It's hard to resist the temptation to grind down on the man's shattered bones again, to resist pulling the trigger and making him bleed. Jason can feel himself losing control of the urge to send this piece of trash to hell where he belongs.

"How's Nightwing doing these days?"

"Nightwing and Superboy took down the machine-tower Earth-3 Luthor was using to rewrite the multiverse. I didn't see in person, but I hacked communications, and from Wonder Woman's report Luthor killed Nightwing in rage as reve-"

Hood yanks the aim of the gun up from Noah Kuttler's knee to his skull and blows his fucking brains out close range. The left side of the Calculator's face explodes into a mess of brain tissue and blood.

He gives the body a final kick, then lets himself out of the apartment that piece of trash had set up as a his hideout. It's Gotham, and the few cops not corrupt enough to ignore this are too overworked to give a shit about some villain's death, so no need to waste his time taking out the trash.

Hood slams the door of the run down apartment complex behind him, and stomps out onto the chilly streets. It's not raining, just damp and cold as Gotham usually is in the fall, so there might still be people, but Jason doesn't really give a fuck right now. Between his now-infamous helmet, his more obvious guns, and the wide shoulders he grew into, nobody's gonna mess with him as he prowls the streets.

And if they do, well, actually smashing some drug dealer or rapist shit's head against ground still it cracks like a bloody egg sounds like a good time with the mood he's in.

Hood makes it four blocks, not thinking about where's he going and not lucky enough to pass someone dumb enough to try starting shit with him, before he can even think above the cold, angry, itching boiling beneath his skin.

He needs a plan, he needs to do something, do anything. Jason will boil himself alive in his own itching skin with his rage if he has to just sit on it. He'd planned to kill whoever had murdered Nightwing, figured it would be some hot-shot that got a lucky hit in the chaos of battle, or some too clever for their own good smarmy loser who'd gotten an advantage by holding a little side-kick hostage.

Jason could have worked off his rage on giving them a death that was almost as slow they'd deserved for taking someone like his brother from him and Gotham, and finally proved, that at least in this respect, he was better than Rob-, than Nightwing. He might not be so nice, so naturally talented, so charismatic, but he could have proved himself better in this and given Dick's death the closure a good person like him deserved.

He realizes his loud, angry walk has taken him close to the warehouses of the harbor, the drafty old buildings three times as likely to be housing some sort of illegal goings-on as they are to be housing shipping containers.

His- his- second time heading out as Robin with Nightwing, had been around here.

Jason had jumped into a drug-processing scheme too early, nearly ruined the bust. Nightwing had to swoop in and rescue him - though instead of cracking heads, the annoying prick had just flashed a fake, movie-star smile and sweet-talked the guards and drug processors into letting them walk out.

He'd scolded Jason a bit afterwards, but taken the sting out of it by inviting him along on the real bust later that night. Afterwards he'd shot Robin a much gentler, beaming real smile and told him 'good job'. Then he'd ruined that soft, tingly feeling of pride at being treated like an equal by Nightwing, by prodding and whining until Jason had reluctantly let Dick buy him ice-cream.

Dick had flavor palate of a little kid in regards to sweets, and he'd gotten whipped cream and sprinkles on his. Jason had made fun of him for being 17 and eating like a 7 year old, and-

Jason's nearly twenty now, older than Dick had been when they first met. He's right near the age Dick was when Jason had died, a funny sort of parallelism.

Hey, with the way he's getting on with the family right now, chances are Jason will also miss his brother's funeral. How fuckin' hilarious is that?

He leans his head against one of the warehouse's outer walls and laughs. It comes out monstrous and distorted through his helmet's speakers. His gloved hands can't find purchase on his jacket's shoulders to rip up his own skin and let out some of the anger inside.

Anger and maybe not anger. His face feels wet and he's still laughing a bit. Whatever Jason's feeling it's bad, and he wants it gone. Needs to do something, anything for this feeling to be gone.

He doesn't know what to do though, and the unbearable tide of it swells and suddenly and desperately Jason can't help himself from thinking he wants to be 13 years old again getting painlessly snatched out of the air by Nightwing with a trapeze artist's instincts for a fall about to go wrong. He wants to be 14, half-asleep on a mountain-lodge couch on his first ever family vacation as his brother quietly tells his father Jason's a good kid, with the softest tone he's ever heard Dick aim at Bruce.

He wants to be 15 with this same unbearable angerfeargrief that is drowning him now swelling and calling his brother, his Robin, Bruce's first son, the only person in the world that might understand how he's feeling. The phone won't pick up, and he'd known that, known that the Titans were in space all distant and unreachable, but he'd still called.

Jason had still had a brother to call, and the promise that maybe someday it would connect.

He dials Dick Grayson's current civilian number on numbs fingers.

"The number you are attempting to reach is not in service."

Jason hits redial. He can't say why, the call's not magically gonna go through this time.

"The number you are attempting to reach is not in service."

He redials the number manually, staring hard at the screen to make sure each button press is pulling up the correct number.

"The number you are attempting to reach is not in service."

Once more, repeating the phone number out loud to make sure he's remembering it correctly.

"The number you are attempting to reach is not in service."

"The number you are attempting to reach is not in service."

"The number you are attempting to reach is not in service."

[ectoentity]

2022 Fic Wrap-up

Happy New Year! Decided to make a list of all the fics I’ve written in the last year.

Family Secrets: Danny Phantom - The Fentons take a week during winter break to fix up the old family cabin. When Danny and Jazz stumble across a secret, an old artifact has a strange effect on Danny. (Complete)

Can’t Go Home Again: Danny Phantom - Three weeks ago Danny told his parents about him being Phantom. They didn't take it well. His friends haven't heard from him since then, so they summon him back to Earth. (On Hiatus)

Warped Mirror: Danny Phantom - A year and a half ago, Danny Fenton stepped into a portal. He tripped and hit the button inside... but it was unplugged, so nothing happened.

Today, Danny Fenton is a ghost hunter like his parents. A ghost sends him into another world where everything he knows is backwards. (On Hiatus)

Autumn Roads: Danny Phantom - Kitty and Johnny are having a good time, riding through the human world on an autumn night, when Phantom comes to ruin their fun. The encounter raises questions for the pair. Mainly, why doesn't this Phantom kid know anything about being a ghost? (Complete)

Quality Time: DPxDC - The life of a vigilante crime lord made it hard to schedule family time. When Jason wasn’t dealing with someone trying to muscle in on his turf or some supervillain nonsense, he was having to juggle the logistics of keeping his little criminal organization on track. He barely had a day to himself, let alone one to spend with anyone else.   

The fact remained that Danny had asked to go to a water park months ago. (Complete)

Clean Up on Aisle Ninja: DPxDC - Danny was not expecting to see a whole posse (was that even the right term?) of ninjas when he popped out of the ectoplasm portal. To be honest, he wasn’t expecting to see anyone. Fright Knight had told him that there were pools of tainted ectoplasm spread around Earth that he would have to cleanse, but not where they were or who was around them.   

“Uh. Avon calling?” Danny joked.   

He instantly turned intangible as twelve knives, shuriken, and spears pierced his location. (Complete)

Tell Me More: DPxDC - Tim wakes up bound to a chair in a cold, white room. Not too unusual for him, until the kidnappers start calling him Phantom and acting like he's not human. (Complete)

A Little Trick: DPxDC - There's something spooky going on in the Watchtower. No one can figure out how to stop it, so they call on the King of Ghosts to sort things out. (Complete)

Found and Lost: DPxDC - The Justice League has been called up to help with the raid of a mysterious organization that was recently exposed for its inhumane experimentation on beings known as ghosts. Robin wasn't expecting to find a strange thermos in the middle of what looks like a torture chamber. He certainly wasn't expecting to find a boy inside of the thermos. (Complete)

Night Will Come but Not to Stay: DPxDC - Jazz is excited about going to Gotham University for college. It's halfway across the country from Amity Park and anyone who knows about her weird family or ghost nonsense. Finally, she can pretend to be a normal woman who just wants to go into psychiatry. She meets a cute guy named Jason, and they seem to be getting along great.   

Jason finally decided to put aside his vigilante work long enough to get a degree. He's learning how to be a normal person again, with a family that cares for him. He's even made a few civilian friends, including a cute girl named Jazz. 

Surely, nothing could come up that would reveal their other lives to each other. (WIP)

Anima, Animus: DPxDC - There is a darkness growing in Gotham. One that is far different from the comfortable shadows and familiar fiends that the Bat-family is used to. It is preying on their people and making life even more dangerous than usual. They need an expert to find out what is happening to their city.   

Halfway across the country, ghostly hero Danny Fenton is having dreams that belong to someone else: his long-lost brother Jason Todd. (WIP)

[msfcatlover]

I am insane for your tma x dc headcanons! I have to ask, do you think any of the other dc characters are entity aligned? Heres a few hcs i had:

The Scarecrow: honestly might be an avatar touched by all the fears like Jonathan Sims. Probably like Sims, he started researching the fears and Scarecrow became obsessed w them. If i had to go with a single entity, i would say he is Dark/Corruption/Eye alligned

The Riddler: Eye or Spiral alligned

The Joker: slaughter or corruption (the angst if Jason shared an entity w his murderer!)

Poison Ivy: Extinction?

Harley Quinn: hunt or stranger aligned? She was hunting down the cure for Jokers issues, but he wasnt who she thought he was and she became the prey

Killer Croc: Flesh babey!

Two face: maybe another slaughter?

The penguin: Web

I dont know enough about non-batman characters to do others tbh

Okay, so in my opinion plenty of characters have been touched by various Entities or even marked by them in ways that can motivate them without fully being Avatars or aligning themselves with those Entities. Like, Scarecrow just screams to me of someone who was touched by the Spiral (and is probably in real danger of becoming an Avatar,) but he’s holding on to his own sense of rationality as hard as he can and trying to make Fear make scientific sense. Someone who would walk out of an impossible corridor, and spend weeks measuring the outside of the building trying to find where the hell that corridor was supposed to fit, before sending someone else in to see if they experienced the same thing, only to become fixated on the differences… Not saying that’s what happened, but Jonathan Crane had some kind of experience with the embodiment of Unreality itself, and he definitely feeds it regularly.

(Harley, likewise, seems more like a victim of the Spiral, Corruption, or Stranger than anything else. Oh, she’s still a supervillain/anti-hero depending on the day, but her origin story is of her mind being broken by the Joker’s abuse. That is either depressingly mundane, or being chewed up & spat out by one of those three Entities.)

I hadn’t thought much about most of the villains, but I am 100% with you on Ivy being an Avatar of the Extinction, and I can definitely see Croc as an Avatar of the Flesh. I’d throw in Hugo Strange as probably being at least aligned with the Spiral, and Pyg has definitely at the very least been marked by either the Spiral or Flesh (though I don’t know him well enough to say if he’s a full-blown Avatar or not.) If you only saw my first post, I also decided Talia & Ra’s are both aligned with the Web, though Talia values her own freedom enough I don’t think she’s a full Avatar. They’re the ones who helped Bruce find the Mother’s embrace. Damian was supposed to be a Web Avatar as well, but he’s just a little too desperate for love when nobody’s looking; his swarm is silk worms & moths, and he does manage to fake it for a while. If Joker’s an Avatar, it would either be the Stranger, Spiral or Slaughter, in my opinion, but I always like when experts of every kind take time to study Joker and are like, “Yeah, IDK WTF is going on with that guy, but I hate it.”

(Jason is an Avatar of the Desolation in my version, because the Slaughter is about the violence on as large a scale as possible while the Desolation is about the very personal aftermath. The Slaughter is War, where the Desolation is something taking out your entire life in one single night and leaving you behind to deal with it. Jason absolutely wants his targets to be scared of what will happen, what he’ll do to them, but in a “destroy everything you’ve ever worked for & drive away everyone you ever cared about” sort of way; not a “blow up an entire city block for no reason” sort of way. And given how much Jason cares about protecting innocents, he’s actually partially starving himself by not following through on complete Desolation the way people like Jude Perry do. Imagine if The Archivist (around s3) tore out the last page of a statement & threw it away without glancing at it before he started reading. That’s basically what Jason’s doing to himself.)

Some people in the DC universe, though, are just Like That(TM). Sure, it can be hard to tell supernatural trauma apart from genuine mental illness, but it’s still a superhero setting and some people are just little freaks (affectionate.)

Like, Oliver Queen? Just a little freak with a bow. Just a weirdo. Black Canary? Superpowers, but not of the Fear Entity induced kind. She’s just Like That(TM).

Speedsters? Oh honey, you better believe they’re all just Like That(TM). Anti-Avatars, if anything; those bastards basically became one with a potential aspect of the Vast and went “But what if I was just. Like. Nice about it? Or only mean in extremely specific, petty, personal ways? What if that?”

My main “outside of Gotham” thought is that Amazons are aware of the Entities. Primarily, they have to be very careful & monitor eachother for signs of potential influence of the Hunt, but they’re aware of others beyond it (though they might define the Entities along different lines thanks to cultural differences & all that; I don’t have any specifics, I just really like that headcanon that while certain fears are nearly universal, the way different cultures group & view them are going to be different. Like, if spiders are viewed as purely benevolent & good luck by the culture you were raised in, it’s very unlikely any capital-f Fear is going to have a spider motif. Smirke separated the Buried from the Vast, but aren’t they both primarily about being overwhelmed, about Too Much? At the bottom of the ocean, is there any difference? Why should other cultures draw that same line?) This created some tension with Batman at the start of the Justice League, as Diana knew even if he wasn’t lying when he swore to have the best intentions, Batman was still walking a razor’s edge; he could become a monster so very easily. On the other hand, it was a huge relief for Dick (who, again if you’ve only seen my first post, I’ve changed my mind on and decided he’s a Hunt Avatar) when he first met the other Titans and they all went over their powers, to have Donna realize what he was talking about and promise to stop him if he ever lost control. A promise she has actually had to follow through on a few times, when a villain got into their heads and pushed Dick too far; he sleeps better at night knowing Donna is both willing & able to wrestle him to the ground and keep him from hurting anyone, even when Dick’s gone full-feral.

(The tag for this AU on my blog is "tma crossover," if you wanna check out the... everything I have for it.)

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Been reading your posts about Jason Todd, which admitedly was kind of hard, and i've found that i agree with a lot of your posts, but maybe because ive start paying attention, i kind divided between the idea that Jason was more interesting before the New 52, and also wishing him to be something else than just a batman villain, it's weird and i don't how to feel about this character, and in kind of curious about something, if you had to make a redemption, or at least a less villanous writing of the character, how would you do it?

okeydokey sorry about leaving this in my inbox for so long, I just genuinely didn't have energy then forgot about it :P

For redemption, I think it could be somewhat difficult but not impossible. I do want to point out that Countdown to Final Crisis (link) kind of had like an arc for him where it seemed like they were maybe leading to him being less supervillain/crime-lord-y, but they swerved at the end. like he was like "actually u know what? never mind." which I think makes sense for him there, b/c its coming right off "not killing this guy I thought was a threat* lead to a universe getting destroyed, so I should always go ahead and kill people if I think it's right."

I recently got another jason ask so putting that here (link) but I think another thing new earth Jason generally suffers from is black and white thinking. like lots of people equate "oh willing to kill" as "more morally gray, less black and white", but all Jason does is find a category of people he thinks it's OK to kill and then kill them, and if people who wouldn't otherwise fall in his category of 'ok to kill' happen to get hurt... that's just how it is. There's not really any nuance in his worldview.

i would have his worldview challenged by maybe having a character who is like a reflection of young him (dad or mom involved in organized crime) get involved in the plot. Jason kills their dad/mom (whoever was involved in crime) and the character wants revenge.

we should also just see jason be genuinely WRONG about being judge-jury-and-executioner. not as in "obviously it's wrong" but as in "he doesn't think a ton before he kills people, generally assumes he's right, so he kills someone he otherwise wouldn't have thought deserved it". I think that'd be an easier way to challenge his worldview than addressing the whole "no one should be extrajudicially murdering people" thing.

Like fandom makes a big deal about it, but Jason does not primarily go after rapists or human traffickers or w/e. he will kill human traffickers if he stumbles across them, as seen in red hood: lost days, but he seeks out people involved in the drug trade and drug dealers. and it's not even "he always kills people who break his 1 rule of don't deal drugs to children". he kills people regardless when it helps him intimidate other crime bosses or when he's done recruiting his organization (link) ... I realize that doesn't segue into a less-villainy-arc but i typed it out so leaving it here :P

anyway so how i'd write the arc is have jason remember his childhood and be forced to confront what he's doing via a character who acts as a parallel to young him, and him killing someone who he thinks wouldn't deserve it just due to a misjudgment at his case. I think it could be interesting if he interacted with Damian and Cass, in that both of them have killed people (cass once, damian a bunch) and then are the more anti-killing superhero guys**. I especially think Damian would be well equipped to be condescending to Jason while trying to poke holes in his logic. But IDK fandom kind of flattens Damian and Cass when Jason is involved so many not.

*as pointed out in that post tho, Jason was pro-killing him out of ignorance, tho, he didn't really know what was going on he just happened to be right.

**at least thats how i interpret the end of the first 6 issues of Robin: son of Batman I realize there are other interpretations for Damian