#Rich Billionaire Furry

[windybluebelles]

When I love a character I make them Jewish. It brings me joy

You get a religion! And you get a religion! And you get a bar mitzvah! YAYAYYAYAYAYAYYA

[rattataprincess2007]

This rat is a filthy rich and greedy piece of crap! And Taria's dad....

[incorrectbatfam]

Hello! While scrolling between random hurt/comfort fica I stumbled into a batfamily one and decided to give it a shot and now I am curious about this fandom! Never read any dc/marvel comic and watched maybe a couple of superhero movies so I have basically 0 knowledge about batman except that Robin is his apprentice but also apparently there's multiple Robins??

Can I have a general fandom/family introduction? I'm very confused but also really curious since I'm an avid found family enjoyer :)

What the heck is this fandom?

If you're reading this, you probably either a) want to get into comics but aren’t sure where to start or b) found yourself plopped in the middle and don't know what's going on.

DC Comics encompasses a wide range of characters and storylines with varying levels of popularity, and is home to some of the most iconic figures like Superman and Wonder Woman. What often happens in the DC and Marvel fandoms is that rather than trying to engage with everything, many fans will have a certain subset of content that they focus on. Sometimes it's a single character, sometimes it's a team like the Justice League, or sometimes it's a superhero family unit such as the Flash Family.

This blog primarily focuses on the batfamily, which is the group of characters that operate as Gotham City vigilantes centered around Batman. Some are legally/biologically related, some aren't. Generally speaking, the batfamily fandom is one of the larger subgroups within the DC fandom because so many of the comics revolve around these characters.

Who is Batman?

Are you living under a rock

Batman, AKA Bruce Wayne, begins with the infamous tragic origin where his parents were shot dead in an alleyway when he was 8, leaving him an orphan to be raised by his butler/surrogate father figure, Alfred Pennyworth. Once Bruce got a little older, he donned the costume to deal with criminals directly and bring justice to the city.

His civilian identity is Bruce Wayne, the (and I say this begrudgingly) billionaire CEO of his family's company, Wayne Enterprises. The company makes a little of everything and keeps Gotham afloat with job creation and philanthropy. Nothing unethical about one rich guy running an entire city.

His alter ego is Batman, and he uses his wit and extensive training to fight an array of both petty criminals as well as big-name villains like the Joker, the Riddler, Two-Face and more (collectively known as the Gotham Rogues gallery).

NOTE: some former villains, like Harley Quinn, have been rebranded as anti-heroes.

Batman operates out of a hidden cave (yes, a literal cave) under Wayne Manor known as the Batcave. This is where he keeps all sorts of high-tech paraphanalia, including his Batmobile, bat-plane, batarangs (bat boomerangs), and a powerful computer known as—you guessed it—the Batcomputer.

Batman's primary love interest is a former villain known as Catwoman, AKA Selina Kyle, who is a master thief. (Her backstory includes growing up with an abusive father and turning to stealing for survival.) She's since reformed and has been indicted into the Justice League. They're really cute if you don't think about how they're technically two furries who roleplay as cops and robbers.

NOTE: in an alternate timeline, Bruce dies as a child in that alley as Thomas Wayne becomes Batman while Martha Wayne becomes the Joker.

Okay, what about... Robin? Robins?

There's a lot to unpack here.

The OG Robin is Dick Grayson. Yes, we still call him Dick in the year 2022. He was a child acrobat who was part of a trio, The Flying Graysons, with his parents, John and Mary, in a traveling circus called Haly's Circus. Haly's stopped in Gotham, where a crime boss named Tony Zucco tried to get them to pay protection money. When Haly refused, Zucco sabotaged the trapezes and Dick's parents fell to their deaths. Bruce was at that show and because Orphans Unite or whatnot, he takes little Dick under his wing as a ward (not legally adopted at this point, Bruce is in his early to mid 20s). Dick joins Batman's crusade as the colorful pantsless sidekick known as Robin. As Robin, he also became the leader of what would eventually be a multigenerational superhero team known as the Teen Titans.

The second Robin is Jason Todd. He grew up in Gotham's notorious Crime Alley, where his mother, Catherine, was a substance user and his father, Willis, was an overall piece of garbage. After his father goes to jail and his mother dies of an overdose, Jason is essentially an orphan left to fend for himself on the streets. His run-in with Batman happens when he tries to steal to Batmobile tires to sell, and instead of getting punished, he gets adopted. Legally, this time. So while Dick is the oldest, Jason is Bruce's first kid. Jason takes on the Robin mantle and fights crime, yada yada. What he's well-known for is his death, where he set out to Ethiopia to find his biological mother, Sheila Haywood, and is killed by the Joker. Then Superman breaks reality and Jason comes back to life, spends some time with the League of Assassins, and gets rebranded as a crime lord/anti-hero with a hell of a grudge against Bruce for not avenging him.

While Jason was dead, we get our third Robin and the first one with pants: Tim Drake. Tim is actually Bruce's neighbor (the way rich people can be neighbors with spaced-out properties). He grew up with wealthy but neglectful parents, Janet and Jack Drake, who often left Tim home alone as a small child while they went on their archeology expeditions. Tim takes an interest in the Gotham vigilantes and sets out to follow them around and gather evidence to figure out who they are. Eventually, he deduces Bruce, Dick, and Jason's identities by some moves unique to the Flying Graysons. Then, Tim basically blackmails Bruce into letting him be Robin and has his own teenage superhero team called Young Justice. After the Robin title is taken away from him, he becomes Red Robin (yes, like the restaurant chain) and while everyone thinks Batman is dead during this time, Tim is the only one who believes otherwise. Also, his mom drinks poison, dad is killed by a boomerang, best friend is killed by an evil clone, other best friend is also killed by an evil clone, girlfriend dies (see below), assassins steal his spleen, and now he's bisexual and dating a boy who creates conspiracy theories.

NOTE: In an alternate timeline, Carrie Kelley becomes the third Robin.

Robin #4 is Stephanie Brown. She actually didn't become Robin until well into her vigilante career. She actually made a name for herself as Spoiler with the purpose of taking down her father, a D-list Gotham villain known as Cluemaster. Similar to everyone in this franchise, her childhood wasn't ideal as her father was always up to criminal activities and her mother worked a lot as well as (in some versions) used drugs. She later becomes the fifth Batgirl and then Robin before her death in the 2005 War Games comics, where she is killed when she seeks out a villain against Batman's orders. She then returns from the dead and goes back to being Spoiler. She also dated Tim and was a fairly long-running relationship before they broke up. She also had a teen pregnancy at one point (not by Tim) and had a daughter that she put up for adoption.

Robin #5 is Damian Wayne, the biological son of Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Ghul (daughter to Ra's Al Ghul, leader of a villainous organization known as the League of Assassins). Damian was raised in the League of Assassins for the first half of his childhood, where he was trained to be the heir to Ra's Al Ghul's empire. Talia brought him to Bruce when he was ~10 to refine his skills with Batman. However, that kind of goes awry when Bruce fakes his death and Damian is raised by Dick instead. Damian also becomes a Teen Titans leader as well as forms a friendship with Jon Kent, son of Superman (please read Super Sons, it's adorable). Damian is then killed by his oversized evil clone and is brought back to life on the planet Apokolips (no one stays dead istg).

Duke Thomas's relationship with the Robin mantle is a little more complicated. Duke first shows up as a really intelligent kid who solves one of the Riddler's puzzles. Later on, he becomes the leader (aided by Alfred Pennyworth) of a group of teenage vigilantes known as We Are Robin, who helped take care of Gotham crime while Batman was missing. His parents were, for a lack of a better term, disabled after one of the Joker's gas attacks (seriously, someone euthanize this clown). Bruce takes Duke under his wing and Duke rebrands himself as the Signal. He's unique from other Gotham heroes in a couple aspects: 1) he fights crime in the daytime instead of night and 2) he has photokinetic superpowers. (He's also dating one of the We Are Robins members, Izzy Ortiz.)

What about the others, like Batwoman and Batgirl?

Similar to Robin, Batgirl is a title held by multiple people. The first Batgirl was Bette Kane (who is now Flamebird), but the most well-known one was the second one, Barbara Gordon. Barbara (Babs for short) is the daughter of Gotham police commissioner Jim Gordon. Inspired by other Gotham heroes, she became Batgirl behind her parents' back and worked in tandem with Bruce and Dick, forming a relationship with Dick along the way. She became a quadriplegic after getting shot by the Joker but refused to step down from the field, instead using her intelligence and technological capabilities to surveil and provide intel under a new moniker, Oracle. She also has her own team, the Birds of Prey, which includes people like Huntress and Black Canary.

After Barbara, the next Batgirl is Cassandra Cain (who is also Bruce's only legal daughter in the main continuity). She is the daughter of David Cain and an assassin known as Lady Shiva. Cass was raised by David within the League of Assassins and trained to be a fighting machine, similar to Damian. She was raised in isolation without speech or literacy, but can read body language really well. Her first kill was when she was 8, and that traumatized her so much that she ran away, wandering around until eventually reaching Gotham and becoming both Bruce and Barbara's ward. She holds other titles like Black Bat along the way but is most known as Orphan. She also befriends Stephanie, had a short relationship with Superboy (Conner Kent) and, like half the people here, dies and comes back. Depending on who you talk to, some people keep her lack of speech, some have her speaking, and some prefer an in-between.

Stephanie was Batgirl after Cass. See above.

Kate Kane is Batwoman and Bruce Wayne's cousin. She grew up similarly wealthy in a high-level military family, often moving around as a child. Her twin sister and mother were killed in a terrorist attack in Belgium, leaving her father to raise her. She got into West Point military academy but was expelled in her final year after coming out as lesbian under the Don't Ask Don't Tell policy. After that, she spent a year on an island civilization before returning to Gotham. After Batman saved her from a mugging, Kate bought some equipment on the black market and trained herself to become Batwoman. Also, we as a fandom don't talk about her flamethrower gloves enough.

NOTE: in an alternate timeline, Carrie Kelley was also Batgirl and Batwoman.

Harper Row is Bluebird, and similar to Batwoman, she is a mostly independent Gotham hero who was inspired by Batman. Growing up, Harper often had to take care of things like household repairs and look after her younger brother, Cullen, because their father was abusive and didn't do anything for them. Eventually, she sought emancipation and got them out of there, but things still weren't easy. She went to college, but had to drop out and get a job in order to provide for her and her brother. She became Bluebird after Batman saved her and Cullen, engineering her own weapons like a giant taser. Fun fact: she's bi and her brother is gay.

This is still really confusing. Who's who right now?

Canon sucks so here's what the fandom largely know them as:

Bruce is Batman. He might have some suit modifications or occasionally pilot a giant bat robot, but he's Batman

Dick is Nightwing. He took over as Batman for a short period of time, but after Bruce returned, he went back to being Nightwing we don't talk about Ric

Jason is Red Hood. That was actually the Joker's previous title but now Jason holds it

Tim is... usually Robin or Red Robin, it kinda depends on context. Canonically he's back to being Robin now, but a lot of us still refer to him as Red Robin

Damian is Robin. He had the alias Redbird at one point but everyone calls him Robin

Duke is the Signal. Again, there were some alias changes (like Lark) but he's the Signal around here

Stephanie is Spoiler, but again, it depends on context

Cassandra is usually referred to as Orphan, but you'll occasionally see Batgirl or Black Bat depending on who you talk to

Barbara was rehashed as Batgirl in recent canon but we all hate the disability erasure so you'll see a lot of us still call her Oracle

Harper is Bluebird. I don't recall her having any other titles. Her brother isn't a vigilante

Selina (yes, she's part of the batfamily) is Catwoman

Alfred is... Alfred. On the field he goes by Agent A and his previous spy career often comes in handy

This isn't the sum of it. There are a whole bunch of other bat characters (Bette Kane, Luke Fox, Jean-Paul Valley, Helena Bertinelli, Terry McGinnis, etc.) that I didn't get into here partly because I don't focus on them as much and partly because of space. I also didn't get into all the lore for characters I did explain, like Dick's police career or other teams/relationships. There are also some inconsistencies between different timelines and reboots.

I encourage you to explore beyond what I presented with other heroes and villains since I know Batman isn't for everyone. I also encourage you to explore the comics, talk to people, and figure out for yourself what characters or storylines best fit you. Don't be afraid to take your time, either. We've been here nearly a century. We're not going anywhere.

[snakeredbirdbatkatana]

So I'm not a fan of the oh sad/kitten Tim thing that a lot of people got going on sometimes I enjoy when he gets a hug.

The one thing that I hate is when we take the rich out of Tim drake.

I want Tim rolling in fucking money sugar daddy to the stars level I want him thinking bananas cost $50.

It's funny it's also angsty as fuck

Good example my mom grew up with a dad who was filthy rich like there is a road named after my moms family.

He however was neglectful and abusive when she was 17 she left got pregnant tried to reconnect and he held me once before he refused to speak to her ever again.

Growing up my parents didn't have money my dad was the only one who worked but we got by. I didn't know anything about my moms life until I said to my dad one day about how moms dad sucked and how birthdays and shit must have sucked. Specifically she told me about one present I said that was shitty cause she said it wasn't the one she wanted. It was 400$.

My dad called my mom and flat out said why does our child not know you were fucking loaded.

Just because you have money or had money doesn't mean there isn't abuse or other secrets. Rich people are fucking weird.

(Another example when they found out my grandmother was pregnant they invited her over for dinner and we're disgusted by the fact that she was wearing jeans)

I want Tim to be rich and weird. Bruce is too and I don't hear people complaining about him having money for the bats to actually work they need to be rich. No other explanation would work because only billionaires could be furrys who fight crime. If normal people did that they would be in Arkham.

This was really ranty and weird but essentially Tim needs to be swimming I won't accept any arguments.

[imbecominggayer]

Batman Interpretation

I would love a story of Batman being about these hundreds upon thousands of villains ranging from random hoodlums to supervillain world-conquerers just trying to eliminate Batman and Batman is just a random billionaire who isn't actually trying to be a superhero.

Like Bruce Wayne is just some random rich guy who every single villain decided to hate on for no reason. And now he's forced to make awesome high-tech gadgets in order to prevent a weird penguin guy from stealing his shit.

Bruce Wayne has a mental breakdown about how he just wants to be a normal rich guy who just so happens to have a special interest in bats and all he can do is make bat-shapped throwing stars to remind himself what this is all for.

It's not for Gotham. It's not for his orphan backstory. It's for his dream of making a bat sanctuary. But he can't make a bat sanctuary until random masked vigilantes stop trying to ruin his business!!!

He is just trying to live out his furry dreams alone and random villains are trying to kidnap the poor guy :`<

[th3sp4rr0w]

(Originally I put the summary under the cut, but now it's just the chapter for Tumblr-only users)

Prompts for Day One; Drugging/Sick/Poisoned

Alt. Prompt for Day One; Bloody Knuckles

Prompts Used; Sick, Bloody Knuckles

Tw; Blood, Injury, Homophobia, Slurs, Dental Trauma, Vomiting Mention

Life had changed a lot since attempting to steal the bat-mobile’s tires. 

Before, he’d just been Jason Todd. Poor little Jason Todd, who’d found his mom dead, whose father was doing who-knows-what at this point. Homeless Jason Todd, who’d run away from any foster home they’d ever stuck him in, who sold stolen tires just to try and somewhat survive. Then, he’d made the stupidest, best decision of his life. 

He thought he was going to die there in that street, facing the man that had even the bravest goons running to try and receive mercy. He did what he thought he could and hit him with a tire-iron to try and escape. Then, the furry had kidnapped him. He’d just tried to steal from The Batman, then he’d actually managed a hit on him with a make-shift weapon- he hadn’t wanted to think about what was next then.��

Batman didn’t end his life and hide his body where nobody would find it. He’d asked if he was okay, gave him food, offered his home. Introduced him to his butler because, wow, Batman trusted him with his secret identity? Batman was Bruce Wayne? Multi-billionaire Bruce Wayne?? The guy that was on the news last week for getting drunk and falling into Gotham harbor during some fancy rich-people-boat party? 

Bruce was surprisingly... nice. When he found out Jason’s mom had died and his dad was apparently locked up, he took Jason in. He and Alfred put up with all of his shitty behavior over the first few weeks, introducing him to his older brother Dick (seriously, who wants to be called that?) and even making him Robin. Sure, the beginning months were rough but in a couple weeks, Dick promised to take him to see a movie he was excited for. For the first time since his mom died, he felt like he had someone who cared about him. Which, yeah, it was nice to have people that wanted to know about his day and were coherent enough to respond to him, and he’ll forever feel grateful for the people in his life that hadn’t just turned away from the sight of him, but it was especially good to have people who cared about him because- 

Jason sneezed, coughing directly after. There was neon green snot on his arm as he pulled back, a string connecting it to the septum of his nose, making it impossible to know which nostril had decided to betray him. He could feel the gunk in his lungs trying to escape before settling down without much more fuss. 

Gross. 

Immensely glad he had decided to change into a short sleeve after sweating through Dick’s hoodie during a hot flash, he carefully followed the string until it reached his arm and broke it with a short wipe. He peeled back the covers enough to blindly reach over to his nightstand, intensely focused on the snot to make *certain* that it didn’t smear anywhere, he wasn’t cleaning that up right now. His hand bumped his alarm clock, then his water bottle (thank God for Alfred), his tea thermos (once again, thank you, Alfred), and finally hit something soft. He pulled at the tissue box, pulling it up in the air until the tissue released from its prison, coming over to wipe at his nose before finally cleaning his arm. 

Yes, he was sick. He had been eating breakfast before school the other morning, excited to read his essay for English class that afternoon and chatting happily with Bruce about it before he’d stopped mid-sentence, causing said man to lean over and ask if he was alright. That had turned out to be a mistake, as what had once been a delicious pancake spewed out of him along with whatever had been for dinner the night before. It tasted like stomach acid mixed with syrup. 

Jason... probably won’t be eating his pancakes with syrup for a while. 

He coughed again, barely covering his mouth before another glob of mucus made its debut, flying out onto the tissue. He stared at it in disgusted fascination. 

He heard feet from the hallway before Dick lightly kicked open his door, a tray of soup in his hands and what sounded like a bottle of meds rattling in his pocket. Bruce had left earlier that morning for a mandatory meeting, Alfred had left for his weekly grocery run (which took twice as long as any grocery trip should’ve reasonably taken with Bruce and Alfred’s particularity for certain brands/quality, often resulting in hunting through several grocery stores before finding what they needed), and Dick had taken off work just to look after Jason. They knew he probably could’ve managed, but he was glad he wasn’t alone.  

Dick looked at Jason, the look on his face making it clear he had just heard the boy cough up his left lung. 

“You okay, Jay-bird?,” he asked, setting the tray in front of him. 

Instead of replying, he showed Dick the tissue in all its neon green, saliva-ridden glory. Dick whistled before pulling an exaggerated face. “That came out of you?”  

Jason leveled him with an unimpressed look, “No, Dickface, I found someone else’s used tissue and decided to bring it back here to save it for an occasion like this,” he deadpanned. 

The older teen threw his head back and laughed, “Glad to know you’re feeling better.” 

Jason ‘hmphed’ before slumping back down into his pillows, tossing the tissue at his older brother’s face. “Still can’t focus, though,” he said as Dick tried to dodge the makeshift projectile. 

Dick stared at the tissue, now on the floor, before responding. “Why don’t you pull up something to watch on your laptop?” 

“Headache. The sound makes it feel like someone’s putting nails into my head.” 

He winced in sympathy, pulling the rattling bottle of meds out of his pocket before tossing it next to the tray. “What about reading?” 

Jason groaned, “I just told you; I can’t focus for shi-, iii, choo!” 

He sneezed again into his elbow, his leg jolting a bit and spilling some of the soup onto the tray. Dick handed him another tissue and looked at him with that stupid expression on his face. 

“Man, you’re having it rough right now, huh?” 

“You think?” he said miserably. “I can’t watch anything, I can’t read my book, and the neighbor kid’s dad is home, so he hasn’t been responding to my texts!” 

Dick frowned. He only knew of one “neighbor” around, but he was a bit young, wasn’t he? He’d press it, but Jason looked so miserable...  

He’d save the interrogation for a different day. 

“I think Bruce has some old case files if you want to take a look? They’re already solved so no pressure to focus and you can get some practice.” 

Jason thought for a second. That... did sound more enjoyable than sitting here, bored out of his mind and miserable. He quirked his eyebrow, “Sure, but if he gets upset I’m telling him it was your idea, Dickface.” 

Dick laughed lightly. “Deal. Eat your soup, I’ll go get the files.” 

Jason heaved himself off the pillows, frowning. “Paper copies?” 

Dick rolled his eyes and shrugged, leaning towards Jason’s nightstand. “You know how he is, has to have a million copies and back-ups of every single case and incident we’ve ever had,” He picked up each of Jason’s cups, checking the fullness of each before taking both under his arm, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he still has a copy of the incident report I made him write up when he scared the living daylights out of me on patrol and made me drop my ice cream.” 

Jason made a sound close to a laugh, “You made him do what? And I thought I was bad when I first started going out as Robin!” 

Dick smirked. “I had just started going out as Nightwing, actually.” 

Before Jason could react, Dick was out of the door and down the hall, laughing. Jason shook his head. 

Things weren’t perfect. Sometimes Bruce was too paranoid and made them do dumb tasks. Sometimes Dick was super annoying and wouldn’t listen when Jason told him to stop touching him. Sometimes Alfred, well-meaning as he was, didn’t get that something in Jason kept screaming and could only be soothed with chili dogs and churros from a questionable stand in Crime Alley. Sometimes something in Jason felt like a wound that wouldn’t heal no matter what he tried and he didn’t know how to say that out loud just yet. Even with all the books he’s read and the things he’s done, he doesn’t think he’ll ever have the words to describe the feeling that keeps him awake at night. 

Yet, he loved his family all the same. He hadn’t had anyone to love since his mom passed. He knew it’d never be the same. And yet...  

Dick creaked the door open with freshly refilled cups, one of some water he was certain he’d poured his favorite electrolyte mix into, the other of Alfred’s tea, along with a whole stack of papers in neatly labeled folders. He smiled at him and forced him to take medicine, kissed his temple (“To check your temperature!” “That’s fucking weird!” “Language! Let me love you!” “No!”) and ruffled his hair. He made sure the covers were tucked tight and that he had eaten at least a good chunk of his soup. He somehow replaced the almost-empty tissue box without Jason noticing before he left. He’d glued little bats to it and left a note; “Get better soon, Little Wing!! <3” 

Things may have not always been stellar in that apartment in the worst part of Gotham City, but he knew deep down he’d always miss it. Always miss his mom, her humming and the way she’d smooth down his hair. Miss the way when she was coherent enough she could throw together a meal out of next to nothing that would feed them until they were satisfied. Often enough, in the beginning anyways, there were even leftovers for lunch. He’d always miss her and the time they shared. 

Things would never be the same, but that was okay. He had grown to love everything about the family, his family, that had taken him in. Dick and the way he’d wake everyone up on a Saturday morning with obnoxious off-key singing. The way Bruce would check over every inch of Jason to make sure he’d bandaged every scrape and soothed every bruise. The smell of the kitchen when Alfred was cooking, and how he’d allow Jason to watch from the doorway for a few minutes before inviting him in to walk him through what he was doing and why. 

He smiled to himself as he started looking over the old cases. 

It was surprisingly easy to keep track of them when there was no pressure. He had the majority figured out before he had gotten to the end of the file- though, whether that was because he had done any detective work or just remembered Dick and Bruce telling him about these cases before, who's to say?  

He even recognized some from his very first Robin days, before he had met Dick properly and he watched over Alfred when he was cooking to make sure he wasn’t putting anything in the food. He remembered Bruce’s training and hiding in his closet to sleep most nights. 

How times change. 

He finished the file in his hand, putting it neatly on top of the pile beside his bed. He opened the next one without bothering to read the title, only to do a double take. 

He... he knew Bruce had looked into his parentage, and potential siblings. He had known he’d had an older brother, one that died before he was born, Dan? He thinks his name was? But according to this, he had a twin.  

He glanced up at the title- Willis Todd Family and Criminal Record. His eyes went back down to trace over the paper. 

This just couldn’t be right, could it? Except it was Bat-approved, so it had to be right. He had a twin in an unknown location. 

His.... his mom hadn’t given birth to him. 

Of course, Bruce wasn’t going to leave his kid’s name laying around in the Batcave. He’d been smart enough to mark out their first names. “D__ Todd” “J____ Todd” “D_____ Todd”. 

He’d also marked their mother’s name. “S_____ H______”. He had also written down that he’d had a wife named “C_______ Todd” that passed away a few years ago. 

He wasn’t mad that Bruce didn’t tell him. He’d probably thought he’d known or wouldn’t want to know that he’d been abandoned by the woman who’d given birth to him. Probably thought he wasn’t interested in meeting the woman who had decided he’d be such a waste of time, or a twin he’d never known. 

In a way, that was right. He had Dick. He was already scheming on cajoling Bruce into adopting the neighbor kid (seriously, six months ago the kid’s mom passed, and his dad already moved them out of their old place and married to someone else, who does that?). He didn't need another brother who probably didn’t know of Jason’s existence. 

He knew “S” wouldn’t be a replacement for his mom. No matter what happened, Catherine Todd had been the one who cared. She soothed his fevers, protected him from his dad when nights got rough, taught him how to read. She was the one who showed him the value of a good story, whether that was on the page or being quick on his feet in a pinch. His mom was the only one who had believed he’d ever get out of the life that had snuffed out her light. 

But he missed her. “S” wasn’t a replacement, but she might be a good addition to the family he had around him. 

Jason grabbed his phone, taking a picture of the relevant papers, careful not to mix them up. Anything that had the blacked-out name was logged to pour over later, when he felt a bit more human. He placed them all into the same folder he’d found them in and on top of the stack of cases he’d already looked over. He opened the next one. 

He knew his family would help him in a heartbeat if he asked. For now, though, he’d sit on the information he had. He wanted to know how he felt about it before he went to anyone else. 

He’d tell them when he was ready. 

A while later, the door was gently eased open. Bruce Wayne carefully made his way in, smiling gently at the sight. 

There was his youngest, blanket half on the floor, sprawled in bed the way only a kid could be comfortable. Just like Dick had said, he saw case files spread around him, miraculously not getting creased by the 15 yr old as he breathed through his mouth. There were a number of files on the floor, looking like they had once been stacked before being tipped over (probably by the blanket), now strewn across the room. 

He started gathering those first, organizing them as he went. He paused as he saw which file he was picking up next. Shit. 

Dammit, Dick. No, he shouldn’t blame his oldest for his mistakes. That would just prove to Dinah that she was right, and he needs therapy. He should’ve had this separate from his other case files, the way he’d done for Dick when he investigated his parent’s death. He never learns, does he? 

He looked over to Jason. Okay. He... should let Jason come to him. Give him time to process, assuming he saw the file at all. There’s no need to put Jason through unnecessary stress, especially since he’s just getting settled into his expectations with Robin, and school, and getting over being sick. 

He finished grabbing the rest of the case files on the floor, moving to the papers strewn around on the bed. He smiled down at Jason as he grabbed at the files.  

Having them in a stack he set on the edge of the nightstand, he carefully took in Jason’s state. He was breathing better, less pale. He could tell he was still stuffy, but less so than the day before. 

He brushed his sweaty hair back and pressed a kiss to his forehead before pulling the covers back up to his chin.  

He made sure Jason was snug and secure before grabbing the files and going to the door, easing it open and nearly closed again. 

He watched from the doorway as Jason let out a gentle sigh and shifted in his sleep. He let a fond look cross his face. 

He’d do anything to protect his boys. They hadn’t had the easiest lives, and he knew he was partly to blame in that regard, but he loved them. 

No more harm would come to them, he swore it. He’d lay down his life to ensure that if it came to it. 

He closed the door silently and walked away. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

In a small nowhere town in Illinois called Amity Park, teen Danny Fenton crawled in through his bedroom window. 

He sighed, pulling the first aid kit out of its usual place underneath some floorboards. He opened it up before pulling off his shirt to patch himself up. He drenched some gauze in disinfectant before pressing it to weeping wounds of scarlet and neon. He’s... not actually sure if he’s doing this right, but hey, everything’s healed so far, so he must be doing something right. 

He pressed fresh gauze pads to the worst parts, securing it with some medical tape before wrapping the whole thing loosely with two ace bandages he’d stitched together to make it long enough. 

He’s definitely sure he shouldn’t be doing that, but he usually sweats too much on gym days for the tape to stick and he didn’t want another awkward conversation. 

The rest of the cuts and scrapes got band aids decorated with stars, courtesy of Sam. By the time he was done, all that was left were bruises and he looked vaguely like a mummy that had been reanimated. He flopped face-first on his bed just in time for his alarm to start shrieking at him. He sighed before getting back up, pressing it off. 

 He got dressed on auto pilot. Last night’s patrol resulted in too many scrapes on his arms and he already used the skateboard excuse three times in the last month or so... 

Eh, it’s cold enough. He pulled on his NASA hoodie before stumbling into the bathroom to brush his teeth and use the toilet. 

By the time he got downstairs, Jazz shoved a rolled-up pancake at him, “Come on! We still need to pick up Tucker and Sam, we’re going to be late, grab your bag! Hurry!” she hissed. 

He blinked before doing as she said, sinking his teeth into his breakfast and grabbing the bag he left on the couch last night. 

“Bye, mom and dad!” he called behind him. He didn’t hear anything back as he shut the door. Typical morning, really. 

He opened the car door before he tossed his bag on the floor in front of him, plopping down in the front seat. He yawned and took another bite of delicious pancake. 

Jazz watched him, clicking her seatbelt and adjusting the mirror of her dingy little car. “When did you get back last night?” 

Danny blinked before reaching for his seatbelt blindly. “Um... not long before my alarm went off. Maybe half an hour?” 

Jazz blinked. “You’ve only gotten half an hour of sleep?” 

He snorted. “Had to do first aid. Just crawled into bed when my alarm went off.” 

Jazz winced in sympathy and started the car. “What happened?” 

Danny groaned. “Skulker. Teamed up with Technus. Remind me to keep those two souped forever.” 

Jazz snorted as she pulled out of the driveway. “You have to release them sometime, Danny.” 

Danny ‘hmphed’ playfully. “Okay, okay. A year. Minimum.” 

Jazz laughed properly this time, turning onto Tucker’s street. “Danny!” she exclaimed. 

She slowed down as they laughed together, pulling to a stop in front of Sam and Tucker. 

“Hey, guys,” Danny greeted as Tucker threw open the back door, crawling through the seat until he was behind Jazz, Sam close behind him. 

“Hey, Danny,” the other boy responded as he settled in, placing his backpack on the middle seat. 

“Hey Jazz, hey Danny,” Sam said as she shoved her backpack next to Tuckers, pulling a can from the side pocket and bumping Danny’s shoulder with it. 

Danny looked at it before grabbing it, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I owe you my life, have I ever told you how much I love and admire-”  

“Danny!” Sam interrupted, exasperated. 

“What did you give him?” Tucker asked. 

Danny twisted around as much as the seatbelt would allow, holding the can up like it was a prize he had won in a contest, “Zesti!” 

“Oh ancients,” Jazz groaned, “You gave him more zesti? I just got him weaned off of that!” Despite her words, she made no move to take the can that Danny had now opened. 

“I know, but,” Sam said, “I was out with him until 2 last night and I know he didn’t go home until after I went to bed.” 

“How do you know this?” her tone was suspicious as she looked at the gothic teen through the rearview mirror. 

Sam gave a guilty smile, “I texted him last night just before I fell asleep and he said he hadn’t gone home yet.” 

Jazz shook her head as Danny took small sips, savoring the sugar-bomb, caffeine-laced heart attack inducer. She said nothing. 

The teens devolved into chatter, asking about homework and grades and where to meet up for lunch. All too soon, they were parked in the student parking lot, expected to truck up to the school in time for their first classes. 

They hauled up to the school, the trio of friends breaking off with Jazz as they go to their respective parts of the building. 

“Dude, I’m so sorry if I got you in trouble with Jazz!” Sam exclaimed as they walked. “I forgot she thought you quit.” 

“It’s fine, as long as she thinks it’s just once,” he replied. “It’s my fault for freaking her out that one time.” 

“I still can’t believe you managed to overdose on caffeine,” Tucker muttered. “I mean, seriously, it’s not even a drug!” 

Sam snorted, pushing him lightly, “It’s technically a drug, Tucker.” 

Danny watched with an easy smile on his face as Tucker’s brain practically made windows error noises. “Does this mean you’re drugging Danny right now?” 

“Shut up!” Sam hissed as they passed a teacher with a ‘What did I just overhear?’ face on. 

Danny held up his energy drink can and the teacher rolled their eyes while nodding, as if that had explained everything. 

“Alright, this is me. You guys gonna be okay?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, probably,” Danny said. 

Sam looked at him a few more seconds before producing a second can of zesti. “Don’t chug it, please,” she said while handing it to him. 

Danny’s face lit up before he kissed the can, “Thank you, I owe you forever, what do you want I’ll give you anything-” 

“Go to class!” she pretended she wasn’t laughing at his dramatics. 

He laughed as he stuck the can in his pants pocket, waving goodbye before following Tucker to their first period. 

“Seriously though, man,” Tucker starts out, “Please don’t chug that. We don’t need a repeat of last time.” 

“Okay, I admit, last time was pretty bad,” he agreed, “But, last time I hadn’t slept in like a week and had 5 of the extra strength ones. These bad boys only have 150 milligrams each, which is about two cups of coffee, and-” 

“Why do you know this?”  

“I did research after I passed out last time. Turns out, 1500 mils of caffeine probably would’ve killed a normal person,” he shrugged. 

“Dude.” 

“What? Anyways, you know it takes more caffeine to affect me anyways, so 300 milligrams isn’t actually that bad to start out with.” 

Tucker shook his head. “You’re going to die, man.” 

Danny grinned and opened his mouth. 

“Don’t even think about it!” the other boy mock scolded. 

He laughed in response. 

Soon enough, they were in their respective seats in the middle of the classroom as the math teacher droned on about triangles. Danny was pretty sure he could puzzle out the math problem on the board if he needed to so he let his eyes drop a bit as he sipped on his sweet, sweet nectar. 

He felt something hit the back of his head as muffled laughter grated his ears. “Dash,” he thought to himself. It was exactly his M.O. 

He didn’t turn around as he felt the paper drop into his hood. He fished it out blindly and looked at it, smoothing it out. 

“Daniel!” he heard the teacher call. “Since you’re so keen to pass notes in my class, why don’t you read it out loud?” 

He heard the other kids “ooo,” as he stared at the note. “Are you sure, ma’am?” 

She rolled her eyes, “Yes, I am, Mr. Fenton.” 

Danny quirked an eyebrow. “Daniel Fenton is a faggot,” he read out, listening as the class burst into laughter, “Yeah, laugh it up, that’s so original everyone! I’ve never been called a-” 

“Okay, okay!” the teacher attempted to deescalate. “Mr. Fenton, if you knew it was inappropriate, why did you read it?” 

“Hang on- you told me to!” he protested. “Why am I getting in trouble? I’m the one that got hit in the head-” 

“Hush!” She said, “Meet me here after school!” 

“Wait- you’re not even going to ask who wrote it?” 

“I don’t care,” she dismissed, “You’re the one who read it aloud.”  

Danny looked at Tucker, his jaw hanging open in sheer astonishment. Tucker shrugged, wide-eyed. 

“I can’t believe that worked!” he heard someone exclaim quietly behind him. 

“I know! I oughtta throw stuff at Fenturd more often!” This time he could pinpoint the voice perfectly. 

Dash Baxter. Just as he suspected. It was exactly like this stupid school to let him get away with everything he ever tried. 

He sighed and went back to nursing his drink. 

The day went on like that. Every single time Danny tried to keep his head down and pay attention to his classes or even just do his own thing, there was Dash, throwing things at him, threatening him, or doing whatever he could to make his life miserable.  

It had been like this since the schedules got revised for the second semester and he got stuck sharing the exact. same. schedule. as the blond. He felt he was going nuts with the number of stupid comments and slurs the jock threw his way. 

“... He just won’t leave me alone!” he recounted to Sam and Tucker from their usual spot under the bleachers at lunch time. 

“Let me guess, the teachers do nothing?” Sam said with a sneer. 

“Absolutely nothing! I mean, seriously, he literally threw a paper calling me a slur and now I’ve gotta go see Mrs. Kelley later!” he complained. 

“What?!” Sam exclaimed. 

“Yeah! She made Danny read the paper to the class because she thought he was passing notes and then got mad at him when he did,” Tucker piped up, “Straight up said that she didn’t care who wrote it, just that Danny read it.” 

“That is bullshit,” she seethed. “Absolute bullshit! Why is he allowed to do whatever just because he’s on the football team?!” 

Danny snorted. “Because he’s the precious star quarterback? Lancer has said that he won’t write Dash up, especially during football season, because if he gets too many he can’t play in certain games.” 

Sam scoffed, slumping against the cool metal. “I hate this stupid ass place.” 

“Same,” the boys said in unison. 

Danny raised the second can of zesti to his lips, taking his first sip out of it. 

“Is that the one I gave you earlier?” Sam asked, picking at her salad. 

“Yeah, I saved it so I wouldn’t crash halfway through the day.” 

“Dude, you do this too often,” Tucker muttered. 

Danny snorted into the can. “Guilty,” he said, “But hey, how else am I supposed to stay awake during class?” 

“What time did you get in last night anyways?”  

Danny pursed his lips. “I have no idea. By the time I was done with the first aid, my alarm went off.” 

“Wait, how bad did you get hurt?” Sam asked. 

Danny pulled up the hoodie, showing off the patch job that had seeped through some. They both winced. He dropped the hem of the hoodie, “I also had a shit ton of scrapes on my arms this morning,” he rolled his eyes, bringing the can to his mouth once again, “I think they’re healed now, though,” he took a sip. 

“Damn, dude,” Tucker said before taking a bite of his burger. 

“I thought the scrape on my knee was gonna be a bitch to hide,” Sam muttered. 

Danny looked at her knees. Sure enough, below the two layers of fishnets (red on bottom, black on top), there was an angry, scabbed over scrape on Sam’s knee. “Why didn’t you say anything last night?” 

She shrugged. “Didn’t notice until I went home. I can’t even think of when I might’ve gotten it.” 

He shook his head. “You two, I swear,” he muttered. He yawned before leaning against Tucker. 

The other boy laughed before throwing his arm around his friend. Lunch continued like that, laughing and talking like they had all the time in the world. 

Surprisingly, the universe was merciful for once- no ghosts to take care of in the middle of class. Sure, Dash tormented him from the sidelines, but he was fairly used to that. 

When the final bell rang out, he made his way towards the geometry room, texting their group chat as he went. 

Ghost Boy 

Gotta stop by Mrs. Kelley’s before heading out. 

Please wait for me 

Psychologist in Training 

What did you do this time? 

The Pharaoh 

Not him this time 

Black Dahlia 

Dash again, Danny got in trouble, as usual 

Psychologist in Training 

Amazing. Need me to go over? 

Ghost Boy 

Nah, ill be fin. 

*fin 

Kill me 

The Pharaoh 

NB? 

Ghost Boy 

Hell yeah 

Be out soon (I hope) 

Danny put his phone away as he entered the room. He dumped the rest of the zesti into his mouth before throwing the can in the recycling box. 

Mrs. Kelley looked up at him before gesturing him to her desk. She slid a paper to him, “I want your mom to sign this.” 

Danny’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s this for?” 

“An incident report. Do you have any idea how many times you’ve been late? How many you’ve come in falling asleep at your desk while drinking an energy drink?” she asked, glaring at him. 

“No, ma’am,” he answered. 

“Too many,” she snapped. “You’re a bright boy,” she started, and Danny had already wanted to leave, “But you’ve been too distracted. You could easily make straight A’s in your classes, yet you’re pushing a high C. That’s unacceptable.” 

Danny frowned. “Isn’t a high C passing?” 

He caught sight of a familiar figure as she answered, “Yes, but you have the potential for so much more. Have your parents look over this,” she tapped the paper in his hand, “And please think about what I’ve said.” She followed his gaze out of the classroom, smile brightening as she recognized the “star student”.  

“Mr. Baxter! What do you need, sweetheart?” 

Dash smiled politely, “Oh, nothing, miss! I was just making sure Fenton was okay after that note in class.”  

Danny felt his eye twitch as Mrs. Kelley coo’ed over how “considerate” the blond was.  

“Seriously, miss, it’s no trouble!” he heard Dash say. “In fact, why don’t I walk you to the parking lot, Fenton? Wouldn’t want whoever wrote the note to show up to bother you again!” he said, the perfect picture of concern. 

He looked to the teacher, who nodded. He sighed, gritting his teeth, “Why yes, Dash! Why don’t we walk to the parking lot together!” 

Dash looked at Danny, surprised. He must’ve wanted to throw a fit when Danny said no. “Wonderful! Come, Fenton.”  

Feeling like a scolded dog, he reluctantly followed Dash out the door. They got to the end of the hallway before Dash grabbed the smaller boy by the shoulders and slammed him against the locker. “What was that?” he demanded. 

Winded, Danny wheezed a second before answering, “What was what, you psycho?!” 

“That!” Dash demanded, “’Yes, Dash, lets walk together’!” he mocked in a high-pitched tone, “You made me sound like a fa-” 

“Shut up!” Danny hissed, “If anything you made it sound like you’re gay for me! I’m the one out of the two of us who’s had a girlfriend so-”  

He got cut off with sharp metal digging harder into his back. 

“Listen up, Fenturd, and listen well, if I ever hear you say some shit like that again, I’ll-” 

Danny couldn’t help it. He cackled, unrestrained laughter echoing eerily in the hall. Dash scowled. 

“What’s funny, asshole?” 

Danny grinned. “Out of the two of us,” he started, managing to wiggle out of Dash’s laxed grip, “You’re the one with the power. You have everything,” he giggled. 

“Shut up-” 

“No, you shut up!” Danny yelled. “You’ve been fucking with me all day! All year! Fuck, all our lives!” he screamed, his voice shrill. 

Dash raised his fist. He snapped. 

Dash was stronger but Danny was faster, fist flying into Dash’s mouth. The hit landed, causing him to stumble back. 

Danny kicked him in the knee, fists flying towards his face, “I’m so fuCKING SICK OF YOU-” 

“ENOUGH!” a familiar voice rang out, grabbing Danny by his hood. Danny kicked out wildly, his foot landing on the side of Dash’s head as he desperately tried to scramble to his feet. 

It was so unfair.  

Five seconds. Not even five seconds to respond to Danny, resident twig, punching Dash, the star quarterback tank of a teen, yet Dash could beat Danny black and blue for fifteen minutes and nobody would bat an eye- 

“I HATE YOU!” he kept screaming. “I HOPE YOU DIE! YOU MAKE MY LIFE FUCKING MISERABLE-” 

Mr. Lancer dragged him into his classroom as Danny kept struggling in his grip, muttering out curses of “Oliver twist!” and “A Midsummer Night’s Dream!” as he went. 

He finally wrangled the distraught teenager through the door, hurriedly closing it as sobs overruled Danny’s primal need to scream obscenities. 

He let his body collapse by Lancer’s desk, grabbing out his phone to press... anybody’s contact, really. He pressed buttons until something worked, the phone ringing twice before someone picked up, miraculously on speaker. 

“Dan-Danny? Are you crying, what’s going on?” Jazz’s voice asked from the phone. 

He opened his mouth just to cry harder. 

“Ms. Fenton, is that you?” Lancer asked. 

“I- yes? What’s going on, what’s wrong with Danny?” 

“Is that Mr. Lancer?” he heard Tucker ask in the background. 

“Yes, Mr. Foley. Danny’s in my room, if you all are still on campus, come to my room,” he glanced back at Danny, “It would seem your presence is needed.” 

“We’re on our way,” Jazz responded. “What happened?” 

Lancer pursed his lips. “I’m not at liberty to say, I’m afraid-” 

“PIETHE OF THIT!” the door opened with a bang. 

Lancer placed himself between Dash and Danny. The blond was holding his hand under his mouth, pouring blood. 

“What is-” 

“THAT PIETHE OF THIT KNOCKED OUT MY TOOTH!” he fumbled out, trying to get around the teacher. 

“Dash-” 

“I’M GONNA KILL YOU, FENTON!” he yelled out. Two teachers shot in, trying to calm him down. 

“FUCK OFF, DASH, YOU FUCKING DESERVED IT!” the tears kept coming and the words were strained. 

“YOU TOOK OUT MY TOOTH!” he continued to lisp. 

“HOW YOU LIKE IT? HUH?! YOU PUT ME THROUGH THIS EVERY FUCKING DAY!” 

“Danny!” Jazz called, echoing through the phone before she hung up. She appeared in the doorway with Sam and Tucker in tow. 

Dash spun around, trying to get in Jazz’s face as one of the other teachers blocked his path. It didn’t stop him screaming out, “LOOK AT WHAT YOUR FUCKING BROTHER DID TO ME!” 

Jazz gawked at him as Sam and Tucker had to fight smiles and anxious laughter. Danny shot up, unsteady on his feet but still trying, “DON’T FUCKING YELL AT HER!” 

“ENOUGH, NOW!” Lancer yelled out, causing both boys to look at him immediately. “Dash,” he gritted out, “Leave. Now. Go to the nurse and try to find the tooth. You three-” he pointed to Jazz, Sam, and Tucker, who paused and had looked up from where he was currently crouched on the floor, “In here. Now, please.” 

Sam looked at Tucker, helping him stand as they filed into the room, staring unabashedly at Dash. He glared at them, following the other two teachers out. 

Jazz immediately went to fuss over Danny, checking him over. She grabbed his left hand, rubbing carefully at the split, bruising flesh. They were still bleeding. 

“What happened?” she asked softly. 

Danny sniffled, his tears slowing. He shrugged, collapsing into her arms. 

“Dude, did you seriously knock out his tooth?” Tucker asked. 

Danny nodded as Lancer interrupted, “Let’s not get into semantics, Mr. Foley. I called you three in here to calm him down, not to go over the gory details,” he scolded. 

“Sorry,” he replied, though he didn’t sound apologetic. 

“... I’m not surprised you snapped, though,” Sam admitted. 

Lancer raised an eyebrow, asking a silent question. Sam flushed a bit.  

“Dash has been messing with Danny all year, especially after the schedule changes,” she admitted. “We had to change our lunch spot so we could avoid him easier.” 

Lancer hummed in recognition. “I guess I’d better call your parents,” he indicated the Fenton siblings, “If they even answer,” he muttered under his breath as he went for his phone. 

With Lancer distracted, Tucker pressed something into Sam’s hand. She looked down at it before her eyes widened, looking back at him. He nodded. She opened the front pocket of her backpack, pulling out an old mint container and dropping something into it. 

The rest of the day was a blur. His parents arriving, his mom throwing a fit that his hand hadn’t been looked at yet, the principal's office. Dash’s parents arriving and threatening to sue before rushing him to urgent care. Dash’s dad calling back, screaming about how Dash is probably going to be pulled out of football the rest of the season. 

The car ride home was awkward. There was no Nasty Burger, just his dad’s livid face in the mirror as he drove them home. The lecture he got from his parents after was probably well-intentioned, but he had no interest in following it as his brain shut down. 

He barely made it to his bed before he collapsed, crying some more before he fell into a fitful sleep. It was just beginning to get dark when a cold mist pulled from his lungs and out of his mouth, waking him before he had the chance to really sleep. 

He sighed, transforming into Phantom. 

It didn’t matter if he felt like hot garbage, or had a breakdown, or anything close to that. Amity Park needed Phantom. 

He flew off into the night, shutting down his emotions as he went. He could deal with those another day. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm excited to share this with everyone :) I've had a lot of fun drafting and writing and I can't wait to see what people think

[milkyfederation]

Felipolis is the youngest city-state in Mars, and one of the biggest tourist destinations in the Solar System. Everyone loves its cute cat-people service workers!

Founded by a billionaire influencer from Earth, this city was created after Mars became independent. It was advertised to possible settlers as a utopia where you can finally be yourself.

Anyone can become a citizen of this marvelous city led by our favourite internet persona! You just have to go through an itsy bitsy mandatory operation to turn you into a cat-human (or other variants).

Don't have the money? Don't worry, the city will pay for it! You just have to work there to pay off your debt. Win-win situation, become your true self and get a stable job at the best city in the galaxy! What could go wrong?

(Sketches, crudely made in 2-3h or so)

The first guy is the founder and leader of the city. Add the quirkiness of a 30 something years old who wears hats indoors, the lack of empathy of an influencer who invests in real estate, and a lot of money, and you end up with Felipolis.

That charming lady is a propery owner and investor of the city. She doesn't belive in this crazy cat utopia thing, she's just in it for the money. The mandatory operation becomes optional for rich people, but she still went through some changes as a show of status, even if she finds it a bit silly.

This young kitty waitress is still smiling after 12 hours serving tables to tourists, what a champ! Hang in there cutie, only 20 years of this to pay off your debt! (She was gonna be dressed as a french maid to add insult to injury, but I didn't have the heart to go through with it).

Last lady is what happens when you start getting old in this city. The operation starts showing its long-term shortcomings, you are no longer visually pleasing to the tourists, and most of the work available is in the service industry. If they can't find a job or money, these unlucky citizens become, as people offensively call them, strays.

This might be the most evil thing I've made, and I am sorry for it. No shade intended to furries in general btw, just to Youtubers and influencers and such.

[brionysea]

#between fanon and the vast gulf between canon interpretations this is about as good as it gets op#but holy hell the complete absence of Duke is telling#dc#batman#(and to be clear the tag about duke is not aimed at you op its telling about the fandom) (via @squirrelno2)

tragically i do not, in fact, have a clue who duke is. which is a shame because in scrolling through the batfam tag i found out he can apparently fly??? and that automatically makes him the best bat if true. finally someone lives up to the name

me, wanting to know more about bruce wayne and all those crime fighting children he has: jumping into batman comics with no context is expensive but jumping into batman fanfics with no context is free

[neighborhood-yogurt]

Comics love to make their billionaires poor for a few issues to show they're not just rich elitist bourgeoisie. They're

✨ relatable rich elitist bourgeoise ✨

Fellas, I'm not trying to relate to a crime-fighting, leather!furry and his weird kids. Let Bruce have a Porsche.

[seeminglyseph]

I saw that someone was arguing that forgiving student loan debt was like printing money, and would cause similar economic inflation, and I feel like there’s been such thorough indoctrination that people have become unaware of how things actually. Like. Work? To such a degree that statements like that seem normal.

Like. No it’s not that a significant amount of global finances are stagnant in billionaire bank accounts, it’s that poor people aren’t paying enough loan interest. If poor people recoup their loan interest then the economy with inflate out of control, like a furry on the front page of DeviantArt. It has nothing to do with stagnant savings collecting passive interest in the billions and going into nothing but more bank accounts and no economic stimulus. That’s definitely not a problem.

Poor people don’t deserve money and rich people do, that’s why it’s not fair for rich people to pay taxes and poor people should die or something idk I am very smart. Have you heard of bitcoin?

[rattataprincess2007]

Victor Roadstop with his own daughter.

[sassypotatoe1]

Punk is the one community I fully support and endorse but don't participate in the aesthetics of. I'm lying furries too but that's irrelevant here. Besties punk was founded by socially conscious poor and angry anarchists if you're not BLM you're not punk if you're not ACAB you're not punk if you're not anti billionaires you're not PUNK IF YOU'RE NOT ANTI NAZI YOU'RE NOT PUNK if you don't participate in thrifting and upcycling culture because fast fashion is filling landfills with polyester and putting more microplastics in our food to poison our brain you're not punk. Punk is about sticking it to the man and the man is rich white assholes that try to control minorities so they can maintain their privilege. The clothes and aesthetics just happen to serve cunt but the community is so much more. It would do you well to know your history.

Bring back posers as a term please I'm begging if ONE MORE GODDAMN 16 YEAR OLD ASKS WHERE I BOUGHT MY CLOTHES I'M GONNA LOSE. MY FUCKING. MIND.

I HAVEN'T PAID FOR SHIT SINCE 2020 BITCH THESE SPIKES ARE THE BROKEN OFF TINES OF A FORK THE THREAD IS DENTAL FLOSS FROM A PAIR OF JEANS I TOOK APART TO USE THE DENIM TO MAKE PATCHES YEAH NO SHIT I SMELL LIKE SILVER SPRAY PAINT. I'VE HAD THE SAME PAIR OF COMBAT BOOTS FOR SIX FUCKIN YEARS NOW. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY LAYERS OF PAINT AND NAIL POLISH ARE ON THEM. MY WHEELCHAIR GLOVES ARE MORE THREAD THAN LEATHER ATP BUT WHO GIVES A FUCK. THEY'RE STILL FUNCTIONAL.

"but all I can afford is clothes from SheIn and Amazon and I wanna have the punk style"

BITCH STEAL THE CLOTHES. GO TO GOODWILL. YOU KNOW WHAT WE CALL HAVING THE "STYLE" IS BUT NOT THE MINDSET???

A FUCKING POSER

And no I'm not gatekeeping. Anyone anywhere can be punk. BUT BUYING A PRE-PATCHED DENIM JACKET ON AMAZON DOES NOT A PUNK MAKE. BURN YOUR OWN CD'S, PIRATE MOVIES, GO TO PROTESTS, MAKE POSITIVE CHANGE, FORM COMMUNITY IN SOLIDARITY AGAINST OPPRESSIVE SYSTEMS. KILL THE NAZIS INFECTING PUNK COMMUNITIES LIKE A ROTTING BRANCH GETS CUT FROM THE TREE

WHERE'S YOUR FUCKING RAGE??? WHERE'S YOUR FUCKING WEIRDNESS??? WHERE'S YOUR REFUSAL TO FIT INTO THE MAIN STREAM???? WHERE'S YOUR OBSESSION WITH A SKA PUNK BAND FROM THE EARLY 2000'S?!

I saw a TikTok of a person who said they were punk but then proceeded to go on a tirade about not liking the bus because gross homeless people ride the bus

HOW DOES THE BOOT TASTE MOTHERFUCKER

[sybalcathryne]

I recently saw the blonde who shall not be named’s fan base get super confused about why she and Hozier have never collaborated together musically, after it came out that they apparently hid in a bathroom together when the cops came to break up a party for noise violation or something.

And while, on the surface, I can understand why her fan base might think that was a good fit, any time spent thinking about it any deeper than “at a glance” reveals pretty quickly just why that is a terrible fit.

Hoizer’s songs resound with the weight of a heart full of passions and furries, his love songs read like timeless sonnets, and he address and calls out this world’s hypocrisies, the rich, and bigots, religion. They echo with passion and power, even in their softness.

The air plane environment killer writes pop songs about bad relationships and good friendships. And there is nothing wrong with that, but the two don’t really mesh theme-wise. Just because she has put out a few folk songs (or folk song-esque, songs?) doesn’t mean that they, as artists, are compatible.

In fact, I can’t even imagine they’d be able to find a theme or subject to agree on. What does a man who keeps bees, likes to reside in the quiet of the wilderness, has a line that says “I once warmed my hands over a burning Maserati” (speaking on protests he’s been involved in), actively uses his music and voice to stand firm, call out injustices, and not give a fuck if people don’t like it, have in common with a woman who lives and indulges in her billionaire lifestyle, has refused to take a stand on anything (and still refuses to take a stand on most things) for fear of “alienating” some of her fans (ie: doesn’t want to upset the bigots, racists, etc), and only speaks up if, and ONLY if, there is a noted push back from her fan base (ie: is about to risk potentially losing money), and ONLY just enough to placate them and keep her money in place, is actively, personally, harming the environment on a scale one usually only sees with bad corporations, and continues to remain silent on anything of actual worth?

essentially nothing. outside of the fact that they’re both tall, at one point both had curly hair, and are famous musicians, they essentially have NOTHING in common.

So, no, eerily devoted fans, it is not a surprise they have never collaborated, and it would not make any sense for them to do so in future.

[luisauthornews]

A Trump Tower Goes Bust in Canada

The failure this week of Trump Toronto showcased a familiar scenario: big promises, glitzy image, a Russian-born financier, aggrieved smaller investors – but few losses for the mogul himself.

November 02, 2016

The 65-story Trump International Hotel & Tower Toronto has all the glitz and ambition of the luxury-brand businessman with his name in giant letters near its spire. It’s the tallest residential skyscraper in Canada, and probably the fanciest. The hotel’s sleek cream-and-black interiors were inspired by Champagne and caviar. Every room features Italian Bellino linens and Nespresso coffeemakers. Guests can book a Trump Experience outing through the Trump Attache concierge service. Their furry friends are eligible for the Trump Pets program, which “will fill your best Fido’s tummy with gourmet treats, and see them off to sleep on a plush dog bed.”

This Trump-branded and Trump-managed jewel is also, as a business venture, a bust.

On Tuesday, a Canadian bankruptcy judge placed the glass-and-granite building into receivership, just four years after Trump and his children cut the ribbon at its grand opening. Once it’s auctioned off, whether or not Trump is the leader of the free world by then, his name may well vanish from its marquee.

Trump is not the project’s developer or even an investor; one of his partners, a Russian-born billionaire who got rich in Ukraine’s steel industry, controls the firm that’s in default. The Trump Toronto is still a posh hotel, and even though nearly two thirds of the tower’s condo units remain unsold, they’re still upscale residences. Still, the saga of the property’s glittering rise and rapid fall is classic Trump, featuring a tsunami of litigation and bitterness, money with a Russian accent, and a financial wreck that probably won’t hit its namesake particularly hard.

Trump has vowed to run the country the way he runs his businesses, and Trump Toronto is yet another reminder that his businesses do not always run smoothly. Even before the bankruptcy, the Trump Organization was already mired in litigation over management issues with the project’s owner, Talon International—led by Alex Shnaider, the steel magnate who is perhaps better known for buying a Formula One racing team and hiring Justin Bieber to sing at his daughter’s Sweet Sixteen. The project also faced lawsuits filed by middle-class investors who claim they were suckered into buying time-share-style units in the hotel with wildly overstated projections of Trump Toronto’s performance. Now it’s in receivership, which will produce new ownership and, quite possibly, a new brand.

Trump Organization spokeswoman Amanda Miller noted that the company still has a long-term deal to manage the Toronto property, no matter who controls it after the auction. “This has been a record year for the hotel, and we look forward to its continued success,��� Miller said. “Guests can expect to receive the same superior level of service and quality that is synonymous with our brand around the world.”

But it’s not clear that Trump Toronto will keep its name, much less its management team. Toronto is one of the world’s most multicultural cities, and Trump’s run for the presidency, especially his provocations against immigrants and Muslims, have made his hotel a target for protests. And one insider familiar with the bankruptcy proceedings said that local rivals in the luxury condo and hotel market, notably the Four Seasons and the Ritz Carlton, have dramatically outcompeted the Trump property. Court documents show that even though investors in the hotel units were told the “worst case scenario” for occupancy rates would be 55%, they’ve ranged between 15% and 45%. The average room rate, despite the snazzy crystal sconces and in-mirror bathroom TVs and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Ontario, has been nearly $100 below the initial projections.

“The whole business model has been overpromise and underdeliver, and it’s Trump’s name on the thing,” the insider said. “You can’t put all the blame on him and his people. But if they did a terrific job, do you think it would be in bankruptcy?”

Trump first got involved in the project 15 years ago, when he held a press conference with Toronto’s mayor to announce his plan to build a new Ritz Carlton downtown. That plan fell apart when it came out that his development partner was a fugitive who had been convicted of bankruptcy fraud and embezzlement in the U.S. Trump then forged a licensing and management deal with Shnaider and another Russian-Canadian named Val Levitan, whose name comes up a lot in the documents because he had no development experience. Talon pre-sold 85 percent of the units at near-Manhattan prices before the groundbreaking in 2007, but most of the buyers backed out after the global financial crisis ravaged the real estate market, and Levitan was eventually forced out.

It is clear from affidavits in the fraud cases and the bankruptcy case that the buyers have taken a financial beating. A warehouse supervisor named Sarbjit Singh, who was earning about $55,000 a year, testified that he borrowed money from his father, a retired welder, for the deposit on his hotel unit; he never closed on the deal, but he says he still lost $248,000. Se Na Lee, a homemaker who was married to a mortgage underwriter, borrowed money for her deposit from her parents; she did close, and ended up losing $990,000 through December 2014, she says.

A judge later described Talon’s prospectus and other “deceptive documents” as “a trap to these unsurprisingly unwary purchasers,” and ruled that they could sue Trump as well as Talon. The surnames in the court filings reflect the global diversity of the people who put their trust in the Trump brand and the Talon sales representatives: Ayeni, Surani, Yuen, Rhee, Okwuosa, Gupta, Radhakrishman, Varadarasa, Akinkuotu. Some said they were assured that Trump’s involvement would make it easy for them to get mortgages, but banks have shied away, even as the local real estate market has become one of the hottest on the planet.

These problems were already simmering when Trump—along with his children Eric, Donald Jr. and Ivanka, who oversees his worldwide hotel operations—stepped out of a Cadillac Escalade for the hotel’s ribbon-cutting in April 2012. There are snippets of the event on YouTube, where you can see Trump smiling dutifully as he congratulates hotel staffers, accepting a Maple Leafs jersey with his name on the back, and watching a speech by Toronto’s late mayor, Rob Ford, who would later become a household name after a crack-smoking scandal.

By 2015, Trump and Talon were suing each other, with the Trump team alleging a Talon scheme to take over the management, Talon alleging a Trump scheme to devalue the property in order to buy it at a discount, and both sides accusing each other of shoddy financial record-keeping. Talon also disparaged Trump’s performance running the hotel, but the dispute is now in mediation. It probably won’t matter, because Talon is about to lose the property, most likely to JCF Capital, a U.S. investment firm that purchased its $225 million construction loan.

Talon’s attorney, Steven Rukavina, would only say that the company is cooperating with the restructuring, and views the court’s appointment of a receiver as “a positive step forward toward achieving that objective.” JCF declined comment, though it has said in its filings that it intends to honor Trump’s contract if it assumes control of the property.

But Trump’s campaign, with its hostility towards foreigners, progressives, and others, has not played well in Toronto. A city councilor has called for the property to change its name. Hollywood types reportedly blackballed the hotel—along with its 31st-floor restaurant, which is actually called America—during this summer’s Toronto Film Festival. There have been protests outside the building by union workers, women’s groups, and Muslim groups. The Trump brand is under siege, which has delayed the opening of a similar Trump-licensed hotel and condo project in Vancouver until after the election. The colorful mosaic celebrating multiculturalism at the entrance to Trump Toronto, titled A Small Part of Something Larger, now seems to clash with the nominee’s white-backlash message.

Trump has presided over four corporate bankruptcies, and the flurry of lawsuits and countersuits over Trump Toronto’s broken promises is rather typical for a Trump property. But this is Talon’s bankruptcy, not his. The project was built with other people's money; he just got paid for the use of his name and his hotel management team. It’s not clear how much he ever knew about Talon’s high-pressure sales tactics. It’s also not clear how much he ever knew about his Russian-Canadian partner's business activities in Eastern Europe.

“We heard fantastic things about [Shnaider],” Trump told a Forbes reporter by phone from his 2005 honeymoon. “But sometimes people say wonderful things whether they mean them or not.”

Then again, Trump did license his name and his brand to Talon. This isn’t his main concern this week, but he can’t deny all responsibility for the failure of a Trump project, especially when the Trump Organization is running the Trump hotel. The project's partners, investors, and lenders all got a Trump Experience, one that isn't available from the concierge.

[zainwriteronline]

A Trump Tower Goes Bust in Canada

The failure this week of Trump Toronto showcased a familiar scenario: big promises, glitzy image, a Russian-born financier, aggrieved smaller investors – but few losses for the mogul himself.

The 65-story Trump International Hotel & Tower Toronto has all the glitz and ambition of the luxury-brand businessman with his name in giant letters near its spire. It’s the tallest residential skyscraper in Canada, and probably the fanciest. The hotel’s sleek cream-and-black interiors were inspired by Champagne and caviar. Every room features Italian Bellino linens and Nespresso coffeemakers. Guests can book a Trump Experience outing through the Trump Attache concierge service. Their furry friends are eligible for the Trump Pets program, which “will fill your best Fido’s tummy with gourmet treats, and see them off to sleep on a plush dog bed.”

This Trump-branded and Trump-managed jewel is also, as a business venture, a bust.

On Tuesday, a Canadian bankruptcy judge placed the glass-and-granite building into receivership, just four years after Trump and his children cut the ribbon at its grand opening. Once it’s auctioned off, whether or not Trump is the leader of the free world by then, his name may well vanish from its marquee.

Trump is not the project’s developer or even an investor; one of his partners, a Russian-born billionaire who got rich in Ukraine’s steel industry, controls the firm that’s in default. The Trump Toronto is still a posh hotel, and even though nearly two thirds of the tower’s condo units remain unsold, they’re still upscale residences. Still, the saga of the property’s glittering rise and rapid fall is classic Trump, featuring a tsunami of litigation and bitterness, money with a Russian accent, and a financial wreck that probably won’t hit its namesake particularly hard.

Trump has vowed to run the country the way he runs his businesses, and Trump Toronto is yet another reminder that his businesses do not always run smoothly. Even before the bankruptcy, the Trump Organization was already mired in litigation over management issues with the project’s owner, Talon International—led by Alex Shnaider, the steel magnate who is perhaps better known for buying a Formula One racing team and hiring Justin Bieber to sing at his daughter’s Sweet Sixteen. The project also faced lawsuits filed by middle-class investors who claim they were suckered into buying time-share-style units in the hotel with wildly overstated projections of Trump Toronto’s performance. Now it’s in receivership, which will produce new ownership and, quite possibly, a new brand.

Trump Organization spokeswoman Amanda Miller noted that the company still has a long-term deal to manage the Toronto property, no matter who controls it after the auction. “This has been a record year for the hotel, and we look forward to its continued success,” Miller said. “Guests can expect to receive the same superior level of service and quality that is synonymous with our brand around the world.”

But it’s not clear that Trump Toronto will keep its name, much less its management team. Toronto is one of the world’s most multicultural cities, and Trump’s run for the presidency, especially his provocations against immigrants and Muslims, have made his hotel a target for protests. And one insider familiar with the bankruptcy proceedings said that local rivals in the luxury condo and hotel market, notably the Four Seasons and the Ritz Carlton, have dramatically outcompeted the Trump property. Court documents show that even though investors in the hotel units were told the “worst case scenario” for occupancy rates would be 55%, they’ve ranged between 15% and 45%. The average room rate, despite the snazzy crystal sconces and in-mirror bathroom TVs and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Ontario, has been nearly $100 below the initial projections.

“The whole business model has been overpromise and underdeliver, and it’s Trump’s name on the thing,” the insider said. “You can’t put all the blame on him and his people. But if they did a terrific job, do you think it would be in bankruptcy?”

Trump first got involved in the project 15 years ago, when he held a press conference with Toronto’s mayor to announce his plan to build a new Ritz Carlton downtown. That plan fell apart when it came out that his development partner was a fugitive who had been convicted of bankruptcy fraud and embezzlement in the U.S. Trump then forged a licensing and management deal with Shnaider and another Russian-Canadian named Val Levitan, whose name comes up a lot in the documents because he had no development experience. Talon pre-sold 85 percent of the units at near-Manhattan prices before the groundbreaking in 2007, but most of the buyers backed out after the global financial crisis ravaged the real estate market, and Levitan was eventually forced out.

It is clear from affidavits in the fraud cases and the bankruptcy case that the buyers have taken a financial beating. A warehouse supervisor named Sarbjit Singh, who was earning about $55,000 a year, testified that he borrowed money from his father, a retired welder, for the deposit on his hotel unit; he never closed on the deal, but he says he still lost $248,000. Se Na Lee, a homemaker who was married to a mortgage underwriter, borrowed money for her deposit from her parents; she did close, and ended up losing $990,000 through December 2014, she says.

A judge later described Talon’s prospectus and other “deceptive documents” as “a trap to these unsurprisingly unwary purchasers,” and ruled that they could sue Trump as well as Talon. The surnames in the court filings reflect the global diversity of the people who put their trust in the Trump brand and the Talon sales representatives: Ayeni, Surani, Yuen, Rhee, Okwuosa, Gupta, Radhakrishman, Varadarasa, Akinkuotu. Some said they were assured that Trump’s involvement would make it easy for them to get mortgages, but banks have shied away, even as the local real estate market has become one of the hottest on the planet.

These problems were already simmering when Trump—along with his children Eric, Donald Jr. and Ivanka, who oversees his worldwide hotel operations—stepped out of a Cadillac Escalade for the hotel’s ribbon-cutting in April 2012. There are snippets of the event on YouTube, where you can see Trump smiling dutifully as he congratulates hotel staffers, accepting a Maple Leafs jersey with his name on the back, and watching a speech by Toronto’s late mayor, Rob Ford, who would later become a household name after a crack-smoking scandal.

By 2015, Trump and Talon were suing each other, with the Trump team alleging a Talon scheme to take over the management, Talon alleging a Trump scheme to devalue the property in order to buy it at a discount, and both sides accusing each other of shoddy financial record-keeping. Talon also disparaged Trump’s performance running the hotel, but the dispute is now in mediation. It probably won’t matter, because Talon is about to lose the property, most likely to JCF Capital, a U.S. investment firm that purchased its $225 million construction loan.

Talon’s attorney, Steven Rukavina, would only say that the company is cooperating with the restructuring, and views the court’s appointment of a receiver as “a positive step forward toward achieving that objective.” JCF declined comment, though it has said in its filings that it intends to honor Trump’s contract if it assumes control of the property.

But Trump’s campaign, with its hostility towards foreigners, progressives, and others, has not played well in Toronto. A city councilor has called for the property to change its name. Hollywood types reportedly blackballed the hotel—along with its 31st-floor restaurant, which is actually called America—during this summer’s Toronto Film Festival. There have been protests outside the building by union workers, women’s groups, and Muslim groups. The Trump brand is under siege, which has delayed the opening of a similar Trump-licensed hotel and condo project in Vancouver until after the election. The colorful mosaic celebrating multiculturalism at the entrance to Trump Toronto, titled A Small Part of Something Larger, now seems to clash with the nominee’s white-backlash message.

Trump has presided over four corporate bankruptcies, and the flurry of lawsuits and countersuits over Trump Toronto’s broken promises is rather typical for a Trump property. But this is Talon’s bankruptcy, not his. The project was built with other people's money; he just got paid for the use of his name and his hotel management team. It’s not clear how much he ever knew about Talon’s high-pressure sales tactics. It’s also not clear how much he ever knew about his Russian-Canadian partner's business activities in Eastern Europe.

“We heard fantastic things about [Shnaider],” Trump told a Forbes reporter by phone from his 2005 honeymoon. “But sometimes people say wonderful things whether they mean them or not.”

Then again, Trump did license his name and his brand to Talon. This isn’t his main concern this week, but he can’t deny all responsibility for the failure of a Trump project, especially when the Trump Organization is running the Trump hotel. The project's partners, investors, and lenders all got a Trump Experience, one that isn't available from the concierge.

[tommygunnews]

A Trump Tower Goes Bust in Canada

The 65-story Trump International Hotel & Tower Toronto has all the glitz and ambition of the luxury-brand businessman with his name in giant letters near its spire. It’s the tallest residential skyscraper in Canada, and probably the fanciest. The hotel’s sleek cream-and-black interiors were inspired by Champagne and caviar. Every room features Italian Bellino linens and Nespresso coffeemakers. Guests can book a Trump Experience outing through the Trump Attache concierge service. Their furry friends are eligible for the Trump Pets program, which “will fill your best Fido’s tummy with gourmet treats, and see them off to sleep on a plush dog bed.”

This Trump-branded and Trump-managed jewel is also, as a business venture, a bust.

On Tuesday, a Canadian bankruptcy judge placed the glass-and-granite building into receivership, just four years after Trump and his children cut the ribbon at its grand opening. Once it’s auctioned off, whether or not Trump is the leader of the free world by then, his name may well vanish from its marquee.

Trump is not the project’s developer or even an investor; one of his partners, a Russian-born billionaire who got rich in Ukraine’s steel industry, controls the firm that’s in default. The Trump Toronto is still a posh hotel, and even though nearly two thirds of the tower’s condo units remain unsold, they’re still upscale residences. Still, the saga of the property’s glittering rise and rapid fall is classic Trump, featuring a tsunami of litigation and bitterness, money with a Russian accent, and a financial wreck that probably won’t hit its namesake particularly hard.

Trump has vowed to run the country the way he runs his businesses, and Trump Toronto is yet another reminder that his businesses do not always run smoothly. Even before the bankruptcy, the Trump Organization was already mired in litigation over management issues with the project’s owner, Talon International—led by Alex Shnaider, the steel magnate who is perhaps better known for buying a Formula One racing team and hiring Justin Bieber to sing at his daughter’s Sweet Sixteen. The project also faced lawsuits filed by middle-class investors who claim they were suckered into buying time-share-style units in the hotel with wildly overstated projections of Trump Toronto’s performance. Now it’s in receivership, which will produce new ownership and, quite possibly, a new brand.

Trump Organization spokeswoman Amanda Miller noted that the company still has a long-term deal to manage the Toronto property, no matter who controls it after the auction. “This has been a record year for the hotel, and we look forward to its continued success,” Miller said. “Guests can expect to receive the same superior level of service and quality that is synonymous with our brand around the world.”

But it’s not clear that Trump Toronto will keep its name, much less its management team. Toronto is one of the world’s most multicultural cities, and Trump’s run for the presidency, especially his provocations against immigrants and Muslims, have made his hotel a target for protests. And one insider familiar with the bankruptcy proceedings said that local rivals in the luxury condo and hotel market, notably the Four Seasons and the Ritz Carlton, have dramatically outcompeted the Trump property. Court documents show that even though investors in the hotel units were told the “worst case scenario” for occupancy rates would be 55%, they’ve ranged between 15% and 45%. The average room rate, despite the snazzy crystal sconces and in-mirror bathroom TVs and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Ontario, has been nearly $100 below the initial projections.

“The whole business model has been overpromise and underdeliver, and it’s Trump’s name on the thing,” the insider said. “You can’t put all the blame on him and his people. But if they did a terrific job, do you think it would be in bankruptcy?”

Trump first got involved in the project 15 years ago, when he held a press conference with Toronto’s mayor to announce his plan to build a new Ritz Carlton downtown. That plan fell apart when it came out that his development partner was a fugitive who had been convicted of bankruptcy fraud and embezzlement in the U.S. Trump then forged a licensing and management deal with Shnaider and another Russian-Canadian named Val Levitan, whose name comes up a lot in the documents because he had no development experience. Talon pre-sold 85 percent of the units at near-Manhattan prices before the groundbreaking in 2007, but most of the buyers backed out after the global financial crisis ravaged the real estate market, and Levitan was eventually forced out.

It is clear from affidavits in the fraud cases and the bankruptcy case that the buyers have taken a financial beating. A warehouse supervisor named Sarbjit Singh, who was earning about $55,000 a year, testified that he borrowed money from his father, a retired welder, for the deposit on his hotel unit; he never closed on the deal, but he says he still lost $248,000. Se Na Lee, a homemaker who was married to a mortgage underwriter, borrowed money for her deposit from her parents; she did close, and ended up losing $990,000 through December 2014, she says.

A judge later described Talon’s prospectus and other “deceptive documents” as “a trap to these unsurprisingly unwary purchasers,” and ruled that they could sue Trump as well as Talon. The surnames in the court filings reflect the global diversity of the people who put their trust in the Trump brand and the Talon sales representatives: Ayeni, Surani, Yuen, Rhee, Okwuosa, Gupta, Radhakrishman, Varadarasa, Akinkuotu. Some said they were assured that Trump’s involvement would make it easy for them to get mortgages, but banks have shied away, even as the local real estate market has become one of the hottest on the planet.

These problems were already simmering when Trump—along with his children Eric, Donald Jr. and Ivanka, who oversees his worldwide hotel operations—stepped out of a Cadillac Escalade for the hotel’s ribbon-cutting in April 2012. There are snippets of the event on YouTube, where you can see Trump smiling dutifully as he congratulates hotel staffers, accepting a Maple Leafs jersey with his name on the back, and watching a speech by Toronto’s late mayor, Rob Ford, who would later become a household name after a crack-smoking scandal.

By 2015, Trump and Talon were suing each other, with the Trump team alleging a Talon scheme to take over the management, Talon alleging a Trump scheme to devalue the property in order to buy it at a discount, and both sides accusing each other of shoddy financial record-keeping. Talon also disparaged Trump’s performance running the hotel, but the dispute is now in mediation. It probably won’t matter, because Talon is about to lose the property, most likely to JCF Capital, a U.S. investment firm that purchased its $225 million construction loan.

Talon’s attorney, Steven Rukavina, would only say that the company is cooperating with the restructuring, and views the court’s appointment of a receiver as “a positive step forward toward achieving that objective.” JCF declined comment, though it has said in its filings that it intends to honor Trump’s contract if it assumes control of the property.

Trump has presided over four corporate bankruptcies, and the flurry of lawsuits and countersuits over Trump Toronto’s broken promises is rather typical for a Trump property. But this is Talon’s bankruptcy, not his. The project was built with other people's money; he just got paid for the use of his name and his hotel management team. It’s not clear how much he ever knew about Talon’s high-pressure sales tactics. It’s also not clear how much he ever knew about his Russian-Canadian partner's business activities in Eastern Europe.

Then again, Trump did license his name and his brand to Talon. This isn’t his main concern this week, but he can’t deny all responsibility for the failure of a Trump project, especially when the Trump Organization is running the Trump hotel. The project's partners, investors, and lenders all got a Trump Experience, one that isn't available from the concierge.