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arandomferretsthoughts · 3 months

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This popped into my brain and wouldnt leave so I wanted to share it with yall

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A young boy and his parents are attacked on the street, only the boy makes it out.

It's a rare occurrence, an event like this, the police find the man and arrest him and everyone else is safe.

Bruce Wayne goes home to a mansion that feels larger and lonelier than ever, with only his butler to take care of him.

And yet the young boy finds himself too afraid to leave for more than necessities.

The young boy grows into a young man, he inherits his parents business and starts to leave his house a little more, unwilling to lose this connection to his lost parents but still he finds himself afraid, afraid to be around people, to be seen.

Until one day at a gala he must attend for the sake of the shareholders, he sees a man, a reporter, who holds himself in an odd way, clearly a tall and strong man who could be intimidating if he tried but the man held himself as if to appear smaller and unassuming, Bruce's brain flitters across the idea that the man is hiding something, or more hiding himself.

His brain that has soaked up comics and movies for years so as to not grow bored in his home.

And when he learns of all the good this reporter has been trying to do, he thinks the man would make a good superhero.

When he goes home the thought wont leave him alone, he thinks of a world with a hero, a world that needs a hero, one where his parents murder would have just been one of many, but this hero wouldn't have been there to help, he was too bright, a hero for the daytime, not for the shadows of night.

He thinks maybe he could have been a hero in this world, one that saves other kids from suffering a fate like his own.

One who is afraid and fights anyway.

The next time he leaves his home there's an event at a museum, with some special objects that are in town for a few days. There he sees a woman who knows so much about ancient relics and is so beautiful that he doesn't believe she could be just a normal human.

He thinks she would share her knowledge and kindness with the world given the chance.

While he remains mostly alone, other than his Parental figure/Butler, he also keeps in contact with two friends from when he was in school.

One is now a psychiatrist, with an interest in learning about fear and how it can change people, and the other a psychologist, both working at the city's asylum.

Harleen is who Bruce considers his best friend, a goofy but kind girl who cares alot about others, she tells him about a patient, without going into much detail, who she claims would be cute if he wasn't so insane. Smiling and laughing while he talks about harming others.

She got a boyfriend somewhere along the way, a man Bruce is sure abuses her but she can't seem to leave.

The three get in a fight one day, and lose contact, and Bruce supposes you can't have heroes without villains, though he can't bring himself to think of Harley as a villain by her own choice.

On the news Bruce learns of a man working to better science as they know it, a man who always seems to be a few minutes too late, he follows the story until the day something goes wrong and the man is there on time to shield workers from flying chemicals, killing him but saving others, Bruce thinks the man a hero in death, and could have been one in life, one who always made it to where he was needed just on time.

As time went on Bruce tried to get out more in normal ways, one night he went to the circus, he enjoyed it, reminding him of the day when he was little and his parents brought him to one just like it.

It was a few days later that he learned at the next show there was an accident, and a little boy lost his parents, he remembered being small and feeling alone when he had lost his, thankful for the man who cared for him he wished he could do the same for this little boy, but knew he didn't have the skills needed.

He could, however, make sure the boy got somewhere safe, and other kids like him too.

So he held a fundraiser and donated a lot of money into the foster system, doing what he could to make it safe.

And he thought of a world where he could have taken the little circus boy into his home, making it brighter and less lonely.

As he ventured out more and more Bruce travelled through different parts of the city, he saw a group of little children cowering behind one bigger who had just chased off a grown man, Bruce smiled as the kids cheered for the little hero.

It was the news that later told him the boy was dead, a homeless kid who stopped being seen, the little hero was gone.

Bruce held another fundraiser, this one for the homeless shelters and kitchens.

It was the news that told him the boy was not dead, found by the police, with other stolen children.

Children that returned to a better place.

The day he lost his last parent is the day where he began to feel truly alone, the only person there for him gone, but Alfred would live forever in his memory's as the man who loved and cared for him.

He reached out to Harly again not wanting to be all alone, and they made up, he learned she had gotten free of her abusive boyfriend and had fallen for a woman who's love of nature was refreshing and new.

He knew little about his neighbours, but he tried to get to know them better, he struggled but eventually learned that the woman that lived there was very sick and that the man was not home much, when he learned of the child who spent so much of his time alone, he thought the kid was brave and told him if he ever needed anything to just ask.

The kid needed someone the day when his mother didn't wake up and his father wasn't home. Bruce did what he could, he was no father but he cared for the kid the best he could until his was able to return.

Bruce knew it was expected of him to have a family, someone to give his things and his business when he passed. He tried dating, but nothing ever seemed to work out.

However one day he learned of a child, a son, one the mother hadn't told him about, he tried to gain any sort of parental rights but couldn't get any custody, only visitation, he met the boy, a quiet but fiercely determined child, And he loved his son even without seeing him much.

When the quiet, hermit, billionaire Bruce Wayne, best known for appearing, donating large amounts of money to random causes and then disappearing again, passed away his belongings and company were to be split between two people, Timothy Drake, and Damian al Ghul, when the two met up to split his things, they found writings the man had never told anyone of.

Writings of a world where regular people became heroes, where aliens walked amongst humans, and where magic made lives exciting.

They agreed to publish the story's for the world to see.

To most people, the writings were just an entertaining fiction story that a billionaire wrote with his unlimited free time.

But to the retired reporter who knew his height frightened others, who now rested and found the stories learned that someone had seen how he stood, and what he had done and thought of him as a hero,

To the artefact collector and preserver who learned this man believed she was so knowledgeable about what she had strived to learn everything about, as well as beautiful, that he thought her to be blessed by the gods,

To the old psychologist who mourns her friend, a man who thought that no matter what she went through she'd always make the right choice in the end,

To the family of a man who lost his life saving others, who this guy they had never met thought so highly of,

To the man that lost his only family to an accident at their circus, he was a man who wanted him get a good home, where'd he'd get anything he ever wanted,

To a man that went through so much, believed dead for so long to learn this man who he had only seen once, saw him not as a poor homeless kid but as a fighter and protector,

To the boy that new the man for a short time, as a temporary guardian and protector, who made him feel safe and not alone when he needed it most,

And To the boy who wished he could have known his father, but was kept away by his mother,

The storys showed to them all that this man, who some thought of as cold and egotistical, as he locked himself away and refused to be around others, was actually an anxious, lonely man, who saw what others didn't and cared about everyone in his own odd way.

—

I just thought it was a cool idea I wanted to share with yall, so I hope you guys like it

This is my first post on here, so please be nice,

Also, ignore any spelling or grammar mistakes Dyslexia goes brrr

If you want to know what I think he based the other heroes and character off of, just ask, and I'll figure it out!

Thanks for reading, and have a good day!

Edit:

Thanks for all the nice comments and reblogs :)

I genuinely didn't realize how sad this was, lol. Sorry, not sorry, guys

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zedif-y · 1 year

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…Sometimes, Joel isn’t sure it’s worth it.

It being– well. Him. Which, bloody hell, that just sounds depressing, innit? He’s not– he’s fine, really, in all the ways that matter. Good looking, smart, humble. What’s not to love. He’s fine, great even, so there’s no need for any worrying. No need for that at all.

He just wonders, you know? Everyone does. (Probably.)

But also, he’s phrasing it weird. It’s not that he questions himself, it’s more like… Hm.

Let’s use a metaphor, all smart-like. Joel thinks of himself as a lot of things: The howling, blood-hungry chase of wolves, the business end of a knife. That razor-sharp feeling of teeth sinking into flesh. A forest fire out of control.

(Yeah, yeah. He’s got issues, whatever.)

That’s not the point. The point is this:

Joel’s more of a hunter than the hunted. At least, that’s what he likes to think– don’t even argue. He knows he’s unhinged, revels in it, thrives in it. Hard to put out a fire without getting burned.

And that. That’s the thing.

Because Joel thinks that sometimes he burns too bright. Like a flame– no, like the sun. A point of pride on a good day, something to hide on the worse ones. Fire doesn’t get to keep things. It burns what it touches, spits out the remains. Charred and blackened and what-have-you.

The thing is he can’t make a home without smelling the faint scent of smoke, ash lingering in the air that makes him cough and wrinkle his nose. He builds a foundation, lays down the plans, thinking maybe, this time–

He’s always wrong. Stupid, stupid. He’s always blummin’ wrong.

The thing about Joel is he’s never held something that didn’t crumble into ash. The thing about Joel is that he doesn’t know when that’s gonna end.

So is it worth it, then? To be his?

He knows the tight grip of loneliness, the heavy chains of solitude. He knows what it’s like to curl up on the floor with his dogs— don’t you dare laugh— his back screaming at him for the night spent on a cold floor. Loneliness is as familiar to him as bloodlust, but he’d rather rip out his teeth than admit it, swallow his own tongue.

(A thought comes, and it’s stupid– no, really. It’s stupid. Stop asking.)

(Why do people think the moon’s lonely? Joel wonders, a scowl on his lips. The moon’s got like, loads of friends. The stars are right there.)

(You get too close to the sun and your wings melt.)

(Joel tugs at a piece of loose string, and he thinks that maybe the sun just wants a friend.)

(…See, he told you it was stupid.)

Joel doesn’t want to be alone. Alone alone, not regular alone. Nobody does, okay? Sue him, it drove him mad.

Whatever. Whatever.

Joel doesn’t want to be alone, not again, not ever. But he gets close to people and it’s like he can just see them burn, wax pouring down their backs and plummeting to their deaths. He gets close, gets attached, and suddenly everything’s burning all over again, and all he can do is laugh and try to put it out as it sizzles at his fingertips.

Until everyone he loves is swallowed by the sea.

(Maybe a submarine, he thinks, eyes-wide and half-crazed. Maybe that’ll be safe, he should try that next game. He should.)

(Maybe’s better than nothing.)

So yeah, Joel wonders if it’s worth it, having anything at all. He wonders if it’s worth the effort, wonders if it’d hurt less to have nothing to lose– though he already knows the answer, and for goodness sake, he wishes it were different.

Joel sighs. This whole thinking thing is exhausting.

To be his is to burn. To reach out is to doom them. But Joel’s too selfish– too much, too bright, too hungry– not to do it anyway.

…Dammit, this got depressing anyway.

Joel swallows through the lump in his throat, and he reminds himself to breathe.

He’ll keep trying, is what he thinks in the end. He’ll keep trying. ‘Cuz what else can he do? Mope, cry about it? What other choice does he have?

Maybe one day he’ll make something, and he won’t have to see it be destroyed. Maybe one day he’ll go out peacefully.

Maybe one day people will stop making their wings out of stupid, meltable wax–

Yeah, okay. He’s getting sick of this metaphor too.

But like– he can’t help but think, you know, about that fall. About Icarus, and how he laughed as he fell into the sea. People say he was happy, even in the face of death, even as his wings burned and turned into soot.

A joy worth losing. A friend worth dying for. A home worth its destruction.

Tentatively, he lets himself think: That maybe, at the very least, that’s what it means to be his.

The thought makes him relax. (If only for now.)

…He hopes so. He really, really does.

#ryan's writing #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #trafficblr #traffic smp #mcyt fic #mcytblr #i dunno what else to tag this as lmfao #double life #double life smp

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