#this is robin on the dispatch

[keepoffthetardis]

i’m ready to get back into the trenches of louis apologism. if he did something wrong NO he didn’t 💚 7,000 murders WHO i am looking away i do not see it

[timbit-robin-art]

OHMAIGADDD THANK YOU FUR MAKING DISPATCH ART!!!! I keep checking the tags religiously for a crumb of content but... nothing. :(((((

This is definitely gonna go hard asf with your crossover aus, couldn't pick a better artist to quench my Dispatch thorst. IF TIMBIT ROBIN IS THE ONLY DISPATCH ARTIST TO EXIST THEN I'M FINE WITH THIS!!!! :3

Ahaha, you’re very welcome. Though I do think it’s important to keep in mind that there will probably be much more Dispatch art when the game actually comes out. Don’t worry, I will definitely not be the only artist for this game. We’re just early bird fans, you and I.

As for AU potential…

There are already so many fun ideas with just the demo alone.

[lovelylittlegrim]

Stobin headcanon that after everything both Steve and Robin go into law enforcement and become a pretty solid detective partnership. They have a really high close rate for all their cases because they’re stubborn and smart and they’ve seen some shit ™️

The only problem is that they like to do the whole good cop & Bad cop shtick during interrogations except they always forget who is supposed to be playing what role and they’re just both bad cop more often than not and now the suspect is crying (they always make the suspects cry because steve has a mean girl attitude and Robin just likes the drama of slamming her hands on the table)

And their poor chief is in the background with a headache, on the phone BEGGING hopper to take them back. And hopper has zero sympathy. He gave them a glowing recommendation for a reason. They’re good kids and great detectives but they give him ulcers.

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Prompt #4

When they all convene at the cave, Alfred is silently wrapping Dick's knuckles. Damian hovers beside him. Tim and Barbara are hunched over the batcomputer, not even sparing Bruce a glance as he strides over.

"Report," Batman grunts. No one reacts.

"Report!"

"Hood pushed his panic button at 2:34 AM," Barbara says shortly, straightening.

The button had been a joke, mostly because Jason would never use it and everyone knew it.

"I patched into his comm at 2:35. This is what I heard initially." At her nod, Tim presses play. What occurs next is a garble. There is the sound of high winds, as if Hood is rushing through the air, even though the comms are designed to filter out any ambiance otherwise the Bats would never hear each other. Interspersed is a mixture of static punctuated by high, inhuman screeches of metal and something else unknown.

"This goes on," Barbara says after thirty long seconds, switching it off. "Red Hood failed to respond to any attempts at contact. I dispatched Nightwing to Hood's location at 2:36 AM. He was approximately two miles away." She pulls up a GPS map of their respective locations, their beacons blinking.

"At 2:41 AM, Red Hood's comm goes off, as does his GPS," Barbara says, swallowing softly as the red beacon indicating Jason disappears. "Nightwing arrives at 2:42 AM."

Dick doesn't say anything, head hanging low as he grips the metal table he sits on. Damian glances between the two of them, expression flat but fists clenched.

"Nightwing, report."

"..."

"Scene was empty, B," Tim speaks up. "No trace of Hood, no sign of a struggle. No cameras in the alley. We've been checking the ones nearby but so far there's no sign of anyone but Hood heading in that direction...and no one, Hood included, caught in the cams heading out, not within that time frame."

"So he's still in the area," Batman concludes. "The local buildings?"

"All the entrances have cameras, which showed no evidence of Hood nor any evidence of being tampered with," Barbara says. "Nightwing, Red Robin and Robin canvased within a half mile radius to check for any signs of disturbances in any of the windows or rooftops but found no evidence to support Hood being taken. A scan confirmed several serial offenders, but when interviewed and searched there was no sign of Hood. Several in the area reported an unusual quiet for Crime Alley."

Batman forces the next question out. "Did you check the dumpsters?"

"Yes," Nightwing grits out. "Empty."

Barbara clears her throat. "I have attempted to reconnect to Jason's GPS and comm as well as restart both remotely but there's no signal at all. The thing is, when there's a disruption like that it usually leaves some sort of sign" she pulls up the audio waves, pointing at the end where the spikes conform into a straight line that makes everyone deeply uncomfortable. Upon playing, the noise from before plays before going abruptly silent. "But there is no large spike, this is clean. It just ends. His GPS is much the same. It's not off, it's just gone."

"I know you don't like to hypothesize this early on, B, but we think this involves a meta," Tim says, rewinding the audio. "We've been running the audio from Jason's comm through different filters, playing with the levels and isolating what we can and, well, take a listen--"

The screeching drops to a sort of muffle and in the background, distantly, they can hear bits of Jason's voice.

"No, I'm not---"

"--don't need--"

"get AWAY from--"

a particularly desperate yell that makes Tim flinch, "I am NOT--!"

and almost a whimper that makes Batman's blood run cold, "please..."

And then, unfairly clear even through the faint garble, Jason says "I don't have a choice, do I."

And a minute later, quietly: "Ok."

The audio cuts off.

The defeat in Jason's last words is palpable, and fundamentally wrong. Jason has never sounded defeated a day in his life, and no one knows how to process Red Hood all but giving his hands over for the cuffs. Nightwing pushes himself off the table.

"I'm going back out there," he growls. No one tries to stop him as he stalks out the cave, not even Alfred.

"I will accompany Nightwing, make sure he does not punch any more walls." Damian says, nodding tightly.

"B?" Barbara asks.

"Keep working on it. See if you can identify what could be making those noises if Hood was standing still in an alley," Batman says, walking towards the zeta tube. "I'm going to make a few calls."

[witherby]

SORRY IF THIS IS TOO LONG EL forgeting about my last idea since its kind of generic (this one is also but whateverrrrrhahahsg)

so you know Starfire is an alien right?(tamaranean) how about something where reader is a sort of alien too? (x damian too bc im starting to hyper fixate on him) and like they meet as Damian does patrolling/a mission, kind of how Dick and Star met!!

ill leave if up to there and if you like it!! ANYWAY HI EL!!

—🦈

HI SHARKY.

I was gonna finish writing the vampire!Jason prompt but I saw this and immediately fell into a fugue state instead. When I came out, it was with this. I hope you like it 🩷

Flight of Fancy

Damian Wayne x Winged!Reader

Featuring: language barriers (gibberish), a shoulder wound, and a kiss.

It had started out as a routine track-and-report mission. Damian was supposed to investigate the suspicious cargo shipments in Gotham Harbor, try to figure out what was being delivered, and come back to the Cave with his findings.

Tim's bet was human trafficking. Dick's was illegal arms dealing. Jason's was drugs. Damian guessed poaching. Bruce wanted them to stop making bets about what horrible thing of the week was going on and please focus on getting the task done.

(Bruce was just upset that he wasn't allowed to bet anymore because he kept winning.)

As the night drags on and the boredom starts to creep in, Damian wonders if the ship sitting on the loading dock is actually conducting legal business for once. It wouldn't be the first time it's happened, and it would mean less follow-up work to do.

"Red Robin," Damian mutters into his comm, "there's been no activity for three hours. I'm about to declare this endeavor a wasted one and return to base."

"Copy," Tim says in his ear. "There's no spooky stuff happening on the computer, either. Give it ten more minutes and then come back."

"Understood." Damian shifts on his perch — an unsurveilled roof of a tailoring shop — and casts his gaze along the area for the thousandth time that night.

Cold, choppy waters, devoid of any suspicious activity. Dock workers walking around and doing their jobs as they chatter and whistle amongst each other, devoid of any suspicious activity. The cargo ship that docked an hour ago, devoid of any suspicious —

Well. It wasn't suspicious until he realized that the distant ringing he's heard all night wasn't interference from the dinky, little radio one of the workers has been using to blast old, jazzy tunes, but a shrill crying noise coming from the ship. A normal person wouldn't even be able to detect it, but years of training with the League taught Damian to filter and identify any and all noises he picks up automatically.

"Red Robin. I've identified a potential trafficking situation. Stand by."

"Copy. Standing by," Tim says. "Ready to dispatch EMTs on your word and receive that fifty bucks when you get back."

"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, grappling down the building and taking cover in the shadows, maneuvering his way around the harbor men and onto the ship without a sound.

The closer he gets, the louder the crying becomes. He can tell it's just one person making the sound, and that they seem to be locked in one of the titanium crates on the back of the ship. It's child's play to locate the right one and pop the lock open with the small hand laser from his tool bag.

The second it's gone the lid flies open, and Damian gets knocked down by someone he can only describe as ethereal.

You are a collection of stand-out features. Glowing, bright eyes. A wild mane of hair. Well-tailored, form fitting robes. And a huge, breathtaking pair of white wings, that unfurl from your back and shake out into their full width with barely a whisper of sound.

You're bleeding, Damian realizes belatedly. You're bleeding gold. It drips from a wound in your shoulder, running down the sleeve of your robe and soaking the fabric. Small beads trail down your fingertips and stain his chest where you're using your weight to pin him to the ground.

"Whoa," he mutters, because that's the only thing in his mind. Just. Whoa.

You furrow your brow and glare at him, muttering something in a dialect he doesn't understand. The confusion on his face must be evident, because you quickly become frustrated.

"Ira neshmi le-hyr!" You demand, waving the wrist of your other hand in his face, which has a LexCorp-branded tracking bracelet on it. There are faint scratch marks around the skin where you obviously tried to pry the device off.

"Robin? What's the situation? Am I dispatching EMT?" Tim's voice sounds in his ear, startling Damian into taking full stock of the situation again. He blinks a few times, picking up on bootsteps approaching his location, your increasing franticness from where you're knelt above him, and the riskiness of what he's about to do.

"No EMTs," Damian says, reaching for the handheld laser again. He holds it up for you to see, then gestures to your wrist.

You hesitate for only a moment, then offer him your arm and watch him slice the bracelet off and pocket it. With a quick sleight of band, he presses a tracker of his own into the sleeve of your robes, then urges you to get off him.

"Bad people are coming," he says, gesturing to the shadows of figures he can see getting closer. "You should come with me. I can get you somewhere safe."

You stare at him like you don't understand what he's saying. He lets out a frustrated sigh. There's no time for this.

"Me. You. Come with me. That way." He gestures to you, then himself, then points in the direction of the Bat Cave with urgency.

Your eyes dart to where he points, then you nod. He's about to try to figure out how to pantomime you tucking your wings in so you can sneak around better, but you stride forward, wrap your arms around his waist, and use them to take off into the air. Damian clings to you and yelps, drawing the attention of the men on the ship. There's a cacophony of shouting down below that quickly grows faint the farther away you fly.

"The package is escaping!! Someone call the boss!"

"Do we shoot it down?"

"No, you idiot! We need it alive! We'll track it down —"

The rest of their words are lost to the wind. Damian holds onto you with white knuckles and refuses to look down. It's too dark and too smoggy in Gotham to look up at the stars, so the only other thing to observe is you.

If he thought you were stunning on the ground, you're something else in the air. The wind pushes your hair around and out of your face, revealing small markings around your cheeks and eyes. The light your wings catch makes them almost glitter with every beat as you propel the two of you onward. Briefly, you travel over a more illuminated section of the city, which make your eyes look like little constellations.

He's utterly captivated.

"Nirr'm? Luola stesh?" You try to ask him, directing your gaze to him. Damian has no idea how to answer a question he can't understand, so he just points to the ground.

You scan around for a secluded spot to land and gently coast to the ground, setting him down. Damian locks his knees to keep them from buckling and takes several slow, deep breaths.

"I can't understand you," he says after a moment. You furrow your brows again. "And based on your expression, it's vice-versa."

"Robin, come in!" Tim says in his ear, and, oh, he'd forgotten that he stopped responding for ten minutes. "I'm tracking your location and it says you're four miles away from the harbor? What's your status? Do I need to send Batman in for backup?"

"Negative, do not send backup. Don't send EMTs, either."

"You said there was a trafficking situation?"

"Yeah," Damian says, "metahuman trafficking. Don't send anyone until I can figure out how to communicate that they wouldn't be a threat."

"Communicate? What, they don't speak any of the thousand languages you know?"

Damian doesn't respond.

"Oh, shit. Okay. Standing by."

While he'd been talking to Tim, you had inched your way closer and closer to Damian. When he focuses on you again, he almost flinches back after finding you less than a foot away. You perk up when you notice him give you attention and lift your hands up, curling them around his shoulders.

"Um," he mutters, "what are you doing?"

"De-ad'nin," you say, leaning closer. Your eyes don't leave his. "Hmnik?"

"I don't...I can't understand you," he says again. You're waiting for him to do something, he can tell that much. He just doesn't know what you want.

You lean in even more, practically sharing breath. Damian can feel his cheeks warming, but curiosity overwhelms the impropriety, so he doesn't move away. You seem to take this as some sort of permission.

Closing the gap, you press your mouth to his, and Damian freezes.

Soft, he thinks. Your lips are soft. His hands twitch at his sides as he fights the urge to grab your waist, but you have no such reservations as you press yourself practically flush against him and prod at the seam of his mouth with your tongue. A frankly embarrassing whine leaves him, but Damian relents and starts kissing you back with the same level of enthusiasm you show him. Even though his gloves, he can tell that your hair is ridiculously soft as he runs his fingers through it. He's briefly lost in a flurry of sensations, overwhelmed by you, and just when blood starts redirecting itself to other places, you pull away again and clear your throat.

"You helped me," you murmur, slowly and steadily, like you're testing out the words as you say them. "You set me free. Thank you."

"...you're...welcome?" Damian pants, his mind still a little gooey. "Wait, that's English. You're — did you kiss me to learn English?"

"I did," you smile. "I needed to convey my gratitude in your common tongue. I hope I didn't offend you."

Offend was definitely not the word to use. He gently pulls his hands from your hair, but you make no move to separate, so he settles them on your waist instead.

"You're wounded," he says, tipping his head in the direction of your shoulder. The bleeding has slowed, but not stopped. "Let me take you somewhere to get that wrapped."

"Take me where?" You ask. "Not back to the laboratory?"

"No." He doesn't know what lab you're talking about, but he knows he would never willingly put you back in Luthor's hands. "A cave. It has a medical ward where you can have that cut stitched closed."

You seem to give it some thought, idly playing with the hair at the nape of Damian's neck. It takes so much more effort than he anticipates not to melt into it. Your bare skin against his almost burns. You're exceptionally warm, near-feverish.

"Yes," you eventually agree. "You are..." You tilt your head as you search for the right words to use. "Trustworthy. I will go with you there."

Damian relaxes. He presses a finger to his comm.

"Red Robin, send the Batmobile to my location for extraction. I'm bringing the metahuman to the Batcave."

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hello! Someone genuinely trying to understand and perhaps unlearn some reactionary tendencies. With the response to that anon about "not asking if you're a pro or anti", the response about "imagine if they put this much effort into protecting real kids" definitely got me thinking. So... Is an adult shipping children and finding that hot NEVER a red flag? Or is it case by case on seeing how that person handles the distinction between fiction and reality in other things? And bringing the issue of real kids into it, if a real kid who has been abused sees someone shipping kids and finds that a red flag in that person, that... No, no I juicy answered my own question on that one. Block them and cultivate your own experience.

hi there anon, and congrats on trying to unlearn some things! and great job catching yourself at the end there, that's exactly correct.

I will start by saying this right out of the gate: fundamentally, I do not really give a shit about what made up scenarios about fictional characters people are jorking it to in private. I am, first and foremost, interested in how they are interacting with actual, real people.

"but Makenzie are you saying people who look at sexually explicit images of real human kids should be allowed near children?" no I'm not. please note that I was specifically talking about people engaging with fictional characters who are, you know, not real and do not have feelings and therefore cannot actually be hurt, traumatized, abused, etc, in any way that actually matters. I want to be so clear about this: you can genuinely think whatever vile things you want about fictional characters. you can enjoy any problematic shit you want with little guys who don't actually exist.

like, here's an example I use a lot: I'm kind of a huge Batman fan. don't know if you could tell that or not, I'm pretty subtle about it. if you spend any time in the Batman mythos, you know that this is a story where you just kind of have to take for granted that our hero is a billionaire using his vast wealth to dispatch vigilante justice with military grade weaponry and a small army of child soldiers and cop friends to help him put people in prison. these are moral quandaries that are discussed and acknowledged within the story, but fundamentally the universe is always going to involve billionaire vigilantism and child soldiers and the so-called carceral justice system. that's just the price of admission if you're gonna read Batman.

and like. I spend a lot of time in that world. I love Batman, I love his child soldiers. he's my little blorbo or whatever. but like, at no point have I said "yeah, fuck it, preteens should be learning martial arts to fight domestic terrorists, actually. I think Elon Musk SHOULD be allowed to put on a fursuit and beat up criminals. cops need more funding." no amount of Batman comics can make me believe or act on any of those things because, you know, I'm a person with a brain and I know the difference between "thing that makes a good story" and "thing that should actually happen for real."

and the thing is that genuinely, honestly, if someone thought that it was a red flag that I like Batman, and that enjoying Batman comics was somehow a red flag indicating that I'm fine with violence being done against real, actual children? I would think that person was a nut, if I can be super real. like, I'm thinking about somebody trying to make the case that I shouldn't be allowed to hang out with my nephew because I enjoy the fictional character of Robin so clearly I'm going to kill my nephew's parents in front of him to try to get him into vigilante justice. or if someone attempted to bar me from teaching my 4th-6th grade sex ed classes on the grounds that I was obviously going to teach them to do karate to clowns instead of how their reproductive systems worked.

(although, lets be real, there are a lot of politicians who would MUCH rather let little kids cage fight each other than learn anything about safer sex.)

this doesn't just apply to morally bad things, either, btw. I also read a lot of romance novels, especially hetero romances. and the thing is, not one of those books has made me want to fall in love with a ruggedly handsome but condescending straight man. hell, none of them have made me want to fall in love with anybody, period. that's not really something I'm interested in for myself, it's just a fun and frequently funny dynamic to explore. I'm hardly the first queer person to point out that the allegations that queer media "turns kids gay/trans" is obviously bullshit since the vertible mountain of cishet media evidently failed to turn any of us straight/cis, you know?

my point being: no, I genuinely don't think it's often, if ever, reasonable to judge someone's actual, real life morals by how they interact with fiction.

I'm going to say something so vulnerable right now, because we're in a safe space here: since you asked me this very reasonable question, you evidently value my judgment and perspective at least a little bit. and I once read and thoroughly enjoyed a fic in which Dr. Horrible, from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog, gets fucked by a sapient evil horse. and I don't think that makes me a morally reprehensible person, or a person who advocates for real human beings having real sex with real horses. I think it just makes me kind of a weirdo with a bullshit tolerance.

if you want to hear a MUCH more thorough take on this, complete with addressing the issue of shipping fictional children, I cannot recommend Princess Weekes' video essay enough:

[violent138]

Batman: "Suspect's headed down eighth street. I'll let you know when we have him"

Gordon: "Wait, if you're here, who's in pursuit of the suspect?"

Batman, getting out his grapple gun: "Robin."

Gordon, having heart palpitations. "The eight year old?? Can he even look over the dash?" *realizes Batman's gone* "All units be advised, clear the road for the Batmobile."

Dispatch: "No need for that, Batmobile hasn't left anything to clear."

Gordon: *downs BP meds* "10-4."

[loganwritesprobably]

When You're In Danger - Straw Hats (Monster Trio)

Content/warnings: GN!Reader, Luffy, Zoro and Sanji headcanons, canon-typical violence referenced, injuries referenced, these men believe in your independence and your abilities!

Part two feat. Nami, Robin and Jinbei

While Luffy hates the idea of you getting hurt, he knows he can't stop it

He'd never expect you to idle by when a fight happens just because he doesn't want you getting hurt

He knows that you're capable, and he's proud of that fact

He'd keep an ear out for you though, as you continued your own fights, just in case

If you were in serious danger that you couldn't combat yourself, Luffy would move heaven and Earth to make sure you were safe

If you got hurt despite him rushing to your rescue, he would blame himself, but he would internalise that

If anyone stood in his way on his path to your side to defend you, they wouldn't be standing for much longer

Monkey D Luffy is a beast, and seas forbid anyone forgets thet

If you were hurt in a battle because you were outmatched, Luffy wouldn't leave your side for anything until he was sure you'd be okay

He trusts Chopper instinctively, but you're too special to lose

Zoro knows, perhaps even more than you know yourself, that you can handle danger. He trusts you to know how to protect yourself

He taught you how after all

So generally speaking he doesn't worry much about you when a fight begins, instead he oozes a quiet confidence

Zoro also knows when he or the crew are outmatched

The crew are brilliant, and have their own skills, but they're all at different combat levels - you're not on the same level as him

If he knew a fight would be too much for you, he'd seek you out in order to assist you

Needing help doesn't make you weak, it just shows you what you need to improve on

It would be second nature for him to find you, one of the rare times that he has a sense of direction

If you became injured because of his failure to protect you, he'd punish himself with intensified training, forcing himself to work harder

If he can't protect you, then what's the point? You're the only thing as important as his dream and Luffy

He wouldn't be able to look at you for a while after, afraid that you also weren't going to forgive him for his failure

Zoro would cut anyone down, ally or foe, to get to you in times of danger

Sanji knows when you're in trouble as if it's a sixth sense

Even if he thinks you can handle himself, he'll rush from his own fight to appear at your side and see for himself that you're coping

It's almost uncanny, how fast he can be there at your side

He only steps in if he's absolutely sure you need him to, because the last thing he wants is to step on your toes if you can handle it

He knows how good it feels to succeed

If you do need him to get involved, he's there before you can ask out loud. He sees it in your face and your body language

He dispatches whatever was causing you problems as fast as he can, then makes sure that you're okay

You even rank above Nami in terms of importance for him. The entire crew loves Nami and can help her - nobody loves you quite like Sanji does

If he can't get there in time, the person who hurt you will have the highest price to pay: a slow and painful death

Nobody is allowed to hurt you, not as long as he lives

He'll apologise to you profusely once the job is done, and spend at least a week if not more at your beck and call doing whatever you need ask him to do

You best be ready to eat your favourite meals every day until he's satisfied that he has apologised enough

Requests are open! See below links for my other works, and how to leave requests. I write both canon/canon and canon/reader requests for your enjoyment

AO3 | Fanfic Masterlist | Request Rules | Fic Trades Guide | WIPs

Tags: @claryeverlarkf

[babsggordon]

One after another, since about one o clock, pings start popping up on oracle’s devices. Firefighter teams are being dispatched rapidly. Nine-one-one call reports are spiking, police are in complete disarray.. it could be said that it’s nothing Oracles ever seen before— but organized attacks have been seen before.

But this isn’t exactly organized at all, per se. This has the level of coordination that a crime ring would have after months of planning combined with the messiness and brutality that clearly indicates anger and hatred..

Then.. the explosions. Thermite, C4, cherry bombs, roman candles, hydroxide experiments, car bombs, all placed either haphazardly or tucked in places no one would look. In the sewers, underneath mailboxes, tucked between brick and mortar, on top of an a/c unit, behind trash cans, in between fence posts.

Gotham is in chaos.

This one was one of the worsts that she has ever seen. And to say that she panicked was minimize her emotional reaction.

She reached first in the ones who had their comms open, surely someone out there in Patrol had survived the attacks.

Calm, she needs to keep her cool to help everyone through this situation. After a second of deep breathing she finally puts her headset back and opens her microphone.

"To everyone online: report your status, and location. The ones active and in good condition must start rescue labors. The emergency services are on its way"

Tags (with no pressure ofc): @izakk-tiberius-kyle @the-only-real-son @jokerwithcrowbar @imbatman-imtired @brucewayneoffic @the-multiversal-shrink @robin-wing-man @dickgraysonfr @gutter-mage69 @fry-stealing-seagull

[ladykailitha]

The Au Pair Boy Part 10

Just a reminder no posting next week, as I have to recover from the holidays and all the fics I wrote.

Eddie throws a homecoming party and friends get hella pushy, so both Steve and Eddie push back

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Pt 7 Part 8 Part 9

~

The next night Eddie threw a coming home party and invited all the people Steve had hired, the D&D boys (Mike and Dustin), and even let Steve bring Robin as his plus one.

As Steve walked in with Robin, he instantly spotted three men he didn’t know. The broad-chested black man was talking to Charles in one corner of the room, while the other two, a heavy set man and a short, curly haired man was talking to Dustin. And judging from how animated they were getting, Steve was gonna bet they were talking about D&D.

He had even had a chance to look for their host, when Eddie came bounding up to them with a big grin on his face.

“Stevie!” he greeted warmly. “You made it! Everyone else is here at the ball, Cinderella. Come, come meet my friends.”

Eddie grabbed Steve’s hand and dragged him over to the two talking with Dustin first. “This is Bri-guy and Gare-bear!”

Steve laughed and shook their hands. “I’m the nanny.”

Eddie bumped their shoulders together. “He’s much more than that, he’s an amazing cook and the girls love him.”

“I’m Brian and this Gareth,” Brian said shaking his head. “And we know all about you. This idiot wouldn’t stop talking about the an–”

Eddie slapped his hand over Brian’s mouth and grinned brightly at Steve. “I think that’s about enough of these two, don’cha think?”

Robin got a twinkle of mischief in her eye. “Not at all. I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Robin, the best friend and platonic soulmate of Steve. We’ve been friends for ages. How long have you known Eddie?”

Gareth grinned at her, sensing a partner in crime. “Oh ages. We all went to high school together. I’m not the original drummer and Bri isn’t the original bassist, but we’re the lightning in the bottle that made Corroded Coffin what it is today.”

Eddie dropped his hand from Brian’s mouth to put his hands on his hips. “How dare!”

Brian and Gareth cackled. And suddenly they were joined but whom Steve assumed was the final member of Corroded Coffin, Jeff Lawrence.

“Are we all picking on Eddie?” he asked gleefully.

“No!” Eddie and Steve cried at the same time the other three cried, “Yes!”

Jeff snapped his fingers. “Ooh! I like her! Jeff, the better guitarist of Corroded Coffin and its lead singer.”

Eddie pushed Jeff. “Oh get out. Only for the last album when we were trying something different. It was not something the fans liked. Asshole.”

“I’ve got to tease you, man,” Jeff huffed with a grin. “It’s so easy!”

“This is Jeffy,” Eddie groused, folding his arms like a scolded toddler. “Meet Steve and Robin.”

“Nice to put a name to the faces,” Jeff said with a charming grin. “Eddie talked all about Steve so Robin’s name came up a lot.”

Steve blushed, but Robin grinned.

“Glad to hear I made it to the dispatch notes,” she said, then turned to Eddie. “I’ve got to say, I really love this house. It looks like it stepped out of pages of a gothic horror film. It’s awesome!”

Eddie took a bow. “Why thank you, my lady!” He looked around his house proudly. “That was the look I was going for. I can’t stand all this sterile white, grey, and beige bullshit that is in vogue right now. Give me color and character!”

“Have you seen what Steve’s done to his room yet?” Robin asked cheerfully, knowing full well what she was insinuating.

Eddie flushed a bright pink, shoving his hair in face to hide the blush and Steve stared at her in wide-eye, slack-jawed shock.

“Robin!” he hissed, flapping his hands at her in embarrassment and dismay.

She grinned at him unrepentantly, folding her arms over her chest and sitting back to see what Eddie would say.

“I–I um...” he coughed. “I haven’t had the opportunity to see how Steve spruced up the place, no.”

“Robin,” Steve said low and deep in warning. “Eddie hasn’t had a reason to see my rooms yet as he’s only been home for thirty-six hours.”

Robin just batted her eyelashes at him innocently. “I would have thought he would have wanted to see what you did to the rooms he’s letting you use in his house.”

The other three members of the band were falling over each other, just cackling over this exchange. Steve was red from the tips of his ears all the way down the dip in his collar. Eddie’s mind tried to follow the thought of how much further the blush went. He didn’t have to think about it long as Steve grabbed Robin and hauled her off elsewhere.

He turned to his friends. “Oh shut it. Assholes.”

“Dude,” Jeff said breathlessly clutching his sides, “like that was the most pathetic thing I’ve ever witnessed and that includes the time Gareth tried to hit on the supermodel that last Grammy’s.”

“Hey!” Gareth huffed. “I got a date out of that, I’ll have you know!”

Brian put his arm around Gareth’s shoulder. “After I told her that you weren’t as big an ass as that interaction displayed. She was going to lose your number, man.”

Gareth folded his arms and pouted. “I hate you both.”

“But seriously, Ed,” Jeff said turning his attention back to Eddie who had been trying to slip away from them before they noticed he was gone.

He failed.

“It’s obvious he has the hots for you,” Jeff continued, “so why aren’t you tapping that ass? You wouldn’t shut up about him the whole time we were on tour. It was actually kinda annoying.”

“For real,” Brian agreed. “And please I don’t want to hear how you’re not ready to get out there again after Ethan left, or how you’re paying him to look after you girls because I’ve seen him with them and holy shit they adore him.”

Eddie buried his head in his hands. “Guys, I haven’t been home for forty-eight hours yet. Can you not try and hook me up with my daughters’ nanny for fuck sake?” He peered around Jeff, making sure Steve was out of earshot. “I don’t really know him yet. Yes, we talked a lot about everything during the tour but I haven’t had to live with him under my roof yet. I could hate the way he takes three showers a day or whatever.”

Jeff and Brian shared an exasperated look as Brian threw his hands in the air. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Eddie crossed his arms over his chest and took a step back on one leg. “That maybe if me and Ethan had lived together before we got married, maybe the marriage wouldn’t have blown up like it did.”

It was a small and simple “Oh,” from Jeff, but it encapsulated all the feelings of the three other members of Corroded Coffin.

“Shit,” Gareth hissed, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have pushed but we just wanted you to be happy. And you light up around Steve in a way I haven’t seen you do in years.”

“What would you know?” Eddie spat bitterly. He looked around at all of them. “What would any of you know? You scattered like kids around a broken window the second the band broke up. And where were you when Ethan left? Or when Wayne broke his leg? I appreciated the tour, it really helped me prioritize things. But you don’t get to come into my house and act like you’ve been there the whole fucking time when you haven’t.”

Eddie stormed off, leaving the three of them there with shocked expressions.

“Shit,” Jeff said, hissing out a pained breath. “He’s right. Fuck. He’s right. We should have flown out the second he told us about Ethan. But we kept putting it off until the deal about the tour came around and then suddenly we were interested in his life only when it benefited us.”

Gareth ran his hands down his face and rolled his eyes skyward. “Fuck. What kind of friends have we been? Like we’re all rich enough that hopping on a plane wouldn’t have even dented our fortunes at all. We should have been for the messy divorce and been helping take care of the girls. But what were we even doing that couldn’t have been put on hold?”

“I was the closest,” Jeff huffed. “I was in New York. Hell, I could driven down. But little shit just kept cropping up. Miranda’s health scare. Then she got pregnant and lost the baby. Which were important at the time, but Eddie needed me.”

“I don’t have any excuse,” Gareth said, shaking his head. “Because yeah, I was on the otherside of the world, but Eddie would have flown around the world a dozen times for me, but I couldn’t fly half way.”

Brian’s lip quivered. “My mom got cancer around the time, but I don’t think she would have begrudged me flying out to see Eddie. But I didn’t even give it a second thought.”

Jeff looked around the room for Eddie and spotted him standing next to Steve. Robin wandered off, leaving Steve sitting on a table, ankles crossed, swinging them back and forth, drink in hand as he listened to some story Eddie was telling him.

Jeff continued to watch as Eddie must have said something funny, because Steve threw head back and laughed.

“I think I see the silver lining to our neglect, boys,” he murmured, pointing out the tableau before them.

The other two men turned and looked. Steve was nodding vigorously, big smile on his face as he told his own story to Eddie.

“Because if we had been here to help Eddie around the house,” Jeff continued, “then he wouldn’t have gotten so desperate to hire a male nanny. Yeah, we fucked up. We pushed too hard. But damn boys, look at what grew in that barren wasteland, anyway.”

“So it’s settled,” Brian said, “we’re all staying in Indy to help Eddie and Steve get together, right?”

Gareth nodded. “Damn straight we are. Plus those kids Steve found to play D&D, I’d stick around just to see their style.”

“Looks like Operation: Refriend Eddie is a go, boys,” Jeff said excitedly, putting his arms around both of his friends. “And maybe we’ll get a wedding out of this, too.”

~

Steve had given Robin a good talking to. Like maybe don’t proposition his boss on his behalf before the sheets had even had time to warm up, yeah?

It took some proper talking to her to before she relented and apologized. Then stomped off to find some real booze. Steve knew she was going to raid Eddie’s liquor cabinet, but considering most of it was already out, he didn’t figure Eddie would mind too much.

Then a glass of whiskey was being dangled in front of him. He looked up to see Eddie smiling down at him. Steve took the glass with a murmur of thanks.

“Here’s to interfering best friends!” Steve said raising his glass to Eddie’s.

Eddie clinked their glasses together with wary smile. “I just wish they had been around more before they started interfering in my business. They weren’t around to pick up the pieces, so they don’t get to decide when to change puzzles.”

“Here’s to that.” Steve took a drink. “Robin is just trying to make sure I’m happy and she knows how much I love this place.” He shook his head. “I’m content with being the Au Pair Boy. I don’t need anything else.”

“You are much more than that,” Eddie said fiercely. “My girls love you. You’re special, don’t sell yourself short.”

“I promise.” Steve looked up at him through his eyelashes. “I love those little girls too.”

“Don’t look now,” Eddie said with a grin, “but I think our friends are spying on us.”

Steve took a drink of his whiskey and looked up through his eyelashes and sure enough the Corroded Coffin boys and Robin were all looking over at them, trying to look they weren’t.

“Quick, laugh!” Eddie said and Steve burst out laughing genuinely. “Oh, that was perfect. Good job.”

“Learning the art of actually laughing when you’re supposed to be fake laughing,” Steve said warmly, “is a skill taught to the children of socialites like my mother from birth.”

“I wish they gave you a crash course when you become famous,” Eddie said with a weary smile, “because holy shit it’s like being dumped in a shark tank!”

Steve winced in sympathy. “Yeah, they should teach classes and stuff.”

“Annoying best friends aside,” Eddie murmured. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

Steve looked up into his eyes and smiled fondly. “I am too.”

~

Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @tartarusknight @gregre369

2- ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @cryptid-system @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi

3- @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch

4- @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @ollieolive @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1

5- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

6- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

7- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

8- @sadisticaltarts @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @dolphincliffs @steddie-as-they-go @steddieislife

9- @kultiras @morallyundefined @themoonagainstmers @fearieshadow @blondie1006

10- @thesecondfate @wheneverfeasible @depressed-freak13 @genderless-spoon @yesdangerpls

[dangeroustravelermultiverse]

Neglected wintersoldier! Reader x batfam

Chapter 3 : Ghosts in the shadows

TW: Violence

Location: Gotham City — 2:03 AM Target: Retrieve stolen WayneTech data from rogue arms dealer Vasili Krymov Status: Active

(I wanted to put a credit on this art but I found this in Pinterest so I don't know who draw this.)

The city hadn't changed.

It still reeked of rot and rain. It still bled corruption through every alley and whispered violence through every crack in its broken concrete. The skyline loomed jagged above her like the ribs of a dead god. Gotham was a graveyard, and she moved through it like a ghost.

Her boots made no sound against the damp rooftop. A cold breeze kissed the exposed edge of her black tactical suit, which blended seamlessly with the shadows. Her mask concealed every part of her identity, its visor glowing faint red, casting a dull light across the rooftop ledge. The metal arm, sleek and plated in black alloy, flexed as she adjusted the sniper sling across her back.

Winter Soldier didn’t feel the cold. She didn't feel anything.

Only the mission.

Behind her, two silent figures waited. Dressed in similar black stealth armor, the two backup agents—Agent Kova and Agent Mikhail—stood with rifles slung, eyes scanning the skyline.

"In case she falters," Mikhail muttered in Russian, nodding toward her. "You say the first three. I say the last two. Understood?"

"Understood," Kova replied, eyes never leaving the perimeter.

Just in case.

Winter Soldier pressed two fingers to her comm.

"This is Winter Soldier. Target compound in sight. Four hostiles on perimeter."

"Confirmed," her handler's voice responded in her ear—calm, clipped, in Russian. "Eliminate. Secure the drive. No witnesses."

Her eyes narrowed behind the mask. With one fluid motion, she leapt from the rooftop, landing in a crouch behind a stack of rusted crates. She counted the guards silently.

One smoking near the fence. Two more walking a lazy patrol near the loading dock. The last one was nodding off by a security panel.

Winter Soldier moved.

The first died with a blade across the throat. The second and third didn't even have time to reach for their weapons before her silenced pistol dispatched them with two clean shots. The last one barely gasped before her metal arm slammed him into the wall hard enough to break his neck.

She approached the warehouse door, scanning the lockpad. A few seconds of silent work, and the door hissed open.

Inside, the flickering industrial lights illuminated rows of crates stamped with WayneTech logos. Krymov was hunched over a workstation, shoving encrypted drives into a bag.

"You're late," he muttered in Russian, not bothering to look up.

"You're dead," Winter Soldier replied.

He barely had time to turn before her boot collided with his chest, sending him crashing into a metal shelf. His gun clattered uselessly across the floor. She walked toward him with clinical calm, withdrawing a blade.

Just as she reached for the data drive—

"That's far enough."

The voice came from above. Familiar. Dangerous.

She turned instantly, blade raised.

Shapes descended from the rafters and shadows. One by one, they emerged: Nightwing, flipping acrobatically to the floor. Red Hood, twin pistols aimed. Robin, sword already drawn. Orphan, silent but watching. Red Robin, analyzing the scene with sharp eyes. And at the rear, stepping out of the darkness like a judgment—Batman.

They surrounded her.

Y/n's pulse didn't change. Her training kicked in.

Assess. React. Eliminate.

From across the compound, Kova and Mikhail crouched in the shadows, watching closely.

"She’s hesitating," Kova whispered. His hand hovered near his mic. "She might be glitching."

"Trigger sequence," Mikhail replied. He raised his comm and spoke softly in Russian:

"оставление. тень. назначение."

Then Kova finished with:

"без страха. удар."

The flicker behind Y/n's eyes vanished.

Jason took aim. "Who the hell is this?"

"Doesn't match any League profile," Damian said coldly. "But she moves like one."

"Familiar," Orphan whispered. Her head tilted. "Too familiar."

Batman stepped forward slowly. "Identify yourself."

Y/n didn’t answer. Instead, she adjusted her stance and charged.

The first hit was aimed at Red Robin. Tim dodged narrowly, his staff meeting her blade with a sharp crack. Her strength was overwhelming, forcing him to retreat. Nightwing intercepted her next strike with his escrima sticks, sparks flying from the impact.

"She’s strong—too strong!" Dick called out.

Red Hood fired two shots toward her legs. She flipped over them, landed behind Jason, and landed a sharp elbow to his jaw, sending him stumbling. Robin rushed in, sword raised, slashing fast and precise.

She parried each blow effortlessly. Her metal arm caught the blade mid-strike and twisted it from Damian's grip. She kicked him across the floor.

Orphan stepped in next, engaging in close combat. Their movements were a blur—strike, block, twist, pivot. Orphan aimed for pressure points; Winter Soldier deflected every attempt with brutal counterattacks. The fight was surgical.

In the chaos, Batman approached from behind, aiming to incapacitate her with a precise nerve hold.

But she ducked, swept his legs, and drove her elbow toward his chest. He blocked at the last second, but stumbled.

She was winning.

Then she threw down a smoke pellet.

The room exploded in black fog. Coughs. Shouts. Disorientation.

When the smoke cleared, she was gone.

All that remained was the unconscious arms dealer, the stolen drive—and a broken batarang embedded in the wall, its edge crushed in a mechanical grip.

Batcave — 4:30 AM

The footage played on a loop.

Bruce stood in silence, arms crossed, staring at the slowed-down video. Winter Soldier caught the batarang mid-air. Crushed it with ease. Not with anger, but precision. Purpose.

"She dodged me," Damian said from the side. "Like she knew my strikes before I made them."

"I got a clear shot. She moved the moment my finger touched the trigger," Jason muttered. "Like she'd been trained to read me."

"She fights like one of us," Dick said quietly.

Orphan stood in the corner, arms crossed. "It was her."

Everyone looked at her.

"We don't know that," Bruce said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"She moved like her. The hesitation. The way she didn't strike me when she had the chance."

Tim frowned. "You think that... thing was Y/N?"

No one spoke.

The silence in the cave was deafening.

Bruce turned back to the screen, watching the figure vanish into smoke again.

His daughter had once begged to be a part of their world. She had trained herself to the brink of exhaustion for a place in their shadows.

Now... she was the shadow.

And they didn't recognize her.

W-17 Extraction Point — Undisclosed Safehouse, Gotham — 5:12 AM

She sat alone in the corner of the room, helmet off, visor resting on the table beside her. The data drive was secure in her hand, clutched like a lifeline. Blood—some hers, some not—dried on her suit. Her metal fingers twitched slightly, remnants of a surge triggered by that damn batarang.

She hadn't expected them to be there.

No—she hadn't expected herself to care.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Focus. Forget. Reset.

But the voices lingered.

The red one. The blue one. The boy with the sword. The quiet girl. The big one in black.

She didn’t know them.

She shouldn’t have known them.

And yet… something pulsed in her skull. A flicker. A whisper.

"Dad?"

She flinched.

A gloved hand suddenly touched her shoulder. Mikhail.

"You hesitated," he said simply.

Y/N didn’t look up. ��Just a flicker.”

"Flickers become fractures," Kova warned from across the room.

"Say the sequence," Mikhail ordered.

Her jaw clenched.

"Say it."

“…оставление. тень. назначение. без страха. удар.”

The words burned now. Like chains around her tongue.

“Good soldier,” Kova muttered.

“Successful extraction. Mission complete,” Mikhail said into the comm.

Y/N stood, walking toward the window overlooking Gotham’s skyline. Her city. Her past.

They hadn’t seen her.

Maybe they never really had.

She clenched the drive tighter.

She is Winter Soldier now.

And ghosts don’t get remembered.

Notes: Boom Shakalaka ! SURPISED EXTRA CHAPTER! I do this on the spot just to distract myself from reality because who needs them ? Sure I have my assignments but I need to do something to get my minds off depressing thoughts.

[keepoffthetardis]

chicago pope is crazy work what were they doing in that conclave

[layce2015]

Stranger Things (Steve Harrington x Female!Reader)

Chapter 18: A Shot In The Dark

Previous Chapter / Next chapter

The next morning, we had gone out and got some food for Eddie then made our way back to Reefer Rick’s place. We head to the barn, or shed, and enter it, making Eddie jump in fright as he was standing by the window. “Delivery service.” Dustin said as he holds up a bag of groceries while Eddie still looked scared.

After giving him the food, he grabs a bag of chips and starts eating on it while we tell him what we’ve found out this morning. “So we got, uh, some good news and some bad news. How do you prefer it?” Dustin asked Eddie. “Bad news first, always.” said Eddie then sips his drink.

“All right. Bad news. We tapped into the Hawkins PD dispatch with our Cerebro, and they're definitely looking for you. Also, they're, uh, pretty convinced you killed Chrissy.” Dustin said. “Like, 100% kind of convinced.” Max adds and Eddie looks between us.

“And the good news?” He asked us. “Your name hasn't gone public yet.” I replied. “But if we found out about you, it's a matter of time before others do. And once that gets out, everyone and their shallow-minded mother is gonna be gunning for you.” Robin said. “Hunt the freak, right?” Eddie asked in a shaky voice.

“Exactly.” Robin and I said, in unison. “Shit.” Eddie mutters, upset. “So, before that happens, we find Vecna, kill him, and prove your innocence.” Dustin said. “That's all, Dustin? That's all?” asked Eddie. “Yeah, no, that's pretty much it.” Dustin said but Eddie didn’t look convinced or happy.

“Listen, Eddie, I know everything Dustin is saying sounds totally delusional, but we've actually been through this before.” I said to him and he looks at me. “Well, they have a...a few times, and...and I have once. Mine was more human-flesh-based, theirs was more smoke-related, but bottom line is, collectively, I really feel we got this.” Robin said.

”Yeah, see, we usually rely on this girl who has super powers. But, uh, those went bye-bye, so...” Steve said as he scratched his cheek. “So we're technically in more of the...” Robin said as Steve and I said, thinking. “Kinda...”

“Brainstorming phase.” Max adds and we all nod. “Brainstorming.” Steve said, snapping his fingers. “There...There's nothing to worry about.” Dustin sputters and Steve scoffs out a laugh.

Suddenly, we hear sirens and we all l share a look of fear. “Shit.” I muttered and Robin points at Eddie. “Tarp. Tarp. Tarp.” She said and Eddie ducks under the tarp and we all run over to the window to see several cop cars and ambulances passing by. “That’s not good.” I muttered and we all load up into Steve’s car.

We followed the road the cops and ambulance went to and saw that they had gathered around a big section of the road. Steve stops behind a parked cop car and we see Nancy talking to the cops, looking shaken. All of us step out of the car and she noticed us, staring, while the cop tried to talk to her.

“You're saying that this thing that killed Fred and Chrissy, it's from the Upside Down?” Nancy asked us after we made our way back to the trailer park, sitting at one of the picnic tables. She had told us that her and her friend, Fred, came her to get a scoop on what happened to Chrissy but then Fred disappeared until they found his mangled body in the road.

The way she described Fred’s body was eerily similar to how Eddie described Chrissy’s body. “If the shoe fits.” Steve tells Nancy. “Our working theory is that he attacks with a spell or a curse. Now, whether or not he's doing the bidding of the Mind Flayer or just loves killing teens, we don't know.” Dustin said. “All we know is this is something different.” Max adds.

“Something new. Doesn't make sense.” Nancy said. “It's only a theory.” Dustin said. “No, Fred and Chrissy don't make sense. I mean, why them?” Nancy asked. “Maybe they were just in the wrong place. They were both at the game.” I suggested. “And near the trailer park.” Max said.

“We're at the trailer park. Uh, should we maybe not be here?” Steve asked and we all looked around as the cool breeze of spring blows around us. “There is something about this place. Fred started acting weird the second we got here.” Nancy said.

“Acting weird as in... ?” Robin asked her. “Scared, on edge, upset.” Nancy listed of. “Max said Chrissy was upset too.” Dustin said, realization. “Yeah, but not here. She was crying in the bathroom at school.” Max corrects. “Serial Killers stalk their prey before they strike, right? So, maybe Fred and Chrissy saw this Vecna...” I said, shrugging, then Steve speaks up.

“Dunno about you, but if I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone.” He said. “Maybe they did. I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelley's office. If you saw a monster, you...you wouldn't go to the police. They'd never believe you. But you might go to your...” Max said and Robin and I nod. “Your shrink.” We said, together, and Max nods.

We all start to head to Steve’s car and Nancy heads to her car. “Whoa, whoa, Nance. Nance! Where you going?” Steve asked her, concerned. “Oh, there's just something I wanna check on first.” Nancy said. “Something you wanna share with us?” Dustin asked her.

“I don't wanna waste your time. It's a real shot in the dark.” Nancy said. “Yeah, okay. Are you out of your mind? Flying solo with Vecna on the loose? No, it's too dangerous. You need...You need someone to...” Steve said then stops as he sighs. “Okay, why don’t Robin and I go? You know, us ladies will stick together.” I said and Steve looked even more worried.

”No, I definitely don’t want you out on your own either.” He said and I place a hand on his cheek. “Steve, I’ll be fine. Okay?” I said and he sighs. “Just…watch out for my sister for me, okay?” I said and Steve sighs, rolling his eyes and head alittle. “I’m always the damn babysitter.” He grumbles to me and I chuckled. “Cause you’re good at it.” I chuckled then I kiss his cheek before Robin and I walk over to Nancy, who was now eyeing me with narrowing eyes. I don’t know if it was with anger or jealousy as I know her and Steve were a couple before I came along. Did she still have feelings for Steve?

“Be careful.” Steve calls out and I turn and wave at him just as Robin, Nancy and I head to Nancy’s car.

“Help me get this straight. Eddie's uncle, Wayne, thinks that Victor Creel escaped from Pennhurst Asylum and that he's the one running around committing these murders?” Robin asked Nancy as we walk up to the library, the bell tolling for the new hour. “Pretty much.” Nancy said to Robin, in an exasperation.

“But Victor committed the eyeball murders, like, way back in the 50’s.” Robin said. “Well, '59.” Nancy said as we get to the doors and she opens it. “So, that means these murders predate Eleven in the Upside Down by about 30 years?” I asked. “Yeah.” Nancy replied. “Which makes spooky Victor Creel like 70 years old.” Robin adds. “Yep.” Nancy said as she rings the bell on the desk.

“So, he's a grandpa murderer who can turn invisible and lift people into the air.” Robin said as she leans against the front desk. “It doesn't make sense. I know. That's why I said it was a shot in the dark.” Nancy said as she rings the bell again. “I know. I just thought that by shot in the dark, you were being modest or hiding something super solid up your sleeve that you were gonna wow us with later. But this is really, truly a shot in the dark. Like, we are snipers with blindfolds on who've been spun around times.” Robin rambles as Nancy kept ringing the bell, rapidly.

“Coming!” An older female voice calls out as she comes around the shelves, several books under her arm. “Hi. Sorry, we're in a bit of a rush. Could we get the keys to the basement archives?” Nancy asked the lady. “Of course. Give me one sec.” She said and she goes to get the key.

“Did I come off mean or condescending?” Robin asked Nancy. “No.” Nancy replied, but I could tell she was getting alittle annoyed. “Right. Sorry. It's just, you seem annoyed. You don't know me well. I don't really have a filter or a strong grasp of social cues.” Robin said, quickly. “Okay.” Nancy mutters. “If I say something that upsets you, just know that I know it's a flaw. Believe me, my mother reminds me daily.” Robin said. “Robin, you’re doing it again.” I said to her. “Right…sorry.” Robin said just as the lady comes back with the key.

“All right, ladies. Here you go. Have fun.” She said as Nancy takes the keys. “Yep. We'll try.” Nancy said and she walks away the woman looks at us as if to ask if something was wrong. Robin and I shrug before we follow Nancy.

“Anything…juicy over there?” Robin asked me and Nancy as we all looked through several archives of newspapers but nothing was sticking out. “Nothing new.” Nancy said. “Yep, same here.” Robin said.

“Victor seemed like a normal guy. Dead family, missing eyes, took a plea deal, sent to Pennhurst.” I said, sounding a bit bored. “What are we looking for exactly?” Robin asked but Nancy doesn’t reply. “She does have a point, Nancy, what are we looking for? I mean, I see nothing here pertaining to dark wizards or curses…” I said and I hear her let out a heavy sigh. “I don't know. Okay? It's starting to seem like this was just a big waste of time.” She said, annoyed, as she stands up and walks off.

“You're obviously bored. Why don't you call Steve? I'm sure he'll pick you up. And I mean, I'm not really in danger here, so...” Nancy sneers at me then she walks off and heads downstairs. I sighed as Robin and I share a look. “Thought I was done with this high school bullshit.” I grumbled as I get up and follow Nancy down the stairs.

She pulled open a drawer full of cards and I come up behind her. “Okay, if you’re gonna be this way, then let’s talk like adults.” I said, feeling annoyed at this whole thing. “What?” Nancy said, confused, as she looks at me over her shoulder. “I don’t understand why you have it out for me, Nancy! You’re the one that went after Jonathon, right?” I said and Nancy looks taken by this.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said and I scoff. “Bullshit, you know what exactly I’m talking about. Whenever I see you every now and then, dropping Max off to school and I see you and Mike heading to class. I’d wave at you and you would just ignore me or look at me like I’m a freak. And just a moment ago, you snapped at me…” I said and Nancy rolls her eyes at me.

”You’re just being delusional.” She said and my jaw drops at this. “If that’s true, then cut the attitude. If you wanna cheat on another boyfriend, do it on someone else’s time.” I growled and she glares at me. I glare back at her, both of us waiting for the other to speak up until Robin speaks up.

“Holy shit. The Weekly Watcher. I can't believe they have this.” She said and we look over to see her holding up archive tape. “Don't they write about, like, Bigfoot and UFOs?” Nancy asked, changing subject at our argument. “First, UFOs are absolutely real. Bigfoot I'm still on the fence about. But may I remind you we are looking for information on dark wizards? If someone's gonna write about that, it's gonna be these weirdos.” Robin said, smiling, and we all share a look.

Later, we go up to the archive machine and flip through the old paper from the Weekly Watcher. “Ah. Elvis cloned by aliens." I remarked, sarcastically. “You never know.” Robin said and I scoff as she flips through more and more papers while Nancy walked off, pacing. 

"Victor Creel claims vengeful demon killed family. The murder that shocked a small community." Robin said, mocking the voice of a news anchor. “Ha, ha. That's very funny.” Nancy said, uncaring. “She’s not kidding. Get over here.” I said as I read the headline Robin just read and Nancy comes over to look.

"According to several insiders, Victor believed his house was haunted by an ancient demon. Victor allegedly hired a priest to exorcise the demon from his home." I read out loud. “Pretty novel for the 50's. Exorcist��wasn't out yet.” Robin remarked. “Keep...Keep going.” Nancy tells me and Robin flicked through the paper. “Okay, so Victor claimed this exorcism failed, but it angered this demon, which then murdered his family, removing their eyes. Victor believed he was spared as a punishment.” Robin said as she reads over the paper.

“That's pretty convenient for Victor.” Nancy said. “Yeah, or super inconvenient. Victor was declared legally insane by the court, right? What if this is why? I mean it sounds pretty insane. Just didn't go public because...” I said and Nancy stammers as she starts to think. “The plea bargain. The records were sealed.” She said. “What if a demon did invade Victor's home? It's just, this demon wasn't any old demon.” Robin said. “It was Vecna.” Nancy and I said, in unison, all three of us feeling proud at what we found.

”Dustin, do you copy?” Robin asked into the walkie-talkie. “Yeah, I copy.” Dustin said. “So, Nancy’s a genius. Vecna’s first victims date back all the way to 1959. Her shot in the dark was a bull’s-eye.” Robin said. “Okay, that’s totally bunkers but I can’t really talk right now.” Dustin replied. “Wait, what are you doing?” Robin asked him. “Breaking and entering the school to retrieve some confidential and extremely personal files.” Dustin’s voice said but it went in and out.

”Can you repeat that?” Robin asked, confused. “Just get your asses over here. We’ll explain everything.” Dustin said before he ends the call. “I thought they were talking to Ms. Kelly.” Nancy said, frustrated. “We leave them alone for two hours.” Robin said, sarcastically, as she closes the antenna on her radio. “Maybe they couldn’t get information out of her? Way our luck is, things never go as smoothly as we hope.” I said as we all load up into Nancy’s car and head to the school.

*3rd Person POV*

Meanwhile, at the school, Max, Dustin and Steve were able to break into Ms. Kelly’s room and look through her files to not only Chrissy but Fred’s as well. They look through it and Max realized that the two suffered through similar symptoms, symptoms that were familiar to her.

Nosebleeds, headaches, nightmares and then hallucinations…

Max couldn’t believe what she was reading as she had been suffering through most of those symptoms, except for the hallucinations. But then she heard a deep, growling voice call out to her.

Max…

She turns in her seat then gets up and walks out onto the hallway as she hears the sounds of a ticking clock. She walks down the hallway and turns a corner to see an old grandfather clock as it ticks but also chimes an eerie sound four times. And then she hears the voice again, her heart thumping hard in her chest.

Max…

[in1-nutshell]

Can I request Artemis, M'gam, Robin, and Aqualad reacting to to DCpool destroying a wave of enemy robots while dancing to Bye Bye Bye?

That song was living rent free in my head for MONTHS when I went to go see it.

Hope you enjoy!

Artemis, Aqualad, M'gann and Robin react to DCpool doing the 'Bye, Bye, Bye Dance'

SFW, Platonic, Mention of injury, Mutant reader

YOUNG JUSTICE

As usual the covert mission was a bust and now the team was fighting for their lives.

Well, everyone else was fighting for their lives, DC was having the time of his life.

Pat of the team had been splintered off all across the warehouse where the enemy robots were housed.

DC found himself surrounded by the biggest group of robots.

DC has both his katanas out before looking at the audience. DC: “Oh I think you know what am about to do with these wannabe Terminators. Same thing Wade did to those TVA ski mask looking pricks.” He gets into a running position. DC: “This is for Logan and Wade!”

Artemis and Robin were in one of the building’s security rooms when they saw DCpool surrounded by the robots.

 Artemis is about to call in for backup for DC when Robin tells her to stop and watch.

It. Is. BRUTAL.

The way their teammate was dispatching the robots with extreme efficiency and ruthlessness was scary… and graceful?

They swear they can hear music in the background.

Both make mental notes to ask DC about his prior training before joining the team.

Artemis squints closer to the screen. Artemis: “Is he—Is he dancing?” Robin: “I think he is?” DC grabs a metal ‘femur’ of one of the bots’ exoskeletons and throws it into the bots chest. The oil splattering on the ground and face. Both heroes wince. Suddenly the camera falls next to DC, who just picks it up and holds it if he were taking a selfie… with the offline robot. Robin: “Oh that’s just wrong.” DC kisses the temple of the bot before chucking the camera to go back into the fray. Artemis: “Super wrong.”

Aqualad and Miss Martian are the unlucky ones to be in the same room as DCpool and the robots.

They are fairing well as a pair against the bots.

Barely, but doing all right.

M’gann is worried about DC handling the bots by himself.

Aqualad tries to move closer to where DCpool is to see what he could help with.

Both Atlantean and Martian are in shock seeing how well he is doing.

VERY well…

M’gann gets a bit sick seeing how brutal DC is getting rid of the enemy.

Kaldur knows he is going to need to talk to him about… this when everyone gets back to the cave.

Wait—was he dancing!?

M’gann: “I don’t think he needs any help.” Both of them watch DC uses one bot’s head to bash another bots head in. Oil and wires fly everywhere. Kaldur: “I don’t think so.” DC looks their way. DC: “Heads up!” He kicks the head over to Kaldur, who dodges just in time to hit another robot from behind. DC: “WOAH! Is this fun or what!” Kaldur: “DCpool I do not think—wait why is there music? How is there music here?” DCpool shrugs. DC: “Never question the power of fighting songs Nemo.”

[lunarosequarts]

A batman story I will probably never write but have had outlined for years

This was going to be a hurt no comfort, but I just never knew where I wanted to go with it, so it's stayed as an outline. If anyone likes the idea just write it or whatever, I'll probably never use it :(

Batfam Thriving

Bruce not

Maybe Jason is still pissy

Dami says something about how Dick is a better Batman

Tim jokes that he isn't even needed for WE and he could just…. leave

Bruce notices that every part of his job is being done by his children

Tim handles WE

Dick and Damian could be Batman and Robin

Barbra handles all dispatching and online things

Tim also is a great detective

Stephine is keeping everyone happy and helping patrol

He starts to realize that he isn’t needed, that if he died it wouldn’t matter logistically

Bruce starts separating himself from everyone

Does exceedingly more dangerous work without taking care of himself

Undercover jobs without telling anyone where

Off-planet missions where he doesn't wear the proper attire

Begins to shift from “I’m not suicidal I just don’t want my kids to have to deal with this,” to “it doesn’t matter if I ever come home, they don’t need me and they never will.”

Extended members of the JL start ignoring his everything

Don’t help him

Leave him to fight alone

Dump him when things get bad

Ignore everything he says

Bruce keeps getting injured

Begins with just some extra bruises

Then broken bones

Exceeding internal bleeding and multiple long trips in the JL ER

Founders, mostly Diana and Clark, start getting worried

They don't notice everything and assume he's just dealing with smth

the founders care, especially Diana and Clark, but they don’t notice because there is a lot of saving the world to go around

Off planet mission goes super bad

Bruce gets hella injured 

All Extended JL members muted him on the comms

Bruce pulls out his emergency button

Stares at it while laying on his side, bleeding out in an alleyway

Drops his hand back down onto the ground and flips onto his back with what little energy he has left to watch this planets stars as he lay dying

Thinks of how fitting it is that he dies in an alleyway, after all these years he dies just like his parents, shot dead in an alley

The extended JL members leave, forgetting Bruce, and He watches the Javelin fly away

Extended JL members return without Bruce

The batfam and Founders watch everyone unload from the Javelin waiting for Bruce

Bruce is not there

They all go poking around trying to see if he just snuck off without them noticing, trying not to panic

They each hear all the shit talking and the absolute vitriol towards the normal human man who slots himself among the gods

the founders and the Batfam lose their shit

“I swear to god if he’s hurt and you fucking left him to die I’ll skin you!”

“Batman doesn’t kill!!”

“I’m not Batman you fucking musty bitch!”

 Founders and Batfam try and get him back

Luckily the planet is super close 

They spread out on the battle torn planet, it looks way worse than they all were lead to believe

Everyone is calling his name out trying to find him

Clark just happens to fly over the alley and see him

He screams out his name and drops next to him

“Guys, I found him!”

When Clark lands next to him he sees that his chest isn't moving and there's a huge puddle of blood

Clark puts his head on Bruce's chest and doesn't hear a heartbeat

He starts doing CPR as the rest of the team is trying to converge on their position, but he yells to get the Javelin in the air ASAP

Clark gets Bruce’s heart beating again and just picks him up bridal style and sonic boom flies to the Javelin 

They realize his Emergency Button

As a team is performing lifesaving First-Aid the rest of them are tracking if his button was clicked and where it is

When they open the Emergency button logs, they see it was never clicked

They track it, thinking that maybe it was lost during a battle

Then they see that the tracker is with them in the Javelin… in Bruce’s glove still

They all see that at any time he could have sent out the emergency call

He just didn’t

Bruce’s family fights to save Bruce

When they call come into the Watchtower The Flash sprints to the med bay to get everything, they need to get Bruce off the Javelin safely

Because obviously they can't trust the other JL members

People are starting to crowd in the hanger because of all the pandemonium from all of them

Someone is trying to stop them from killing the team that left Bruce, It Ain’t Dick

As Flash gets back in with all the stuff and gets into the ship Bruce is seizing, and they have to strap him onto the stretcher as they sprint to the med bay

Bruce’s family lose their shit

While Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern, and Flash fight to save Bruce

Bruce Wakes Up

When Bruce gets “better” they drop the question of why he didn't push the emergency button

“I didn’t think you would come”

“it wouldn’t have mattered because you don’t need me”

This realization fucking GUTS them

“how did we let it get this far? How did we not notice? Is it our fault?

 the fucking guilt Bruce would feel because he genuinely believes that they don’t need him and that he is just…. Not useful anymore.

Hes just a normal ass human man with a brilliant mind and money, nothing more really

If say Tim starts to take over battle plans and shit with the league then Bruce would view himself as obsolete, an old model, replaceable.

What would he be able to do that no one else is? 

If he disappeared the rest of the batfam would just fill in the pieces left behind.

Bruce tries to explain that it is a good idea

 Bruce is nothing if not a problem solver so when tasked with solving the problem of his own mind of course he chooses something so wildly stupid because he can’t truly think objectively about himself like that

They try to “Fix Whatever is making him do this”

the founders and the batfam all think it’s like an outside force doing this to him

They run all kinds of tests to see if it was. 

Magic

Mind Control

A Clone

Anything other than himself

imagine how hurt they would be when they find out it’s all just him

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Robin Sloan’s “Moonbound”

On June 20, I'm keynoting the LOCUS AWARDS in OAKLAND.

Robin Sloan has a well-deserved reputation as a sparkly, fizzy writer, the kind of person who can tell a smart/smartass story infused with fantasy-genre whimsy but grounded in high-tech, contemporary settings (think here of Charlie Jane Anders' gorgeous All the Birds In the Sky):

https://memex.craphound.com/2016/01/26/charlie-jane-anderss-all-the-birds-in-the-sky-smartass-soulful-novel/

In Moonbound, a new, wildly ambitious solarpunk novel published today by Farrar, Strauss and Giroux, Sloan moves out of his usual, daffy, high-tech/high-weird Bay Area milieu and catapults us 11,000 years into the future, to a world utterly transformed and utterly fascinating:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9780374610609/moonbound

Moonbound's protagonist is a "chronicler," a symbiotic fungus engineered to nestle in a human's nervous system, where it serves as a kind of recording angel, storing up the memories, experiences and personalities of its host. When we meet the chronicler, it has just made a successful leap from its old host – a 10,000-years-dead warrior who had been preserved in an anaerobic crashpod ever since her ship was shot out of the sky – into the body of Ariel, a 12-year-old boy who had just invaded the long-lost tomb.

This is quite a move. This long-dormant, intelligent fungus originates a thousand years into our own future, long after the climate emergency had been (miraculously, joyously) averted and has arrived in a world ten millennia years even further down the line. It must orient itself from its position inside the nervous system of a 12-year-old, and we have to orient ourselves to having an 11,000-year-distant future explained by an intelligent fungus from 1,000 years into our own future.

This is doing fiction in hard mode, and Sloan nails it. The unraveling strangeness of Ariel's world is counterpointed with the amazing tale of the world the chronicler hails from, even as the chonicler consults with the preserved personalities of the heroes and warriors it had previous resided in and recorded.

And in this curious way, we learn of the history of the chronicler's world, and of the strange world so far into the future that Ariel lives in – and becomes incredible consequential to.

Start with the chronicler's world: on the way to solving the climate emergency, the human race figured out how to cooperate on unimaginably massive projects (for example, addressing the world's runaway carbon problem). This pays huge dividends, ushering in a period of thrilling innovation, as humans and the nonhuman intelligences they have constructed collaborate to explore out planet, our solar system, and – thanks to a faster-than-light breakthrough – our galaxy.

A crew of seven are dispatched to the ends of space with great fanfare – but when they return, they are terrified and full of grim purpose. Something they met out there in the galaxy has convinced them that humanity must never look to the stars again. They blanket the planet in a cloak of dust and establish a garrison on the moon from which they destroy any attempts to leave the Earth.

This triggers a savage war against these seven "dragons" and their moonbase. The chronicler's warrior – the one who was entombed for 10,000 years before being discovered by Ariel – was shot down on a last-ditch attempt to destroy the dragons and their base on the moon.

Flash forward 10,000 years. Ariel lives in a weird, medieval-type village, albeit one in which the peasant-types all wear high-tech performance all-weather gear…and the animals all talk. It's a very strange place – there's a sword in a stone, a wizard in a tower…and an airstrip.

Even as the chronicler is trying to make sense of this anachronistic muddle, Ariel is marching towards his destiny. In short order, he finds himself in fear for his life, and then – for the first time in his life or the life of any other villager – Ariel leaves the village.

This kicks off the road-trip part of the novel, a real bildungsroman that sees Ariel, the chronicler, and a whole Wizard-of-Oz's worth of road pals (including a rusty tin-man type robot who is part of a hive mind of thousands of other robots all over the world; oh and a talking beaver) (oh, and a dead guy) (and there's an elk with a symbiotic beehive in its antlers that dribbles a stead stream of honey down its muzzle).

My editor Patrick Nielsen Hayden once articulated a theory of how science fiction works: you have the world, which is a kind of grand thought experiment, and you have a protagonist, who is a kind of microcosm of that world. Think of the world as this big, heavy gear, and the character as a much-faster-spinning gear that meshes with the world, spinning and spinning, pushing the world inchingly around a full revolution:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/26/aislands/#dead-ringers

The chronicler is a perfect microcosm of this strange world, where dozens of great civilizations have arisen and fallen – the ruins of a great society of hyperintelligent rats turns out to be very useful on one part of Ariel's quest – and where the dragons brood overall, a menace in the sky that the Earth's inhabitants have all but forgotten, but whom the chronicler can't ignore.

Sloan is really having a lot of fun with his talking animals; his transdimensional gods; his space-maddened, murderous lunar AIs. On the way, he's doing all kinds of really cool tricks – like asking us to really sit with the idea of giving moral consideration to the nonhuman world, including "beings" we currently think of as inanimate objects. This is a great riff:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/07/more-than-human/#umwelt

Sloan's debut novel, Mr Penumbra's 24-Hour Bookstore, mixed the tropes and sensibilities of tech culture with a beautiful, escapist fantasy, a "curious little magic shop" tale that was absolutely delightful:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/11/16/mr-penumbras-24-hour-bookstore-the-perfect-nerdish-fantasy/

And with Sourdough, Sloan's second book, he took that same fascination with the numinous (and with nerdy, obsessive hobbies) to the microscopic plane, with a tale of microorganisms and mystery:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/09/05/sourdough-a-delicious-story-about-nerdism-and-the-flesh-by-robin-mr-penumbra-sloan/

Moonbound delivers Sloan's third – and best! – fusion of fantasy and science fiction, delving deep into the meaning of personhood, language and moral agency with a road-trip story that visits a dazzling collection of wildly imaginative settings and societies in an epic quest to slay the dragons on the moon.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/11/penumbraverse/#middle-anth