#jason brags about this

[loreoftheforgotten]

wally doesn’t die in young justice, no, him and dick get married and adopt a baby and two dogs. artemis was dicks best woman bc she’s supportive and also aroace

the baby is named jason (in honour of jason bc they don’t know he’s alive yet) and when jason comes back to life no one is allowed to tell him about baby jason bc dick knows his brother will be insufferable about it.

(ironically it’s dick who spills the beans while drunk one night)

the dogs, crash and flash, were named by bart (he kept joking about how it wasn’t fair for baby jason to be named after jason and demanded he should name their dogs) (they said yes) (he panicked and named them crash and flash bc he wasn’t prepared) (it’s too late the dogs respond to nothing but crash and flash)

[dragonpyre]

The real reason Jason Todd hasn’t legally come back to life is cuz he’d be expected to do Wayne Family shit in public, and honestly he’d rather not

[tinkerbelle05]

Bruce Wayne being a proud parent headcanons

Bruce is the type of dad to just endlessly and shamelessly brag about his kids to anyone who would listen. Be it during patrols, galas, PTA meetings, business meetings, hell even JL meetings. The man doesn’t care at all.

Bruce would have a stuffy wallet that’s just pictures of his babies doing wonderful things. There’s a picture of a tiny Jason with a big smile holding a blue ribbon with a A+ on it for winning the school’s spelling bee and right next to it is Damian with a sheepish expression and bright red cheeks, holding an art piece he did that got a 100 on.

Of course what’s in the wallet differs on what Bruce is doing. He’s not gonna pull out a picture of Cass’s recital as Batman, which leads to the rumor of the Batfam wearing their costumes 24/7. That makes them scarier than they were before.

In that wallet, there’s a photo of Dick as Robin smiling with two thumbs up while a goon lays unconscious, a picture of Robin!Tim trying to get a cat out of a tree, and a picture of Signal helping an old lady cross the street while Spoiler holds her groceries.

And of course if said kid is next to him, well expect to have 20 minutes of your time being spent by Bruce Wayne gushing about his little boy. While said “little boy” is like 6’5 and can easily tower over the both of you with a deep voice. And Bruce doesn't even notice (and if he does, he simply doesn't care) and continues with the conversation.

Damian is the most embarrassed by Bruce’s bragging, being unused to this much praise being expressed openly, while Jason and Dick relish in the praise Bruce gives them because Dick is a natural-born performer and Jason is the youngest child at heart who needs to have all of his Dad’s attention on him.

Tag: @bruciemilf, @akikkobara, @growingupbrown, @iwantadamusername, @jasontoddispoly, @odd-spooky-rainbows, @mexican-owlgal, @iamyouraveragestudent, @truck-kunwillbeourlordandsavior, @just-a-gal-with-a-boomerang, @classybananacoloregg, @dimension-hopper, @wiboo07, @adrunkskeletonsduck, @home-of-sexual-and-dumb-of-ass, @queerly-bel0ved, @skylions-den, @seasonsyeetingsstuff, @foulsandwichmusic, @mysteriesgalplusdamianthings, @profoundpacmilitaire, @insanebutteredtoast, @thenamessexual-homosexual, @jasontoddispoly, @bittersweetstargazer, @growingupbrown, @onlyhereforthechaos, @s-ourbuns, @suhnisideup

[sunkillerlovechild]

dick and jason dynamic, where when they were younger jason always idolised dick and didnt see any of his faults and then he comes back as red hood and is mad at everyone including dick because he is the golden child, the can do no wrong child, that follows batmans rules

then for one reason or other he starts kind of working with nightwing

they develop a working relationship as equals, dick is not his older brother, he is his colleague

and this is where jason finds out that dick "anger issues, hasnt had a civil conversation with bruce in the past couple of years" grayson is in fact on as perfect as he always thought

he gets to see the side of him that dick never lets his younger brothers see, the nasty side that is ready to hurt anyone and do anything for the people that he cares about

they end up having to rescue robin from a hostage situation and jason almost gets a black eye because he is staring frozen at dick breaking bones and lightly maiming without a care in the world because tim has been drugged, kidnapped and is currently sitting tied down to a chairs passed out, so dick doesnt have to worry about him remembering any of this and just goes to town on all the goons

afterwards jason doesnt know what to think because who was that, hes never seen his brother act like that (and maybe he feels mad because where was this energy when he was kidnapped)

then they end up having a run it with some known joker goons, they are just patroling, notice something weird and jason doesnt even plan to engage, he has his plan for the joker and taking down his goons that are seemingly not doing anything interesting is not part of it, maybe he can to little surveillance later, find out what they are doing

dick whoever has very different plans because he has made it his mission to destroy anything regarding the joker so he doesnt even take a moment and just drops on them

jason is obviously surprised but well if this idiot is just gonna go and fight them, its not like hes gonna let him do it alone, so he goes and helps

and here jason gets to again see the part of dick that he saw the other day and even gets to see the reaction of the goons when they see nightwing, hes never see a group of criminals scramble faster not even from batman

after this jason is even more confused, even considers asking talia if maybe dick didnt take a dip it the pit recently but decides against it and just tries his luck with going to the source

so next time him and dick are doing something together he asks, because he heard that "nightwing is a pretty chill vigilante and follows batmans rules"

unbeknown to him dick just had fight with bruce couple hours ago, so the batman comment really just sets him of and he basically screams in jasons faces that hes not batman, he doesnt care about his stupid rules, that if he could kill the joker he would because he took his brother from him and hes never letting that happen again, so he shows very obviously that robin is under his protection and that if anyone tries to mess with him, they will have to answer to him and his no killing rule might just not be as unbreakable as batmans

and goes on how he was never batmans perfect soldier even when he was robin and that maybe if he followed the rules back then his brother would have never gotten the mantle and he would be alive right now, but he just couldnt, why should he not just stab the rapist in the dick so that he never does it again, why cant he break a hand of an abuser, theyve done much worse to their partner

and when he is finally done, jason feels like his whole world view shifted just a bit to the right and he doesnt know what to do about any of this and his big brother is right there, obviously hurting and god has he missed him so much, so he just runs into his arms, gives him the biggest hug and says someone like "i missed you dickhead"

and dick goes all still because what? and they pull apart and they stupid helmet is removed and there is crying and hugging and jason still isnt sure what to do now that he knows that his ohh so perfect brother isnt actually that perfect and they have a lot of stuff to work through but maybe right there in the moment being hugged by his brother none of it matters

actually like this so much i wrote a whole fic

[uniiiquehecrt]

Voice actors are NOT the same as actors.

It takes a specific kind of skill-set and training to be able to warp and meld the voice. It takes a certain kind of talent and dedication to hone that talent into the ability to meld the voice and invoke emotion with one's voice alone. Actors are used to using their voice secondarily to their body language and their facial expressions. It's all mirrored back on camera. They do have nuance. But it's a different kind of nuance and a different kind of training to produce that nuance.

Voice actors might get their likeness transposed on their character's design, and maybe their mannerisms might seep into the character's animation. But when it's all said and done: their presence is in their voice. They are bringing a character to life, showing that emotion in their voice, trying to keep a specific accent, drawl, pitch, tone in that voice and keep it consistent for their recording sessions.

The voice actor is like a classically trained musician who can play first chair in a competitive, world-renown orchestra. The actor (who fills the voice actor's role) is like a moot who played violin in beginner and intermediate high school orchestra and thinks they can get into Juilliard with that 2-4 years of experience.

This doesn't mean that the HS orchestra moot can't play. They can even be really good at it. Maybe they won competitions and sat first chair. But they are not in the same league as the person who's been training their whole lives and lives and breathes to hone their craft using the instrument and all of the training they've ever acquired to perfect it. They are not meant for the same roles. They are not in the same caliber. You do not hire the HS equivalent when you want to play complex music in a competitive orchestra.

Actors are not the same as voice actors.

And furthermore, actors - especially big name actors - taking the roles of animated characters for big budget films or TV pilots makes no sense anyways when - at least in the case of TV pilots - there's not a point to hiring a big budget actors anyways. That money could be used elsewhere (like paying your animators), and the talent that is brought onto the screen for X character could then be hired on to voice said character no recasting required.

I wouldn't say voice acting as a profession is in danger exactly, but it's certainly being disrespected and overlooked for celebrity clout, and this has ALWAYS been an issue. Shoot, even Robin Williams knew that much - which is why he tried so hard not to be used as a marketing chess piece for Aladdin and got royally pissed off when it happened anyways. People shouldn't go to any movie (but especially not animated films) because "oh famous actor is in it". People should go because it's a good movie and the voice acting is good.

People who honest to god think that voice actors are replaceable because "oh well anyone can voice act" or "I like xyz celebrity so naturally it'll be good" ... Honestly I just wish you'd reassess your priorities because you're missing the point and are part of the problem.

Voice Actors ≠ Actors.

[yonemurishiroku]

Suddenly aware of the fact that a child of Jupiter (Zeus) and a child of Poseidon actually join hands to save a child of Hades.

Awww and to think that their fathers would gouge each other’s eyes out——

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

Batman Annual #25

Before Talia took him in, before he was dunked in the pit to have his memories restored, even when operating purely on survival instinct, he always split a meal with the other homeless people. It may not have been essential to his survival, but caring about and helping other people when he couldn’t even help himself was just always such an intrinsic part of Jason’s core.

[lilacsandlillies]

You know what’s really interesting, and by interesting I mean fucked up, about the Jason Todd death poll?

It cost money to call in. Meaning that most of the people who called in multiple times were for sure just adults who grew up with Dick Grayson. And that a lot of the kids that grew up with Jason were straight up unable to vote and were forced to just take it as their favorite Robin was murdered.

Add that into the fact that Jason lost by only 72 votes, votes that easily wouldn’t be there without the jerks who voted multiple times and the people who didn’t think they’d really do it, it’s more than likely that Jason would’ve won had the vote actually been fair.

I’m not saying the vote was rigged, but it was definitely designed badly and made it much more likely that people who hated him(people who grew up with Dick) would be the ones able to vote. Makes me think of US presidential votes in a bad way.

[rougerave]

"Bruce Wayne can't cook to save his life." That's a load of bullshit. Listen Bruce can cook, he just doesn't have the time for it, and the fact that he hardly passes as functional human being.

You can't tell me that in all his traveling he hasn't picked up something. If he can remember miniature details for a case that was three years ago, he can remember recipes.

Listen other than Alfred, Martha Wayne was the only person who knew how to cook. Martha wasn't going to let her son become like his father it that department. She and Alfred taught Bruce everything from the correct utensils to how to properly spice meat, "BBQ spice is not for chicken Master Bruce, have some class."

That was one thing Alfred and Bruce still kept doing after his parents died, and because of this he becomes an amazing cook.

When he meant Taila, trust and believe that she went Gordon Ramsey on his ass when she taught him how to cook the meals of her homeland (that's when he fell in love with her. I refuse to believe anything else on this matter), and obviously as he traveled he gained more knowledge on different dishes. Most from his masters and some from random old ladies that he came across.

The problem comes when he desides to take over the company and become the cities regular furry problem. He just doesn't have time and this leads to his kids never finding out. They grow up knowing that Alfred cooks. They also don't know that on rare occasion that Bruce is free he would sneek into their apartments and make food that can be frozen and reheated, because just like him, his kids can hardly pass as functional.

And that's how Jason found him, one random Tuesday. There his father was, floating around in a black AC/DC t-shirt, gray slacks, sparkly pink crocs(Dick), Jason's apron (because Jason is the only kid that knows how to cook) and the Rolling Stones playing form a speaker that was definitely Tim's. Bruce only glances at him before speaking, "Go change, wash your hands, then come cut the carrots." then goes to drain the pasta, and because Jason is to stunned to speak he goes without a word.

Jason doesn't bring it up, so Bruce won't bring it up.

One thing he does do every night is make Damian, Duke, Tim and Steph's school lunch. He strongly objects to the idea of his babies eating Gotham Academy/University powder egg shit. No sir.

That's how the family found out. That was funny.

"I once saw you put salt and vinegar Lay's in bread."

"Not my finest moment."

They tell Dick. He laughs in their face until he sees his dad in his kitchen cutting onions without flinching or wiping his eyes.

"You have no soul."

"Yes I don't. Wash your hand and cut that baby marrow."

"But I don't like baby marrow." he complained as he washed his hands.

"I have no soul, right?"

Dick sticks out his tongue, he get whacked by a wooden spoon.

[anxiouslowercase]

EDITS » BATS (&CO) IN SOCIAL MEDIA: TWITTER EDITION (1/??)

Brucey Wayne has not always been the sweet, proud father of six he is right now, and all of Gotham remembers it. His kids included.

[lazaruspiss]

done w social media aus where they all have that [name] [sexuality] [age] [pronouns] format. need 2 make my own parody pages for them. diversify bio styles

[mzminola]

Jason Todd would unhesitatingly kill Agent Kallus and I appreciate that.

[hailsatanacab]

Ao3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, boss, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why don’t you just wait and see?”

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

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

“I don’t, sorry.”

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

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

“Do you know how old he is?”

“What does that matter?”

“Humour me. You seem good at that.”

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

“Or I could just shoot you now.”

“Or you could just shoot me now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve done this before?”

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

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

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

“You killed a child hero.”

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

Danny doesn’t say anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His death was bad. Painful. Long and unending.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now. What to do with J…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Children shouldn’t need to.”

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

“All grown up now.”

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

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

“Retired?”

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

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

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

“So I ruined him.”

“You… you think you can ru-ruin me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The ice shivers longer in his pinched grip as demonstration.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t care.”

Return to sender (dc x dp)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Danny frowned. "Weird."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What-?"

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

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

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

[violent138]

If I was Bruce it would drive me absolutely crazy that I couldn't complain to Alfred about my kids:

Bruce: "Alfred, you won't believe what Dick did. He's in space again! He didn't even give me a heads up or--"

Alfred, drinking tea: "The apple really doesn't fall far from the tree--"

"Alfred--"

"I suppose it'll be twelve long years before we see him, no messages, not even a postcard."

Or

"Alfred, I think Jason's sick. Tell Leslie to tell him to take a night off."

"A night off you say, Master Bruce?"

"Don't start."

Or

"Alfred, why the hell is there a tank in the backyard?"

"I tried telling them not to Master Bruce, but you yourself bragged about the ability to survive Houdini's act."

There is no scenario the kids can wind up in where Alfred is even halfway sympathetic to Bruce.

[acid-ixx]

You mention in the first story that the Batfam finally realizes where we are because jon showed Damian our picture while calling us his parent- so I was wondering about how Damian reacted to that? Like did he realize we’d left at that point or did he just get hit in the face with that info?

— related post !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated

a/n: y'all i have clogged nose and i hate it LMAO. anyways, i'm gonna write smth about this soon but damian's character for both the series again & again and this series is genuinely one of the more complicated to write because of how he's raised but it really goes like this—

"jon... what do you mean? that's my—"

he cuts himself off before he could continue running his mouth off. damian ignores the slight raise of jon's eyebrow, his thoughts running a mile every second.

his parent? no, never once in his life has damian considered you his parent, pushing you away whenever you try to bond with him. whatever gifts you gave him, no matter how small, or big, expensive, or inexpensive they are, he always makes a show of ripping them away right in front of you.

he told you himself. you are not his parent, never will be his parent, you'll never replace talia's standing, and there will never be a time where damian will see you as one. dick, jason, tim, literally anyone can consider you as theirs, but damian is a product of two genetically perfect individuals— you are imperfect, and it's not your business to coddle him just because you are merely married to his father in paper.

no matter how much you softly gaze at him with loving eyes, invite him with welcoming arms, praise his passion for drawing; all you'll do is weaken him and damian hates feeling weak, hates how you tempt him into melting into a puddle. that automatically makes you a burden in his book.

he hates you, and he should've been glad you disappeared off of the face of the manor.

yet the record stands still: why are you with jon? why do you hold him like he is the world in the picture? what does he mean by "sorry, damian, but me and my parents are gonna go to the carnival later!"? you, as in, bruce's spouse? why are you with them, of all people?

... why does jon get to have fun, with you? and he doesn't...?

and yet he couldn't reply to him, not when his friend babbles on for longer about his... parent. about how you, make him feel so complete. that you'll be the one helping him with his science fare project, how you two spent the night yesterday building a volcano, how you treat him with ice cream every time he achieves a good enough grade for a subject, how you, you, you always spoil jon, always comfort him, read him bedtime stories, matched bracelets, sung karaoke together, played board games with each other, picked him up from school, help him with assignments—

the more jon goes on, the more damian wants to rip his hair out. he doesn't know, doesn't know why he's suddenly pissed. is it because jon can never shut up, or because he couldn't shut up about you? about how perfect you are apparently? how you're the ideal parent he never once bat an eye on? the domestic life jon seems to brag about, it's something damian secretly wanted, and it's all ripped away from him.

it makes damian wonder, would you have done the same for him?

he knows it in himself, that if he hadn't pushed you away, he might've been in jon's place.

[gilverrwrites]

Thinking about clit slapping again, per 2.5 asks, ya’ll make some great observations. Ft. Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim, & Roy.

Bruce

Thinking about Bruce who loves to tease you with a straight face. Who tells you to “be patient”, who’s helping you build on your self-restraint by touching every inch of you with those big, thick hands except the one place you keep begging him for.

Bruce who keeps you on edge until it’s unbearable, until on a whim you decide if he’s not going to do anything about it, you will.

Bruce who grumbles in your ear, low and restrained; “What did I tell you?”

Bruce who opens your slick folds, in a controlled, slow motion which only serves to make you needier until he comes down on your sensitive clit with his other hand. The obscene smack that rings through his chambers is almost drowned out by your anguish, desperate cry.

Dick

Dick with his long, dexterous fingers who loves to explore every crevice of your body. Who would do anything to keep hearing you make those pretty noises for him.

Dick who knows the key to keeping you sex dazed is working your clit until it’s dark and swollen and you’re incapable of following a thought. So he rubs and grinds against it, swirls his tongue around it, and laps until his jaw is soaked in his own saliva and your juices.

And then one day, with no forethought, Dick flicks it with the back of his middle finger and the resulting sob was so delicious he had to eat up more.

“You’re so perfect, baby.” Dick purrs between sloppy kisses and strikes of growing intensity. “Do it again, baby. Come on, just for me pretty girl.”

Jason

And Jason, who is big and tough, and rough around the edges but would do anything you want to hear you praise him.

“You like that, sweetheart?” He asks you over and over again, basking and melting just a little bit more every time you reply with “Fuck, yes Jason! Feels so good baby.”

“Who? Who makes you feel good?” He begs for more. “You Jason, you!”

So when you ask Jason to try slapping your clit, he doesn’t hesitate. He slaps it once, savouring the way your body tremors under the force of his brawny hand. Twice, and he can’t believe how lucky he is to have found someone so beautiful and shameless as you. Three times, with no end in sight.

Tim

Tim read about it in an cosmopolitan article and can’t wait for the chance to experiment with you, and he knows if he plays his cards just right you’ll always cave.

“Spread your legs.” He murmurs in a voice that’s assertive but so soft. The tips of his long hair tickle your soft skin as he kisses his way down your torso. Tim’s warm, calloused hands guiding your thighs apart as he slinks between them. “That’s it hon, just like that.”

He intends to warm you up, to rub your pretty little clit beneath his thumb until you’re pleading for more, to spell T-I-M on it with his tongue over and over but; “I’ve barely touched you and you’re this wet already?”

Before you can answer Tim used two fingers to spread your slick folds apart and delivers a sharp slap right where you’re most sensitive, blue eyes unblinking, soaking in your reaction.

Despite knowing from the way your back arches and your eyes roll back, Tim asks; “Did you like that baby, do you want more?”

Roy

Your body is like target practice to Roy, which is to say; he never misses.

Roy has every inch of you ingrained in his mind. Teasing, and touching, and getting you off is as easy to him as firing his bow, its muscle memory.

Not once does Roy need to break away from your needy, heated kisses as he undresses you. There’s not a thought in his head other than how hot you look when you’re dishevelled and riled up as he unhooks your bra or curls his fingers on your core.

Roy brags that he could find your clit, one-handed and blindfolded, and sometimes he likes to put that into practice. He tells you to “Lay back, Princess.” Then he closes his eyes, makes a show of spinning around or pretending to sniff you out and then he spanks your clit with the kind of powerful precision only he could possess.

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