Prompt 162
“So,” Danny drawled from where he was sitting, legs kicking slightly. Really, what a fun reincarnation. A world with heroes and villains where he didn’t have to do shit in and could just vibe with Ellie.
“So,” Tim responded from where he was typing on his computer, mostly in civilian clothes save for his gauntlets and boots. The Red Robin outfit was haphazardly dropped across the couch and his pole leaning against the end.
“Technically there’s proper procedures for clones…” Danny motioned to both himself and Ellie from where they sat on the counter, snacking on a plateful of scones. From Alfred, he was certain.
“Technically, yes… but do we want to actually do that?”
All three of them smiled, something almost feral in the motion. Of course not. They all had the same memories after all, and Bruce had just returned from the past, from exactly where and when Tim had said he was. Despite no one believing him, hence why they were in his boathouse, and not in the apartment or manor.
“Think we can pull it off?” Ellie took a sip of tea, mischief swirling in her eyes.
“Of course we can.” Both Danny and Tim spoke at once, one pulling up a new doc and the other pulling the whiteboard out from under a curtain.
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frank is such a fucking ICON. gets caught in a pit trap at 10 AM and by 5 he’s already convinced bill to let him into his compound, feed him, bathe him, clothe him, sing to him, and fall in love with him. all before he even asked bill’s NAME
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i don’t remember if i ever shared this here, but a while ago i posted a little twitter thread about bats and gas station snacks and some very talented podficcers made a podfic of it! 🎧
[podfic] Jersey Vigilantes Don't Pump Gas by isweedan & reena_jenkins
original thread (text under the cut):
nested tweet reading: ever since i learned gotham is supposed to be in new jersey i can’t get this concept out of my head: [a badly drawn bumper sticker that says “jersey vigilantes don’t pump gas”] / quote tweet reading: the batmobile can’t just slip in and out of a gas station unnoticed. an employee HAS to go fill up the tank. meanwhile the tired night shift cashier knows the various robin eras because they come in to buy different snacks as time goes on.
one night while the manager is out filling *the literal batmobile* the cashier blinks and comes face to face with a child in a leotard and green boots, buying a pack of twizzlers. “thanks!” the first robin calls, somehow vaulting over two rows of shelves on his way out the door.
years later, after a stretch of quiet weeks, a new, curly-haired robin comes in and grabs a bag of flamin hot pepper puffs. the cashier doesn’t even think robin 2 actually likes them, but he looks really satisfied with himself every time he drops them on the counter.
(even after the second robin abruptly stops coming in, the cashier keeps slipping flamin hot pepper puffs onto their order list. no one else ever buys them, but it just—feels like the thing to do, somehow.)
a stretch of months without a robin, oddly tense. then the third robin appears, even smaller than the first two. he slips inside and buys a cup of black coffee and drains it in one go right at the coffee station, nervously eyeing the door like he’s afraid he’ll be caught.
the fourth robin, when she shows up, makes a beeline for the protein bars. finally, the cashier thinks, someone remotely sensible for this line of work. (though maybe not sensible enough—or maybe TOO sensible—because small caffeine robin is back a few months later.)
the fifth robin, when he first appears, approaches the counter. “you will direct me to the best snacks new jersey has to offer,” he tells the cashier.
“uh,” the cashier says. “i like sour patch kids, myself.”
robin 5 nods. “i will take a bag of sour patch children.”
(one night, not much later, red hood strolls through the door. the cashier has lived in gotham for over a decade now; they barely blink, even when nightwing bounds in after him.
“oh, shit, flamin hot pepper puffs,” red hood says. “i haven’t had these in ages.”
“aw, come on,” nightwing says, already holding a pack of twizzlers. “no one else can stand those.”
“why do you think i got them in the first place, dickhead?” red hood says. “to fend off new jersey’s number one snack thief.” and he buys buys every bag in stock.)
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i am going so so so insane over grian’s “shes dead scar. you won” and evidently for an ENTIRELY different reason than everyone else. like i get the ppl seeing the warm fuzzy desertduo “grian standing over scar’s shoulder with a proud smile” moment and all but i saw those little messages and my heart just fucking BROKE. something about the no-punctuation-no-caps just made it feel so devastating, like grian was not at all happy to say it. scar was continuing to call after pearl because they really were just messing around by the time it was down to them, like he was eager to keep having fun with it, and grian almost just had to break it to him that it was over. and that he was alone. again.
i just. oh man. ohhhh my god man
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