#meanwhile Batman in the corner: ‘wait. is he?’

[weebsinstash]

I noticed you bitches like drama and men being just a little pathetic so you know what I've been thinking of lately. Wouldn't it be so funny if you got a red string of fate, you know, whole destined soulmate shebang, but you've got two of them, and on the ends are MORTAL ENEMIES WHO WOULD RATHER KILL EACH OTHER THAN SHARE YOU

I want you DEAD, in HELL, finding out you've got one string for Vox and one string for Alastor and they HAAAAAATE IT, at each other's throats IMMEDIATELY

I want you walking down the street, somehow magically the perfect distance from both of them when your strings appear for the very first time, two leading in opposite directions. Like I picture Vox is broadcasting live and his string suddenly appears and, he tries to play it cool because he's on the air but he's clearly excited and geeking out a little, but, wait his string disappears? And reappears? And disappears? And homie is hooked up to his little TV network, and he finally notices and sees through one of the tvs on some street corner somewhere, there you are, stepping forward, back, forward, back, kind of just, making your string go in and out of the whole 'distance rule', still obviously shocked yourself, and you just awkwardly look up to the tv and flash a clearly very nervous smile, "oh hey, um, I think this is us maybe?" and nervously holding up the hand attached to his string

Meanwhile you turn to look in the other strings direction and Alastor is Suddenly Just There. He's pulling a fucking Batman on you where you just turn around and he's all but silently materialized directly behind you and you're nearly falling over yelping in surprise.

THEN VOX AND ALASTOR SEE EACH OTHER AND SEE THE STRINGS AND IT'S ON SIGHT. Vox is just slamming his hands down on his desk, "NO, FUCK OFF ALASTOR, GET YOUR OWN SOULMATE" meanwhile Alastor is. Slightly more composed but his ears are pressed back and he's grating his teeth as he looks between you, who he's already so eager to get to know everything about, and his old business partner and he's immediately growling out an "Absolutely NOT"

I want you awkwardly flipping between both of these men like Hell's most precarious drama filled job interview. "OK well, his head is literally a TV so I bet he likes video games like I do whereas you don't seem the type, BUT, Vox is also just kind of a mean person? And Alastor you're a fucking cannibal serial killer? But we kinda have similar values.... but I love tech.... HE would make me feel smart and YOU I feel like would threaten my intelligence and make me feel stupid and-- oh my god is that literally it, am I so crazy i get both of you to balance me out in different ways. What about you guys. You guys ever make out with each other or anything--"

Like these two are wanting to get to know you and bond with you and I just picture Alastor is repeatedly suggesting you two go to a diner or a cafe or somewhere to grab a bite to eat (and also because he TOTALLY isn't trying to lead you away from the TVs on the street) and Vox is like having a little hissy fit through the screen but he's keeping his distance because he knows if he faced Alastor head on he would wreck his shit

But like.... imagine scenario c where you don't want either one of them and you're just like IMMEDIATELY "uh, no, no thank you? I actually um, am not looking for a relationship right now, and, uh, also you're both just. Awful. You're both just legitimately awful people and I don't want anything to do with either of you or all the drama you cause, quite frankly you guys can go make out with each other and I think we would all be better off" cause. I mean it was already a competition to win your heart but this is Even Worse because both of them are trying to "win you over" before the other one can and they're just SMOTHERING YOU. Like imagine one of your strings appearing and there's a knock at your door and suddenly your other string appears and you're hearing arguing voices outside and you open your front door and they're like. Strangling each other on your doorstep. Immediately pushing their way into your apartment and commenting on all your belongings

Alastor just like sarcastically commenting on all your tech while Vox is thrilled you have things in common. You and Vox just deliberately using modern slang and pop culture lingo just to annoy him by saying shit he either can't understand, finds annoying, or both. Vox thumbing through your cds and chiding you for having older music in your collection while Alastor tells him he's too low intelligence to appreciate the classics and starts asking you about your tastes in more 'retro' things. The entire time both of them are looking at each other "try not to break anything you clumsy oaf" *meanwhile is picking up and touching all your shit himself*

And of course... imagine the drama if you reject them and they catch you out on the take for another man. They scour the city looking everywhere for you, even TEAMING UP because they want to find you that badly, and they find you in a club in some dude's lap dangerously wasted as you put your tongue down his throat. You're all but riding the dude to kiss him. And finally Alastor and Vox are agreeing on something! You're PEELED off that man and, wherever he goes you sure don't know because you're WASTED! You're just giggling and messing around, swirling your finger in circles on their arms/chests, "oh my gosh, itssssyouuuuu guys!! Heyyyyy!!!! Come have drinks with me and my new friends!!!" and you're just so drunk they're uncomfortable with it. Alastor is getting some unpleasant nostalgia and Vox is worried how many other people are in this club, having their eyes all over you, Lucifer only knows what all you've been up to

If they find you with hickies or some shit on your neck you basically lose Personhood Privileges. You're like. Getting carried out of there, Alastor's just scooping you up, "cmon darlin!" and you're so drunk you're just like "oh my gosh you're so strong ☺️🥰 wheeeeeee~" and, you're just drunkenly slurring and being chatty and asking them all kinds of questions (and maybe saying some real inappropriate shit that makes them nervous about leaving you alone or around other men), meanwhile they're, like, carting you off to one of Alastor's secret hideouts or Vox has a hidden apartment to get his own space away from the Vees, you're just getting toast and water and getting tucked in still really fucked up as they're doing everything from, Alastor dutifully removing all your makeup to Vox helping take off your shoes for them to tuck you into bed. You're just drunkenly purring with contentment as one of them throws a blanket over you and you're just nice and burrito'd up, already falling asleep

Imagine they're just about to leave the room and you're just, so quiet and soft and, "... that guy i was with... wouldnt take no for an answer, so... i was just... kissing him so he maybe would leave me alone... but then he kept asking for more... I don't know what I would've done if you guys hadn't shown up. Thank you" and just rolling over and conking out as both men stare at you like the shocked tails meme

By the time you're waking up, you're stumbling out of the bedroom to see them both still there with you, politely chatting over some coffee and scrambling up to you now that you're awake, leaving you more than just a little confused. Wait, the two of them are getting along now? Well, your little disappearing act and all the little stunts you've pulled made them realize that, they both individually have their own strengths and weaknesses, and, they even wound needing to work together to help you, and, really isn't that just so indicative of times to come? Clearly you DO need both of them, and, maybe just maybe if it's for your sake and safety, they can set their differences aside. Heck, maybe even teaming up to help find you and just, figure this whole mess out in general reminded both of them of old times. Maybe they even missed their old friend a little bit. Maybe if you get them drunk and horny enough you can even get them to make ou--

[comphetkoncass]

one-plus-one, easy math cass&kon, fake dating (no, really, she's a lesbian, this is a fake date) word count: 2557 also on ao3

“You… want me to be your plus-one?” 

Cass nods. She’s started talking lately, according to Tim, but she’s still pretty quiet. Kon thinks even when she gets more comfortable with speaking, she might still be a woman of few words – she seems the type to choose them carefully, the same way she’s precise with her movements. 

“Well…” Kon rubs the back of his neck, thinking it over. “I thought we weren’t dating anymore. I thought you were happy about not dating anymore.” 

Cass tilts her head to the side, and Kon knows she’s probably reading his entire soul. He squirms a little under her intense gaze. Then, “I am.” 

“Then…” He frowns. “Why are you asking me to be your plus one, if we’re not dating?” 

It’s a longer phrase, and Kon thinks she might struggle. But to his pleasant surprise, though she takes some time to consider her words, they don’t seem overly difficult. “...I need someone outside the family.” 

“And I’m the best choice?” he asks. “...Really?” 

“I was surprised too.” 

Kon barks out a surprised laugh. She’s learned enough for jokes, then, that’s great. She smiles, and he’s glad she’s comfortable enough to joke around with him still – he missed making her happy. As whirlwind and short-lived as their romance was, making her smile was a definite perk. He always got the feeling that joy was a rare experience for her. He just hopes she’s happy in Gotham. To him, it’s always been stifling – not least because Batman is an asshole. 

“So?” Cass asks, looking at him with intense brown eyes. 

“Ah, what the hell,” he finally says. “Sure. But I need to go shopping, I don’t have anything fancy enough for this kind of thing.” 

Cass smiles then – and holds up three separate cards in Bruce Wayne’s name. Stolen, he thinks, given the mischief on her face. Kon quickly discovers that, actually, there is a superpower better than his TTK, and it’s called money. He whoops in delight, and it doesn’t take long for them to explore Gotham’s downtown, going from shop to shop until they find the perfect outfits to blend in with high society. 

(Or, rather, how they think they could blend in with high society. Cass’s dress is probably too loose and flapper-style for the current era, and Kon’s probably has too much satin, but they match, and they make for a fun duo.) 

////////

In the end, Kon probably wasn’t the best choice for the Gala. But Dick and Tim are both gone on a mission outside Gotham, leaving Cass the only Wayne child to represent the family alongside Bruce. Kon probably wasn’t the first choice, either – and privately, Kon wonders if Cass is testing boundaries with Bruce, given he’d been all but banned from Gotham. If she is testing boundaries, he hopes she gets whatever she’s angling for, even if it’s just a little more freedom to hang out with friends. 

It’s not until halfway through the Gala that Kon starts to wonder if maybe Cass had ulterior motives after all. 

They’ve been talking and tasting the overpriced snack table for most of the night, almost-goofing-off but not blatantly enough to catch Bruce’s ire (or so Kon hopes). Kon’s been monopolizing Cass’s attention, something he’s pretty good at, if he does say so himself – he’s always been a charmer. 

But eventually, it wears off; that, or everyone waiting for a chance with Cass finally get bold enough to interrupt them. And while Cass is trying to throw a wad of caviar into Kon’s open mouth, at that. 

“Ahem,” a young man about Cass’s age says. “So terribly sorry to interrupt. May I?” 

“May you what?” Kon asks, straightening up. He wipes the tiniest trace of caviar from the corner of his lip – Cass is an excellent shot, and Kon’s pretty good at catching, so it’s not like she ever missed. 

Cass, meanwhile, stands up a little straighter. 

“Interrupt,” the young man says. “Miss Wayne, I don’t mean to take you away from… present company. But I was hoping for a dance. Perhaps a bit of light conversation.” 

Kon stares at the guy, raising a brow. 

Kon’s no body language reader. Not like Cass. But he knows her heart’s a little faster, in the bad way. The blood pressure raising way. He glances between her and the new guy, and ultimately decides, nah, he’s not going to let this happen. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Her dance card is pretty full. I could try to rearrange, but she and I, we’re pretty busy.” 

Cass looks up in surprise – an expression he’s not used to seeing on her face. 

The new guy, too, looks surprised. Kon thinks he can see his eye twitching. Kon bets his name is something silly, like Macadamian Rosegarden Cavendish the Third, and that he’s not used to being told no. 

All the more reason to say no, then. 

Kon sends him a friendly smile, then looks back over at Cass and extends her a hand. Time to go somewhere a little less approachable. “Speaking of dancing though – Cass and I should probably practice a little. I’ve got two left feet, see, and she's the best dancer I know. Cass?” 

Cass looks at Kon’s hand, then his face. Wordlessly, she takes his hand. 

Kon sends the guy a two-fingered salute, then is quick to walk with her to a less occupied part of the Gala. There’s a balcony nearby, one just big enough for the two of them. Kon makes a little more room by hopping up on the ledge, swinging his legs around so he can face Cass and the party inside the windows. 

Cass is quiet for a while, but she looks less tense out in the night air. He almost didn’t notice it beyond her heartbeat, but she’d gotten a little more tense when Macadamian Rosegarden Cavendish the Third had approached – a tension that hadn’t been there when it was just the two of them enjoying themselves. 

It takes a moment, but finally she finds her words again. “...Thank you.” 

“No problem,” Kon says. “Is it like that a lot, at these things?” 

Cass shrugs one shoulder. “Second gala,” she says. When Kon doesn’t quite understand, she pauses and elaborates, just a little. “...I don’t come to many. Not sure.”

Kon nods. That makes sense. “I hope you don’t have to go much more often then, because it must suck having to reject people so much.” 

Cass looks at the ground. 

Kon frowns a little. The wind disturbs her carefully ironed bob, and when she doesn’t try to remove it from her face, Kon reaches out with just a hint of TTK and does it for her. She looks up, equal parts confused and startled. 

“Sorry,” he says, putting both hands up and stopping his powers. “Just- Sorry. Got distracted. Wanted to help.” 

Cass crosses her arms in front of her chest. 

Kon finds his train of thought, then, and asks, “Do you usually get to reject them? Or do you end up dancing with them anyways?” 

Cass’s silence speaks volumes. 

Kon lets out a slow breath. It fogs in front of him in the chilly night air. “I’m sorry,” he says, sincerely. “That sucks.”

“Not your fault.” 

“Well… I’m glad I could come with this time,” he says. “So you don’t have to dance with anyone you don’t want to.” 

Cass nods. There is the tiniest hint of a smile again, and she tucks a lock of hair behind her ears. Then, quietly, “Even you?” 

It takes him aback for a second. Then, he understands what she means, and nods. “Well yeah, I only said your dance card was full to lose that jerk. You don’t have to actually dance with me – even though I will say, my dance moves are great, I’m an absolute party animal. I can do the Mashed Potato like nobody’s business.” 

Cass blinks, serious instead of laughing. “Mashed potato?”

Kon grins, standing on top of the balcony ledge. “I’m so glad you asked, I’d be happy to demonstrate-”

He’s pretty sure he’s not doing it exactly right, but Cass looks almost hypnotized by the way his heels click and his knees move in sync with an imaginary rhythm. He’s definitely doing the hands wrong, but he’s having more fun with it this way. 

“Dancing with yourself?” Cass asks, grinning up at him. "Not a waltz?"

“Way more fun,” Kon says with a grin. “I could show you how to do it yourself?” 

Cass just laughs at him. She’s already imitating his movement – in a way that flows better than he’s doing. Right – almost forgot, movement was her first language. Of course she’s better than him already. 

Instead of feeling put out, Kon just grins at her. 

She looks like she’s having fun again – and really, that’s all he wants. 

When she looks back up at him, her smile is everything. Kon knows she isn’t interested in a relationship – or at least, not one with him. Kon checks in with himself, gives himself a stern reminder not to read into anything. He’s here to make sure she has fun, and that’s all. 

Eventually, after teaching Cass the Twist, the Shopping Cart, and an attempt at the Moonwalk – all of which she masters immediately – Kon hops down from the ledge and moves to sit again. 

He looks up at the sky, and mourns the fact that Gotham doesn’t really have stars. “Thanks for inviting me,” he says sincerely. “It’s been really fun tonight. I haven’t gotten to go to something like this in a while, and the ones I went to before – they weren’t that fun, either, even if they were a lot less fancy than this.” 

Cass looks a little surprised. “But you’re so… exciting?” 

Kon chuckles a little. “Yeah,” he says. “But it’s still more fun here with you.” 

It takes her a moment to chew on that. Eventually, she moves to sit on top of the ledge next to him. They both look inwards at the party, watching ladies in fancy dresses dance with well-dressed men in suits. The fake laughter, the champagne glasses. Kon’s never been that familiar with the super-rich, but he’s had his fair share of parties. Especially back when he was Just Superboy. 

Ever since getting his name, and especially after moving in with Ma and Pa Kent, life’s been a lot slower. More balanced. He has room to breathe. 

Kon doesn’t know much about Cass’s life before being adopted by Bruce Wayne. But he hopes it’s been a relief for her, too. That whatever her life was like before, that she can breathe in this fresh start, too. He hopes it’s not constant vigilante work all the time. She deserves a chance to have fun and be a real person, too. 

When Kon looks back, he finds Cass staring at a young woman with a particularly daring backless dress in crushed velvet Prussian blue. 

Her cheeks are pink, he notices.

And he thinks, maybe he’s reading into this too much. But if he’s not, he thinks he understands her a little bit better. And maybe why she seemed to have a lot of fun on their date, and liked the idea of a romance, and a TTK castle in the sky, and a spark of real love with someone – but why something was missing. 

“She’s pretty,” Kon says, looking at the young woman, too. “Do you like her dress?” 

Cass turns to him, brows furrowed. She glances between his body language and his lips, seemingly puzzled. “I wouldn’t want to wear it.” 

“Sorry,” Kon says, realizing he might be confusing her by being subtle. “I wouldn’t expect you to, yeah, it’s not very practical.” 

Cass looks at him again, still confused. 

“...But,” he says, “It’s okay to like how it looks on her. It’s okay if you think she’s pretty.” 

Cass doesn’t say anything for a little while. Her face is still a little pink. 

“Pretty doesn’t matter,” Cass says, but her eyes don’t leave the blue dress. “It’s not supposed to.” 

“Sure,” Kon says. “But dancing doesn’t matter either. And it can still be fun. Pretty – sometimes pretty can be fun. Sometimes people like to look pretty just to enjoy it. Like art, or whatever.”

It takes a moment, but finally, Cass nods. “And she?” she asks. “She wants to look pretty so that someone sees her as pretty?”

“Something like that.” 

“Her date,” Cass says. Her eyes are laser-focused on the man locking arms with her. “She wants her date to see her as pretty.” She pauses for a moment. A long one. Then, in a smaller voice, “Not me.” 

Kon is quiet for a moment, not sure what to say to that. 

Cass’s shoulders slump. “I shouldn’t look. I wouldn’t want her to feel-” She frowns, looks over at the boy who had asked her to dance earlier, who Kon had helped her reject. And Kon recognizes her dilemma. The fear of looking, of asking to dance, when it’s unwanted. When there is a fundamental incompatibility. 

Cass shivers, and Kon sheds his jacket to drape over her shoulders. It’s satin, so it doesn’t do all that much to protect her from the cold, but Kon likes to think it at least helps. She pulls it closer, and looks more at ease immediately. 

“You don’t have to look if it makes you worried to think about this kind of thing,” he says, carefully. “But it’s not wrong to think she’s pretty, regardless of who she’s trying to be pretty for.” 

She looks up at him, still unsure. 

“Trust me on this,” Kon says, adding a wink for flair. “It’s okay if you don’t like boys. It’s okay if you like girls – hell, it’s okay if you only like girls. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

Cass looks in through the window, of the sea of wealthy Gothamites. Kon follows her eyes to the small, formal dance floor – where the only ones dancing are men-and-woman pairs. How they lean in close to each other; how the man leads the woman, how they’re pushed close together, how it’s impossible to miss the intimacy in the way they hold each other, even in formal dances. The way men’s suits cut neatly to their waists and flatter masculine figures; the way the women’s dresses accentuate whatever she believes her best features to be. The way they all follow the same type of dance, with no room for new steps. No room for fun. 

He thinks it cuts quite a picture against two vigilantes, teaching each other how to dance with themselves in the cold night air. 

“Someday you might get to dance with a girl,” he says. “Sorry if it might not be tonight. But someday.” 

Cass laughs a little, pink to her ears. “And you?” 

“What, who am I going to dance with?” 

She nods. 

Kon lets out a long breath, leaning backwards, elbows brushing the railing. He’s not sure himself. “I like dancing, just not the boring, stuffy kind,” he finally says. “As long as my partner’s having fun, I don’t really care how I do it, or who I’m dancing with.” 

Cass follows his eyes – the way he watches everyone inside the window, his eyes not particularly caught by any one person. 

“Okay,” she says, and accepts that as an answer. Kon thinks she reads something different in his body language – but if she does, she doesn’t tell him any different. 

"Let's stay outside a little longer, yeah?" Kon finally says. "I think I remember the Electric Slide. I've got the song on my phone and everything."

Cass grins, and Kon pulls up his phone. The Electric Slide clashes horribly against the orchestra inside, but he doesn't care. They've got their own dancing to do, and they'll be doing it to their own rhythm.

[thelibrarydemon]

Jaytim fic idea

So, this has been bouncing around my head for a while now and not going anywhere, so I thought I could throw it out here where more creative minds might make something out of it.

Like, Urban Fantasy AU. Magic and Mythic Creatures are nothing unusual, live alongside humans and so on.

And like, one night on patrol Red Hood encounters a group Traffickers trying to take a little (like the size of a lage dog, or maybe a pony) Dragon in his territory. They already got it muzzled and injured and so Jason does the usual and beats them up and so on. When the fight is over, he approaches the cornered, hissing Dragon and eventually manages to calm it down, frees it of the muzzle and takes care ofit's injuries.

Meanwhile, Tim Drake, Boy Wonder and, at the moment a very terrified adolescent Dragon, wonders how it's possible for the new crime lord, heads-in-a-duffelbag Red Hood, to be oh so kind and Robin-like. And, wait a sec, he actively saves people? So Tim goes back out there to investigate the next few nights, but not as Robin, bc like Red Hood still hates the Bats and all.

That, dear fellows, is where I got no idea how to continue.

Does he save Jason in turn? Does he have to reveal his identity while doing so?

Or does he instead bond a little with Red Hood while figuring out the mystery that he is, bc he is literally nothing (almost) like how Batman says he is.

And I have no idea where JayTim fits in there and how that would go, only that I would like it to be.

And yea, I am totally ignoring the severity of the Lazarus Pit and it's effects. But, like in this instance it only amps up his emotions, especially and mostly his anger and drowns out rationality I figure.

Soo, there u have it, have fun I guess, and sorry if there's any grammar/spelling mistakes, English is not my first language.

[trashlama]

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

ROR (Record Of Ragnarok) headcanons/IDK drabble turned one-shot

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Jack The Ripper

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

This is definitely not for kids!

Like if you're under 18 please just turn back. This is 18+ only!

Just to warn you guys, I literally watched this show almost in one night yesterday so bear with me. And then proceeded to write this. It was supposed to just be some headcanons. And then it turned into drabble and then one shot.

Aaaaahhhhhhhhhh

I re-read this thing a couple of times. I tried to search the internet for quotes that would fit. Cause his character is really into quote'in and shit. I'm sorry if it isn't great I don't usually write so I tried my best. I just was filled with so much simpin' juice for this man at the time so I had to write cause I have no confidence in drawing his character with how badass he is.

Please enjoy!

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Really into aura shit

You got a nice aura? Better watch out. He might seek you out for that warmth if it's too similar to his mother's. Before she went kray- kray-.

Brah has a thing for cute shit

Based on his reaction with the Valkyrie chick he Völundr with. He's definitely into Lolita's.

I'm not a hundred sure what else he might be into. I feel like he's into the whole pure thing and wanting to A.) Corrupt it or B.) Cherish it.

Totally see him as a creep/closet pervert

Too much of gentlemen to be straight up creepy, buuutt still manages to push boundaries, tho whatcha gonna do

Brah is V from V for Vendetta but, minus the whole fuck parliament and being a charred turkey whose like woof- woof- for Evee Hamond.

Brah kept giving me flashes back to Batman by Gaslight.(Really good movie, guess what? Fet. Batman & Jack the Ripper. It's some badass shit.)

∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆∆

Brraaahhh imagine just being some poor samp having to make ends meet in like one of the recognized most shittiest times. And its the dead of the night, walking home after your shift at the pub that ran later than you would prefer. But hey, money is money.

Everything is quite aside from the inebriated stumbling to their choice of den and the ladies of the night who waited on the curbs for potential customers. Preferably the quick and wasted ones.

Although the lamp wicks were burning bright thanks to the caretakers that serviced them. You being a dumb b*tch just trying to get home decide to pull the white girl move in the horror movie and walk into one of many dark decrepit alleys in London that were spread out like a cobble stone labyrinth.

Only to come across this motherfucker while passing through. Humming the London bridge is Falling Down while hunched over something behind one the local comunial waste bins. Obviously whatever it was had the bizarre-o ivory-haired man distracted enough to not notice your initial presence. If you were a normal self-preservation instinct still intact person you would've ran back the way you came.

Buuut that's too easy sooooo, no.

You—, you decide to play Blue's fuckin Clues and go stroll by the dude to see what he dooooin'.(Kinda like when there's a crash and everyone is like yoo I wanna see. But there's traffic so they slow just a little bit down when passing the crash to see what's up. Cause we all nosey b*tches. Don't lie.)

Didn't even take five steps before this crackhead whipped around to see who was approaching. And in the same short amount of time it took the mustached hetero-chromatic eyed dude to analyze your fluctuating aura of emotions. Meanwhile your ass noticed how this dude was fist deep in this lady's guts playin' doctor with a satchel of equipment at his side. Outfit drenched in the same burgundy colored ooze that flooded from the ripped open abscess in the abdomen of the obviously recently deceased women that was prompted up against the corner where the waste bin met the structure.

Before you could even think of back pedaling out of this situation. The pale haired man had launched himself on you. Quick to restrain you against the gross ass cobblestone wall of the ally way. In the right hand a common barbers knife that'd you find in any supplies shop in london—hovered threateningly above the thin skin of your throat. While the other was kept busy planting you against the wall by the roots of your still pinned up hair.

The desire to allow fear course into your veins was strong as you stared trapped in the heterochromatic pools of mania that belong to the person infront of you. Pools of crimson and glacier keeping you pinned. The former of the two holding almost supernatural glow to it. The gleam of it's light piercing through the veil of fog and darkness like the knife he so carefully wielded.

"What's a young maiden like yourself walking around at this hour in a place like this? And without a chaperon?" The mustached man inquired though obviously not out of interest but, amusement. Maintaining the manic look upon his pale aging features as he peered back into orbs of (y/e).

"It is a blind goose that cometh to a fox's sermon." The older gentleman cooed. Warm breath fan across the skin of your face leaving behind goosebumps in its wake.

The guy was definitely creepy.

Though not keen on being a damsel in destress of any kind. Your ass knew you wanted to survive this counter. And no one from the London yard to the hooker you passed on the corner is gonna help you now.

You had three options:

Scream

Fight

Reason

With a blade at your throat you might as well call yourself Marie Antoinette 2.0, if you chose the first option. Fighting with this dude would definitely be one-sided. From the fact that it took him 2.5 secs to over power you and contain you to a single spot. Yeah that's a no-go. And to be honest you weren't a hundred percent sure if reasoning would work on the psycho in front of you. Based off the fact he's staring at you like a mustached Cheshire Cat with a Mad Hatter's attitude. This is one fucked game of perseverance that you wish hadn't walked into.

Your last resort? You weren't completely sure what yet but one thing for sure; the way this night was looking so far this might be your last time underneath the moonlight. You might as well try something. It's not like you have anything left in your life to lose.

As you steeled your resolve in your mind. Your aura told the middle age man everything he needed to know.

At first glance it was nothing special. Just a cesspool of emotions primarily exhaustion and the normal stress that lays beneath every worrisome thought of the future and tomorrow's problems.

He was just going to rip her up like the predecessors that came before her. However, it was when he pinned her to the putride wall of the alleyway that he saw her true colors.

They shifted like a marvelous rainbow. One moment they were a stressful cobalt. The next a surprised cyan. Than a thoughtful calculative lime green.

However resting a deeper emotion sat next to the core in every flash of color. Remaining vigilant against an invasion from outside forces that threaten to penetrate the brigade that kept them at bay. Was a spec of regretful indigo. There it sat safe guarding the very thing that created its very being. So the same thing wouldn't happen again.

The array of sensitive colors dazzled his senses. The alternating emotions keep his interest peeked and the knife from laying any more pressure on your artery. His receptors in his nerves soaking up the vivid feelings like a dry sponge in the bath water. However unlike the sponge, his body just craved more.

He wanted to see the violet purple. The despair fill her heart. It was his favorite thing.

Swallowing a thick glob of saliva your (y/e) irises began to what you think is nonchalant but, isn't very chalant— scanning your surroundings. Looking for an opportunity to present itself despite the current obvious disadvantages. -cough- knife at your throat -cough- head at risk being slammed -cough-.

The creepy-ass grin from the creepy-ass man in front of you didn't help easing any tension in the little space between you two.

" Sir I nought know why you're doing this but, please allow me to pass onwards on my path. I cannot convict you. I don't even know your name nor what you look like." You reasoned (y/e) eyes filled with earnestness and your soul mirroring the same in a vivid courageous orange and a trepidious magenta.

Eyes trained with one another never breaking for a moment. Not even when his hand with the knife pulled away and was swiftly replaced with the left grasping your windpipe.

He hummed amused with your statement. How foolish you were to think ignorance could save you from your sealed fate.

" How rude of me..." He began.

Successfully instilling even further the threat that was to her life tonight. Not the drunktards who came in on a regular. Not the slim shit wages that barely kept her afloat. Not cholera(that one is a joke because of the time period and where they're at).

The mustached man right in front of her.

Typically he just kills whores. The women who remind him the most of his mother. Though if their soul shines a true brilliant viscous scarlet.... he doesn't mind making an exception or two. After all at the end they all become such a beautiful violet before it ends in white.

Taking an actual intake of her appearance she was certainly not a prostitute. Her bosom was properly strapped down by the corset underneath the fabric of her appropriately length dress that clung to her desirable frame. No cheap lard products to cover her natural appeal.

Only upon closer exception does he notice the faintest of a tan line from a band that has long since been removed.

A ring.

There had been a martial union and as evident with the lack of a band clasped around her dainty finger. It has been terminated. Divorced. Day-old goods that no one wants to touch.

The absence of it told him she had no one to return too.

That she was also abandoned.

That she was free for the taking if he pleased.

But, unlike most Lodon's fine selection of men. Jack actually did have manners.

And a criteria.

And before taking her in he needed to test her.

Can't have distrust in a budding relationship now can we?

" My name dear unwanted maiden is.... "

Hands like snakes from Garden of Paradise enclosed around your tranchea . Effectively sealing away the opening for the air to travel into your lungs.

"....Jack,..."

Cheshire Cat grin stretched across his pale complexion. The insanity in his eyes burning red hot like the poker in the fire.

"... Jack The Ripper! " He said with a joyous glee. Finally leaning in close enough that you could finally make out his full features.

"Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince, And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest"

Pools of (y/e) widen with surprise as they maintained the direct line of eye contact with the killer who has been stalking the streets of White Chapel.

Tears fell from (y/n) sockets. Not out of fear or the tragedy of your death. But rather the hurt of knowing you'll never get the chance to have a family.

I'm sorry this next part is ridiculously darker than the rest of this one shot/drabble. IDK how I went down this path but, just warning the next part includes talks of divorce, implied inf@cide, implied ch!ld murder, mi$carriage, oh and I almost forgot just dap of pedo alert.0

Please continue with your own discretion!!!

Since the start you never got to have that family. You never knew your parents. They had left you at an orphanage. Lucky for you that they had room to spare. Most became water logged coffins sealing away the babes from undesirable fates.

It wasn't sunshine and rainbows at the orphanage. You had to pull your weight from a very young age. Those who didn't contribute didn't get food, those who resisted got sent away, anyone who didn't listen came back from lectures with welts and concussions. You pick and choose your battles. And you chose them very carefully for the first fifteen years.

Until you felt the need to defend yourself against one of the caretakers who wasn't so noble. You had shed first blood the summer before. And ever since had been on the edge due to prying eyes and wandering hands.

That summer you left the orphanage and headed to London. Hear say from villagers say all the jobs are in the cities now. Thanks to the Industrial revolution offering more opportunities than ever before.

You had gone. Worked at a textile plant for some time until you met your first husband. And became pregnant with your first kid.

....only to lose the fetus three months later due to the stress your body was under. Children take so much. Even before their born. The nutrients get sucked from the marrow and slowly you lost the battle.

Your husband blamed you, and you did too. You tired, tried, and tried. But, they just couldn't be kept.

It wasn't even a two years later that your first husband divorced you.

You always wanted to be able to try again. To have that child to love and hold, to cherish unconditionally like you wished you had been.

Though staring into those mix-matched pools of insanity. In one last attempt to not give into the fear of the impending end. You thought one last time about your dream.

Jack was both pleased and mystified

Instead of the violet purple he saw within most of his victims. He found a light source that resembled the embers that kept the Londoners warm through the ruthless winters. An eradecent hue that blend yellow and pink into what can only be described as a hug to the senses.

Relaxing and comforting. A guiding light to ease one to rest.

"And light is mingled with the gloom, And joy with grief; Divinest compensations come, Through thorns of judgment mercies bloom In sweet relief ".

Slowly hands like steel latches released their grasp from around your neck. Skin already blossoming with bruises in the shape of handprints.

Without the support holding you up your body slid towards the alley way floor to only be scooped up into Jack's arms, as if weighing nothing more than a few sheets of paper.

"There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand."

Too exhausted to fight off Jack's tight embrace between the near death experience and the shift you had worked before ever traversing down this alleyway.

(y/e) drifted shut as you listened to Jack whisper sweet quotes of adoration as he took you away. Going only gods know where.

"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. Nor hath love's mind of any judgment taste; Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste: And therefore is love said to be a child, Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd."

As the morning sun rose above the thick pea soup fog. Londoners would be too enthralled in the newest victim of the ripper to notice that there was another woman that the ripper had stolen. With no body to be found.

The five quotes here are quoted by(as in order of appearance)

John lyly

William Shakespeare

John Greenleaf Whittier

Mary Shelley

William Shakespeare

My other fur-baby is fed up with me editing this thing.

[katzynia]

I am very interested in smolJay, an unfortunately rare sight in fics - what's in "contractSlade+smolJay" ? Thank you :)

Ah, this is a monster of an idea :D Roughly a year ago I wrote a smol!Jay fic and during writing, it became much fluffier and sweeter than I had planned. Lots of my angstier thoughts/ideas for scenes were kind of leftover. Then, somewhere during spring, I saw a SladeRobin week prompt "Robin hires Slade" (or something, I'm paraphrasing) and that got me really thinking...

What if Jason survived Joker's treatment, and during his convalescence hired Slade to kill Joker when he realizes nobody else would do it (for him)?

Well, the idea ballooned from there. Now that's just the starting act, and the actual story happens in Gotham ~5 years later, when Slade comes to town looking for a possible shipment of Kryptonite rumored to be owned by Black Mask. He runs into Jason Todd and recognizes his one-time employer. Meanwhile, somebody is messing with Black Mask businesses... It's complicated as shit, with identity shenanigans and repurposing things from "Under the Red Hood", family feels, and all that jazz. Honestly, not sure if I can pull that off. At the moment, it's waiting for reinspiration and reconfidence, cause I also feel like all my stories are structured the same way and so I'll have to think about it.

I have ~6700 words written. Here's a snippet (don't mind the typos and the weirdness, it's a first draft)

***

“That’s a gnarly scar, kid,” Slade says. And the funniest thing is that it’s nowhere near the most notable thing about him.

The scar on his left temple is fresh. It can’t be more than a week or so since the stitches were removed. The hair around it hasn’t had the chance to grow back yet, leaving him with a weird and uneven undercut. The scar snakes down, ragged and uneven, all the way to the corner of his eyebrow. His skin is pale and yellowish, the black backs under his eyes a stark contrast to it.

And to top it all off, he can’t be more than fifteen. Based just on his side, Slade would guess even younger, but his voice has certain depth that speaks of maturity. And his eyes. Those eyes have seen some shit. They are the eyes of a person who is not afraid because they’ve been through something so much worse.

Slade can already cross over one of the questions he had.

“He did that to you?” he asks, and without conscious contribution, his own voice becomes gruff too. He doesn’t need to specify who.

The kid huffs, but it doesn’t quite hide a quick flash of resurfacing fear in his eyes.

“I want him dead,” he says, “He shouldn’t be allowed to—after he—” He halts in the middle of the tirade. Slade isn’t sure if he’s trying to swallow the words or try to get them lined up properly. He presses his hands on the table, hard, and takes a breath. Faint pink spots appear on his cheeks. They are starkly visible against the paleness.

“And you want me to do it,” Slade says, after the silence stretches. “Deathstroke the Terminator,” the kid says, “Fair deals. Trustfull--dependable.” He smiles a little, crookedly. “Allows for anonymity.” “What about your other conditions?” Slade says. “I don’t work with restrictions.”

Kid huffs. “You’re the professional, figure it out. You don’t leave unnecessary casualties anyway, and avoiding detection shouldn’t be an issue for you.”

“Except he never leaves Gotham”.

“Except when he does.”

“Do you have a way to track him?”

“No.”

“Which means the most likely location is Gotham. “And if I need to choose? Between letting him go and fighting Batman?”

The boy’s hands clench. Something almost horrible shines in his eyes.

“Let him go,” he says, and it seems like the admission cost him something. He takes a breath and briefly closes his eyes. “I don’t care when or how. Just that he’s gone, permanently, irreversibly, and that nobody finds out. Take your time, for all I care, just end that wretched creature.”

”And if I say no?”

“Will you?”

“Humor me.” The client’s answer to that always reveals a lot. Every job is the most important in the world, until it isn’t and actually Slade is the lucky one for being considered for it, such a privilige it is.

The kid stares at him in silence for a long moment.

“I’d be fucked,” he says bluntly. Slade’s eyebrows shoot up.

“There isn’t anybody of your caliber willing to work in Gotham.” In the boy’s droll tone, it isn’t a compliment, just a fact. Slade had had many clients trying to suck up to him. And it’s the truth: Deathshot is in prison (probably in Walker’s greedy clutches already), Shiva would not agree to a kill like this, and the League of Shadows doesn’t do anonymous (ironically considering their name).

“But you knew that already,” the boy continues.

“No one to do it for you?” Slade asks.

Something moves over the kid’s face. A shadow of anger and sorrow then something like acceptance.

The boy shakes his head. “No,” he says and the expression morphs one more time, into something like determination. “I would need to consider if I’m capable of doing it.”

Slade looks over the injuries. The kid doesn’t seem to steady, swaying a bit even there.

The boy’s smile holds no humor. “I don’t mean physically.”

Some people can’t kill, it’s an indisputable fact Slade has seen true many a times. They can’t do it and still remain themselves. Some would lose some integral part of themselves and never get over it. Some wouldn’t be able to stop once they started, a switch just turning on in their minds.

Something about the boy makes Slade think that he could. He could kill and walk away from it after.

“Alright,” he says. “I will kill the Joker for you.”

***

Thanks for asking!

WIP ask game here

[upagainstthesunset]

Okay alright okay alright. SO.

Batman/Superman World's Finest #22

I haven't been reading this, so not going to comment on the story so far, but I MOST CERTAINLY am going to comment on the Metron parts of this particular issue. Putting it below a read more for spoilers. Anyway, view it if you want screenshots, lots of me yelling in caps, and uh my steaming hot takes. It might be a long one, guys.

[ID: Comic panel of Gog sitting on a large green throne in the air with David Sikela as Thunderman standing with him. /END]

OKAY so first fucking page and we're already getting into shenanigans.

I will admit I haven't read Kingdom Come and it would be valuable reference material at this point what with Gog and Boy Thunder Thunderman. I also am to understand that Bats and Supes are in a world that isn't yet aware of the multiverse so they're getting a lot of pushback, and that they come from like a while back relative to current canon. HOWEVER you can't just have Gog showing up in the goddamn MOBIUS CHAIR with the freaking WORLOGOG floating above it. (Worlo...gog..... Oh wait is that why he's called Gog?)

Anyway, how did he get it? Why doesn't Metron have it? What about the rest of the canon of the chair? Like, I know the history of the New Gods in general has gotten real screwy over the years, but I am so confused where this is meant to fit in. I think I'm going to have to read more to figure it out. They've got some explaining to do.

So there's more fighting and good guy Superman breaks magical chains (wut?) but the two let themselves get caught and thrown in the clinker anyway. Meanwhile, Supes is going on about the throne, the throne, it's so familiar.

[ID: Cropped panel of Earth 22's Batman escorting our Superman to jail. Superman says, "Looks like the heroes of this world have been working overtime to clear the board of opposition. Gog's throne... did it look familiar to you? I could swear I've seen it before." Batman says, "Stop talking". /End]

OH WHAT YOU THINK CLARK? YOU COULD'VE SWORN YOUVE SEEN IT BEFORE?

Alright. I'm calming down about this one. When I first read it I had tons of beef with this line, especially bc this isn't the first time one of the trinity is acting like they don't know Metron. HOWEVER given the timeline I think the only time this Superman would've met Metron would've been during Justice League of America #183-185 and they didn't necessarily interact. So okay. He remembers the chair but vaguely. Fair enough. But you're on watch, Superman.

So they get thrown in a cell and there's a feeble, weak man curled up in the corner surrounded by blood splatters. Who could it be?????

It's Metron!

but uhh... he don't look so good.

[ID: Two comic panels. In the first Batman leans in to view Metron, sitting on the dirty floor in the corner with his knees drawn up and cowering. Metron says, "Tell me... tell me anything. It's been... so long since I've heard... since I've learned... feed me. Please... feed me."

In the next panel, he continues, "I'm so... so very hungry..." To which Batman crouches down and responds, "I'm sorry. We have nothing to--" Superman cuts him off to explain. "He's not hungry for food, Bruce. He's starving for knowledge. It's his sustenance. I recognize this man." /END]

SAY WHAT? HE'S.. FUCKING STARVING... FOR

STARVING FOR KNOWLEDGE?

this is literally the first time I've ever heard this as a Thing about Metron. Mark Waid, you are making up some wacky as hell type of shit here and I can't tell if I hate it or love it.

On one hand, HE DOES NOT WORK LIKE THAT. But on the other hand, idk it's kind of interesting. Makes his desire for knowledge more of a true need than an obsession. But personally I like the obsession aspect because when there are consequences he can't just say "oh well it's just my nature lolz!"

But yeah, him asking to be fed is me every day that there is zero Metron fan content on this god forsaken website. FEED ME.

[ID: Close up on Metron, head cowered and face anguished. From off screen Superman says, "Gog's throne belongs to him. It's his Mobiue Chair. This is Metron of the New Gods." /END]

Yes, yes he is Metron. Of the New Gods. And I get it, Gog is one of the old gods. But like, the New Gods were meant to be better! Smarter! Kinder! Brighter! And I find it I N C R E D I B L Y hard to believe that even an old god would get the drop on Metron and steal his chair. BUT it wouldn't be an interesting story in that case, would it? And other stories have had his chair stolen away, so it's not unprecedented like how him being hungry for knowledge is a new concept.

One of the things that's funny about Metron is that often he is introduced like this because fucking no one knows who this asshat is. Like fans I mean. Some do, but many don't. Especially these days. So I can see why writers are always like "Introducing: Metron! A New God! He's smart! He has a chair!". Gotta let readers know who he is and what's his deal. It means that there are a lot of panels that feature him showing up, so that's fun. Maybe I'll put together a compilation of those some day.

Another thing that's funny about Metron is that he is 100% used as a plot device. You got Batman and Superman as characters because we know and love them. You've got Gog and I guess future Magog as antagonists because they're compelling and have desires that conflict with our heroes. But why Metron? Because he can make things happen and tie things together multiversally. BUT even more than that!! Because THE MOBIUS CHAIR can be taken from him and used by others to further the plot. I've said it before and I am now saying it again. The Mobius Chair might just go on to be a more important character in this story than Metron. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But back to the story.

[ID: Metron still sits on the floor with Batman crouched to him and Superman standing nearby. Metron says, "Years... I have been held here... for years..." And Superman explains, "Metron is from a world called New Genesis. Sister world to Darkseid's Apokolips. Is Gog also from--?" Metron cuts him of saying, "No. And that, in a grave sense, is the peril before us." /END]

Alright so now they're going to exposition at us hard. And wouldn't you know, this is all leading to Darkseid (probably). Hey at least it's not another Amanda Waller plot amirite amirite?

So yeah I'm not going to screencap all of it bc it goes on for a while, but Metron explains that Gog is from Urgrund, the home of Then-Gods (well that term's news to me) of the Third World. You know, I always feel weird when writers try to canonize the term "fourth world" but whatever, it happens. And it looks like story time with Metron is explaining the origins of New Genesis and Apokolips. It's a far cry from the opening epilogue in New Gods #1 smh.

Wait hold on. Metron and Gog "became friends"? FRIENDS? Like buddies? Pals? Homies? Amigos? (pizza, nintendo woo woo woo lets go?) So our little Metron actually made a friend? Waid, you are going places I don't know if I can follow.

[ID: Two comic panels. The first is a close up of Metron in profile. He says, "He was genuinely a force for good. But then... but then--" His narration continues in the next panel, "One day, I shared with Gog the secret of the multiverse as well as those realms that lie beyond it-- among them, New Genesis and Apokolips." The panel shows the two looking at a map of the DC multiverse. Gog is many times larger than Metron. /END]

God, the fucking map.

And um so Gog is looking reeeaaaaal Thanos-y here. Which is hilarious in its own right since Thanos was mostly based on Metron, and also partially on Darkseid. Plus, you can't ignore that involving the old gods means the meta of relating to Jack Kirby's work on Thor. So idk those are interesting little tidbits.

[ID: Panel of Gog looking at the Mobius chair floating in front of him. Narration says, "Soon after the boy David arrived on this world, Gog implored me for a favor too dangerous to grant. He pleaded for the use of my cosmic vehicle, the Mobius Chair. I denied him." /END]

Alright so anyway, David shows up and Gog is like "Omigod David!!! Hi!!!!" and then he turns around and is like "Yo Metron, um, I have a new bestie now so like.. can I borrow the car?" To which Metron rightly says Fuck No.

LMFAO SO HE GETS PUNCHED OUT OF IT

[ID: Gog's giant fist surrounded by electricity having punched Metron, who falls away sideways with back to the viewer. There is blood exploding from the side of his head. Narration says, "He took it nonetheless." /END]

🤣

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!

Looks like I have to update my fucking Metron Gets Yeeted post. Hilarious. Are we supposed to feel sympathetic? I guess so? Fans who don't know Metron are going to go wow wtf they were friends he didn't deserve that. Meanwhile, fans who DO know Metron are going YES FINALLY.

I'm laughing though. It's like Metron and Gog used to hang out and watch prehistoric man and they were both so into. But then Gog changed fandoms and hates Metron now. 😂

Alright anyway, so next this Earth's Batman and Superman show up and have heard Metron's woeful tale of betrayal. They're ready to help. And Metron knows what Gog is planning.

[ID: Profile closeup of Metron still sitting with legs pulled to his chest. He says, "That much, I know. Gog plans to couple David's unique ability to traverse dimensions with the power of my Mobius Chair... allowing him not only to push through the cosmic wall surrounding the multiverse... but to lead an army behind him... beyond the Speed Force wall, beyond the Bleed..." /END]

Alright. Time to pause and address the elephant in the room. I held my tongue long enough, but I can no longer.

Dan Mora's art is fantastic, and he's a fan favorite for good reason. So to draw Metron LIKE THIS was 1000% intentional and I just.. WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE THAT??? 😭 It is so god damn cursed. But to be fair, let's run through it, shall we?

Bad: No M-shaped cut out on the forehead. That's offense number one, and not one I take lightly. BUT after inspecting ALL APPEARANCES that Metron has had over several decades, I can confidently say it's not unheard of. And actually, you can see an example of how an M could have been reinterpreted as a boxy shape in my post about a Metron trading card.

Good: His ears are covered. Exposed ears through the cowl is a cardinal sin in my book.

Bad: Where are the lines on his head? Where is the orange dot/jewel thing?? Those are really integral to his design since his costume is otherwise kind of just a blue morph suit. Gog has a little jewel thing on HIS forehead, but what, is Metron not cool enough have one??! And btw I am DYING to see what his chest looks like. What kind of fuckery do you think they did with the design? Where do you think it'd land in this thing?

Good: His eyes are blue. Thank you. They're not glowing white and his irises are not fucking squares. I really hope we are DONE with that era.

Bad: wHY does he look like how people draw stereotypical witches? Can anyone explain this? Mr Mora, is Metron a HAG to you? Is that how you see him? Is he to live in a bog? (side note, I am not endorsing witch stereotypes)

Good: Is there anything good left? I guess that he's got some features I like. Deep set eyes, distinct/bony nose, thin lips. And he's older. That all rings true.

But most importantly. The biggest beef I have with this whole thing. The most flagrant disrespect... THE EYEBROWS WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING WHY ARE HIS EYEBROWS JUST -OUT- LIKE THAT? I HATE IT IM DYING IM DECAYING I WANT IT TO STOP BAD BAD BAD

Ahem.

And then we close on Metron dropping a bomb that Gog doesn't want anyone to survive war on Apokolips.

[ID: Close up of Metron looking stern, half his face in shadow. He says, "That's just it. Gog isn't planning on victory, he doesn't want to win. The Ascension is his name for a battle in which there will be no survivors." /END]

Okay, we're through it. We did it. I need to gather my thoughts somehow.

I'm interested to see where this goes, and it does make me want to go back and actually read Kingdom Come (I have been told to many times, but my reading is so slow I just haven't gotten to it). Or at least go back and read through this current title to catch up.

They dipped into New Gods lore in a few key ways, and yes they're on Earth 22 but all the Fourth World shit sits outside of the different Earths. So like, is Orion going to show up? Are you going to have the old gods, the origin of New Genesis and Apokolips, fucking Metron, and then NOT have Orion? That'd be a pretty weird move. But then again, his involvement might pull the story away from Batman and Superman too much.

Either way, I would expect we'd see Metron again at least once more. If I'm lucky, the Bats/Bats/Supes/Supes team will free Metron and take him with them since he's the Mobius Chair expert and all. And if I'm REALLY lucky, at some point he'll get his ugly af chair back and as soon as butt touches polymer he'll get all godly and badass or something. And he'll regain all his hubris and snark. And then maybe he'll get vengeance on Gog or something idk. He could really be a key player once he's back to his usual self and not in the fetal position on the floor. Look, I remember how maniacal with vengeance he was when Braniac got captured. He could 100% do the same here. I mean, Waid wouldn't end this whole thing without giving Metron his chair back ...right?

Um anyway, I think... I think I'm done. I might make a few shitposts about this in a minute here, but this is the end of my full blown rant. And this is ON TOP OF the 15 minute high speed lecture I already gave my partner about all of this. So anyway, thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[imagine--if]

hear me out… poly s/o dating both the riddler and the joker. i feel like this would be such an interesting dynamic?? maybe reader gets all badass and breaks both of them out of arkham?? this would be so fun to see omg

A/N: I've been waiting to write this aahadbsdg- 😆👏🏼 I've done a kinda dating hc and an imagine under it for the break-out idea, gn!reader 💚 enjoy!!

Pairing: Dano!Riddler & Keoghan!Joker x reader (The Batman 2022)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, obsessive simp loving 😏

•☆ Well, you're gonna have a pretty chaotic life with these two around, but congratulations on earning the intense love of The Joker and The Riddler!! Damn, I don't even know where to start 😂

•☆ While Edward's more rambling and clingy with his loving, J's more flirty and daring around you to get you what you want and impress you... though his idea of being impressive is carving someone up for you or blowing up a building where some guy who annoyed you once worked. The Riddler is just lovestruck and follows you around like a lost puppy, dropping everything for you and impressing you by building a shrine in your shared home for you or making it his mission to kill everyone you don't like.

•☆ They don't really compete for your love, since they both know you're together and you love them both, but sometimes Eddie will just cuddle up to you and whine/beg for you to tell him how much you love him and all, because he's precious like that ♡ Meanwhile the Joker just slings an arm around you and offers to do whatever you want for the day or evening... and he means whatever you want. Take advantage of these frequent offers all you want, he loves spoiling you!

•☆ You could be speeding in some fancy sports car J's hectically driving and Edward and him are just dying with mad laughter while you either join in or try to handle the car so it doesn't crash into something lol - that's the Joker's idea of a perfect date.

•☆ The Riddler prefers traditional but twisted things, like dinners at home or in a fancy room while some victim that stared at you for too long has to watch all bound and bloodied because Edward thinks that by doing that, the dude will have to watch you all in love and have their heart shattered before he literally shatters it lmao

•☆ You're probably their partner in crime (which I made an imagine below about) or their innocent angel, but either way you're still loved and protected to death by these two. Both are putty in your fingers if you play with their hair or steal a kiss or even look up at them with round eyes - Eddie will melt immediately and initiate a suffocating cuddling session, and the Joker will give you his signature grin and ask what's up and what you're in the mood for 😉

•☆ One of them is with you at all times, most likely, unless you insist on going to work or something. While the Joker's out causing mayhem or at some crime meeting, Edward's watching some old movie or playing puzzle games with you and lacing the moment with compliments and doe-eyes.

•☆ Perfect crazy chaotic guys, and they're such simps it's ridiculous - I mean, the Joker could try to deny it, but Edward will always proudly agree.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

"Hey, hey, why are you crying?" The Joker questions his cellmate with a chuckle, shaking his head at The Riddler, who whimpers and rocks himself curled up in a corner by the door. "They'll be here soon, huh? See, those little alarms have stopped, now haven't they?"

"But wh- what if a guard shot them?" Edward stammers with wide, crazed green eyes. "Spilling the blood of an angel?! What then?!"

The Joker lets out an exaggerated breath, his grin growing wider as he looks up from sitting on his bed. "Lookie here, it's our queenie!"

Edward looks up so quickly that he almost gets a dizzy rush from it, and there you are, dropping a rifle empty of bullets and reaching for one attached to a guard sprawled out on the floor, unconscious. You smile breathlessly at them, pulling out the stolen keys as you approach their doors. Eddie practically screams your name, and you flinch, raising your brows at him in questioning.

"Calm down, Eddie, and let me unlock J's-"

"No, me first!" Edward whines, desperately pushing against the door and wishing he could touch you already. The Joker gives him an amused look, rolling his blue eyes.

"Your comeback story's got a weak start, Riddler."

Edward pays no attention to the comment, watching you with a hopeful smile as you quickly loosen the bolts and unlock his door, letting it open a little before attempting to move on to J's. Before you can, Eddie's on you with an excited noise, arms clinging to you and his face burying to your neck, deep, damp kisses attacking your skin. You can't help laughing at him, returning the hug for a quick moment before awkwardly moving to the Joker's cell and unlocking that too.

J wastes no time in prying the Riddler off you in one swift move, picking you up in his arms and spinning you around with insane giggles. Edward watches with a small frown, quickly hugging you to him again when you've been put down and glaring at the Joker as he cradles you tightly.

"Don't do that!"

"Do what?"

"I wasn't finished-!"

"Okay, you know, we could stand around like this all day," you interrupt with a roll of your eyes and knowing smirk at their petty argument, "but we really need to go before-"

"Before the pigs interrupt us," Edward nods, his voice muffled against your shoulder as he looks up at J. "Shall we go?"

"Yeah, cmon, dolly," the Joker says with a smile, lacing his scarred fingers with yours as Eddie reluctantly moves off you to hold your other, a slight skip in his step and a happy smile on his face, "shall we go home? Get reacquainted?"

"Reacquainted?" you repeat with a raised brow, letting the men lead you down the blood-spattered corridors, some of the Joker's goons still pummelling those that are fighting for their lives. "You're crazy."

"Ah, but you love me! And so are you, queenie - my boys can't have done this all by themself, could they?"

"They love me too," Edward mumbles, looking up at you with adoring eyes for validation, and you nod with a smile, squeezing his hand.

"Course I do, Eddie."

"Yeah yeah- cmon, I wanna blow something up."

"I've just broken you two out, you need to cool it for at least a day or two."

"Nah, that's boring," J complains with a wide smile, "let's do something fun, hmm? Whatever you wanna do, doll."

"Whatever you want to do," Edward echoes with an excited giggle and a lovestruck look, and you return his smile, the three of you disappearing down the last corridor of Arkham.

Taglist:

@r3ptiliaaa @birds-have-teeth @repostingmyfavs @for3v3rda1sy @glitterycheesecakegladiator @moonwritesblog @lilyevans1 @httpsunflowers @hxney-lemcn @confusedchildsstuff @phantomofthecathedral @sugahbabieexo @bokksieu @skateb0red @wilburrrsworld @philiasoul @darthcringe @felicityofbakerstreet @bloodypantomime @deadlights-darling @tianotfound @mortem-muse @ireadandream @tinyryder @kpopgirlbtssvt @truecobblepot @jessicainhell

[martyrbat]

surprise! surprise! — batman family #11

(ID below cut!)

[ID: Commissioner Gordon walking out of the G.C.P.D. in a green coat and hat on a beautiful sunny day! The narration guides: ‘February 19th, 1:30 P.M. — a surprisingly early time for Police Commissioner James W. Gordon to be quitting work for the day! Even more surprising — look who is waiting to pick up the commissioner... Alfred Pennyworth! Which segues into our next surprise — the first co-starring roles of the dauntless duo: Commissioner Gordon and Batman's Butler Alfred! Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice once said, and you can bet what transpires in these pages will be a... “Surprise! Surprise!”’ Gordon greets Alfred and enters a blue car as the butler starts to drive them. He checks, “Everything going smoothly, Alfred?” Alfred reassures the commissioner, “Like clockwork, sir! Master Bruce has an appointment with a dear old friend of his. He'll not miss me!”

The narration reads: ‘Guides on the tour bus through the area call this “stately Wayne Manor” — but despite its immaculate appearance and fine upkeep there is nobody living there... which partially explains the elaborate safety precautions its owner has taken...’ Alfred parks outside the imperial manor and proceeds to undo three keyed locks, Commisoner Gordon noting, “Bruce certainly keeps this place locked up tight!” Alfred politely dismisses, “The master maintains a superior security system to protect his property, sir! As you undoubtedly know, the crime-rate is frighteningly high in this area!

Alfred holds open the front door and beckons Gordon, “Here we are! After you, commissioner!” Gordon walks in but requests, “Thanks, Alfred — but since we're partners in this, can't you stop playing the man-servant?” Alfred draws back in surprise at being politely reprimanded. “Oh... uh, sorry, sir! It's my upbringing, you understand. My parents were in service before me.”

‘And shortly, as the ‘partners’ begin...’ Alfred and Gordon are starting to hang up a large, magenta pink banner that says ‘happy birthday Bruce’! Alfred tells him, “This surprise birthday party for Master Bruce is a top-flight idea, commissioner! ” Gordon is climbing up a ladder, now with his coat off and wearing a tucked in, light blue button down shirt and black tie. He responds, “Considering all the aid he's given me and my department over the years — it's the least I could do as a friend! Now, what say we hang the banner on this wall?” But Alfred internally frets! ‘Good grief! The secret elevator to the Batcave is behind that wall! If the commissioner were to accidentally trigger the sliding panel—’

He suggests, “Begging your pardon, sir! May I suggest it would hang much better over here—?” Gordon agrees, saying that Alfred knows best. Although, he's shown to be secretly suspicious at Alfred's nervous mannerisms. They hang the banter and Gordon chimes, “Not a bad job for two old goats, eh, Alfred? Now I must call the airport and see if Kathy Kane's flight will be on time — may I?” He reaches for a rotary phone and Alfred responds, albeit completely dubiously, “Why... er... of course, sir! All the phones are in working order! I shall be in the kitchen, preparing the hors d'oeuvres!”

However Batman's butler never makes it to the kitchen! He spies on Gordon from around the corner of a wall and thinks, ‘The unmarked button on that telephone is Batman's hot line to the commissioner's office! A capable detective like himself will be intrigued by the signal it gives off if he hits that button!’ Meanwhile Gordon contemplates to himself, ‘Wonder why Alfred's so uptight—? 'course, it could be the surprise party — and yet... Hmmm... An unmarked line — what?!’ Gordon hits the unmarked button again and again (and again) until it loudly beeps! Alfred thinks to himself, ‘This is a sticky wicket! I've got to think like The Batman — to keep the commissioner from stumbling onto the master's identity or this really will be a surprise party!’

He slips behind the grandfather's clock that secretly leads to the Batcave! And though he is not the quick-change artist that The Batman is — only scant seconds tick off until he emerges in a dark sweater, green pants, and boots. He has a dark beanie on and a bandana over his lower face to disguise himself as a burglar. He plots, ‘Now to keep the commissioner occupied — with a merry chase!’ as Gordon starts to look at the wall from earlier. He thinks, ‘I'd never snoop around like this if anyone were here — but Alfred acted so awfully strange about this wall—’ but before he can investigate any futher, Alfred bursts out of no where in his burglar costume! The commissioner shouts, “Freeze, mister! What are you doing here? Stop — in the name of the law!’ He internally chides himself, ‘Hmmph! Never thought I'd hear myself talking like one of those tv-lawmen!’

Gordon muses that he's glad he kept in good shape since it won't be easy chasing that prowler before tackling the supposed burglar! In reality, Alfred ends up hitting his head! Gordon thinks, ‘How about that! I've still got the old oomph!’ before having his self esteem crushed by being kicked in the head by Alfred. The butler scrambles to get on his feet to escape before Gordon can unmask him and reflects that, evidently, this wasn't as good as a five second plan as he initially thought it would be. He flees from the backdoor to lure Gordon outdoors! The commissioner thinks, ‘Sure wish I still carried my service revolver! A warning shot might convince him to surrender!’ but starts chasing the burglar on foot anyways! They disappear through the woods and eventually, Gordon has to condemn himself for losing trail of him and how the Batman would never make a similar error.

But at last, both men return to the manor. Alfred pants as he leans against the grandfather clock and reflects, ‘I'm not a youngster anymore! But luckily, I made my way to the Batmobile exit from the Batcave — and got back here before the commissioner! And speaking of the devil...’ He straightens up and greets, “Ah, commissioner! Been out looking over the grounds?” Gordon corrects him, “Chasing a burglar, Alfred — but he got away!” Alfred forges frightened shock! “A burglar? Good gracious I'd best check the silver!” Gordon reassures him, “Don't bother! I ‘surprised’ him before he could rip off anything!”

Alfred awkwardly suggests, “Should I... er... call the police?” But a panel pointedly shows Commissioner Gordon noticing Alfred's change in footwear and that it's the same shoe that kicked him earlier. He shuts down the idea, “No...It'd be a waste of time! That's one burglar I doubt we'll ever see again!” But before Alfred can clumsily get out of the situation, a voice calls out and thankfully interrupts them!

“Hello — anybody home?” Alfred rushes to greet the new guest, “Master Dick — and Miss. Lori!” Dick Grayson smiles as he carries a present wrapped in pink paper and a matching and a paper bag! He asks, “How are things going? It's almost time for the other guests to arrive.” Before Alfred can answer, Dick eagerly continues, “I brought some more decorations — so let's get this show on the road!” Lori volunteers to help Alfred in the kitchen!

At 6:30 P.M. a shiny red sports car pulls in front of the manor! In it, Bruce Wayne and news photographer Vicki Vale Powers step out! Bruce is wearing a black turtleneck as Vicki is in a two piece pink dress and matching jacket. He charmingly offers his hand to help her out of the luxurious car and suavely asks her, “What's your husband going to say when he finds out you came to this big, dark house alone with me — your ex-boyfriend?” She reassures him, “It's one of the hazards of the job, Bruce! Besides, I need the pictures tonight for my photo-feature on the ‘stately homes of Gotham’!

Bruce escorts her inside while helping her out of her jacket. He starts to tell her, “I sure hope what you shoot is worth the—” but his shameless flirting is cut short by the reveal of a room filled with guest! They shout surprise and start to sing happy birthday to him as Vicki proceeds to introduce Bruce to her husband, Tom Powers. He tells Bruce he's glad to ‘know’ him before Vicki continues to talk, “Bruce, I was hoping a special friend of yours would be here — The Batman!” But before Bruce can respond, Gordon speaks up! “Don't let it bother you, Vicki! The Batman is here — in spirit! Right, Bruce? Dick? Alfred?” He looks at Alfred as he talks as the three men stare at him in shocked silence!

END ID]

[fancoloredglasses]

Batman’s Anniversary/A Riddling Controversy (The Riddler’s looking a bit creepy... and kooky)

[All images are owned by DC Comics and 20th Century Fox Disney. Please don’t sue me]

Fans of the Caped Crusader’s 60s TV show know the four core villains, but three of them have appeared in more episodes than the fourth. The reason for this is that Frank Gorshin (who played the Riddler) wanted to renegotiate his contract after the first season, so the studio fired him (they brought him back for an episode in Season 3)

This review covers the one Riddler story in season 2. No, they didn’t bring Gorshin back for the story, but rather…well, you’ll have to read on to find out! If you would like to watch the episode, it’s available on Hulu or behind your favorite paywall.

We open in Stately Wayne Manor where Bruce Wayne is helping his ward Dick Grayson with his geometry homework when Alfred quietly announces an important call from Commissioner Gordon.

Gordon is a bit coy, not saying who or what requires Batman’s presence, but that he needs Batman right away at the Gotham Plaza Hotel. One quick drop down the Batpoles and the Dynamic Duo are off!

At the Gotham Plaza Hotel, Commissioner Gordon rushes the Caped Crusaders to the ballroom where…

…he reveals a surprise party luncheon celebrating the anniversary of Batman’s debut in Gotham as the opening credits roll!

Mayor Linseed presides over the luncheon, announcing the Gotham Dairy Council (wait, Gotham has dairy farms?) has donated $200,000 to the charity of Batman’s choice (I’m gonna guess it will be the Wayne Foundation) and the donation is presented…

…inside of a golden calf by Ms. Anna Gram (that’s an odd name). Why would they put the money inside such a gimmick? Why not just write a giant novelty check like everyone else? Just then…

As Batman tries to get the guests out in an orderly fashion, the GCFD shows up…

…through the window? The “Firemen” take the golden calf and hastily exit back through the window along with Anna Gram (Yeah, should’ve just done the check) As the “Fire Chief” exits, he can’t help but taunt Batman.

The Riddler! (Ah! Anna gram…ANAGRAM!) Only he looks a bit like Gomez Addams.

Yes, with Frank Gorshin fired, the producers brought in John Astin and hoped no one would notice.

Riddler leaves a clue for Batman about his next caper…

OK, that sort of riddle is more what I would expect from a villain who’s whole schtick is trying to outwit Batman (it’s much better than “What weights six ounces, sits in a tree, and is very dangerous? A sparrow with a machine gun” anyway)

With that, Riddler escapes to a waiting GCFD vehicle.

…which looks more like a red panel van. You’d think, given the GCPD doesn’t need much of a budget given that Batman solves 90% of the crimes in Gotham City, the city could afford a fire truck.

Batman and Robin rush off to the Batmobile to give chase. However, the Riddler’s panel van emergency vehicle crosses paths with an identical emergency vehicle and Batman isn’t sure who to chase!

Then a newspaper vendor stops at the Batmobile to try to sell one to Batman.

Batman then opens to the crossword page (an engaging page to be sure!) then heads back to the Batcave to solve the puzzle.

Meanwhile, at the Riddler’s hideout…

(You know, if the GCPD raided every joke shop, game factory, umbrella shop, and bird/cat food warehouse on a weekly basis, crime would drop over 70% in Gotham City!)

…the Riddler prepares for his next heist.

I’m gonna guess it’s underwater.

Meanwhile in the Batcave…

You mean he hasn’t entirely solved the crossword yet? I thought Batman was the World’s Greatest Detective!

They then look at the answers in the upper left corner and realize that there is a charity BANQUET at the BASIN STREET hotel that has collected $100,000 for the Wayne Foundation Batman’s favorite charity!

To further complicate matters, Gordon calls that a flooded water main has flooded an underground bank vault (a BANK-WET! Clever, writers Mr. Nigma!) Batman has Gordon cover the banquet while he and Robin check out the bank-wet.

Later, at the bank-wet…

…Riddler and his goons prepare to blow the vault when…

Why are they walking when they’re supposed to be underwater? Unless everyone has weighted shoes, they should be swimming! The Dynamic Duo slowly confront the Riddler and his gang and they fight in slow motion…

(but no ZOWIE!)

…until Riddler removes Robin’s rebreather, forcing Batman to let the criminals escape before Robin drowns.

As the Caped Crusaders leave the bank…

(looking a lot drier than they should), Batman spies a riddle left behind.

(when wearing a waterproof bat-suit?)

Back at the Riddler’s hideout, Riddler tallies his ill-gotten gains thus far at $1.5 million, but he needs twice that amount.

So THAT’s Riddler’s game! Buy a super-weapon and hold the city hostage!

Then Anna escorts in the man who will sell Riddler this weapon…

(If there’s some sort of gag in that name, I’m not seeing it)

Prof. Charm is selling his super weapon (known as the demolecularizer) as revenge against the Gotham Science Institute for not allowing him to join. (Y’know, he could just use it himself, but then he’d be out three million bucks)

At the Batcave, Batman and Robin have yet to solve the latest riddle when Alfred reminds them of an appointment with the Gotham City Bakers’ Guild.

Well, Batman certainly wouldn’t let a silly thing like a master criminal’s crime spree get in the way of a PR stunt!

Later at Gotham City Bakery…

…the bakers prepare to sculpt the marshmallow toppers for the giant cake. They ask Batman and Robin to stand on top of the cake (why? You’d think they’d want their subjects close by to get as much detail as they can while sculpting in marshmallow)

Wait, that’s no baker! Though he is cooking up something fiendish, I’m sure!

No sooner do Our Heroes step onto the cake, they begin sinking!

I think I know the answer to the Riddler’s clue.

Riddler then leaves to collect the rest of Batman’s charity money (when will these villains learn to confirm their kills?)

Which means it’s time for the cliffhanger!

But you won’t have to wait until tomorrow! Just click that “next episode” button on whatever method you’re watching this.

Now, onto part 2!

So what deus ex Batshit will the writers Batman come up with this time?

That works. Thanks Robin!

(Fortunately, TV was so low-def that the viewers didn’t see the wires pulling Our Heroes out)

Later at the Riddler’s hideout, the villainous gang watch the news of their exploits. Then the newscaster said the Commissioner and Batman made a joint statement about the Riddler’s latest heist.

(I would call that an “Oh shit!” face)

Meanwhile, the newscaster states the Riddler’s latest clue.

(I’m telling you, the writers have really stepped up their game for Astin’s Riddler!)

The Riddler quickly recovers, not believing Batman survived.

I gotta say, that line was pretty clever.

The gang has their doubts, but the Riddler is confident they’ll pull off the final caper needed to cover Prof. Charm’s price for the demolecularizer.

Meanwhile, in Gordon’s office, the Commissioner brainstorms with a very-much-alive Batman and Robin about the riddle. Gordon says a nest is blessed when they are young ones.

Robin once again solves the riddle (Batman’s supposed to be the World’s Greatest Detective, yet Robin seems to solve 95% of the Riddler’s clues)

Fortunately, Batman��s knowledge of the bullshit geography of Gotham City comes into play, as he remembers a nightclub on top of one of Gotham’s skyscrapers known as the Eyrie (which is another name for an eagle’s nest) However, with some mental gymnastics that would make Mary Lou Retton (remember her?) proud, they come around to a “Latin eagle”…

(So Gotham City is harboring deposed dictators? I guess he’s one of the ones the CIA likes)

The Caped Crusaders head to Aquilo’s penthouse, but…

…will they be too late?

Batman soon arrives, much to the shock of the Riddler. However, he quickly recovers and sic’s his goons on them as the fight music begins!

…but no ZOWIE! (I know there were fights that have a ZOWIE! and I’ll eventually review one…oh wait, I did!)

The Dynamic Duo make short work of the Riddler’s goons, but the Riddler tells Batman to let them go, or…

…he will blow up Aquila (who looks like a stereotypical tinpot dictator. You’d think he wouldn’t dress like a revolutionary while in America). All Batman has to do to free Aquila is solve the Riddler’s puzzle box and disarm the bomb. By that time, Riddler will be scot-free. Batman obviously has no choice.

Later at Riddler’s hideout, Prof. Charm gets his payment and presents the demolecularizer to the Riddler!

Prof. Charm demonstrates by disintegrating demolecularizing a hat.

The Riddler then calls Gordon to go to the park and keep an eye on the statue.

Batman quickly joins him. Shortly after…

…the Riddler strikes! Shortly after, a messenger gives Batman the latest from the Riddler demanding all laws be abolished in two hours or he’ll make GCPD disappear, then a building a day until his demand is met! Obviously the Riddler doesn’t know how government works. They can’t get anything accomplished in two years, let alone two hours!

And of course this being the Riddler…

Seriously? I take back what I said about the writers being clever!

…I take back my take-back.

As the Boatmobile sits in front of a green screen aimlessly wanders Gotham in search of the Riddler, Robin figures out the first of the Riddler’s clues (not that it was that hard; the answer is “man”)

For the second part, they do more mental gymnastics to take the first letter of key words in each of the Riddler’s other clues, convert them to their numerical equivalent, add them together and come up with 36. Robin comes up with 36 inches (or 3 feet?) Robin says no one has three feet…

Congratulation Batman, you figured out what the rest of have known since the beginning of part one: the location of the Riddler’s hideout! (remember?) Batman immediately calls Gordon and tells him not to give in to the Riddler’s demands. He then asks Gordon to bring to the Batcopter’s hanger (again I ask, how is Gotham Airport getting paid to store and upkeep the Batcopter?)…

Doing a quick google search, there’s no such thing as sodium dichlorite! Now, sodium chrlorite is used in mouthwash, but I doubt Batman needs minty fresh breath to beat the Riddler. Sodium dichloride is a disinfectant, but that doesn’t seem like it would help much either. What the hell kind of deus ex Batshit is the Bright Knight planning?

Meanwhile at the Riddler’s hideout, Riddler informs the audience his gang that he’s hidden the demolecularizer in Gordon’s office (wouldn’t that disintegrate the demolecularizer as well?) As the deadline looms, the Riddler turns on the TV to watch GCPD (and his demolecularizer) vanish. The newscaster announces that Gordon will go down with the ship GCPD.  

Meanwhile outside…

Wait, weren’t they just in the Batcopter? Why didn’t they just fly it there instead of taking the time to return to Gotham City Airport (for that matter, why take the Batcycle when the Batmobile was no doubt parked nearby?)

Then, just as the deadline comes…

…but other than a lightning strike, nothing happens. Needless to say, the Riddler’s confused and a bit pissed. Then Batman and Robin come in with their deus ex Batshit explanation.

Yep, Batman used the sodium dichlorite to seed a cloud, causing a thunderstorm which shorted out the building’s power.

[OK…first off, it’s silver iodide that used to seed clouds. Second, there is NO FUCKING WAY Batman could time and aim a lightning bolt at GCPD to short out the building at the last second! Third, there’s also NO FUCKING WAY Batman could know the demolecularizer was inside the building!]

Cue the fight music!

(STILL no ZOWIE!)

While Batman and Robin do the mop up, Ana Gram tries to escape, but…

Chief O’Hara made good time, considering he was in Gordon’s office less than a minute ago!

Later in Gordon’s office, Prof. Charm turns himself in, donating the funds he gained from selling the demolecularizer to the Wayne Foundation (I KNEW IT!) in exchange for a lighter sentence. Batman promises he’ll be admitted into the Gotham Science Institute as soon as he’s released from prison.

Roll credits!

I’m going to say I would’ve enjoyed seeing Astin return for more episodes as the Riddler instead of Gorshin returning for one more episode. The writers were a bit more clever (some of which could’ve been Astin’s input as well), and Gorshin’s giggling sounded too similar to Cesar Romero’s laugh which (when you add in that EVERY villain on the show left puzzling clues for Batman to solve) made the Riddler seem like a cheap Joker knockoff. Edward Nygma deserved better.

(Thanks to hol up)

...and certainly better than what Joel Schumacher did to him!

[serenescribbles]

sugar is sweet

For the Tag Team Tournament 2022 Day 3 Prompt

There was someone else in his hideout.

The blur of red and black lay twitching in his sleeping area.

What was he supposed to do?

CW: Knives, Swearing, Mentions of Poison, Mentions of Bombs, Blood, Injuries

Ao3 | Masterlist

一

There was someone else in his hideout. There was someone else in his hideout.

The blur of red and black lay twitching in his sleeping area. It couldn’t really be called a sleeping area, though. Just a blanket and a pillow he’d taken from someone who’d thrown them away. The pillow was stained and torn in some places. It had lost its stuffing over time. Meanwhile, the blanket was ratty and very thin. It barely pulled him through Gotham’s icy winters.

What was he supposed to do?

Because of their red and black color scheme, he couldn’t stop thinking of a ladybug. They even had the spots to match! Jason had never seen a Rogue, hero, or vigilante who looked like this. What if this person was a Rogue? What if they kidnapped him when they woke up? Or could they be working with Batman? But wouldn’t they take him to the CPS? Both possibilities would end up bad for him!

Jason took a deep breath. Calm down. He had the upper hand right now. Spots didn’t know he was here. He could sneak away, but where would he go? Jason had worked really hard to find this hideout. Where was he going to find another one like this? The person twitched and rolled to one side. Whatever Jason was going to do, he needed to be able to protect himself.

Carefully, he tiptoed to the corner where he’d hidden a knife he stole from somewhere. His hands were shaking, but Jason gripped the hilt. Then, he cautiously approached Spots. Jason nudged their stomach with the tip of his foot. Almost immediately, their eyes flung open.

Blue eyes wide with panic, they gasped, “Akuma!”

Akuma? What the hell was that?

Spots tried to sit up but suddenly hissed and clutched their side. Jason hadn’t noticed it before, but their suit was torn, and they had a gash on their stomach. It wasn’t the side he nudged, though. Blood trickled down their skin. And, to Jason’s horror, it got on his blanket. How was he supposed to wash the blood out?

He wanted to say something about his blanket. Maybe to ask for a reimbursement. But then he remembered this was an unknown, potentially dangerous individual. Instead, Jason blurted out, “That looks like it hurts.”

“No shit,” the person snorted. Then Spots turned their head to look at him. Obviously, they saw he was a kid. “Oh! Wait, I mean, no kidding! Yeah, that’s what I meant,”

“It’s alright. I’ve heard worse,”

Now that they were awake, Jason could tell Spots was female. He couldn’t tell before because he hadn’t dared to get as close as he was now. She had black hair, which was tied up in a bun. She looked… young. Definitely not an adult yet. But almost.

His hands were still trembling, and Jason remembered the knife he was holding. Waving it in front of her, he shouted, “D-don’t move, Spots! I won’t hesitate to use this on you!”

She was injured right now, and he could take advantage of that. But would he be able to take her on? Even if Spots was wounded, she likely had training and knew how to fight while hurt.

The person stood up and raised her hands, probably prepared to fight him, and Jason tensed.

“I said don’t move!”

“Kid, please,” Instead of balling her hands into fists, Spots raised them up as if she were surrendering. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. I can barely keep myself awake right now. Do you think I could do anything to you in this state?”

“Wh-who knows?! You could be lying! Why should I trust you? Who even are you?”

“I’m… well,” she paused for a moment. “You called me Spots just now, right? You can keep calling me that. I’m a hero. Well, ex-hero. I don’t really save people anymore.”

“Why? Because you’ve become a villain?” Jason asked.

Spots looked mildly offended. “Of course not! It’s because there’s only so much you can do as a hero after you’ve defeated your supervillain. There won’t be a new supervillain because I took care of that, and the police have their jobs. They can handle things that don’t have to do with magic. So I’m not much of a hero anymore.”

She looked a little sad, and some emotion Jason couldn’t identify flashed across her face. But there was something Jason was curious about. “Are you a meta or something? Can you use magic?”

“Oh, no, I’m not. I can use magic, but it’s not my magic. I’m just borrowing it from another source,”

“So you’re stealing it from somewhere else?”

If Spots was mildly offended before, she now looked fully taken aback. “I’m not doing that at all! I have an agreement with someone I know! And I treat them with the utmost care! They’re happy to let me borrow their powers!”

“And you didn’t force them into agreeing?” Jason couldn’t help but be skeptical.

“No! Kwami knows there’s no way I could force them into agreeing. They’re way more powerful than me. I can’t force them to do something they don’t want.”

Kwami? That’s another weird word.

Spots seemed like she was being honest about everything she was saying. But she could just be a good liar. Maybe her powers had something to do with lying. To trick people into believing her. But if she could do that, wouldn’t he be unable to think she could be lying in the first place?

All of a sudden, something started to beep.

“What the- do you have a bomb?”

Spots reached a hand to her ear. “I don’t. My powers just have a… time limit. I’m sorry, but I have to knock you out. I can’t reveal my identity.”

Before Jason could do or say anything, Spots was in front of him. And the last thing he saw was her arms reaching towards him.

-----

“Gah!” He shouted, immediately sitting up.

The last thing he remembered was Spots… the beeping noise… and her doing something to him! Where was he now? Did she kidnap him or something?

Looking around, Jason realized he was still in his hideout. Spots was nowhere to be seen. His knife was gone, and he was sitting on a mattress! And it had a bedspread. His old pillow had been replaced with two (2!) fluffy ones that were very comfortable to lay on. The blanket he had was also gone. Instead, he was covered with a blanket that was soft and durable. Another thicker blanket sat to the side, folded neatly, presumably for winter. One was red with black spots, while the other was black and covered in green paw prints.

There was a note on top of the blanket to the side. Jason snatched it and quickly read what it said. Spots wrote it using a pink pen. Her handwriting was pretty neat.

Hey, kid! It’s me, Spots. Again, I’m sorry for knocking you out, but I can’t let just any kid know who I am. I got you a mattress, pillows, and blankets as an apology. I also baked some cookies. Don’t worry! They aren’t poisoned. I know you don’t really trust me, but I promise they’re okay to eat. And, just in case you were worried about me, I’m fine now. I used my magic to heal my injuries. Maybe I’ll see you around, but hopefully in a better shape!”

He didn’t know why, but Jason did feel slightly relieved that Spots was okay. Why did he feel relief for someone he only met once? Her note mentioned cookies, and Jason looked around, trying to find them. Sure enough, a jar full of chocolate-chip cookies was sitting on the floor.

Grabbing the jar, Jason unscrewed the lid. He stared at the cookies, unsure what to do next. Should he trust Spots and eat them? But Jason still wasn’t sure about her. Then again, why would she do all of this for him? Maybe he should take this chance.

Besides, looking at the cookies made Jason feel hungry. It’d been so long since he last ate, and his stomach was desperate for food. It had been even longer since Jason had eaten chocolate-chip cookies. It would be a shame if he didn’t eat the cookies and let them waste away instead… and they were right in front of him, too… trying one wouldn’t hurt, right?

Without sparing another thought, Jason took a cookie out of the jar and took a bite. He didn’t feel any pain right away. The cookie was delicious, and the chocolate instantly melted in his mouth. The jar must’ve kept the cookies warm. Then that meant they were made not long ago. Spots baked cookies just for him? He took another bite.

Since he didn’t collapse right away, that was good, wasn’t it? That meant the cookies weren’t poisoned. Or maybe it was slow-acting poison. You never know. Even though it was a possibility, Jason couldn’t bring himself to stop eating the cookies.

He remembered what Spots had said in her note. She said she might see him around, and Jason couldn’t help but think that was true. He would see her again. Jason would ensure it because he never forgot when people helped him. Someday, he would pay her back. But for now, he was focused on eating those sweet, sweet cookies Spots had baked for him.

[benjaminthewolf]

Jerome (Gotham) Lol

“You may have outsmarted me, but I’ve outsmarted your outsmarting!”

-Joseph Joestar

Anyway, yet another Batman trade, you guesed it.

****

     Jerome let out one last slightly hesitant sigh before giving a firm nod and glancing down at the tightly clutched piece of paper in front of him one last time. The sheet in question was quite thoroughly crumpled, and considerably soiled with both coffee and garbage stains alike, (which made perfect sense considering it was found in a dumpster at a crime scene), but regardless of all those facts, this paper held information. Information critical to whether Jerome, or this paper’s author, Oswald, were to come out on top in this encounter.

     “...behind the corner nearest the break room…got it.” Jerome muttered to himself under his breath as he put himself in position to strike. According to the paper, Oswald had been premeditatively plotting to cannibalize him for quite some time now, and Jerome knew quite well that if he hadn’t gotten lucky and discovered the paper while hiding from the cops, this very day might very well be his last. Fortunately for Jerome, but unfortunately for Oswald, that was not to be the case.

     Jerome knew that Oswald had planned to lure him into the break room of this building and then detonate  a bunch of explosives on him, killing him instantly and giving Oswald the opportunity to cannibalize, thus ending Jerome forever. And now that he knew this, he was determined to reverse it, and use it to his advantage.

     Jerome had already hijacked said explosives the night before, without Oswald  even realizing a single thing, and now they were set to go off whenever Jerome pressed his remote control button, instead of Oswald’s. Jerome was set to hide behind a wall close to the break room until Oswald arrived, and would pretend to take the bait as such. Then, when Oswald’s explosives would fail to go off, the previously excited man would naturally start to panic, and leap into the room himself in order to kill Jerome by his own hands, the perfect opportunity for Jerome to make a break for it out of that room, and activate the explosives, which, whatever the outcome was to be, would certainly not be good for Oswald.

     For now though, Jerome was still in the first few stages of the plan, and that meant waiting. And waiting. And waiting. And waiting. Jerome knew that if he was patient it would all work out, but he was beginning to get a little feisty after about twenty minutes of just standing there. Not only because he was rather excited to eventually see Oswald’s plans get completely flipped around on him, but also because he had been standing there for so long that his feet were starting to hurt because of it.

     Jerome was actually considering stepping out of position to see if there were any signs at all of Oswald being here, lest the possibility arose that Oswald found out Jerome’s reversal plan, and reversed his reversal as such, before at last, to Jerome's considerable relief, the wait was over.

     The subtle echoing of footsteps down the hall, (around the corner from where Jerome was standing), was all that he needed to know to become certain that Oswald was here. Stuffing his remote control into his pocket, he went over the steps of his reversal plan one last time in his head before Oswald was in the perfect position to initiate what he thought was his plan, by "making" Jerome go into the break room.

     As had been written on the paper he previously trashed, Oswald had previously tied a very very very fine string to a flowerpot, and let the string trail all the way outside so he was able to pull it without being near the break room itself. A deafening “CRASH!” rang out through the building as Jerome balled up a fist.

     Intentionally taking the bait, Jerome came out from behind his corner, and began to walk to the break room, bearing a rather concerned and confused look on his face, which was, of course, all part of the facade. Oswald, meanwhile, was too busy snickering to himself about how victory was just a few seconds away all thanks to his "totally foolproof" plan as Jerome opened up the door and went inside. Waiting a few seconds for Jerome to make his way to the flower pot, Oswald almost immediately pulled his own remote control device from his pocket, and gleefully pushed the button, shoving it back in his pocket and instantly covering his ears.

     However, to Oswald’s surprise, and to Jerome’s pre-planned delight, no explosion went off. At first, Oswald thought that maybe he hadn’t pressed the button hard enough, and so got out his device again. Unfortunately for him, that was not the case.

     Completely and utterly bewildered at the situation, Oswald continued to frantically push down on the button, begging and praying internally for it to go off, but alas, each and every time the button was pressed Oswald was only met with more silence. Eventually, once Oswald realized Jerome was heading for the break room doors in order to exit the area, he began to positively freak out. Panicking quite intensely as he sprinted his way over to the room, Oswald attempted to improvise as he cried out a screeching: “SURPRISE!, launching himself through the door of the break room and into its confines along with the previous entrant Jerome.

     But Jerome wasn’t phased. In fact, if only to add onto Oswald’s compounding confusion, Jerome did not seem scared at all. He seemed to be rather confident, actually. Oswald was considerably taken aback. Maybe Jerome had heard his footsteps when he first entered the building? But…surely he would have already confronted him before this if that were the case. 

     With Oswald positively lost in thought, Jerome knew now that it was time to blow. Both this break room, and Oswald's mind. Taking a sprinting leap out towards the doors, Oswald in that first second was forced to use it to transition his brain from thinking mode, to acting mode. He then had to process what exactly was going on, make a decision about what to do next, and signal to his body that he wanted to go through with that decision. However, those actions cost precious seconds, and just precious seconds too late for Oswald to do anything, as Jerome got a safe distance away from the room, pulled out his own remote control device, and at last pushed the button.

****

     The very first thing that Oswald did when he regained consciousness was cough. And cough. And cough some more. He then sat up. He then rubbed his eyes. He then took in a deep breath, and then another. And finally, after having done all that, Oswald at last opened his eyes.

     “AAAAAAA!” he instinctively screeched out the instant he realized just where he was. 

     Jerome, glaring down upon Oswald, could not help but smirk. 

     “Well good morning, sleepy head! Enjoy your beauty rest?”

     Oswald just had to close his eyes and rub them once more just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Alas, upon opening them again, the world was still exactly the same as it was when he first opened them. Oswald knew now that he wasn’t hallucinating. This was reality, and this was happening. At this point, within Oswald's mind, those statements had been solidified as fact.

     Jerome teasingly poked and prodded for a while at the now rather tiny form of Oswald that lay intensely  gasping and  shaking in his palm, positively desperate now for at least a little bit, just a minute sliver, of space and time. A wish that Jerome had absolutely no intention of fulfilling.

     “So…I’m sure you must have a lot of questions right now. But don’t worry. I got answers. You see, you may have outsmarted me, but I outsmarted your outsmarting! See?” Jerome cheekily explained as he pulled out the paper from his pocket. “Maybe next time, put your evil plans through a shredder instead of just throwing them out. Secondly, however…” Jerome continued on. “In case you were wondering why your remote control didn’t work… oh who am I kidding you almost definitely are, but either way, here’s your answer!” Jerome called out with a chortle as he yoinked his remote control from his other pocket. “See, this is why you double check your equipment before going through with an evil plan. And also…” Jerome let his voice trail off as he turned the remote device to its side. “Secret button, see? And would you guess what it does?” Jerome swiftly turned his attention to the pile of rubble on the ground, that which, of course, used to be the break room. Now though, it was just a smoldering mess of concrete and glass, and as such, was perfect for demonstration. Jerome aimed the device at a random piece of rubble, before sending a glance towards the direction of Oswald, who was still too shocked to speak, and at last pulling the trigger. As was  expected, the rubble shrunk, and at this point, Jerome had finished his explanation.

     “So then…now that we’ve got all that out of the way, you’re probably wondering what I’m going to do with you next! Well, you see…”

     Jerome turned his body, bringing Oswald along with it, to the right, the side at which the streets were located, thus revealing to Oswald that at this point, the explosion had gathered a crowd. Neither the cops nor Batman were yet to arrive, however. For now, there were just civilians.

     “And where there’s people…” Jerome began to explain, “There’s me ever so ready to give them a show. And what show shall we put on tonight, hmm?” Jerome let out a chuckling bout before staring down at Oswald  in preparation to finish his sentence. “Well, if I told you that beforehand, that would just be a spoiler? Wouldn’t it?”

     And with that, Jerome slowly brought the extremely confused Oswald closer and closer to his face, before at last opening his maw.

     Oswald, naturally, began completely freaking the fuck out. Deciding in the spur of the moment that if he was going down, he was going down on his own terms, Oswald desperately, despairingly, disheartenedly, attempted to scramble to his feet and leap off of Jerome’s hand before he was placed within the maw. But Jerome was having none of it. Capturing Oswald in his other hand the second  he attempted to get up, Jerome squeezed in tight on Oswald’s tiny, fragile body, nearly forcing all of the air out of him in the process, before lining up his closed fist over his maw, giving a smirk, and releasing his grasp.

     Oswald plummeted down into the warm, wet chamber below as such, and the instant he did so, Jerome’s jaws came crashing down around him, thus reducing his odds of escape from “unlikely” to “zero”.

     Now that he had him within his maw, Jerome decided in nothing but pure villainous delight to tease his terrified prey even further by swiftly scooping him up with his tongue, practically launching him to the front of the maw, raising up his teeth without opening his lips, and taking a great snap. 

     Oswald could not help but flinch at this horrifying tease, his body involuntarily spasming as Jerome began to chuckle heartily, still without opening his mouth. 

     Deciding that was enough teasing for one day, Jerome picked up Oswald via his tongue again, and literally flung him to the back of his maw, in hopes he would land square in the gullet. Fortunately for Oswald, though, as the compounding heat of his stress and the natural heat of the maw continuously made it harder and harder for him to think, he was able to catch one last lucky break when the top of his head lightly struck against Jerome’s uvula. Realizing but instantly what he needed to do, Oswald grasped onto that great, pink sucker with both hands and hauled himself up onto it, hanging on with all his might as Jerome on the outside instinctively gagged.

     Being practically forced by his body to let out a few ragged coughs, Oswald began to wonder to himself if a well-timed jump might just mean freedom for him, but unfortunately, Jerome was quicker. Slamming down his teeth once more before Oswald even had a chance to time his hypothetical leap, Jerome began to get considerably pissed off. He needed to get Oswald off his uvula, but how he planned to accomplish that, exactly, would require some considerably strong throat muscles on the part of Jerome.

     Oswald continued to hang on tight as Jerome swallowed hard, the resulting force pulling him downwards, sucking him in towards the gullet. Oswald could feel his hands beginning to slip, but still he held on. Jerome swallowed again as such, and this time, Oswald’s legs slipped off of the uvula and were physically forced down into the gullet by the powerful throat muscles as such. Jerome swallowed once more immediately after this, and then, it was over. Oswald just could not keep his grip anymore, and as a result, while  the chunk of dangling bodily flesh above reverted back to its original position, Jerome could feel rather well the extremely tight bulge Oswald was making in his throat, the tiny, panicking man starting to positively lose it as such.

     As soon as Oswald was all the way within the esophagus, he began to aggressively struggle. He squirmed and kicked, and punched and screamed, but ultimately, Jerome knew it was all in vain. Gulping one more time in order to manually squeeze Oswald further down, the poor shrunken man was only motivated to struggle more as he began to practically spaz out on the inside of Jerome’s throat.

     The squishy, squelching walls may have been exceedingly hard to resist against, but Oswald knew that at this point, he had no other choice. Throwing blow after blow against the smooth, slick muscle tube, Oswald’s body suddenly froze in place for a second as the sound of a heartbeat became audible. Taking a couple deep breaths in and out, Oswald gave a harrowing scream as he immediately continued on with his fruitless resistance, prompting Jerome on the outside to manually swallow once more, shoving Oswald a considerable way down, and now, the gurgles that were being emitted from the empty chamber below became audible to poor tiny Oswald.

     The stressing, shrunken villain wasn’t even given a chance to scream again before he was squelched  through the lower esophageal sphincter, and down into the stomach. At this point, Oswald was just so utterly blinded with fear and rage that the fact that the acids within didn’t seem to be harmful at all just did not register to him at all. In Oswald’s mind, all that mattered was that he kicked and screamed and launched barrage after barrage of force onto the churning, gurgling walls of the stomach as fast as he could, lest this be the end of him after all.

      Jerome on the outside…just couldn't care less at this point what Oswald was doing. All he cared about was the reaction from the crowd. And oh boy were they going wild. They were all collectively freaking out, releasing a considerable amount of screams of their own as each and every single one of the people around him was forced to begin contemplating the fact that they had just seen, right in front of their very eyes, one man, swallow the shrunken form of another man whole. And now, in their mind, that swallowed man had met his doom.

     Fortunately for Oswald, this was not, of course, to be his doom, as the acids were ultimately harmless. Yet, that fact still (somehow) bore absolutely no presence in his mind as he continued on with his efforts of struggling. Unfortunately for Oswald but fortunately for Jerome, the flexible, expandable walls of the stomach were perfectly suited to handle blows of force, distributing them equally around the surface area of the organ as such in order to prevent Jerome from receiving any harm.

     Gurgling and rumbling around Oswald’s form as all of his energy continued to be focused on such a fruitless effort, Jerome on the outside gleefully placed a hand over the churning, bombarded organ, before at last turning to the crowd with an extremely crooked smile.

     “DO YOU SEE, GOTHAM? NOT EVEN THE GREATEST CRIMINAL MINDS IN THE CITY ARE ABLE TO DEFEAT ME! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THEN, THAT YOUR PRECIOUS CAPED CRUSADER CAN DO ANYTHING? ANYTHING AT ALL TO STOP ME? MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!”

     And that is how that moment went. As Oswald continued to launch punch after punch and blow after blow at Jerome’s extremely unaffected guts, Jerome on the outside continued on with his villainous cackle, for he knew, he knew, that today, victory was his.

[strawberri-doggo]

60s Night Owl Oneshot: Sink or Swim

Pain throbbed through Night Owl’s head as she slowly blinked herself out of unconsciousness, groaning quietly and trying to piece together what was happening. The last thing she remembered was a feather-tailed dart pricking her arm and Robin calling out her name before everything faded to black as she fell from her horse’s saddle.

She tried to raise her hands to rub her aching head, but found them tied tightly behind her; not entirely surprising, given the circumstances. As her vision focused, she saw that her ankles were tied together too, and she soon realized there was also a gag around her mouth. Penguin clearly hadn’t spared any precautions this time. Speaking of the feathered fink, she heard a crackle from the speakers above her head before his voice came booming through.

“Well, well, well, it seems our little owlet has finally woken up! Say, how’s that head of yours feeling? Took a pretty nasty fall there, hwah hwah hwah!”

Night Owl’s eyes narrowed in a glare, wishing she could get the gag off to tell that crooked bird just what she thought of him.

“Say, I think a little ice will help with that pain, wouldn’t you agree?”

Suspicion filled her mind; he would never be so generous as to help her, so he must have some tricky scheme up his sleeve.

“Yes, I think some ice is just what you need! Here, allow me to help with that!”

The sound of machinery whirring filled the room, Night Owl’s senses going on high alert as she looked around for what could possibly be happening. She didn’t have to wait long for an answer, as the metal floor began to slowly split open in a radial pattern, dipping downwards to reveal a pool of icy water taking up the entire bottom of the room. The young crimefighter began to panic, pushing herself back against the wall in a futile attempt to keep herself from falling in. Her boots slipped and skidded against the smooth steel, her breathing quickening as she tried to think of some way to get out of this mess.

‘Batman!’ she thought desperately, ‘Robin! G.W.! Where are you???’

She twisted her wrists and ankles, hoping she could somehow tear through the thick ropes that held them in place.

‘If I could just get to my utility belt, or even just stand up-!’

But the ropes remained tight and unyielding, and the panels of the floor kept folding down even lower, until Night Owl couldn’t fight the force of gravity any longer. With a muffled yelp, she slid down the perilous slope, tumbling over the edge into the deep, icy water. She just barely managed to take one last desperate breath before her body began to sink below the surface, shutting her eyes as terror squeezed her heart so tight she thought it would burst. Her mind was a flurry of fear and desperation too dense to properly think through, struggling even harder against the ropes that bound her as she shivered in the freezing water.

‘Dad’s on his way, he’s gotta be on his way! He’ll be here any second, just gotta hold on a little longer!’

She tried to hold out hope, but as the seconds ticked by, her movements grew weaker and her head became clouded and fuzzy. Finally, after about two minutes of trying to break free, she passed out, her body reflexively trying to take in air as she sunk to the pool’s floor.

~ Meanwhile ~

Batman grabbed Penguin by the front of his suitcoat, working hard to restrain the anger and fear in his voice.

“We’ve got you cornered, you foul fiend! Now tell us what you’ve done with Night Owl!”

“I’ve done nothing whatsoever with her, my agitated adversary!” Penguin replied with infuriating composure, “Merely gotten her some ice for that fall of hers!”

“Yeah, right, Penguin!” Robin snapped, punching his fist into his palm, “Like you’d ever do anything to help one of us!”

While the other two interrogated the Penguin, G.W.’s eyes swept the room looking for clues. They landed on a video monitor behind the arch-criminal, widening in shock and horror.

“Guys, look!”

Batman and Robin turned to see what she was pointing at, only to gasp at what they saw: Night Owl bound and gagged, struggling for freedom in a pool of water. Batman’s eyes flashed with fear, his heart stopping for a moment as he cried,

“Night Owl!”

Penguin laughed, saying with a smug grin,

“See? Perfectly chilled in my own little slice of the Arctic Sea!”

Robin’s face was flushed with rage, looking seconds away from strangling Penguin as his gloved hands clenched into tight fists.

“You murderous monster!”

Batman took a deep breath, steadying his mind as he forced himself to focus on what to do next.

“There’s no time to lose. You two, go rescue Night Owl, while I hand this tricky bird over to the authorities and call for an ambulance.”

The twins nodded and dashed out into the hallway, opening each and every door they came across in search of the room that held their endangered teammate. At last, they threw open a door and were met with a cold blast of air, taking a step back from the sudden drop in front of them. Robin didn’t waste a second before diving into the pool, his heart racing as he saw Night Owl lying motionless at the bottom of the pool.

‘Please don’t be too late, please don’t be too late-!’

As soon as he reached her, he grabbed her tight, hoisting her back to the surface as he held her close. When they both broke through the water, G.W. tossed down the Batrope and helped pull them back out onto dry land. Robin set Night Owl on the ground, listening for a heartbeat with bated breath as his hands clutched her shoulders.

“She’s still alive.” he confirmed with a shaky sigh, “But we’ve gotta hurry.”

G.W. nodded, beginning to cut the ropes around Night Owl’s wrists and ankles as her brother ripped off the gag around her mouth. He hesitated for a moment, but decided that chivalry would have to wait as he placed his hands on her chest and began with the compressions. After around thirty, he tilted her head back, pressed his lips to hers, and breathed deep, though it was hard when he was already so out of breath with worry. He then went back to compressions as his sister held the other girl’s hand in a death-grip.

It took another few rounds of breathing and compression, but Night Owl finally stirred, then shuddered, then coughed up a mouthful of water before taking a ragged, gasping breath.

“Oh… my gosh…”

Robin and G.W.’s faces lit up, the both of them squeezing her in a tight hug and knocking the little bit of air she’d regained out of her lungs.

“Oof-! H-heh, hey, guys…”

“We were so worried about you!” G.W. exclaimed, pulling her closer.

“Are you alright??” Robin asked protectively.

“Well, I nearly drowned to death, so I’m thinking I’ve been better!”

The other two rolled their eyes with a snort as Batman rushed down the hall, several doctors right behind him.

“Night Owl!”

Her father knelt by her side, cupping her face in his hands as relief flooded his whole expression.

“Thank heavens they reached you in time! Any other injuries?”

“Just the side of my head from when I fell off of Omen.” she replied, gingerly touching the sore spot.

“Just take it easy while we get you to the hospital. You still have a lot of water in your lungs that we need to deal with.”

Night Owl nodded, trying to stand up but stumbling back dizzily. Robin caught her and steadied her against his side, G.W. going to support her from the other side as they helped her out of the Penguin’s hideout and down to the waiting ambulance.

(Yay, first fic published on Tumblr! Thx for being my inspiration, @robingurlscorner)

[cosmonabo]

𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

Chapter Three: Like Batman and Robin. Description: [Name] takes the first positive step in his project, and things finally seem to be progressing successfully. Warnings: slightly suggestive.

[Previous] [Next]

"Think of us as an outsourced team with a mutual sense of dissatisfaction. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Let's start our little meeting," I declared, with a mischievous smile and a stretch of my arms.

He simply gave me a quizzical side glance, not offensive, but rather defensive, as if he were anticipating the strike of a venomous and vile snake. I clicked my tongue.

"Just kidding," I said, and he continued to gaze at me with a raised eyebrow. "What's up? Are you going to keep looking at me like that forever?"

"What's with this fake good humor?" he asked with suspicion in his voice, leaning his arms on the table. Mitsuya didn't beat around the bush, I noticed that in our short time together, and by 'time together,' I mean the last few days we spent together, which I already consider too much time.

"Are you doubting my goodwill?" I asked a bit more seriously and somewhat offended, feeling the corner of my smile tremble, indignant.

"The fact that you're never in a good mood makes me suspicious of your intentions, [Name]," he justified.

"I'll pretend I'm not offended by that."

"Did I offend you? Sorry, I was just being straightforward," he laughed.

"Your honesty is admirable, but I won't praise you for it."

The secluded table where we were allowed us to speak freely about our "partnership" - with several air quotes - and there was no risk of anyone else overhearing. After all, I didn't want to be known as someone who mingles with society's delinquents.

I soon spotted Kyouka arriving with glasses of water, wearing her usual tired expression. Kyouka attends the school next door, so we occasionally run into each other on the way home. The brunette placed the glasses on the table, giving a brief bow before leaving. Meanwhile, I quickly took out the papers from my bag.

"Weren't you the shop attendant?" Mitsuya asked when the brunette turned away, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Today is my day off," I replied with disdain. "I work every other day; tomorrow, for example, I have work. It was an agreement I made, so I have time to organize the student council documents."

"I see," was the only thing he responded, looking focused until I laid out the documents in front of him, waiting for his statement. "And what is this?"

"Technically, it's the 'proof' that I will submit to the president's desk on Monday," I air-quoted with my fingers. "Since we're going to work on a yearbook, well... Together, I'll be trailing you for almost a whole year, Mitsuya."

"So, are we a team then?" he dared to ask, with an almost playful tone. Almost.

"With several objections, but we can say, in the most filtered way, we are," I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. "Think of us as Batman and Robin, okay? It's easier to handle that way. Well, I'm Batman, and you can be Robin if you want."

"The way you talk makes it sound like Robin is completely irrelevant," he commented, displeased.

"It's because the Dark Knight works alone, but well, don't take it personally," I shrugged in a comedic manner, but soon changed the subject, returning to the initial atmosphere. "Anyway... Sign here."

He wandered his eyes over the paper. Does he think I'm deceiving him? Because technically, he's not entirely wrong.

I would be lying – or not – if I said I wasn't heartbroken by such atrocity. How can someone doubt such a good and helpful human being like me?

"Don't be shy, read it carefully," I said, and Mitsuya paid more attention to my words. "We have until Monday, so don't feel pressured."

'Although I am pressured you'. I wanted to say the last part, I admit I wanted to. But I chose to keep my mouth shut.

"Do you want a pen?" I asked, taking a pink pen out of my bag.

"No need, I'll read this later," he replied, putting away the paper.

"Too bad, she smells of berries."

"You don't look like the kind of person who uses colored pens," he said, pointing with his chin, "and with fruits smell."

"I collect colored pens. "

"You do?" I nodded positively.

"It's my hobby. "

He looked surprised, but shrugged. We soon put an end to that.

It wasn't a total lie, after all, my specialty was collecting things, ever since… Ever? And not things like bottle caps or toy cars. I take my belongings very seriously, and when they're no longer needed, I throw them away like trash.

"We're closing up" Kyouka appeared from beside my chair, nudging my shoulder.

"But already? Well, all right," I put my things in my bag rather hurriedly, hardly noticing how quickly the time had passed, "Mitsuya, you…"

When I went to question him, he was no longer in the front seat, but at the front door. He was looking at me, signaling for us to leave. I expected him to go through first, but instead he waited for me to pass before slowly closing the door behind me, his cavalier behavior leaving me feeling rather disgusted.

Who does he think he is? I'm Batman! I give the orders!

I sighed, throwing a tantrum now wasn't going to help me, so I decided to just let it go and get out of here.

I put my coat on quickly, as the freezing air made my arms shiver with the sudden caress of the wind.

"Want a lift? " I was almost startled by the question, as it came like a punch of cold air, but I felt relief when I remembered the voice, proving that it was just my poltergeist. For the second time he was being very helpful, I could get used to good behavior, but being spoiled wouldn't make me like the person he was any better.

When I turned my head a little, I noticed that he was already getting on his bike to leave, the dazzling headlights blinding me for a mere moment.

"I'm going with Kyouka," I said.

Actually, it was just a lame excuse not to get on a motorcycle. I don't trust cars with less than four wheels.

"Oh, right," he nodded, understanding, "see you then, [Name]. "

"See you" I waved as soon as he started the motocycle and drove off.

As he drove off, I just enjoyed the light of the headlights disappearing into the darkness.

"I'm going with Kyouka…" the brunette from a little further away murmured, imitating my voice in a shrill, unmelodic tone, eyeing me suspiciously "you're just scared of riding a motorcycle."

"What? I'm not!" I denied, crossing my arms "You should know that my intention was just to keep you company, you ungrateful. "

"Fearful. "

Before we could continue our childish argument, she took off walking, while arranging her bag on her shoulder. I quickly followed the girl's quick steps - like a tantruming child who has lost in an adult argument.

I put the florescent green folder on top of the wood, securing my place at the table. It may sound childish and even a bit banal, but I hate having my seat with my back to the door, it's as if at any moment someone is going to catch me talking badly about the president. Not that there's a story behind it, but it's always good to be safe.

In the end, I got the end chair, near the window, not was a place to throw away. The room is on the second floor, in the middle of the corridor, with three windows covered by burgundy curtains - it looks like an old man decorated this room, I feel fifty years older in here - facing the courtyard. As loosely as possible, I leaned my right leg on the chair I was sitting on, swinging my left back and forth as I absent-mindedly checked the paper that Mitsuya had handed me back at the school entrance, he seemed to be in a hurry, so he just intercepted me before leaving with agile steps to make his own way.

I still find his formality a little cloying, but it's not something to complain about at this point.

I turned my attention back to the door when I heard the wood click shut.

Suzume held two stacked boxes in her arms, and despite their weight, she gave me a warm smile. Placing the boxes on the table, I felt my curious face involuntarily appear, and before I could stop myself, I asked:

"What is it?" I leaned over, stretching my arms across the table like a cat about to steal food.

"It's the math assessments," he replied, "the teachers said it would be better to keep them here."

"Wow…" I let out a murmur, Suzume noticed my greed "can I see mine?"

"Of course not!" she denied, "like everyone else, you have to wait. "

"Where are my privileges? I thought being part of the guild was good," I lamented sentimentally.

"And it is very good! " Only if it's for you, but that would have been too rude and she was too excited to cut her off "the pleasure of helping others and being able to help in any way we can, that's the duty of the guild! It's a very honorable task. "

"Nice speech. " I clapped my hands, without a hint of encouragement.

"Thank you! "

I blinked.

"You're welcome…" I replied. I thought she'd noticed the humor, or the lack of it.

When the door opened again, Suzume turned back, and I had to stretch to see who was behind her.

"The kid from the guild has arrived… " I muttered, with a smile abruptly stretching across my lips.

"You?"

"passed far."

"Really? I thought you were the only irresponsible one in the guild," Yuuma retorted acidly.

"So you don't know our second treasurer. "

"Talking about me?" the other boy entered the room, with a laziness that could be measured like the density of a star.

"Ah, Tezuka, good to see you," I said, waving my hand.

"I can say the same," was all he said, before moving to another corner of the table with a drag of his feet.

"The president is late…" Suzume said fearfully, joining the table.

"As usual…" I added with a forced cough.

"[Name]!" she scolded me.

"But it's true! " I retorted, laughing.

We stopped talking when the door was opened once again, this time, because of the silence, the slamming of the door gave the impression of having been much louder.

"Good morning!" the president walked past us, and quickly settled down at the table, as he always did, and right behind him was Mizushima "we will now begin our meeting."

We began by presenting our weekly reports and the buzz that had been going around the school over the last few days. Suzume took the trouble to warn the president about the math assessments, and also commented on something I never expected to hear while I was at this school; two students were caught in the basketball supplies room, doing things that were "disgraceful".

I had to hold back my laughter, but I could feel my lips trembling from the sheer desire to laugh as the other members listened wide-eyed in amazement.

"And what did the coach do?" the secretary next to me asked with curiosity and hesitation.

"He closed the door and waited for them to get dressed," Suzume recounted with redness taking shape on her face.

"God…" he muttered, disappointed. But when he looked at me in the corner, he noticed my difficulty in hiding what was gradually taking over my face "Are you laughing?"

"Who? Me?" I asked, pretending to be misunderstood, then recomposing my posture "Come on, we're talking about something serious here. Show more composure, please. "

"Don't play crazy."

"You're the only 'crazy' one here," I retorted, until I stood up, clearing my throat to change the direction of the conversation "Well, since we've finished our little lesson on sexual orientation, I think it's my turn to declare my report. "

"[Name], now it's not…"

"Go ahead," the president cut off my seatmate, crossing his fingers on the table and holding his face, "you can talk. "

I took a deep breath.

"A few days ago, I contacted our president to restore the project that, technically, I may have destroyed of my own free will," I began, feeling the gaze of the others on me, "and following the rules of our contract, I found a way to stand out in the project AND in the school newspaper."

Mizushima stared at me, dumbfounded.

"I'm going to use everything I've got to write about Tokyo's delinquents," I said, but no one seemed to be listening.

As usual, I took them by surprise.

"And… what exactly do you want to achieve with that? " Yuuma must have taken the words out of the president's mouth, because even he started to pay more attention.

"That's a good question," I commented ecstatically, "everyone here should know that delinquents are a group that is little "explored" during school time, and that begs the question: how do their disagreements occur outside the school perimeter? And how do their conflicts unfold? Why does this happen?" I simulated: "Well, don't worry, I'll answer all your questions. Because the school newspaper will work daily on clear and totally truthful descriptions of what goes on in the polluted and negligent reality of delinquents. "

"For what purpose, may I ask, Ms. [Name]?" Suzume stretched out her hand to ask quietly and hesitantly.

"We will do this in order to work towards improving the school environment and making education more attractive to this desperate young community," I raised my hand in a confident fist.

Nothing could shake my confidence now, not even the president.

"And how do you plan to do that? " Suzume asked again, worried.

"I have my contacts," I replied, smiling pretentiously, "it's a great chance to pay more attention to society's rebels and get the answers that lead us to ask the reasons for their revolt. "

I was talking a lot more than usual, but if everything goes according to plan, it'll be under control.

"I see… Right. " the president agreed.

"How?"

"Everything's fine," he repeated, a smile filling his warm lips, "I agree with your perspective, [Name]. "

I was unsettled, but all I did was nod as impassively as possible and collapse into the chair behind me.

In the end, the meeting went on unbearably until the end - except for me - and then we were allowed to leave the room.

"I'm glad you took charge and controlled the situation," Yamazaki stopped me at the door, "I told you I'd manage, after all, I chose you. "

"É… Thank you, I appreciate the opportunity," I said before leaving, seeing him give me a subtle smile before letting me go.

I walked quickly, distancing myself and arriving at the stairs at the end of the corridor. Little did he know that this person full of potential almost had an epileptic fit while dictating.

With my hands in my jacket pockets, I passed through the empty corridor, clear of any living soul. I stared at the door of the arts and crafts club in complete silence. From a distance, I saw a door opening vaguely. I had no idea which club was resident in the room, but as soon as I recognized the distant figure, I knew it was the Home Economics club.

I approached, patting the boy twice on the shoulder, making him raise his eyes over his shoulder.

"I managed to convince the president," I said directly.

"That's great," he replied, obviously pleased.

We started walking down the corridor together.

"Mitsuya, what's it like being part of a gang?"}

I continued to stare down the corridor, avoiding direct eye contact - given that he was right next to me.

He seemed to think for a moment.

"It would be like… belonging to something," he mused, "why the question?

"Curiosity," I shrugged.

"Anything new?"

"Yes. Two people had sex at school yesterday."

"Unexpected. " His expression was one of surprise, not completely, but still the expression of a man caught off guard.

"The coach of the basketball team caught them in the act," I added humorously, "I could have written about it, but I didn't have time this week."

"You wanted to tell the whole school about other people's relationships?" he frowned, shocked.

"Yes, why not? " I retorted at the same moment, and that was certainly the most innocent question I've asked all year.

"Don't you think that's invading other people's privacy?"

"Isn't that what newspapers do?"

"Well… yes, but still…" he agreed begrudgingly. "Maybe you wouldn't want them to write about you having sex. "

"And they won't," I laughed with a certain determination, "because I'm always one step ahead. "

"Very optimistic of you," Mitsuya looked at me with a curious expression.

"But of course, it's necessary to maintain my good reputation," I added, "but if you're worried about my victims, don't be, I always leave those involved anonymous," I warned, not that this improved the situation, "but since we're here, I want to ask you a question. "

"Go ahead. "

I took a deep breath before turning to him with the friendliest expression I could manage.

"Would you be willing to teach me about the world of delinquency? "

[dorishardlee]

Batman: The Killer - Chapter 4: The Knight's Decision

The roar of the Bat-mobile reverberated through the cavernous depths of the Batcave, announcing Batman's return from the shadows of Gotham's winter night. 

Alfred, ever the faithful steward of Wayne Manor's secrets, stood at attention by the compact kitchenette he had meticulously crafted to streamline their operations within the cave's confines. 

His eyes briefly flickered towards the sprawling computer array, a technological marvel that resembled a nuclear control station with its myriad keys and functions.

The main monitor, encircled by six smaller screens, illuminated the cave with the urgent glow of breaking news: 

"GCPD PUTS OUT APB ON BATMAN - Commissioner Gordon to make statement." 

Alfred wasted no time, busying himself with the routine of preparing tea, a comforting ritual in the face of his wards ceaseless war.

As the snow covered Bat-mobile came to an abrupt halt, its armored shell popping open like the jaws of a vigilant beast, 

Batman emerged, shedding the weight of his cowl with a practiced ease as he strode past Alfred towards his work station. 

His eyes, veiled by a mask of disheveled blankness, absorbed the unfolding news with a mixture of detachment and grim resolve.

Meanwhile, Alfred deftly attended to the toaster, loading it with two slices of bread before retrieving honey butter from the compact fridge. 

With the precision of a well-oiled machine, he set the butter to warm in the microwave, its soft hum blending seamlessly with the melodious beep of the tea kettle.

In the corner monitor, the GNN story shifted focus to the main GCPD headquarters, where snow softly fell onto a podium adorned with the city's seal awaited the impending pronouncement. 

Batman's gaze flickered towards the screen, briefly acknowledging the spectacle unfolding outside, before returning to the digital copy of the Killer's letter displayed on his workstation.

The toast pinged as it popped up, a mundane interruption in the midst of Gotham's chaos.

Outside the GCPD, Gordon, Bullock, and a cadre of city officials assembled at the podium, their faces etched with determination as they prepared to address the city's restless masses.

Gordon, clutching a set of flash cards with practiced precision, cleared his throat and addressed the throng with a steady voice.

The media buzzed with anticipation, but Gordon's raised hand silenced their eager inquiries.

Good evening, 

He began, his words measured and deliberate. 

I'm not one to mince words, so I'll jump right into it…

The charges laid against Batman rang out with chilling clarity, each accusation a damning indictment of the Dark Knight's vigilantism.

Batman's jaw clenched involuntarily as Gordon's words echoed through the cavernous expanse of the Batcave. 

His expression remained stoic, a mask of inscrutable resolve concealing the tempest of emotions raging within.

Alfred brings over the toast with honey butter and places it on the workstation next to Batman. The warmth of the tea mug seeps into Batman's gloved hands as he grips it tightly, the steam swirling in the dimly lit cave. 

Gordon continues his address, bathed in the glow of camera flashes as the media erupts with questions and speculation. 

Batman analyzes every word, every accusation hurled against him. 

Beneath the facade of indifference, a storm brews within him.

Gordon's hand swept the air, coaxing the crowd into silence, his voice resonating with authority as he delivered the final note.

But wait, 

Gordon added, his tone shifting, injecting a note of unexpected gravity into the atmosphere, For Batman’s unparalleled service to our city, we extend a proposition. A full pardon, a testament to his tireless efforts and selfless sacrifices.

But… 

Batman’s inner voice mused.

Gordon's voice pierced the air once more, cutting through the tension like a blade through the night.

But, 

Gordon declared, his words hanging heavy in the cavernous silence, 

This pardon comes with a condition… Batman must be willing to hang up his cape, to retire from the shadows and relinquish his vigilante persona.

The voices from the monitor fade out as the tempest within Batman turned to a burning rage.

Alfred watches Batman silently.

All these years, he’s perhaps the only person that can read the frozen face of the Bat. 

He can see the weight of the accusations, the burden they place on the man behind the cowl.

As Gordon's speech reaches its climax, Batman's hand tightens around the tea mug, the ceramic trembling slightly. 

His gaze shifts from the monitors to the cowl, resting on the counter.

The cave falls into a heavy silence as Gordon concludes his statement, the gravity of his words hanging in the air like a shroud. 

Outside, the city holds its breath, as if awaiting Batman's response.

With a deliberate motion, Batman sets down the tea mug and rises from his chair. 

The echoes of Gordon's words reverberate in his mind, each one a perceived dagger aimed at the heart of his mission.

They expected Batman to just sit back and do nothing?

Did they really think their pathetic pardon would actually sway him to retire?

It was clear now…

That after all he’d done for the city…

All the pain he endured…

All the horrors he’s witnessed…

Gotham still didn’t understand Batman’s mission.

To see this city of his father,

The city of his mother,

Made safe through the constant vigilance of their son.

Batman looked to the Killer’s letter.

There was a murderer on the loose. 

A psycho with a taste for violence and

He was getting more confident with each life he took.

More efficient.

More brutal.

As Batman strides towards the cowl, a resolve hardens within him, a steel determination born from years of darkness and strife. 

Alfred thought, as he watched the mechanical nature in which Batman donned his cowl,

The accusations may tarnish his name, but they will not break his spirit.

A quiet part of Alfred,

Perhaps that part of him that still sees Bruce as the lonely twelve year old boy,

Hoped that Gordon’s declaration might prompt the boy to step back.

Before anything more could happen to him.

But…

Alfred knew…

That mask of justice had become Bruce’s identity. 

The shadows embraced him, offering solace in the face of mythic adversity.

So, with a sigh, Alfred watches from the sidelines.

His faith in that boy unshaken despite the storm raging outside. 

In the heart of Gotham's darkness, he knew that boy stands resolute, a beacon of hope in a city reaching for light.

As the Bat-mobile roars to life once more, Batman vanishes into the cold night, a silent guardian watching over the city he has sworn to protect. 

And as the world judges him from afar, he knows that true justice lies not in the courtroom, but in the shadows where fear and hope collide.

In the depths of the cave, Alfred watches the monitors, his gaze unwavering as the city's fate hangs in the balance. 

[sdipsomaniau]

The Waffle House on Haunted Hill

A sudden blip of light and yellow differentiated the Waffle House from the rest of the dark road. It was surrounded on all sides by farmland, save for the two lane road which hit the parking lot in a glancing blow. Beyond it were black acres of black corn and black mountains, silhouetting a black horizon. Three cars were parked in the otherwise empty parking lot, the black asphalt illuminated by half broken, yellowing lamps. 

“Who brings a kid out this late?” Diane wiped the counter. 

“They do. Every Sunday night.” The cook didn’t look up.

The family sat in the corner. They were quiet, vaguely solemn, though they seemed used to that. Their clothes were old.

“One in the morning though?” Diane said quietly, glancing at them.

The cook said nothing. His shoulders twitched, suggesting a shrug he didn’t have the energy for. He tossed a pile of hash browns on the stove, and listened to it scream.

Diane waited for any further word, and exhaled when none came. There was a spot on the counter she couldn’t wipe out, and she guessed it may stay there. She kept wiping at it.

Wrinkles etched themselves haphazardly across Diane's sunburnt face, only partially covered by frizzing hair that had started to grey only decades ago. Altogether, her appearance amounted to something strange, lively, dated.  

Quiet sat in the Waffle House, oppressive. She could feel it pressing in on her oppressively, her breathing hard. Her thoughts curled inward, drowning out her senses. It felt like something was swallowing her, stomach lining crushing, binding.

Only one more year, she thought. She could retire then, she could move on with her life. Only one more year.

Silence evaporated as Randy walked back in from the dumpsters.

“Eyyo Diane, you catch the Batman movie?”

Diane forgot what she was thinking about.

“Nope! Been meaning to though.”

Randy hopped over the counter, knocking over a bottle of syrup. It shattered.

“Ah, shit, my bad.”

Diane snickered to herself, and grabbed some paper towels.

"Try breaking a salt shaker next time, it'll leave less of a mess." She said, picking up the larger pieces of glass from the puddle of syrup. Meanwhile, Randy grabbed a mop. The cook ignored them both.

"Ey, wait, Diane," Randy leaned in close. She could smell weed on his breath. "You wanna know somethin' weird?" 

She gave him a vaguely concerned look.

"Uh, sure?"

Randy grinned excitedly.

"They don't have a car."

"What?"

Randy flicked his eyes in the direction of the family.

"I was tossing garbage and shit, doing Randy shit, and I notice, there's just our cars there. Those people have no car."

Diane looked at the family again. They hadn't spoken a word since they had ordered. A mother, a father, and a daughter: the father had ordered for them; she couldn't remember his voice. They looked like farmers.

"Maybe they're Amish? They’ll keep weird hours," she suggested, throwing broken glass in the trash.

Randy shook his head.

"Nah, nah. I didn't see horses or any shit."

"Amish folk take Ubers sometimes:, my neighbor Trish says she's driven a lot of Amish folk around."

Outside, a flickering lamp lit where the road met the parking lot. Randy stared at it.

"Have you seen any cars in the last hour?"

Diane thought for a moment. Absolutely no one had driven into the parking lot; not one car had even driven by. She turned to Randy.

"How do you think they got here?"

Randy plopped the mop down.

"I think those fuckers walked like a couple freakazoids. Some real local weirdos or something." He said, sliding the mop through the viscous brown puddle.

That'd make a little bit of sense, Diane thought.

"I guess they're from one of the nearby farms?" She asked.

Three plates of food were pushed across the worktop. Eggs sat blankly on plates. Diane looked at the cook, who shifted his head slightly.

“Go and ask them yourself,” he said, and turned back to the stove.

They were Diane’s table; some deep, animal part of her shook, and she didn’t know why. 

“I will,” Diane replied, and began the process of picking up the food.

One burning hot plate rested on her arm, while the other two only lightly singed her fingertips. She carried the order out from behind the bar area, walking slowly, carefully. There was something odd about them all, the family. The way they sat there, speechless, tired: almost crumpled looking. The daughter was only five or six, but she looked like she’d worked a full day. Her dress looked like something pulled from an attic, like paper in a book that had gone untouched for years: she looked old.

Three hashbrown bowls descended carefully to their table, scrutinized by uncaring eyes.

Diane summoned her voice, “Everything looks alright for you folks?

Yes, they said. It was the father’s mouth that moved. The incongruency of these facts shifted past Diane, who smiled politely. 

“So, you all local?

Yes, they said. There was the sound of forks, and less food. The family looked at Diane, mouths unmoving. 

“Ah, happen to be one of our neighbors?”

Yes, they responded. Diane decided they weren’t a very talkative sort.

“Well, if you need anything else, just let us know.” Someone said thank you, and Diane turned away, satisfied that there was nothing truly wrong about them. Randy, she decided, can get carried away with things.

As Diane began to walk back, the door to the Waffle House swung open. A gaggle of twenty-somethings, one clearly in the back end of a particularly vivid acid trip, several others thoroughly stoned, meandered in through the doorway, and turned in the general direction of Randy. They opened to a general chorus of Randy’s name, before returning to a din of chatter.

Randy turned to Diane, “Hey, they good to sit over there-”

He went still. Diane followed his gaze, and turned around. 

The plastic backing and faux red leather of the booth seating was exposed, unoccupied. The plates were empty, as if there had never been food there to begin with. The only thing left was a small stacked pile of bills, which Diane would find later to exactly cover the cost of the meal, tip presumably forgotten.

Randy was motionless. The mop slipped from his hands and banged against the ground, bouncing briefly before settling into a puddle of watered down syrup. Randy turned to his friends.

“Eyyo guys, you gotta sit at the ghost table!”

[bigskydreaming]

Okay, so you know “Justice League meets Batman’s kids, who they’d previously been unaware existed” AUs?

So picture that.....but this time, instead of them just having no knowledge of any of these other Gotham vigilantes at all....the Batkids all migrate to various cities as they get older and become known as their protectors - Dick in Bludhaven, Tim in San Francisco, Cass in Hong Kong, etc....

Meaning they’re all established figures, the Justice League are aware of them as solo local heroes who stick to their cities and so they just don’t interact with them much if at all, or else some are members of team lineups but are particularly vague about their histories or life outside of the team’s adventures....

So the big reveal isn’t that they become aware of all these other Gotham vigilantes all at once....its that some big conflict or whatever requires a huge team up of all available heroes, and in the aftermath, they figure out that like.....despite being known as solo heroes who work alone or loners outside of their team settings, 80% of these heroes all not only seem to already know each other, they seem to be related.

And so naturally they all turn to Batman, who has profiles on every known hero and they thus figure had researched these individuals too and just never mentioned this little detail, and they’re like, “Did you know about this?”

And then Nightwing turns to him too, arms crossed and is like, “Yeah Dad, did you know about this?”

And the infamous Red Hood is all: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have never met any of these people before in my life. Lives? Whatever.”

And then Red Robin moodily grates out “I have no siblings.” Since he’s nursing a grudge since Dick and Jason broke into his apartment the night before and replaced all his custom Red Robin gear with Darkwing Duck merchandise and his vengeance will be swift and also totally disproportionate because things escalate quickly in this family, that’s true in every universe.

Cass meanwhile has deftly skewered Jason’s lie by walking over to him and brazenly patting down the man with many many guns with no fear whatsoever. He squawks and futilely attempts to bat her hands away as she riffles through his many pockets, but he doesn’t seem shocked, just annoyed. Eventually, she pulls away and triumphantly reveals a box of Hello Kitty themed band-aids.

“So these are yours then? Just for you?” Black Bat asks smugly. Red Hood squints at the box.

“What the fuck? How long have those been in my jacket? Why are those in my jacket? Did you freaking plant them in my jacket just on the offchance you could at some point in the distant future use them at my expense?”

Black Bat frowns, puzzled. “Yes?”

“Oh come on, Dead Hood,” Spoiler says with an exaggerated toss of her head meant to convey she’s rolling her eyes beneath her own mask. She skips her way across the room to Black Bat and then drapes herself languidly all over the smaller woman. Who in turn doesn’t so much as twitch beneath the sudden added mass as Spoiler holds out her hand towards the box of band-aids. 

“One please. I have a boo-boo,” she says with easy familiarity straight into the intimidating cowl of Black Bat. Only then does she deign to finish her train of thought with Red Hood.

“I mean seriously, are you saying you don’t have potential blackmail set-ups, pre-rigged releases of incriminating material, and a random assortment of traps, pratfalls and mortifying scenarios in place for the express purpose of being able to humiliate any and all of your siblings at any given moment, without any need for additional prep time?”

“Is this true, Little Wing?” Nightwing whirls on the larger Red Hood with a faux-scandalized gasp. The founder and leader of the Titans, formerly the Teen Titans, renowned for his stratagems and calm competence when directing squads of supers in the heat of battle while he keeps pace with nothing more than naturally acquired acrobatics and a utility belt that apparently uses the same technology as Wonder Woman’s invisible jet....now appears to be....staggering with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, moaning about how he felt....faint? 

What is happening right now, several dozen superheroes want to know. Is this a drill? Are they supposed to be checking for signs of a mental ambush from undetected psychic saboteurs? Did they all hit their heads at the exact same time and are now experiencing some kind of shared mass concussion?

Look, that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen on the Watchtower. 

“Have I failed you so utterly?” The veteran child hero bemoans with a dramatic twirl - that when contrasted with his stern demeanor of a mere ten minutes ago - makes the fears of telepathic infiltration seem less paranoia and more....concerningly probable. “Did you learn nothing from me? Did you learn nothing from B?”

He stops and jabs a finger up at the sky. “Quick, everyone! What is the very first rule of Living While Batty?”

As if by rote, over a half a dozen voices chime in from all over the room, causing various heroes to jump. Spooked by yet more and more vigilantes joining in some kind of mass recitation like they and they alone have some kind of clue what the hell is going on and everyone else just hadn’t been invited to the party. Which is just rude, honestly. Nobody likes feeling like they weren’t invited to the party. Not even superheroes. 

“If you’re not going to bother preparing for every possible contingency and at least six impossible ones, you might as well just stay in bed.”

Even the Red Hood joins in the Illuminati chant or Cub Scout pledge or demonic ritual or whatever the fuck that just was, though his slumped and exasperated posture gives away every hint of sulkiness his headgear otherwise would have kept safely hidden. He’s surprisingly more...expressive, than most who’d only known of him by reputation had expected him to be. The day continues to yield surprises.

“Of fucking course I do,” he growls out, snatching the box from Black Bat. She doesn’t even fight to hold onto it, just lets it go with a knowing smirk. “I wasn’t surprised by the idea of it, I was just surprised she bothered with such a weak effort. Like yeah whatever, actually those could be mine. I use those all the time at home. So what?”

He aggressively yanks one of the band-aids out of the box, fumbles with the peel-off strips with one hand and he roughly rolls up the sleeve of his jacket with the other. Then just slaps it on his forearm and raises said appendage high, showing it off this way and that. “See?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Signal drawls from the other side of the room, nodding his head approvingly. “Totally convincing. Nice job walking that one back, you really showed them.”

Red Hood’s head snaps in his direction with ominous intent. “Watch it, Day-Glo.”

Signal just snorts.

“Yeah, like I’m gonna take constructive criticism on my name and costume from a dude who’s spent the last several years calling himself Red HOOD while running around in a freaking HELMET.”

“Its not meant to be literal, you fucking pedant.”

“So wait, its not literally a helmet? Huh, does it at least protect your head literally, or just like...symbolically? Like if Bane were to clock you across the head, would your concussion just be a metaphor? What’s the treatment protocol for a metaphorical concussion? Fluids, bedrest and a philosophical prescription of two chapters of Chicken Soup for the Soul as needed?”

“Laugh it up, KC and the Sunshine Band,” Red Hood bats back. “You just got yourself disinvited from Thursday night’s poker game.”

Signal just grins and folds his arms over his chest cockily. “Please. You’ve been looking for an excuse to ban me for weeks, cuz you know until you can prove I’m using my ghost vision to cheat, you can’t actually bring suit against me for it in Family Court.”

“That, and also Family Court isn’t a real thing, you toddler. Stop validating Wing-a-ding-ding’s obsession with Shitty TV Nostalgia and just call it that thing where Oracle traps us all in a room until we settle our latest fight without anyone getting stabbed.”

“Yeah, but like, say that five times fast,” Spoiler pipes up. “Its just not practical. Family Court’s way easier.”

“Says the one who’s not even in our fucking family.”

“And yet I grace you all with my sublime presence anyway,” she blows a kiss at him, beatifically unbothered. “You’re welcome.”

The Red Hood scoffs and rounds on his heel, zeroing in on Batwoman in the far corner.

“Hey Auntie B, my siblings are all dead to me and I just helped stop an alien invasion so I deserve nice things like a fun Saturday night. Can you get me into Dad’s fundraiser so I can crash it? He won’t put me back on the list until I promise not to bring any C-4 with me and I won’t promise not to bring any C-4 because he should just trust me that I won’t when I say I’m not gonna and he won’t trust me that I won’t until I admit I shouldn’t have brought any to that sting last month where three tiny little yachts blew up through barely any fault of my own, and I’m just not gonna do that ever because I have convictions and I feel I shouldn’t have to be punished for that. Y’know?”

Batwoman blinks at him. “Kid, I’m not gonna lie to you. You’re my nephew and I love you, but I stopped listening three seconds into all that.”

“Ugh, fine. Can you help me crash Dad’s event tonight so I can teach him a lesson about why he should just trust me not to make a scene so I don’t have to always make a scene to make a point.”

“Tempting as you make that sound,” she says wryly, “I have a strict policy for dealing with you lot and your......everything. I only worry about tolerating one of you at a time, and there’s seven of you, and seven days in the week. You each get your own. You know perfectly well its Robin’s day today. You get me on Tuesday, just like always.”

“Auntie B, we’re not like other families, are we?” Red Robin’s delivery is sarcastically childish and his question clearly rhetorical. Most of his attention is fixated on whatever it is he’s doing with his wrist-mounted computer. 

“No sweetie, we’re all severely fucked in the head and a little bit too comfortable with that.”

“Just checking. Oh hey, Hood, I just emailed you a patch for the hole in your firewall I exploited when replacing all my shit using your accounts just now.”

“You did what?”

“Used your accounts to pay to replace all my stuff that you fucked with last night?” Red Robin says slowly. “Did you not realize that I’ve been sticking within ten feet of you for the past five minutes just so I could clone your devices and do all that while BB and Spoiler kept you distracted? I gotta say, bro, I feel like that’s on you then.”

Red Hood swivels his helmeted head in the direction of the aforementioned two. Black Bat waves. Spoiler shoots him an utterly unrepentant thumbs up.

“You’d side with your ex over me? That’s what its come to?”

“My only allegiance is to chaos,” Spoiler says brightly. Black Bat shrugs.

“Plus he bribes better.”

“Hateful,” Red Hood points at Black Bat, moving on to level the same finger at Spoiler, who curtsies in acknowledgment: “Hateful-er.”

Then the finger rounds the bases to aim judgmentally at Red Robin. “Hateful-est. And that was all Nightwing’s idea anyway, not mine.”

“Oh, I assumed as much,” he says casually. “Your idea of a prank tends to have more of a Carrie vibe. Or be a literal literary reenactment.”

“Its called an homage, 4chan.”

“Whatever, plagiarist. And anyway, I couldn’t go after ‘Wing for payback on this one. He used an Immunity card. If you didn’t want me getting back at you, you should have used one too."

Red Hood looms aggressively. Red Robin ignores willfully. Round and round they go. Superheroes who can survive excessive G-Forces are getting dizzy just watching them have a largely motionless stand-off. That shouldn’t be how that works, but whatever. All the most infamously reclusive and isolated heroes in all hero-dom are apparently part of the same one big reclusive and isolated family of fucked up weirdos and they’re all officially bonkers. Nothing makes sense anymore. Reality broke. Try another stall.

“Okay, but see, in order to have an Immunity card, I would have to participate in one of you losers’ stupid Immunity challenges,” the Red Hood drags out with exaggerated patience. “And I’m just not going to do that, on account of those all being fucking stupid. You see the problem there?”

Red Robin just shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, bro. You can have principles or you can have an Immunity card. You can’t have both.”

Meanwhile, on another side of....the same room.....look, its like, an octagonal room, probably. It has a lot of sides. Robin fends off questions from an aggrieved looking Superboy.

“You never told me you had a bajillion brothers and sisters!”

“Yes but I never said I didn’t either.”

Superboy rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, so I should just assume everyone I meet has a bajillion secret brothers and sisters?”

“Well clearly it would have worked out in your favor in this instance if you had, now wouldn’t it?”

“Assuming of course that you can trust what has been said or implied here today and I am actually related to any of those numbskulls. Which I am not actually admitting to,” Robin tacks on hastily.

Superboy eyes him dubiously. “You joined in the same creepy chant all the others did and then got super self-conscious and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Which uh. I did.”

“First off, your interpretation of body language is abyssmal. I do not get self-conscious,” Robin says with a delivery that probably could have benefited from being a little less self-conscious. “And second....that proves nothing. I guessed what they were going to say.”

“Word for word,” Superboy says super-skeptically.

“I’m very good at guessing things. You know this.”

“Okay. Guess how much I believe you right now then.”

Robin glares and folds his arms grumpily across his chest. 

“And what was that anyway? Was that like....you guys’ family motto or something like that?”

“Oh no,” Spoiler pipes up. “That’s much shorter.”

Superboy balks at that. “Wait, you guys actually have one of those for real?”

“Yup,” Steph says, counting out the words with her fingers. “He who laughs last....probably works for the Joker. So tranq him just to be safe. See? Only sixteen words. The first rule of Living While Batty is way longer, and what we said was just the abridged version. You should hear the original, before Black Bat put her foot down and refused to memorize it unless sizable edits were made.”

Superboy hovers between her and Robin now, both in mid-air and on the verge of taking Spoiler’s words as an invitation to hear just that. A low growl arises from Robin’s direction.

“Must you?” He asks the older vigilante, with a most put upon expression.

She looks at him pityingly. “Do you actually need me to answer that? Like, we’ve met, right? Hi, I’m Spoiler.”

“Wait, so Robin said that I just never specifically asked him if he had a bajillion brothers and sisters, and that’s why he didn’t tell me, so that means he wouldn’t have just lied and there’s not some code of secrecy that flat out forbids telling other people stuff, right?” Superboy realizes excitedly.

“Yes, excellent direction. Go on,” Spoiler says, steepling her fingers. Robin buries his face in the palm of one hand.

“Soooo, what other stuff could you tell me about Robin’s super top secret family that I wouldn’t think to ask about but that he would tell me about if I knew what questions to ask?”

She claps once, lightly but with emphasis. “Well done. You’ve passed the first barrier. Untold secrets await you behind just a few more.”

“I’ll get you for this,” Robin vows calmly. She waves a hand at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you do it before January 1st, remember? You’ve promised retribution like ten times already this year and those don’t roll over, y’know. Rules are rules.”

“Enough!” Thunders a voice then, from the front of the room. Well one of the fronts anyway. Like sides, it has a lot of them, but this is the one where Batman’s standing. All eyes snap to him. Which is kinda just what eyes do when Batman says stuff like that. Its like his superpower, except he doesn’t actually have superpowers, which is what makes it scary. But where the snapping of the eyes (directional) is usually followed by Batman saying something else besides just “hey look at me,” here he pauses in the wake of his own call to attention’s waning reverberations. Uncharacteristically silent.

Not that, y’know, he’s normally Mr. Talkity Talk, but usually his silences feel like he has the words to fill them, he’s just withholding them. This though, this feels more like he doesn’t have any words at all. And he’s as confused by it as any of them, and most everyone else is confused by Batman being confused, and its this whole trickle down economy of confusion and its wrecking havoc on the value of the golden silence standard.

Of course, not everyone present is rendered spellbound with confusion.

“C’mon B,” Nightwing cajoles, leaning forward and practically radiating delight. “I think you know what you have to do now. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Its not likely to come around again.”

Red Hood snickers beneath his helmet and chimes in. “Yeah Pops, go ahead. You do this and you’ll actually have my respect for a whole twenty four hours. No, wait. Sixteen. No! Eight. Yeah, eight. Still a good deal.”

“Carpe diem, B,” Red Robin grins, leaning back as if to enjoy the show.

“Hey! Infringe on my trademark one more time, dude,” Signal throws a faux-glare at the former. Red Robin just quirks an eyebrow.

“And what, you’ll start saying Yum every time you eat a burger? Oh no. I’m hoist by my own petard.”

Signal flips him off with a grin and then redirects his attention back to Batman. “Yeah seriously though B, you kinda gotta do it now. Because if you don’t do it, then you’ll forever be the guy who didn’t do it, and you don’t want to be that guy, do you?”

“Yeah you really don’t want to be that guy,” Spoiler shouts out. “Nobody likes that guy. He’s the worst.”

“Do it, do it,” Black Bat starts chanting beside her, steadily picking up speed and volume. Several others start joining in. Even Robin appears to be slightly anticipatory, albeit trying very hard to hide it.

Batman sighs, and somehow everyone manages to hear it. Stills. Waits for....something? Nobody but them seems to have any clue what, but the air is thick and heavy with portentiousness. Something is about to happen, and all most of the heroes present could say for sure is it was something they never would have in a million years seen coming.

Finally, Batman straightens with the resigned air of a man about to have oh so many regrets. He crosses his arms, shakes his head, and in an absolute deadpan monotone, says:

“You are awful children. You know you’re killing me. You’re killing your father.”