#And he's in Croc's territory not the other way around

[cxpperhead]

🔪

Send 🔪 to walk in on my muse standing over a dead body.

The sewers are not one of Copperhead's favourite haunts. While the darkness is a thing he's comfortable with, the cold and the damp rubs his scales the wrong way and the rank stench of Gotham's Underbelly fogs his sense of smell for hours. It's only when desperate prey slips into the sewers that Copperhead is forced to follow after them, and from what he's heard during his time in Gotham, it's a place he does well to avoid. Imagine his surprise when he learns he's not the only reptilian metahuman in the world. It's part of the reason why Copperhead came all the way to Gotham in the first place despite the horrid winters. Sure, the opportunity to commit crime more freely had its allure but the thought that he's not alone, that he's not just one scaled freak in a world of normal people had him wistful for... something - he didn't know what, but he made the long trek from Arizona to here all the same. Now that he was staring down into the open sewer, Copperhead was wondering if perhaps he'd made the wrong choice. He didn't know much about this Killer Croc, only that he was large, and especially dangerous. A scaled behemoth who skulked beneath Gotham's streets and struck fear into the hearts of those who caught a glimpse of him, but he existed. Copperhead had watched the news, read articles to know there was truth to them, but he didn't know how well one like him would be received, or even welcomed as a kindred spirit. It wasn't as though there were welcome signs hanging up in places, but his quarry had slipped down here so it must be safe enough to venture into for now. Serpentine tongue flickers to access his surroundings as Copperhead descends the slime-coated walls. There are scents everywhere amidst the stench of humid rot and fetid water, of rats and their leavings. There's rotten food littered here and there too, dropped or scavenged by the teaming rodent hordes that threaten to swell before too long but Copperhead filters them out, instead focusing on the scent that drew him here... There! A lingering scent rubbed against the wall betrays where the one he was hunting has gone and Copperhead continues on, his eyes on the water at all times in fears (or hopes) of seeing a pair not so different his own. Was Killer Croc even down here? Or was he elsewhere, in another part of the city perhaps? Copperhead supposed it didn't matter much right now. He would cross that bridge when he came to it, but first he had a rat to catch and pursued his target relentlessly, eventually cornering him not five minutes later.

The last gasps of a dying man is rarely pleasant to hear. Copperhead is hanging over the water, claws clutching the ceiling as the struggling figure in his coils thrashes and squirms, growing weaker as the seconds pass. It's not long before white-knuckled fingers let go of his tail and sag bonelessly before Copperhead snaps the neck to make sure the man is well and truly dead, and then he freezes. There's another scent in the air though, and the serpent metahuman glances around, at the shadows and the waters before noticing he's no longer quite as alone as he thought. He looks guilty as all hell holding a dead body, and in Croc's territory no less but it's all Copperhead can do but speak out loud, and politely no less to let the sewer's true inhabitant he meant no harm. "Sorry, I hope he wasn't one of yours." The snake-like metahuman comments softly, wincing a little at how sound reverberate down here in these depths. It's a stark reminder that the surface is quite a bit further away than he likes, if Croc isn't the welcoming sort and sees this intrusion as some sort of challenge.

[kaijutegu]

Aug ABSOLUTELY deserves the praise, @ryukikit. St. Augustine Alligator Farm is one of my favorite animal facilities, hands down. It's a pretty zoo, doable in an afternoon if you kinda like crocodilians, or an all day affair if you REALLY like crocodilians. Here are my favorite things about it and why I think it's worth supporting.

1. They keep animals in interesting social groups.

Crocodilians are heavily involved parents, but most places that breed them don't have the enclosure space to let the babies stay with the parents. St. Augustine does. One of my favorite groups was their crèche of slender-snouted crocodiles. They had the parents and then a yearling cohort and a new hatchling cohort. This aligns with how these guys live in the wild- the babies stick around longer! They have the space for it, and they are very in tune with the social needs of their animals.

Very, very few zoos can keep their baby crocs with the adults and still perform maintenance and animal health checks safely. This doesn't mean these facilities are bad- it just means that they have different management practices. And frankly, a lot of these species aren't frequently bred elsewhere. Your average zoo doesn't need a setup where you can have a multiyear crèche for slender-snouted crocodiles. Some species have better success when the young are pulled early, and some zoos are better set up to raise out any offspring separately or behind the scenes. Every facility's practices are different, and this just happens to work well at St. Augustine and be really enjoyable to see as a zoo patron.

Crocodilians are exceptional parents and very protective. It's a sign of incredible animal management practices and animals that feel very comfortable with staff that St. Augustine can do this with nearly every species they breed.

2. They understand the social needs of their animals.

Some crocodilians are social. Some are solitary. Some can live happily with a member of the opposite sex but get territorial around members of the same sex. St. Augustine pays incredible attention to their social groupings to ensure that they aren't just meeting the animals' physical health needs but their social needs as well. They do continuous scientific research about social structures in crocodilians, taking blood samples to test stress hormones and observing stress behaviors to see how group dynamics change.

For example, St. Augustine is home to one of the world's largest known living saltwater crocodiles, Maximo. And his comparatively tiny mate, Sydney. During the educational presentations with these two, they point out that even their monster of a croc needs his social group- he won't eat if she's not around and he is calmer during medical checks if he can see her. These animal share a deep and special pair bond, and they make sure to talk about how the social aspect of these animals' lives is integral to their care. It's a unique aspect of the way they talk about these animals, because he IS a spectacle and he IS a sensation, but they don't talk about him like he's a mindless killing machine- they talk about him like he's a big, complex predator with social needs like any other animal. Aug is the only facility I've been to where the emotional and social needs of crocodilians is part of the education they provide guests- and speaking of education...

3. Their demos and presentations are extremely good.

The presentations at St. Augustine are some of the best I've ever seen, and I've seen literally hundreds of animal talks on everything from aardvarks to zebras. But as you... can probably tell from my blog content, I've spent a lot of time learning about and working with reptiles. I really enjoyed all of their presentations because they are very scientific about things and avoid sensationalism. They really want you to be fascinated by these creatures and love them- but more than anything else, they want you to respect them.

Also, they do a really good job handling their ambassadors. I really enjoyed something as simple as watching an educator tell us about snakes. Throughout the whole presentation she made sure that most of the snake's body was looped in her hand. The snake was always supported and was very calm. She gave the snake plenty of head room so that it didn't feel constricted- it was just good handling all around.

But also, the presentations made it clear how much the park cares about the animals' well-being. When they do the feeding and training presentations, they make it very clear that the animals' participation is entirely voluntary. They do things differently for their 9-foot saltie and their 16-foot saltie, because the 16-footer is so large and heavy he actually struggles walking on land sometimes. They adapt their programs and his care to ensure that he's completely comfortable- and he didn't actually participate in the whole feeding when I was watching! At no point did they try to push him into anything uncomfortable; they offered, he didn't engage, and they moved on. It was a clear expression of his boundaries, and I really appreciated how much his caretakers respected that.

4. Ethical Interactions

I've been to... a lot of tourist locations in Florida that have animals you can hold. Almost always against my will! Many of them are pretty terrible, and you don't actually learn much, if anything. But I really found that to not be the case at St. Augustine. Every single animal presentation and interaction opportunity was accompanied by education about the animal's biology, habits, and- crucially- their conservation status.

When I held a baby alligator at St. Augustine, the proctors- there were two, one to ensure I was holding the gator correctly and the other to educate- were very informative about the role alligators play in their ecosystem and their conservation history. The animals were all properly banded, and one of the two proctors was there to ensure that none of the baby alligators were uncomfortable. As soon as they started getting squirmy or tense, they were removed, unbanded, and taken to an off-exhibit area to relax. And when the babies age out of petting size, they just go in the lagoon to live with others of their species. I saw one upset alligator the entire time I was there, and he was clearly upset that his escape attempt was foiled by a keeper during my nursery tour.

Even though he's restrained in this shot, you can see that his full body and tail are supported, and the grip, while firm, is gentle. He's distressed, but after I took this picture, she put him in his enclosure and he calmed down immediately.

Sometimes when you have petting attractions with baby animals, those animals... don't have a happy ending. (See: cub petting.) But St. Augustine's program is fine- the gators are all aged out of wanting to have mom around, there's no declawing/defanging, and they're handled with care. And it's worth it, because people love what they understand. St. Augustine was integral in raising public awareness about alligators back in the 60s when they were endangered, and now they're thriving- largely in part to programs like St. Augustine getting people to care.

And speaking of getting people to care, let's talk about their research.

5. Shared Research Results

St. Augustine is also home to more species of crocodilian than anywhere else in North America- all of them, usually. (They didn't have a Tomistoma when I visited- that may have changed.)

Because of this species diversity, it's an incredible research resource. Having every species means that you can do a lot of work comparing their behaviors, their growth patterns, and more. They've been a major research site for crocodilian biology since the 1970s. Today, they're one of the key sites for studying crocodilian play and social behaviors. They actually maintain a blog where they post copies of papers that were written using their animals, meaning that you can actually see the results of the research your admission helps fund. You can see that right here: https://www.alligatorfarm.com/conservation-research/research-blog/

All of this adds up to a zoo that provides a unique experience, tons of actual education, and transparency about what its research and conservation steps actually are. St. Augustine's come a long way since its opening in 1893, and they really do want you to leave with a new respect for the animals they care for. Ultimately, if you're a fan of reptiles, you can feel good about visiting the St. Augustine Alligator Farm- their care and keeping are top of the line, they do a ton of innovative conservation research and support for conservation organizations, and you can see this animal there:

(Gharial from the front. Nothing is wrong with her that's just what they look like from the front.)

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 8

"What has been happening in Gotham?" Bruce being a dumbass that's what.

Ch9 has more of The Grayson family interaction and I think I will follow the timeline of the comics for the death of guardians- that way there'll be more time for Nolan's A+ parenting.

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 8 >>next

Gotham Heights has seen better days.

It’s been years since the rogues simply went mad, declaring war on specifically Bruce Wayne. It’s been years since Selina and Jason stopped talking to him, Catwoman did her best to avoid him while Red Hood seemed to revert to his Arkham Knight days, pure rage running through his veins.

Bruce doesn’t know what happened, what tipped all the rogues over the edge to deem Bruce Wayne, of all billionaires, enemy number one. He tried to look back and figure out what he did- if he said anything- as soon as he realized that they were teaming up and weren’t planning on stopping anytime soon but he found nothing beyond the media calling him a neglectful father to his youngest girl, which he found absurd. He loved Cassandra, went to every ballet show, and was so proud of her, so he didn’t bother to read what they were actually saying, deeming it as nothing but useless gossip. If only he glanced at the context…

Batman couldn’t keep up with the attacks, so everyone was out all year round, the man even having to ask Nightwing for help more than once or ten times. He didn’t like this. His kids still had school, and Damian still had so much to learn- fighting criminals nightly wasn’t helping set the no-killing rule into the boy and the sleepless nights weren’t helping his mood at school.

The man was getting tired. But the rogues did seem to take a day off every month, on the thirteenth. The first two months he didn’t recognize the pattern but by the third, he thought they were planning something big, and when the next day was just like the past two months his brain was racking with questions about the possibilities, fear running through his spine and making him so paranoid he could barely sleep.

It took him so long to find out where they all met on the thirteenth- it was embarrassing honestly, but he still did it. All rogues, separately mostly, would stop by flower shops, buying bouquets of lilacs and narcissi flowers. The next stop after the shop would be Gotham cemetery where each one of them would put a bouquet on a lady’s grave, a nobody, with no ties to them, the woman could barely keep a job as a waitress when she was alive. And the last stop would be Red Hood’s territory.

Batman knew that as soon as he and Robin stepped a toe on the territory, Jason would know, so while Bruce followed the main lead, Damien became the distraction. It took a while to find the rogues, and the image that was presented made him more confused than anything.

The rogues were in the alley between a hospital and an orphanage that opened about six or seven years ago, both walls of the buildings in the alley had big painted murals, both depicting Lady Gotham in the background while the foreground had soft, happy-looking people in different styles helping each other, “To a better community. To a better Gotham.” written at the bottom as a graffiti. He assumed the scribbles he couldn’t make out on the sides of the murals were the names of the people who drew them, though, a style predominated the others, it was safe to say that it was a collaboration.

Harley was making balloons for kids, mostly dogs, crowns, and swords as Grundy sat by her, holding the equipment and letting the kids climb him. Killer Croc and Bane seemed to be focused on bringing tables and chairs to set them down in an orderly fashion, as Two-Face and Riddler helped the older ladies carry the food. Penguin was busy talking to a nurse while his goons shared care packages to the patients and kids, all the while Ivy was reblooming the plants around the building. Mr. Freeze seemed stuck on ice cream making duties while also keeping the refreshments cold.

Batman had more questions than answers.

“This may be neutral ground, Bruce.” Jason’s voice behind him made Batman freeze before he slowly turned to face his son. “But you’re not welcome here.” His second oldest finished, his hands at his side, clenched tightly, itching to fight, to punch him.

“Since when is Red Hood territory neutral?” The older man couldn’t help but ask, but Jason didn’t answer him, instead telling him to leave once more. “Or I can just tell all the rogues down there who you really are. I’m sure they’ll be happy to kill two birds with one stone.”

Bruce frowned beneath his cowl as he felt Jason’s anger in his bones. They both worked hard to reconcile- but now the progress was back to zero once more. His inquiry about what happened between them both only seemed to anger the younger man even more, but Jason’s anger snuffed out as realization washed over him, laughter bubbling up instead.

Batman could only watch in confusion as Jason laughed at him. “You really don’t know, do you?” The younger man chuckled lowly, shaking his head as his shoulders slumped in defeat. “Goddamn Bruce, I know you deem protecting Gotham more important than your kids, but this is low even for you.”

“You’ve been missing a bird for almost six years, Batman. If you can’t connect the dots, then maybe it was the right decision to leave.” Jason turned his back to Bruce, walking away from the man. “I made mistakes. Like you. But when I came back, I rectified them, I don’t think you’ll be given the chance.”

“Leave. We’re being peaceful, fulfilling a promise we made to a kid. We can fight tomorrow.” Were his last words as he jumped down from the building, making his way to the little party as well while Batman’s eyes lingered on his back. Jason was just as exhausted as Bruce.

“You told him too much, kitten.” Selina purred from inside the orphanage, the kids inside too busy fawning over the fluffy cats she brought to pay attention to them. She was met with the blank mask of Red Hood. “And somehow, I’m sure it’ll still be a while until he figures it out.” Jason scoffed.

Batman sighed with defeat, calling Robin to the rendezvous point and telling the others to meet him in the Batcave, not giving them more of an explanation. He wasn’t missing anyone- he was sure. Dick, Jason, Tim, Barbara, Cassandra, Duke, Damian, even Stephanie- he just saw them, he just heard them. The drive to the Batcave was silent, Bruce lost in his thoughts while Damian was frowning, pouting really. 

Bruce made sure to count heads once more when everyone was present as he told and showed everyone what he discovered. “We should attack while they aren’t expecting us. They’ll surely talk then.” Damian was quick to interject, completely overlooking that Todd said there was a missing person. “No way!” Duke closed the idea before anyone had a chance. “There are too many civilians that will get caught in the crossfire-”

Cassandra could only watch as her family argued and tried to come up with a solution, as they tried to find out who Jason was referring to. Her brows furrowed behind her mask. He couldn’t be talking about- no. Bruce sent her away like he mentioned that one time to Alfred. Her little sister is safe in London- Bruce surely remembers... Right?

A few states over, Joker is laughing while he falls from miles in the air, three figures looking down at the crazy clown. Like Batsy hasn’t tried this trick on him before, they’re not even as intimidating, wearing those silly costumes. But then the ground kept coming closer and closer, his gleeful expression turning into a shocked frown. “Oh boy-“ The Joker gulped.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji

A/n: Special thanks to @fightmebissh for putting the idea of murals in my head- I won't be able to let it go :))

Also- the flowers I specifically used for their meanings. Lilacs of shades of purple to reflect spirituality and a specific lilac color that is associated with one’s first love or the first time one feels love for someone, and Narcissi for rebirth and good fortune, awareness, and inner reflection.

I always feel like I'm forgetting something when I post these...

[radiance1]

Damian has beef with a homeless kid. Both as a Wayne, and as Robin.

As a Wayne, Damian being alone outside was a rare thing. Most of the time a sibling would be accompanying him or wouldn't be too far off, but he was well and truly alone for the first in a while.

Then he stepped into an alleyway and nearly got hit in the face. It wasn't unexpected, considering this is Gotham, but it's unusual for a thief to be bare-handed.

They then devolved into a fistfight and, while the other boy's form has at least some foundation it was pitiful in comparison to the Demon's Heir and the son of Batman. But the boy had quite a lot of power that he threw around with his punches and kicks, power that Damian used against him while simultaneously dodging his attacks.

There was an invisible line that the boy refused to let him cross that led deeper into the alleyway, and he somehow managed to do exactly that. Looping Damian right back to their starting positions at the start of this fight, Damian at the mouth and the unknown at the middle point.

Damian then caught sight of familiar green scales, a groan, and a very familiar voice calling out "Kid...?" The boy in front of him seemed, genuinely, panicked at the voice's interruption, but not with fear.

But with worry.

So then Damian left, pushing away each and every notion that he should detain Killer Croc right then and there with the logic that he didn't even have his uniform and the proper equipment to effectively deal with someone of Killer Croc's powerset.

Somehow, whenever he was alone from his siblings, he's always met the boy, whom he learned was called Danny via overhearing Killer Croc speaking to him. Their meetings always started in a fight, and ended with no victor as Damian sneaked away as soon as Killer Croc made his presence known.

No wonder he's been so quiet, it seemed he either had a child or found one.

===

As Robin, Damian would admit that he was caught off guard by the same boy who acted as Killer Crocs 'bodyguard' (either for the mutant himself, or everyone else. He doesn't care enough to find out) and would say it was a good move.

But that was as much praise as he was willing to give.

Robin recognized Danny at first glance, if not in looks than surely the fighting style he was familiarized with over the past few months. A mixture between refined and wild.

As always, he threw far more power than his body should allow for someone of his build and age, so perhaps he was a mutant as well. It didn't matter, what did, however, was how each of the punches thrown could punch straight through a wall.

Robin never let himself get hit fully to test if it could as easily pierce the human body as well.

As usual, Robin was either redirecting, outright dodging or blocking (when he wasn't able to dodge just right enough for the attack to not hit him) the attacks that came his way. And, as always, wherever it seemed Killer Croc went, Danny went as well.

Wherever Killer Croc found this boy, Robin would give him credit for being able to choose his protegees correctly.

Robin let no one else deal with Danny whenever he's on scene along with Killer Croc. His father wouldn't even fight him unless it was necessary, most of the time busy with Killer Croc himself, Nightwing was occupied in his own territory, as well as Red Hood.

Robin would not so humbly refuse to even entertain the idea of Red Robin as a candidate.

When Killer Croc escaped, Robin let his opponent chase after his guardian to nurse the wounds that came, more often than not, from counters to his own attacks.

He always had an excuse ready as for the why.

===

Damian Wayne saw something surprising, when he met Danny again.

Robin's own attack being thrown at him.

Of course, it was sloppy and almost painful to look at. But it still surprised Damian, nonetheless.

He spent some time effectively guiding Danny to perform the attack to an at least practical level. Not that Danny asked, or he offered, but it was easy to guide the flow of the fight to what he wanted.

===

Robin was surprised. Not to any great level, but it caught him off guard.

Danny had almost perfectly countered his attack.

It was still sloppy in some places, needed a bit more refining and a great less of the power that was unconsciously behind it. Other than that, it was performed that Damian could say he was almost impressed.

Danny landed a hit on him, and he was quite sure he may have broken a rib, bruised his chest, or both.

So of course, he ruthlessly beat the boy into the ground while pointing out each and every flaw in his technique. Then let him run off after his... master? Father?

He does not know the significance of the role Killer Croc plays to the boy, but he let him run away after him back to the sewer systems.

Of course, an excuse already on lips for his father to hear, and even better, physical evidence to back up his claim.

[the-music-maniac]

I get a little annoyed when people's complaints about zosan stray into the "Sanji would never fall for Zoro because of personal hygiene issues" territory. Mostly because I feel like it involves a fundamental misunderstanding about their dynamic and also Sanji as a character.

First of all, Sanji smokes cigarettes and cooks seafood and shit. Even if he does shower daily, there is no way he smells like a rose garden. So there's that.

Second of all, Sanji is a COOK. You literally cannot be a cook if you're afraid of getting your hands dirty, if you're afraid of working up a sweat. He knows the value of hard work in that regard. For his craft, Sanji gets all up in some fish guts, he hunts, he cleans, de-feathers, skins, butchers whatever creature they've managed to hunt - come on y'all. That is not a man that would be a germaphobe. He keeps his workspace and himself clean cause that's the mark of a good cook, but the man would have no qualms about getting dirty. He ain't squeamish.

Third, Sanji's entire thing is that he ACTS like a refined gentleman, but he's a little bit batshit crazy in the same way all the strawhats are. He's one of the monster trio for a reason! They're all freaking unhinged, Sanji's first reaction to seeing sea monsters is to yell that he wants to cook it. He's fought so many battles, I've no doubt that there's blood soaked into the soles of his fancy loafers, caked into some of the hems of his suit pants. My point being that while him acting like he's a gentleman with "refined tastes" is no means deception (he probably has excellent taste when it comes to dining) he also doesn't fit that description entirely. He strives for it, in order to maintain an image, and it also plays into his whole "ladies man" thing as well. But he's not actually a refined gentleman in our traditional interpretation of the word. He's down to slum it if needed, and will kick a person's ass for not finishing a soup that has a bug in it because it would mean wasting food. Also the man has worn orange crocs. Refined my ass.

Fourth, you can deny it all you want, but Zoro and Sanji have always been and will likely always be, two people that match each other's freak. And by that I mean that all it takes is Zoro muttering one little disparaging comment, and Sanji is immediately there, ready to throw down, dirt and sweat be damned. If he were to complain about Zoro's supposed bathing habits and shit, while I don't doubt some of it would be genuine complaint, it probably would mostly be because it would annoy Zoro. But when it comes down to stuff Sanji actually gives a shit about, hygiene would probably not be high up on that list. He is 100% that motherfucker that would get heart eyes over Zoro eating sugar onigiri out of the mud to spare a little girl's feelings.

I get annoyed by people using that argument as if it's a legitimate reasoning for why Zoro and Sanji wouldn't get together. Like what impression of Sanji do you have in your head? You think the dude that constantly knocks foreheads with Zoro during their antagonistic (gay) posturing would get squeamish about Zoro being a little sweaty? Sanji can be your babygirl if you want, but we gotta stop acting like he's the type to get squeamish over stuff like that - there's no way that out of ALL the issues Sanji has yet to work through locked up in that pretty noggin of his, that personal hygiene would be the hold up on a relationship between these two. The zosan dynamic is Sanji complains loudly about Zoro being a disgusting brute and then will turn around and roundhouse kick a man's head off. Like yes, Sanji. That's not the pot calling the kettle black at all.

None of this is a complaint btw. That's literally my favourite part about Sanji, and Zosan as a whole. Sanji wouldn't be nearly as interesting if he was just a gentleman. Zosan wouldn't be as compelling if they weren't two lil peas in a pod, equally as unhinged. The only difference is Zoro puts literally no effort into trying to hide his level of derangement. Which is also very in character for him, btw.

[tantei-chan01]

Animals Continued

Xxxxx

Once the World Tour is taken care of, with the rock trolls agreeing to help with the damages, the rest of the tribes return to their respective territories. There's just one issue, the wild life have gotten bolder.

Since the attack, many of their defenses have been destroyed, causing the local wildlife to get closer to the residents. There haven't been any attacks, but it does make the citizens nervous.

Techno trolls have sharks, eels, and large squid that are their natural predators. It's also the time of year for the giant mana ray migration, so they need to figure out a way to redirect them without their tech.

The Classical trolls have large preditory birds to worry about, and they're having trouble getting their eighth goats under control.

The Country trolls have many poisoness animals in the desert. Their cattle have been scared off so many times that they won't get close to the town.

The Funk trolls have to stay grounded until repairs are done on the ship, since they haven't been on the ground for so long, they're not quite sure how to deal with many of the creatures.

The Rock trolls also have a problem, with so many of the citizens in different territories to help with repairs. They've neglected their own issues with the lava crocs and boulder buzzards.

When Poppy learns of this, she sends in the one troll who can help them.

Enter Branch.

At first, Branch was a little apprehensive to leave the village, they still have some repairs to do, and it's mating season for the puffalo. The Snack Pack tell him that they can handle the reconstruction and Milton can help with the puffalo. So he packs up his bags and starts heading toward the other tribes.

Xxx

Branch spends a month in each tribe to do his job. He tackles the predators first, spending two weeks studying their habits and memorizing their sounds. Once he finds a pattern in the communication or an exploitable weakness, he makes a strategy and collaborates with the other trolls on how to best go through it. Some animals he was able to convince to move areas, others he had no choice but use force.

Once the predators are taken care of, he gets to the domestic animals. Like before, he memorizes the habits and sounds. Once he has a form of communication going, he'll ask them what they need. He then relays the message to the trolls, and they start making accommodations.

The other tribes notice how their pets and livestock seem much calmer around the once gray troll. Even the more temperamental of their creature become putty in his hands. Many have called him the 'Animal Whisperer', and the more romantic types call him an Angel.

To say thanks for helping them, each tribe gives him an animal.

Techno gave him a Low beat Turtle, similar to Suki's bugs, the have a turntable on their back. They can move on land and can create a low vibration sound that has a calming effect.

Classical gave him three eighth goats as they do better in a herd than by themselves. Their wool is fluffy and warm, making incredible blankets, pillows, and sweaters. They also have a melodious bleat.

Country gave him a dairy Bluegrass Buffalo, they're a sandy blue color cow. They make a delicious and nutritious milk and are very gentle.

Funk gave him a snug-a-lug since Branch can talk to them. He can figure out how to hug it without multiplying. And yes, Branch can make that cute little warble it does.

Rock gave him a Lava Snake, they vary in color from dark red to an ashy gray. Their hide is very tough while their underbelly is quite soft. They can withstand extremely high temperatures, and their skin can be melted to create many things once they shed. The young one likes to sleep in the fireplace.

The animals in Pop village take them under their tutelage to become Branch's bodyguards, unbeknownst to him.

[discordantwritings]

Our Precious Assistant Pt. 3 (Cross Guild x Reader)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 4.5

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, gn!afab reader, sub!reader, sub!Buggy, dom!Mihawk, dom!Crocodile, exhibitionism, vouyerism, cockwarming, PiV sex, oral sex, mastrubation, inappropriate use of Buggy’s devil fruit powers, creampie

WC: 4.3k

Summary: You get some much needed TLC and start your new work routine. Which, of course, involves some fooling around at work.

Note: I mean it was only a matter of time before Buggy’s dick being detachable was going to come up. I hope you guys like the dynamics in this one with not everyone participating at once but everyone still getting some love.

You realize you’re sore before you realize you’re awake. Slowly remembering the events of last night and earlier it all makes sense. Buggy’s arms are wrapped tight around your midsection and you have just enough room to twist around in his grasp.

His face paint had gotten washed off at some point and you can’t help but admire his features without the layer of makeup. Tracing your fingers over his jaw you feel the stubble there, coarse but the sensation isn’t bad.

Your touch stirs Buggy awake and without opening his eyes he pull you in tighter.

“Just five more minutes…” He mumbles, his face buried in your chest.

“Buggy it’s late we should get up.” You press a kiss to the top of his head and push him, but he’s stronger than you.

“Mmmm but I like where I am.” He nuzzles in and you feel that stubble rub against you.

“But I need to take a shower or something.” At this Buggy perks up, withdrawing his face from your boobs. “Croc has the best bathtub.”

So that’s how you ended up soaking with Buggy in the largest bathtub you’ve ever seen. It comfortably fits both of you and you’re pretty sure one or two more people could squeeze in here. Despite how much space you could have you’re right next to Buggy, leaning into his shoulder while you let the warm water soothe your body. Buggy has put heaps of bath salts and other soaps into the bath and the fragrances nearly put you back to sleep.

“Next time we should wait until we aren’t already bruised to get in trouble.” You muse.

“Sorry to break the news but you’re never not going to be bruised. Both of them love marking their territory.” Buggy leans and grabs some shampoo from the side of the bath. You take the bottle from him and he shoots you a confused look.

“Let me wash your hair.” You offer.

His eyes light up and you can’t help but giggle as he eagerly repositions himself in front of you. You take your time with his long blue hair and revel in the intimacy of the moment. When you’re done he returns the favor and you feel the remaining tension leave your body as he scrubs shampoo into your scalp. The both of your are just as languid finishing bathing and you don’t hop out until the bath has gone cold.

It takes a bit to get dressed again since your clothes had been thrown to every corner of the room but you manage to get dressed- well, most of the way.

“Buggy? Have you seen my underwear?” You call out, your check under the bed unsuccessful.

“Me? No. I mean I don’t think you came in wearing any.” His words have you immediately whipping around to look at him.

The edge of your underwear hangs out of his pocket while he wears a shit eating grin. You sigh and slip on your pants knowing you won’t win this battle.

“Let’s go get some dinner.” It’s been way too long since you last ate and after all your body has been through you need to recharge.

“Let’s get Croc and Mihawk one of them always pays for the good stuff.” Buggy takes your arm in his as you walk out of the bedroom and to the offices.

You find Mihawk and Crocodile in their respective offices and it’s doesn’t take much convincing to drag them out to dinner. True to Buggy’s predictions you get a secluded VIP table at a restaurant where prices aren’t even listed on the menu.

You sat next to Crocodile while Buggy and Mihawk sat across from you. They caught you up on what you missed for the day and you were surprised at how mundane it all was. This is just the way your life is now, catching up on the day with three of the most dangerous pirates in the world over dinner.

Crocodile’s large hand was on your thigh all dinner. Surprisingly it never drifted too far in he just left it resting on the top of your thigh, only occasionally squeezing. The touch kept you grounded as you chatted easily through dinner with your new partners. When going back home was brought up at the end of the night you hesitated.

“I think I’m going back to my place tonight.” When Buggy looked particularly dejected you elaborated a bit. “I can’t come into work tomorrow wearing the clothes I wore yesterday.”

“Of course you can. Anyone who even looks at you wrong will get a limb cut off.” Buggy says simply, but thankfully Mihawk is the voice of reason.

“No it makes sense, I’m sure you need some time to yourself after all of this.” Mihawk’s words calm you down, making you more confident in your choice.

“But I think I will make sure to pack an overnight back to have at the office. Just in case.” That comment gets Buggy’s mood up again, and his smile is infectious.

Dinner ends on a high note and by the time you leave the sky is dark and the wind chills you a bit, you weren’t dressed for todays weather. You’re about to excuse yourself to power walk home when a heavy coat drapes over your shoulders.

The thick smell of cigar smoke and fur tickling your neck means you don’t even have to turn to see that it’s Crocodile’s coat on your back. You pull it tighter around you, practically swimming in the dark fabric.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” You say awkwardly, unsure how goodbyes work in your new situation.

All three of them look at you a bit confused and you can’t help but be confused back.

“We are escorting you home.” Mihawk says like it’s an obvious fact and he takes your arm as he walks by you and in the direction of your apartment.

“Yeah, duh. Can’t have our star walking alone on the streets at night.” Buggy is on your other side, unattached hands gesturing.

You don’t have to look behind you to know Crocodile is bringing up the rear, his imposing presence tingling on your back.

Buggy fills most of the walk home with crazy stories that you’re not sure are true but you enjoy none the less. You’re at your door before you know it and Buggy pulls you off of Mihawk and into a big hug.

“I’m so happy you’re with me.” There’s a beat before he corrects himself. “Us.”

You hug him back and as you pull away you press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m happy too.”

Someone must be glaring at him because Buggy shrinks away to let the other two come closer. Mihawk lightly presses against your arm and you turn to face him.

“Goodnight darling.” He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and places a quick kiss to your lips before waiting further away with Buggy.

You shrug off Crocodile’s jacket and offer it to him. He pauses a second before taking it and draping it over his arm.

“Thank you. For everything.” You say, smiling up at him.

“We are just getting started.” He places a kiss to your forehead. “We will see you tomorrow.”

You can feel the blush on your cheeks from all of the sweet gestures as you wave at the three of them before slinking back into your apartment. A wide smile never left your face as you went to bed, excited for what life has in store for you.

Life changed but life stayed the same. Work still had to be done and they were still your bosses but of course none of them let that stop their affections. Hands on your back and shoulders as they passed by your desk, quick kisses when they got in for the day. You have to admit you’ve never been more motivated to do your work when the reward is getting a kiss.

But of course not all of their actions were so chaste. You would’ve thought Buggy would be the worst offender of dragging you off to fool around at work but it was far and away Crocodile. Being called into his office to help with paperwork always ended up with you in a compromising position- but you weren’t complaining.

“Sir- Mihawk is expecting a report-“

“Hawkeyes can wait.” You felt the low rumble of his voice throughout your body as you sat in his lap at his desk. Your chest pressed to his as you rested your head on his shoulder. Seeing you from above the desk this might have been a cute scene, you sitting with him as he worked on his paperwork. But below the desk your boss’ pants were open just enough so he could be inside you while he worked.

You had been sitting like this for an hour now, maybe more, warming his cock while you struggled not to move. Your thighs ached from being in this position and slick dripped down onto Crocodile’s lap. You’d be concerned about ruining his incredibly expensive pants if you could form coherent thoughts. The fullness you’ve been experiencing, the ache, being on edge for so long, it caused your head to empty into just a buzz. You had only remembered Mihawk when you glanced down at your watch and realized just how long you had been in this position.

Your arms were latched around your boss’ neck and your face was buried in the crook of his neck. You focused on your breathing and keeping your body relaxed- a feat that had gotten much easier as time went on with the tension in your body unable to hold itself for so long. In the back of your mind you wonder if that’s what Crocodile likes about this- having you completely docile and submissive- wearing you down to just your base instincts. It’s a bit embarrassing to admit you like this too. Not having to think or move and just existing in the moment is a kind of peace you didn’t think you would find sitting on Crocodile’s dick.

A knock on the door sends a small wave of panic through your body as you sit up at the noise- a mistake. The movement sends a fresh wave of pleasure over your over sensitive body and you bite your tongue to stifle a moan. Crocodile doesn’t make any moves but you can tell it effected him by the way his cock throbs inside you.

“Who is it?” Crocodile’s tone is short and you can tell he’s on the verge of anger.

“It’s me wondering what you’ve done with our assistant.” Mihawk’s monotone voice carries through the large wooden door and you can feel Crocodile relax under you.

“Come in and see.”

You know turning and looking to see Mihawk would garner disapproval from Crocodile so you stay still, hyper focusing on the noise to piece together what is happening behind you back. The door creaks open and you hear Mihawk’s boots click a few times on the floor before there’s a long pause.

“Shut the door.” Crocodile seems unbothered now, continuing to file through reports.

The door closes and you hear Mihawk slowly walking closer. Your heartbeat quickens as you feel his eyes on you, burning into your back. Tilting your head you look out and eagerly wait for Mihawk to come into your range of vision.

“I have to say that’s not a bad position for them.” Mihawk finally speaks, probably at the side of the desk just out of your sight.

“On that we agree. I think this is where they should be all the time, keeping me warm is a very important job.” Crocodile’s words send shivers down your spine and you can’t help the whiny moan that bubbles in your throat.

“Oh and they like it so much.” Mihawk’s voice has a teasing tilt to it as he finally slides into your vision. He’s leaning forward so his face is level with yours and his piercing eyes travel over your face, pupils dilated with hunger.

“How long have you been like this?” He asks softly.

“I don’t know… hour? More?” Your voice is breathy, needy.

“You like being senseless on his cock?” Mihawk presses his face close, forehead touching yours.

“Fuck- yes.” Your eyes are screwed shut and you feel Mihawk’s breath on your face.

You feel Crocodile’s chuckle. “Keep talking to them, I can feel how much they like it.”

Mihawk finally closes the gap and your kiss is all needy tongue and teeth as an hour of patience is broken. You push up to try and deepen the kiss but you’re promptly pulled back down by Crocodile’s hand at your waist.

“Don’t think you’re done here.” His voice is stern but you can hear arousal creeping into the edges of his tone.

Mihawk breaks away and you whine as you watch him walk away. You’re confused only for a second until you hear the drag of one of the other chairs in the room coming to sit next to Crocodile’s large office chair. Mihawk sits down next to the two of you and with his legs spread wide you can see his erection straining against his black pants.

“How long you going to keep them like this?” The swordsman asks.

“What, you want a turn?” Crocodile responds, putting down his pen and piling up some of the papers.

“No. Just wanted to know if the show was going to get exciting anytime soon.” His disinterested words didn’t hold any weight when he was unbuckling his pants.

“Seems our assistant isn’t the only needy one here. What do you say sweetheart? You ready to put on a show for Mihawk?” Crocodile lightly pushes you so you’re sitting up, face to face with him.

“Yes sir.” You say unabashedly needy.

“That’s my angel.” He mutters to you before finally kissing you. Just like with Mihawk it’s heated but he’s much more controlled- the teeth are precise as he bites your lower lip while his hand grips your hip.

You grind down on him, relishing in finally being able to move. You’re rewarded with a deep groan from Crocodile and you know both of you won’t last much longer. Crocodile’s hand slides from your waist to under your ass as he stands up, sitting you on the desk in one swift movement. Grateful you won’t have to try and use your already aching thighs you allow your head to loll to the side to get a view of Mihawk.

He’s sat back in the chair, legs spread wide as his hand slowly fists his dick. His gaze is lidded as he watches the two of you. Crocodile seems more than happy to maneuver one of your legs up so your foot is on the desk, spreading yourself wide so Mihawk can have a better view of Crocodile’s large cock splitting you open. Crocodile bites down on your shoulder as he thrusts into you and you moan loud as you feel Mihawk’s gaze burn into you.

“You like me watching you?” Mihawk asks, his breath short.

You go to respond but Crocodile thrusts up into you hard and all you can do is moan as your hands fly back to get a grip on the desk to stabilize yourself. It’s not hard to assume Crocodile loves the audience too, deep thrusts at a slightly awkward angle just to show off.

“Hawkeyes-“

“Yes.” Mihawk doesn’t need Crocodile to finish his sentence before he’s quickly by your side. You don’t know how they communicate so much with so little but Mihawk’s deft fingers circling your clit have you abandoning that train of thought.

Mihawk leans in and starts whispering praises in your ear about how good you’re taking Crocodile and how nice you looked sitting on his cock.

Mihawk’s words- His fingers- Crocodile’s thrusts- it was too much and finally after so long of being on the precipice you crashed over into your orgasm. Crocodile wasn’t far behind, burying himself until his hips were flush with yours and filling you up with a groan.

Mihawk’s ministrations on your clit slowed and helped you come down until Crocodile finally pulled out of you. If you weren’t so fucked out you might have been worried about getting Crocodile’s desk dirty but all you could do was collapse back onto it and catch your breath.

The sound of Mihawk zipping his pants up in the quiet space makes you push yourself up a bit to see what was happening. Mihawk hadn’t finished and you flashed him a confused look as you try (and then fail) to sit up.

“Don’t worry about me. You’ve been good.” He leans over and kisses your forehead. “I’m going to go bother Buggy.”

“Mmm.” You nodded and with a sigh relaxed back into the desk. Of course you would have been more than happy to help Mihawk but you have to admit you’re exhausted. Plus you can imagine how excited Buggy will be when Mihawk comes to his door already hard. You smile at him as he walks away and notice a small nod shared between him and Crocodile.

When the door shuts you finally manage to push yourself up to look at Crocodile in his chair. “How do you two do that?”

“Do what?” He’s already put himself back together, a cigar about to be lit in his fingers.

“Talk without talking. I’ve seen you and Mihawk do it a bunch.” You reach over and grab his lighter from his desk and spark it.

“Thanks doll.” He leans forward and lights his cigar. After taking a long drag he answers you question. “We just work on the same wave. Probably because of our time was warlords- same path of thinking, same muscle memory. Turns out fighting and fucking together have a lot of overlap.”

You giggle as you push off the desk and slide sideways into his lap, your legs over his thighs. Leaning into his chest you curl up into his warmth. “It’s great you two have that.”

Crocodile only hums and you let yourself relax as the two of you drift into pleasant silence.

Even if Crocodile is the worst offender that doesn’t mean Buggy isn’t an interruption to your work a lot. Most of it is quick, random kisses or gropes when no one is looking. But sometimes he will get you into his office and whine enough that you relent to him.

“They’re so mean to me baby.” Buggy is lounging on a large velvet couch in his over decorated office.

“Yes. Didn’t you sign up for that?” You stand over him, hand on your hip.

“Yeah but-“ He pouts. “You’re so nice to me.”

“And?” You notice his hands detaching and floating around behind you.

“I could be nice to you.” The innuendo is punctuated by his hands on your ass, squeezing as they push you even closer to him.

“And you know what will happen if we get up to anything without Crocodile or Mihawk.” While you admit it was fun, you weren’t exactly in the mood to be edged for hours.

Buggy dramatically flips back into the couch as you notice a hand leave and fly over to a transponder snail. The snail is picked up and placed on an end table so Buggy could talk to someone.

“Hawky baby~” He calls into the transponder only to be immediately greeted with the sound of Mihawk hanging up. Buggy gasps, offended before redialing.

“Ourassistantisherewithmeandwewantohabefunsocouldyoucomeoverand-“ Buggy rushes all his words out before he’s hung up on again. The mouthpiece gets dropped to the ground as Buggy pouts.

“I’m sure if we just wait until tonight-“ Now it’s your turn to be cut off as you hear the quick opening and closing of Buggy’s door. You turn and see Mihawk standing there, arms crossed.

“Hawky!” Buggy shoots up as his hands reattach themselves. “I knew you would be so loving and reasonable.”

“Which is why you called twice?” Mihawk deadpans.

“Yes?”

You and Mihawk look at each other and you shrug. “He said he wanted to be nice to me.”

“You are nice to him, so it seems only fair.” Mihawk finally walks over and picks one of the obscenely plush chairs to sit in. “Make sure our lovely assistant is appreciated for all their hard work.”

Hands suddenly grab at your waist and pull you down onto the couch with Buggy. In a flash he’s on top of you, pushing you down to lay flat on the bed while he eagerly kisses down your neck. His hands are already working at the waistband of the pants and pulling down.

“You could go a little slower.” Mihawk comments from his chair and you look over to see him palm himself through his pants.

“But that’s no fun.” Buggy smiles up at you as his hands travel back up and push you shirt up, giving him better access to paw and your breasts. You moan as his hands work your flesh and you can feel yourself getting wet from the attention.

Buggy continues not to listen to Mihawk’s advice as he slides down until he’s kissing your hips and down the tops of your thighs. You shudder in anticipation as his hands hold your thighs open and kid mouth travels to your inner thighs, taking its time there as he sucks the sensitive skin.

“Buggy-“ You whine as your hand lands on his head, threading your fingers into his soft blue hair.

“Now who’s in a rush?” Buggy teases, hovering just above where you need him to be.

“Thought you were going to be nice to me.” You pout and you know Buggy can’t resist.

“Anything for my star.” He presses on last kiss to the inside of your thigh before he dives in.

Buggy isn’t as through and calculated as Mihawk or Crocodile but fuck if he isn’t enthusiastic. He’s loud and sloppy but as his tongue dives between your folds his nose rubs against your clit any comparisons fly out of your head. You push his head down further as you buck your hips to grind on his face and Buggy takes that lead well, never slowing down. You’re keenly aware of Mihawk’s gaze and you let your head fall to the side to make eye contact with him.

His dick is out now and his thumb is rubbing over the bright red head. He must like this a lot you think- sitting back and watching the ones more eager to show off. You like it too.

You turn your moans and whines up to eleven, doing your best not to break eye contact with him even when Buggy’s tongue reaches deep inside you. When he does that your grip tightens on his hair and he moans into your pussy. Mihawk’s gaze leaves your eyes for a second to dart down before connecting with yours again.

“Buggy.” Mihawk is short and commanding and to Buggy’s credit he immediately stops and rests his head on your thigh. “Show them your trick.”

“I have a lot of tricks you’re going to have to be more- ohhhhhhh.” Buggy gets a devilish grin on his face as realization clicks.

You’re confused and prop yourself up a bit when Buggy’s hands leave your body to work at his pants and he pulls them down just enough for you to see how worked up he’s gotten from eating you out. What surprises you is when he tugs at his dick it pops off of his body. It makes sense, given his powers there’s no reason it shouldn’t but it’s still a sight. Once the initial shock wears off there’s a fresh wave of arousal as Buggy guides his cock to your entrance, teasing around your folds and gathering the slick there.

“Now go slowly.” Mihawk commands.

You whine as Buggy’s tip pushes into your entrance, stretching you out. True to his orders Buggy goes painfully slow, giving every inch it’s time to drag against your walls. When he’s about halfway in he adjusts and you gasp when suddenly his mouth is around your clit, sucking. You grip his hair hard as he moans into that bundle of nerves and create a pleasure filled feedback loop. Buggy continues to ease himself into you and lap at your clit and all you can do is grip onto him and stare into Mihawk’s golden eyes.

You see him working himself, pacing his hand with Buggy’s slow rhythm in and out of you. Seeing him watching, knowing Buggy and you are under his control even as he’s passively sitting there is thrilling. Knowing he gets off on it too feels just as good.

The overload of this new combination of sensations has you a moaning mess, babbling as you grip onto the couch and Buggy’s hair for dear life. Buggy is close too from you tugging at his hair and your cunt pulsing around him he is using all his focus to keep tonguing at your clit.

“Buggy- ‘m close just-“ You manage to choke out and he gets the message. He pumps himself inside you faster and as he’s slamming into you lightly nips at your clit.

You cum with a loud moan and you feel Buggy close behind you, filling you as your walls seize from your orgasm. You are able to catch Mihawk finishing into his hand, cum spilling over his abs.

Buggy collapses onto you, head nuzzled into your thigh as he catches his breath. You run your fingers through his hair as you gain your senses back.

“Don’t forget we are going out for dinner tonight.” Mihawk says as he finishes cleaning himself up, bringing over some wipes for you and Buggy. “So do be cleaned up.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and then presses one on Buggy’s cheek.

You never thought this is where your life would end up but as contentment and love fills up your chest you know you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[inamindfarfaraway]

Batcat Epic: The Musical AU:

Odysseus - Selina Kyle (antihero of guile, pride, courage, charisma and gritty realism; highly skilled and experienced fighter, but not one for wanton violence, preferring to think and talk her way to victory; devoted but distant lover and caretaker; can be hubristic and overly ambitious; both calculating and impulsive; willing to lie, betray, murder, torture and go to other incredibly ruthless, morally dark places, but nonetheless loves with everything she has, frequently thinks of others and chooses to be selfless; struggles with severe depression, guilt, self-loathing and even suicidal ideation; becomes afraid of herself and how she hurts and endangers everyone around her)

Penelope - Bruce Wayne (wise, cunning, fair and kind; respected leader of his people who lives in a big fancy house on a hill; has that homophrosyne with Selina; loves unconditionally; never kills and doesn’t want to - he would not murder a baby in his establishing scene; Sirenelope gets to be Hush)

Telemachus - Holly Robinson (young adult child of Selina who’s grown up away from her in more stability and comfort; wants to be close to her but also escape her shadow; in the process of emotionally maturing; generally more positive, idealistic and sociable than Selina albeit with her own issues; willing to fight and kill for her family; themes of sexual abuse to some degree - “Hold him down” and “Get off me!” anyone?)

Eurylochus - Barbara Gordon (foil to Selina; strong, confident, intelligent fighter and strategist; usually a reliable and valuable ally, but inclined to break away from authority figures when their personal philosophies clash as she has her own leadership qualities; pragmatic and morally grey, but not in all the same ways as Selina; focuses on the bigger picture and the needs of the many, caring deeply and feeling responsible for all her people, while Selina gets tunnel vision about her goals and inner circle; suspicious and distrustful)

Polites - Maggie Kyle (one of Selina’s dearest loved ones; much more idealistic than her, having faith in the goodness of people and the potency of kindness, empathy and nonviolent, nonconfrontational approaches; emotionally intelligent; doomed to be a tragic figure of separation, grief and heartache, haunting Selina’s narrative after she loses her)

Athena - Artemis, goddess of the hunt, the wild and female independence; but also (seen more with Holly) motherhood and protection of maidens and daughters, despite also being the god assigned with killing them; played by Helena Bertinelli and transforms into a bat

Circe - Poison Ivy (literally and figuratively enchanting lady of great power with dominion over nature; may seem callous and evil, and certainly has a low opinion of men, but is motivated by earnest, protective love for the life under her care; willing to use violence, manipulation and seduction to get what she wants; grows to be more compassionate and merciful, and from Selina’s enemy into an ally)

Hermes - Harley Quinn (“Ivy’s so badass and clever and hot, she could defeat you effortlessly in so many fun ways and look damn good doing it - what? Yeah, I’m totally on your side! I’m giving you drugs, ain’t I?”; she knew Selina and Ivy would make friends all along, that sneaky crime goddess)

Zeus - Black Mask (the most bastard, arrogant, sadistic control freak, forces Selina to choose between sacrificing herself or her loved ones, very bad to women)

Poseidon - the Penguin (lord of an immense territory who rules through fear and reputation, keenly concerned with his image; typically practical and cold, not senselessly evil, but bitter, cruel, vindictive and prone to taking unbelievably excessive revenge on anyone who slights him; cynical enough to believe that he’s only doing what survival in this unjust world requires of him; aquatic theme)

Polyphemus - maybe Waylon Jones in his most bloodthirsty, monstrous Killer Croc mode (sorry, Waylon, I know you’re better than this; but crocodiles are aquatic, so the Poseidon connection makes sense)

Aeolus - Edward Nygma (affable but tricky; smug, condescending, knows more than you and loves it; enjoys giving people ludicrously difficult challenges and games that he fully expects them to fail and then blames them when they do anyway)

Antinous - Sylvia Sinclair (one of Selina’s most personal enemies even though they don’t spend much time together, because she lays claim to Selina’s territory and plots to ruin and kill her family; gets killed with one shot from behind at a climactic moment) or the Joker (here to cause problems on purpose; Bruce isn’t gonna fuck you, clown)

Anticlea - Leslie Thompkins (Selina’s elderly mother figure in adulthood; benevolent community leader)

Tiresias - Cassandra Cain (sees in a special way normal people can’t, giving her the ability to read their souls and predict their futures; profoundly familiar with death; wants to help, but can’t always communicate her information helpfully to others; broody as hell)

Calypso - Talia al Ghul (LISTEN Epic Calypso is not necessarily a rapist! She’s just a lonely, morally complex, controlling and possessive but genuinely loving and well-intentioned woman who rules a beautiful island; and has dodgy social skills because she’s always been in a position of power and privilege while suffering, emotionally neglected and isolated from normal people, trapped by her evil father’s legacy)

Astyanax - Kitrina Falcone (the youngest, most innocent member of a family of Selina’s sworn enemies, who she wishes to raise as her own; in any universe, their meeting will… permanently change Kitrina’s fate)

And Argos is a kitty cat!

[pumpkinstrawbrew]

hey-hey! Hope you're good! What about short fic about crane's "manic periods" and how batman handle him? Arkham games version, but others are fine too!

Ps I reeeeealy like you fics and your view on scarebat!

howdy! i feel a tad better now. not the best! but not the worst, so it’s smth. i take small wins, over no wins at all. but ah, that’s such a fun request! i was itching to try to do smth with these two! also i didn’t joke about stuff taking me a long time. esp bc i tend to get a bit too invested … hehe …

anyways, this huge ficlet *bc yeah, even i know that it got a bit too bulky there* is smth of an attempt to give a backstory to aa!scarecrow’s ‘fashion choices’, along with other things. it also pretty much takes place in universe, where batman saves jon from croc, so arkham knight events never happen *the joker still dies tho* so what follows below is a recollection of what happened before an’ after that. ❗ a lil warning for suggestive bits there an’ here, but nothing too adult. + presence of canon typical violence.

*an’ thank you! that’s very sweet of you to say.*

༻❁༺

“Fear is…the only way, Batman. The only way to —”

Without as much as even a breath of reply, Batman tightened his grip on Crane’s noose, forcing Jonathan’s voice to switch from monotone preaching to sizzling choking. He shouldn’t enjoy any of this, but part of him was slightly relieved for a small break between Scarecrow’s barely coherent, creepy monologue. Which whirled from a somewhat personal territory to something more obscure as it did now.

During their fights there was always this sort of talk. But this time, it felt like Scarecrow was talking at him, rather than to him. There was a wild, unfocused look inside his eyes. The kind, that Batman usually saw only after Crane would breathe in some of his own fear toxin. But this time, he was already like that when he found him. Huddle up inside yet another substitutive lab, doing…something.

He still wasn’t able to piece together what exact scheme the mad scientist was working on, but by the looks of it, Crane wasn’t able to do it, either. At least, the utter mess, which was his workshopping table gave Bruce an impression that the one who left it, forgot what he was trying to do mid-way and just left the whole project in disarray.

This was new, but perhaps, not all that strange. There was another thing, which bothered him, howerer.

Slowly, he lessened the pressure on the older man’s neck, holding the noose more like one would a leash, rather than a dog collar. He will have to let him speak for this one.

“What were you doing here?” he demanded, voice slightly softer than usual. Carefully calibrated, so that Crane could make out every word.

He felt all of those bony fingers weakly scratching at his wrist; a lost look still barely able to focus on him.

“Come out to face your fears, Batman?” Crane crooked, like this should have answered anything.

Unsurprisingly, it did not so such a thing. So Bruce thought about how to pose his next question in a way, which might give him at least a vague idea about what other oddities in this current interaction were caused by. Even if partially.

There was no delicate way to inquire about this. Or if there was, Batman had no knowledge of it. He didn't had much of a choice, but to just plainly ask:

“Where are your pants?”

He was already visibly surprised, when Scarecrow rolled in to ambush him dressed in his usual stitched slacks, with mask and a hood, but no pants on. His white boxers had at least done their job of covering Jonathan’s privates, but they had also painted a rather disturbing picture. As there were spots of sweat, chemicals and even dry blood on it, giving Batman an impression like Crane had lost his trousers a couple days ago, not mere hours.

His pale, stick-thin legs were covered in small scratches, which was likely a result of him running around the nearby cornfield without pants. From afar, he could probably be mistaken for a farmer wearing those tall, cowboy boots. Someone, who just came down from their porch.

But up close —

“Crane.” he tried again, this time managing to actually grab the criminal’s attention for a moment as he repeated, “Where are your pants?”

Scarecrow stared at him. He stared back.

“You do know that you aren’t wearing any, do you?”

Crane slowly blinked at him. Those pale blue eyes ablaze, clearly not comprehending the question at all. And so far, he reacted like this to most things Batman had said to him. As if he literally didn’t hear him or couldn’t understand that he was being spoken to.

This was Batman’s answer, then.

“Is there anything past fear, I wonder?” the ex-doctor of psychiatry mussed, eyes skipping alongside Batman’s jaw, somewhat aimless in their thought process, “Do you wonder about that too?”

Batman thinned his lips, exhaling slowly through his nose.

It was a useless conversation. It had become clear that Crane wasn’t even aware about his partially undressed state, let alone be able to explain anything.

He took another look at him. Should he deliver him to Arkham like that? With no pants on?

Right now, the masked criminal wouldn’t have cared about it, but once Crane’s mind will stop being fogged, it might stir an intense reaction in him. He was an arrogant, prideful type and all things considered, it was never Bruce’s goal to degrade his enemies, even if he did humble them.

Solemnly, the vigilante looked around, attempting to pin-point where the missing trousers could have been, but the room was pretty bare, save from the table, a coat where Crane most likely slept for the past week and some random garbage littering the floor. Conclusion was simple: what he was trying to locate wasn’t in this room.

Another existing option was that Crane’s slacks were somewhere outside, but unless he shredded them next to his hideout, they most likely were lost in the vast cornfield. Batman had no time for searching through such a large area just for that. But it wouldn’t hurt to attempt and see, if Crane’s luck was on his side, and his pants were just lying around somewhere close by.

Walking a babbling and ill-coordinated Scarecrow was something of an exercise. But not an unfamiliar one. There were many occasions, when Batman had to do just that, after Crane had too much of his own toxin, and could barely get his feet underneath himself without falling over.

Once they were out of the building, Batman half-expected the other man to attempt and free himself. To either fight his way out or make a break for it. But to his mild surprise, Scarecrow stayed pliable. Devoted to merely mumbling fear included nonsense under his breath.

Dark Knight didn’t dispose of his mask just yet, deciding to keep it on him, while they would go on a ‘fetching’ quest. It was unknown how Crane might react to something like that in his half-lucid state.

Quick search resulted in nothing yet again. All the while, Scarecrow obediently followed after Batman, guided by the length of his noose. A small detail reminding Bruce of a bolo tie Crane used to sport, when he was still considered sound of mind.

(It felt like it was forever ago.)

In this current, recent situation, it looked like Scarecrow’s consciousness was someplace else. Nothing short of dissociation, but not as intense as his past psychotic breakdowns were. This time, no one seemed to get hurt and nothing was damaged besides Crane’s dignity.

To his credit, Bruce did nose around in order to recover the missing article of clothing for a bit longer. But come up short like before. When it was more, than apparent that the criminal’s pants were indeed lost, Batman turned his head, giving Crane once over.

He was met with unblinking, intense gaze, which in any other circumstances might have been considered creepy, but right now, it only drove the point home. It was a clear sign that something was very off, and more so than usual. Crane was both a bit too still and too agitated at the same time, like his brain couldn’t decide its own trajectory.

Bruce waited.

For what, he wasn’t sure, but —

“You look troubled, Batman.” it was almost a promising beginning, but then it slid right back into this new, partially unknown territory again, “I presume, your fear of abandonment had lead you to —”

Batman tugged on the noose, cutting off some of the oxygen, making Scarecrow stumble in the middle of no doubt another, winded speech. Or rather, it sounded like a continuation to something he was speaking of before, but the vigilante made a habit of not listening too closely to him during such times.

Insane or not, but Crane had a rare talent of worming his way under Bruce’s skin. Be it intentional or absolutely accidental. And Batman really wasn’t in the mood for this tonight.

Then, as if on some mysterious cue, blunt unclean nails dug into his forearm, forcing him to slightly lessen the pressure, so that he could make out what Crane was muttering. It was a mumble-jumble of words, but he did catch one of them, lamenting and simple, “C-cold.”

Batman stared him down, eyes slowly skipping past the other man’s waist, stopping on his shaking legs. Scarecrow’s bony knees were nearly touching each other as night air began crawling up his thighs, reminding both of them that he was very much half-dressed and very much out of it.

An idea came suddenly, and while it wasn’t ideal, it would have to do for now.

Reluctantly, he released his grip on the noose. Instantly, Crane stumbled backwards, not by his own will, but by inertia alone. Batman watched him for a moment, making sure that he wouldn't bolt into nearby fields. But running seemed to be the furthest thing from Jonathan’s disjointed mind.

Content with this reaction or lack of it rather, Bruce mutely uncliped his cape, letting it slide from his shoulders and just as silently relocated it onto Scarecrow’s hunched frame instead. Once the fabric touched him, Crane went rigid. His mask made it impossible to tell what expression he wore, but Batman read his body language as a slight confusion mixed with agitation.

He adjusted the cape some more, making sure that it was secure on those thin shoulders. This way, Crane will be more covered and less exposed to the cold too, he supposed. If he was actually high on some drugs of his own making, it was likely that he would have a rough withdrawal from this later on.

Thinking about him shivering inside his cell was the kind of thought, that usually either made his chest slightly tighter as pity bled in. Or it did an opposite, and made it swell with a bit of satisfied ire.

Today, it was the first one as Crane did nothing to warrant his wrath. He was merely being…unwell. And even if Arkham Asylum should be able to handle it from there, Batman was still responsible to deliver him to them in one piece and without extra discomfort, considering that it wasn’t him punishing the older man. It was him guiding him back to the place, which just might help him, if he’s lucky.

He cuffed Crane’s wrists mostly for good measure, just to be on the safe side as he was about to drive. The least of all, he wanted for Scarecrow to make him crash the car at full speed with both of them inside.

Surprisingly enough, in-between all of this, Crane went quiet. He was touching and tracing the hem of the cape, seemingly preoccupied with this way more, than he was with delivering Batman a word of wisdom, concerning fear. He didn’t cause a fit, when Batman made him wear a seatbelt. Nor did he say anything, head downcast, hands busy with examining the structure of the cape, like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

As they were leaving the property, by pure chance, Bruce looked in the rearview mirror, noticed a piece of brown clothes wavering on top of an old oak tree. It was raving in the air like a handmade flag, and there was no mistake about what it was.

Despite himself, he side-glanced at Crane, who must have felt his stare, as he angled his head to leer at him in return. Bruce had nearly broken ‘the character’ and asked him why Scarecrow's pants were up there and how they got there to begin with. But he knew that it would have been a futile attempt on his part. He had a worming suspicion, that Jonathan wouldn’t be able to recall doing this at all.

That night, Dark Knight felt a strange sense of perplexity. An odd wave of unease at such a simple thing, which unbeknownst to him wasn’t about to be just one occasion.

What, he firstly, assumed to be a mere negative reaction to a mysterious drug, turned out to be something way deeper than this.

But that night, he had no idea of it. That night it was just an exercise of getting Crane back to Arkham as usual — even if in unusual circumstances — and nothing more.

༻❁༺

The second time, when it happened, the situation was more typical. Crane himself acted more customary as well. Yet, once again, Bruce found himself feeling like something just wasn’t quite right. To the untrained eye, it was all the same. All the things Batman was used to when it came to Scarecrow, but underneath that familiar surface, behind all those accustomed cues and mannerism, he could sense something, which wasn’t there before.

(He later realized it was Crane’s voice that tipped him off. A change so subtle, so slight, but a change nonetheless.)

But back then, however, it was hard to put his finger on it. Not to meantion, that there wasn’t all that much leeway for throughout conclusions, as Scarecrow had a hostage with him. Someone from somewhere, who he knew and who must have looked at him wrong or said something mean to him once or twice. Crane had a good memory, when it came to keeping grudges. And perhaps, that’s why once he had Batman in his clutches, he seemingly completely forgotten that there was someone else besides them here.

Scarecrow wasn’t the only criminal, who had tunnel vision, when it came to him. Far from it. But his attention tended to be of a different nature than many others. He was more methodical and pragmatic about this, during their usual fights. There was always some sort of ‘final goal’ to his ‘research’. It felt more like a personal pet project, than a pure vendetta. For him, Batman was a test subject first, then he was everything else. Including being his enemy.

Yet, it was the first time in his memory, when this unspoken rule seemed to shift. And Batman struggled to name what, exactly, it had changed into. This uncertainty was more concerning, than the binds which tied him to a parody of an operation table.

Meanwhile, Scarecrow was looming above him. He had a new mask. Scarier, less human looking one. If before Batman could see his eyes through cut slits in the fabric, now all that looking back at him were dark, empty holes. Where once was an outline of a mouth (still hidden behind the sack, but somewhat visible), now was a mess of uneven, jagged stitches. All of this was accompanied by a pair of air-filters installed to each side, creating a slight echo to everything Crane said.

Homemade, personally sawed. It was unsettling to the most, as it was somewhat perplexing for him.

Even if Bruce was nearly impressed with the limited creativity, he could also see how unsteady Crane’s hand was, when he made it. Not because he was careless or lazy, but because something like an unknown drive must have been shaking his limbs all the while he made this creepy visage of his.

Yet, what made Bruce truly question all of this wasn’t a new look, but the fact that Crane didn’t wear his Scarecrow slacks. He was dressed in a shirt and trousers instead, like he was still a ‘normal’ Gotham citizen about to go to work.

He distantly remembered seeing him like that. It was years ago, when Crane was still a psychiatrist, not a walking nightmare he was now. But it was odd in its own right. But perhaps, not odder than the fact that his dress shirt was half undone, buttons only made right above his belt buckle, otherwise exposing a rather peculiar v-cut of undernourished, pale body.

Bruce’s eyes flickered down briefly, — a hint of stunted confusion barely touching his expression, — before his gaze settled back onto Crane’s mask, and remained trained after that.

“I was wondering, when you will come by, little bat.” Scarecrow said, leaning closer than necessary. Voice creaky and wet with emotion, Batman struggled to indify.

And —

Little bat?

This was new. Just like the mask or something vaguely threatening laying on the small metallic table, placed conveniently so that Batman wasn’t able to make it out properly. Only glimpse the outline of the unknown device.

“I have something special for you today.” Crane continued, tone simpering into something almost conspiring with each next word, “I already showed it to our dear guest —” he motioned toward the hostage, who seemed to be beyond terrified to be simply referred to, even if Scarecrow wasn’t even as much as looking his way anymore, “but I saved the first taste for you, little bat!”

He raises one finger up, half-turning around, the poles of his shirt accompany the movement, exposing Batman to more sickly skin. But he didn't truly pay much attention to it, instead looking at the thing, which Crane picked up with a rare display of care, as if he was genuinely proud of making this.

“It took me a few nights to figure out what exactly I wanted to achieve with this. And I’m afraid to say —” he chuckled in the middle of the sentence and it’s strange on its own, because he doesn’t do those things usually. That odd timed laughing, which feels more like something uncontrolled, rather than genuine. Still, Batman was more busy with attempts to mess with the cuffs on his hands to focus on this hard enough to actually get alarmed, “This is still just a prototype. I’m not so sure how effective it is at this stage. So I thought to myself, Batman won’t mind helping me test it, would he now?”

Crane’s hand suddenly wraps around Bruce’s wrist, forcing him to drop the lockpick. The small pin hit the floor with a loud, metallic sound. Crane wasted no time to kick it away.

“I’ll rephrase myself for clarity sake, since you seemingly have as little patience as I do.” Scarecrow said, demeanor and tone low and flat, fingers twisting around Bruce’s wrist with clear warning, not enough to inflict pain, but secure enough to tell that he just might go down that road if provoked, “I will either test this on you —”

This was when he showed it to him for the first time. The prototype of his syringed glove. It used to be more bulky, then it would be down the line. Less flexible too, but it was just as unsettling. Just as dangerously gleaming with chemicals, which he knew by the heart at this point.

“Or I will test it on them.” Crane partially turned his head, making Bruce do the same. They both looked at the hostage, who shrunk down on themselves. It was clear what he pick, they both knew this and yet, "So, tell me, Dark Knight. Which one is it going to be? You or them?”

(It was oblivious.)

Batman leveled him with a cool, hard look. Unflinching, unafraid. “Leave them out of this, Crane.”

We both know, it’s me you want.

Scarecrow didn't disappoint. He laughed, creepy and hitchy. His new weapon crawled closer to Batman’s neck, ends of syringes hovering next to his veins, almost caressing it, “Ohh, I hoped you’d say that.”

It was said in a whisper, almost intimate. Nearly fond.

Then, he plunged those things deeply into Bruce’s flesh and for some time the world melted into a barely recognizable maze between reality and dreamlike state. Each sound was easily twisted into screams or gunshot. As always unbearably vivid and loud.

He overcame it after a bit, as he always did. He freed himself both literally and figurally. But there was a sharp pain in his neck, and his head was positively swimming. The Scarecrow was somewhere around here. Hiding and cackling like a hyena, when he managed to avoid being detected yet again. Seeking cover within the thick shadows as they were kind enough to hide him from sight.

Batman waited a few minutes, walking or rather wobbling around, knowing that Crane would attack any moment now. And he did. Appearing from the side, hoping that it was Bruce’s blindspot, opting for an easy opening.

Side-stepping and grabbing the thin wrist was fairly simple. It was something, that Batman did without thinking too hard. Spinning the criminal around and slamming him into the closest wall, force noticeable enough to make Crane choke from the impact. Winding him for a split second, so that Batman could pin him there. One hand gripped the collar of his shirt, making the stretched fabric expose a bony, sharp shoulder, while his other one held Crane’s gloved hand, keeping it there as a parody of them locking hands. Palm to palm. Fingertips over knuckles. Or rather ends of syringes dancing over bruised knuckles.

“It won’t work this time, Crane.”

Mostly because he knew how he fought and he knew how fast he’d usually cower, once he realized that he couldn’t win. But this time, there was an unmistakable derisive or rather maniacal edge to everything Scarecrow did.

Crane stared at him through holes in his mask and without a hitch, he delivered his own response, “Crane isn’t here anymore, Batman.”

The level of conviction behind those words, irked him. The phrase was nearly similar to what he himself thought at times. That there wasn’t anything left of Bruce Wayne. That instead of him wearing the mask, the mask was now wearing him.

(But where for him, it was something that some people might call ‘coping’, for Crane it was something else entirely.)

Scarecrow, as if feeling some sort of inner, passive turmoil in him, angled his upper half closer to his own, pretty much dangling in his grip. The end of syringes shifted a bit as he moved his fingers, almost if checking the security of Batman’s hold.

“Is this something you are afraid of?” he asked, words rang loudly within the half-empty room, “Is this unsettles you?”

Batman didn’t reply, merely stared him down.

“You just cannot help yourself, but be constantly afraid, don’t you, little bat?” his hand gave Bruce’s own a slow, strong squeeze, which was nearly painful with all that metal in-between, “You know you cannot fix yourself, but you are scared that you cannot fix anyone else, either.”

Crane’s natural perceptiveness was always something of a throne on his side. Out of many of Batman’s enemies, he was the only one, who got under his skin in this specific way.

The fear toxin inside his blood made it worse, he knew. But it didn’t change the fact, that when he threw Crane across the room, making him roll over that damn metalic table, he felt something like dull satisfaction.

For a second, Scarecrow’s filters as if glitching allowed Batman to hear a very familiar, very Jonathan-like noise. A pitiful, pathetic half-whine, half-groan. It was almost stunted and confused in nature, instantly shifting into something else, – more scared — when his shadow enveloped the crouching man, making him freeze.

But this time, Scarecrow didn’t stay down for long. Bouncing back way faster, than he usually would. Syringed glove outstretched, a low hissy, aggressive noise lost somewhere between his teeth. The speed was surprising, even if the viciousness he attempted to embed those claws into him once more, was not.

After some hussle and Bruce kneeling Crane into his nose — mostly accidently — the fight ended with the older man flat on his stomach, unmasked and with a bloody face. Batcuffs hanging secure and cold around his bony wrists.

Yet, Crane giggled, like he had won something after all.

With a vague sense of annoyance, Bruce pressed the end of his boot into Crane’s ribs, making him heave and let out a pant, which almost sounded pleased. Batman lightly kicked him, forcing Scarecrow to roll onto his back instead. V-cut fully open now, facial expression stuck in a mixture between grimace and a crooked smile.

Batman slightly tilted his head, slow and calculated in each movement, now that he had Crane literally pinned under his boot, there was no need for any of those pleasantries anymore.

“Crane.” he called, noticing how the older man’s eyes glazed over, looking at him without seeing him yet again. “Do you have any other weapons on you?”

A snort, gruff and wet, as a thin trail of blood trickled down his chin. When he spoke next, his teeth were pink and shiny, “Do I? I don’t know. Do I? He-hooo.”

Bruce's jaw set tighter, his patience growing thinner.

He leaned down, grabbing the lapel of Crane's shirt, while pressing his boot on his thigh, forcing the other man’s spine to bend as he yanked his upper half upwards.

“I ask again.” he said slowly, staring into those yellow rimmed eyes, “Do you have any more weapons on you?”

“M-my only weapon —” Crane licked his teeth, gaze wild and distant, “The only weapon that I need is fear, little bat. Fear that I gift you with, that’s my weapon. You get it now, don't you?”

Bruce considered his next options silently, mulling over the dilemma, which he wasn’t fully unfamiliar with, but running into Crane, when he was like this was one thing. But for it to repeat and in fairly short amount of time too?

He didn’t like this.

“You can check.” Scarecrow suddenly offered.

Batman angled his chin, pressing his boot harder onto Scarecrow’s thin leg, which received him a grunt, “Thank you for an idea.”

He dropped him, without another word.

It turned out, that Crane didn't had anything lethal on him. So far, it would appear like he must have either made a bet on that new glove of his or maybe, something inside his brain just didn’t work quite right and he forgot about plan B, despite typically always having one.

When Batman’s search reached the hem of Crane’s shirt and outline of his belt, he paused. Wondering if it wouldn’t be past Crane to shove some kind of fear ampule down his pants, knowing that Batman didn’t tend to go so far as to force criminals to lower down their trousers, when he was making sure that they had nothing dangerous on them. But taking in Crane's state of mind and general situation, he decided to check, just to make sure.

What he found didn’t surprise him. It was what he didn’t find, which did.

Crane had no underwear on, and it was revealed as soon as tugged his pants a bit lower on his hips, instead of additional fabric seeing nothing, but skin and jutted hip bone. The beginning outline of thin trail of public hair and well…the base of his dick, basically.

Batman was rarely shocked by anything to the point of visibility, but this time around, he was sure that it showed on his face just how unexpected the revelation was for him.

Crane, instead of reacting accordingly, of reacting how he should have reacted to this, had merely laid there, blinking at him. No shame. No comprehension.

This time, Bruce didn’t bother asking him where the missing piece of cloth was, he merely tugged Crane’s pants back up, and then mutely got up, dragging him along. It felt like there wasn’t much to be said or done about this.

The hostage said their ‘thank you’ to Batman once freed, but they also appeared to be wary of the whole interaction, clearly wishing nothing more, than to get away not just from Crane, but from him too.

In highsight, it was almost embarrassing how Scarecrow wasn’t the only one, who forgot all about them. As to some degree, Bruce did too.

The ride to Arkham ended up being mostly silent. Crane’s expression went from jerky to demure, eyes more clear and partially attentive, hidden behind mop of messy hair as he refused to meet Batman’s gaze. He also at times went to touch tissue, which Bruce stuffed inside his nose, like he couldn’t either understand or remember why they were there at all.

But at least, he appeared to be more lucid. Less chatty. More sedated. More himself. As if along the way, between chase and flying punches, a small piece of his mind was restored.

It was almost like putting a broken bone back into place. Analogy crude as it was cruel, but Batman found himself feeling slightly relieved at absence of ‘fear talk’ and that disturbing, far-away look Crane something harbored inside his eyes.

At least, for a bit again, everything felt like it should have. Even if he could tell, that it most likely wouldn't last long.

༻❁༺

The fabric clung to Batman’s skin in a very chilly, uncomfortable way. His aching bicep kept close to his body as Crane’s half-naked from — fully soaked and fairly bruised — was pretty much folded over his arm.

He couldn’t feel the naked, goosebumped skin pressed against his form, while being oddly hyper aware of weight partially located on his lap at the same time. Crane’s breath was fast and shallow, small hiccups and coughs shook his frame, making it appear like he ended up swallowing some of the sewer water on top of everything.

Batman must have swallowed some of it too. It was hard to tell. His mouth generally tasted weird, like Crane’s brew of chemicals found a way to stale on his tongue and gums.

Amiss all of this, Crane shook with his whole body, before spluttering, “H…h-huuurts…”

It must hurt. Bruce was pretty sure, that one of Crane’s shoulders was wrenched out of its soaked, when Croc dropped him onto the stoned floor. Judging by the sickening sound, Jonathan must have landed on his arm wrong. And this wasn’t the only injury he carried, far from it, but it was one of the most painful ones.

He was, however, alive. Breathing so noticeably, that Batman could pretty much feel his rabbit-like heartbeat with his own arm. Hear him inhaling and exhaling, shakily and rapidly.

Death experiences were a part of Batman's job. Something he got used to over the years, nearly growing numb to constant danger looming over him, when he was meeting Gotham’s worst of the worst face to face on nearly weekly bases. Always mentally prepared to either witness torture (sometimes, it’s aftermatch) or potentially endure some form of it himself (more likely).

But here, he felt not wariness, nor tiredness, or even apprehension, no, what he felt was fear. Not the fear of death, but rather, fear of seeing death in real time (again) and being unable to do anything about it (again). The feeling of helplessness, which came with knowledge of how little control he had over those things. How one single wrong move could result in life being lost.

(The very thing, which forever changed his life all those years ago.)

“It’s in th-the water…?” Crane asked no one, and then, laughed in that new, high-pitch, hysterical way he adopted over two years ago, “You are too l-late, little bat. It’s in the water!”

Bruce distantly realized that he must be talking about that poisonous bag of his, which he knew was lying just a few feet away from them. Untouched and secured. But the sheer fact, that this was the first thing, which came up in Crane’s disturbed mind was enough to make him suck a long, stressed breath through his nose.

“You wouldn’t be a-able to prevent f-fear from spreading —” Crane muttered, delighted by the mere idea, “It would be….ah…it would be…?”

He angled his masked face as if to look at him, seeking something inside Batman’s limited expression. And what he saw must have pleased him.

“It would be just like it shall be, Batman. Each — ghh — and everyone af-afraid and you can’t d-do anything about it!” he continued, feverish in his conviction, “G-gotham will drown in screams and —”

He never stopped talking, but Batman stopped listening somewhere in the middle. His gaze focused on Scarecrow’s shoulder, which just didn’t look right. And he knew, that it must still hurt. In fact, it must hurt a lot, but Crane just kept rambling as if existing in a different plane of reality. All the while Bruce felt horribly stuck in that moment.

Pain helped before, he thought. It sobered him up before.

But it was no longer the case, it appeared. As now no pain, nor even the near death experiences seemed to get through whatever poisonous, dellisioned fog Crane’s mind was under.

And he was still going too.

“….after th-that Batman, what will you do after that?”

Laughter. Madness. Mirt.

Fear ebbed away, slowly. Lingering only in the back of Bruce’s mind, as anger came instead. He got back on his feet, pulling Crane along, not caring about his pained hiss or how rougely he tugged the wet sack off his face, exposing a mess of greying brownish hair and lost, crazy look inside those pale irises.

And before Jonathan could speak again, Bruce slapped him solid across the face. The action knocked any remaining wits and nonsense out of the ex-psychiatrist, and for a short, passing moment, he almost looked present again. For a brief moment, there was Jonathan Crane again, but this return to normalcy passed very quickly.

“I, wh —”

He slapped him again, the other cheek now. Crane's head jerked with the impact and his hands twitched, one shoulder still damaged and hanging lower than it should be, now weighed down by that terrible glove, which Batman glady got rid of.

The process wasn’t smooth, he knew that it hurt Crane to get it removed. Bruised skin and fractured bone made the whole overdeal exhausting on its own. Not to mention, that the other man began struggling and attempting to kick at him, be it on instinct or by some half-formed ploy, he wouldn't know for sure.

Once the glove was removed, he shoved Crane’s shoulder back into its soaked, recalling an ironic, unsavory metaphor he once had about this whole overseal a while back. It seemed to come and haunt him now, as Jonathan’s voice twisted into agonized, short scream, making his ears ring. Soon followed by a wet giggle, a half-formed sob. All too familiar. Very much Crane as it was not.

Batman watched his bony frame shake, unsure what he felt, besides grim resolution.

‘Batman?’ Barbara’s voice cut through the communicator, ‘What’s going on? Are you…?’

“I’m fine. I’m with Crane.” he replied curtly, “Everything is under control.”

Scarecrow laughed. “Everything is under control? Are you s-s-sure? The Joker is still — he’s still out th-there…”

He was. And not only him.

“I’ll deal with this.” he replied to Barbara and seemingly to Crane too. And then only to him, “Let’s go.”

Crane didn’t try anything as he led him to a temporary confinement. He didn’t speak, either. But he supposed, that it was more out of exhaustion, than him returning back to his senses, since as it came to be, the span between Scarecrow’s manic episodes was getting shorter and shorter.

Batman struggled to remember the last time, when Crane actually spoke to him ‘normally’, or as normally as he used to, when it was clear that he was less of a sadist and more of a sadistic scientist.

Always too driven. Too obsessed to do as much as look behind him.

This time, Bruce had barely managed to drag him out of death’s claws, quite literally, before more than a few bones were fractured. The question remained, though. He wasn't naive.

That time. This time. Last time. But what if one day, there will be no next time? What then?

The thought clawed at Batman through the whole way of him escorting Crane back into padded ‘safety’. And then, it proceeded to claw at him even harder, as the night was rolling along and the end, which he knew at one point might have come to be true, took its final shape.

༻❁༺

In all honestly, Joker’s death didn’t change much in the grand scheme of things. By the city and its people, the Clown Prince of Crime wouldn’t be missed nor mourned. The only person in the whole world, who was genuinely devastated about his demise was Harley Quinn. But with time, there was a chance, a small hope, that she would finally be able to get better, considering that agent of her obsession was forever gone.

(But Bruce wouldn’t hold a candle to that. Even before the Joker, there was something wrong with Quinzel. As the Joker didn’t create this time bomb. He merely detonated it.)

In retrospect, there wasn’t much to be said about this. And there wasn’t much he could force himself to say, either. But the fact stood. This was death. The death, which he didn’t prevent.

And even if more good than bad came from this, for Batman, Joker’s death was something of a personal failure. Not the sort, he wouldn’t be able to live with, but it was something to remember. To reflect on.

And as the time went on, as things grew heavier and heavier to carry, to handle, to learn from, rather than just be weighed down by them. His thoughts grew gloomier, his expectations turned bleeker. A new low in the history of crime fighting for him. He never spoke of it to anyone. Not even to Alfred, despite how it was oblivious, that the butler knew about this, without those things needing to be spelled out or even openly acknowledged.

Still, it was becoming hard to remain a symbol of hope, — hope for salvation and justice — when Bruce found himself viewing those ideals from a new, not all that improved angle. If before there was something of an absolute, of a verdict, that he would have saved anyone, no matter how horrible they are, now while it was still true, he realized that there was a huge difference between ‘would’ and ‘could’.

A lot of his enemies seemed to be less and less capable of redemption as the time went on. Instead of improving, they discovered new ways to disturb and main, and torture, and take, and pledge to whatever madness, that conquered them.

At this point, the likes of Professor Pyg and the Mad Hatter seemed to be so far gone, that Batman at times wondered what could even be done for someone like them. They were pretty much a lost cause at this rate, too out of it to even understand half of things they did, let alone be able to atone or even realize the wrongness of their actions. They were stuck in a world of their own. Twisted and sick. To some degree, almost cluelessly evil.

Looking at them, he couldn’t help, but be reminded of someone else. Of someone, who was slowly, but surely on his way on joining them.

“Crane.”

It was an old warehouse, where he found him at. Tracking him down for a few nights in the row as Scarecrow appeared to be on the move. Never stopping at one location for too long, driven by a sickening purpose of delivering fear.

This was almost his luck, that he catch him before he moved again.

“Little bat.”

Almost sweet. Almost approving.

(A voice coming from above.)

Batman raised his chin, looking up, pin-pointing a familiar silhouette next to the large, shattered window. After the asylum accident, Crane kept his ‘costume’ as it was. Tattered and pretty revealing. Adding a few more ropes there and here, but otherwise, keeping his ‘new’ outfit the same.

Or almost the same.

Bruce had nearly cursed himself for not being prepared to see Crane not only with no pants on, but with no underwear on. The only thing, which hid Crane’s privates from one’s eyes, including his, was a mangled piece of clothes. Batman was partially glad that Scarecrow seemed to have enough presence of mind, to at least leave this on, even if something urged him to get rid of his pants yet again.

He never got why exactly he did it. He imagined there was no sound reason for this. Nightwing once proposed, that it must be something to do with Crane’s age. ‘The man is nearly, what? Fortysomething? I’ve heard that people at his age begin to get all weird, when it comes to nakedness. At fifty, he probably will decide to be as naked as Poison Ivy. Just old people things, you know?’

Alfred’s throat clearing in the background and his dry response, that he doesn’t remember ever shredding his clothes in front of either him or Bruce had quickly shut that line of thinking down. But maybe, there was something in this.

At least, Batman was thinking mostly about that, while he dodged Crane’s attacks. The older man got very clever with the use of his glove. Not to mention, that it was prety distracting to be accidentally flashed with Crane’s everything, while he tried to wrestle him down.

And almost comical thing was, that if this was someone else, he’d assume they did it on purpose. But knowing Crane and his new found tendency, he doubted it. As something that would have been sexual with anyone else was just accidental and unhinged here.

The fight, as low-key awkward as it was, eventually was won and Batman found himself pressing struggling Crane closer to his chest, attempting to subdue him. One hand locked around both of his thin wrists, the other pressed across his stomach, as the other man’s back was pretty much flushed against his front.

Crane hissed, ranted and twisted around. Gloved hand spread in an aggressive attempt to somehow get a hit on him. If it was any other day, he would have gotten tired after a while. Never the man with the best stamina, but when he was like this, he was disturbingly energetic and seemingly stronger, than he looked.

All of this and the fact, that Crane’s ‘loincloth’ had got crooked, exposing some bits of him, which were currently rubbing against Bruce’s crotch, was somewhat irritating. But not as much as ‘fear this’ and ‘something something fear’ tirades, which just never seemed to end those days.

“Stop.” Batman said, feeling his patience nearly reaching its end. For good measure relocating his hold and instead of plastering his arm across that thin, fallen in stomach, he grabbed Crane’s naked, bony hip, making him freeze in what he assumed must have been mild shock, “Do not test me, Crane.”

Scarecrow shifted against him, emitting a weird, low noise, a small discomfort from a hold so rough and unkind, no doubt, but he didn’t do anything else. Either, somewhere deep down realizing the infertility of his escape attempts or knowing, that he had already lost this battle.

One thing was clear, when Crane was this still, it almost felt like something familiar. Like something he could rely on in how predictable it was. The sickness which changed was always the most dangerous one and Crane’s was slowly, but surely progressing. There was no denying it.

(And maybe, there was no stopping this, either.)

Suddenly feeling tired and way older than he really was, Bruce slowly placed his chin on top of Crane’s hood. The action was mostly unconscious, but despite this, it received him a reaction of sorts. Scarecrow let out a small gasp, which could have been confussion or maybe dull alarm, but regardless of what it was and what he was thinking, he slowly relaxed in the vigilante’s hold. Not fully, but enough for Batman to let go of his hip, — not before slightly adjusting his cloth piece to cover his crotch — settling his arm back around Scarecrow’s middle.

The moment was disturbingly uncanny in how calm, it appeared to be. With only noise being heard was Crane’s uneven breath, no murmurs of horrors, no statements about anything.

This was just a strange thing to find yourself in. This kind of serenity, which would vanish as soon as he think about anything longer than five seconds.

(And Bruce got very tired of overthinking everything.)

“Are you afraid, little bat?”

Scarecrow’s voice was soft in a way, that always unsettled him. Still, this was a genuine question. Most of Crane’s questions were genuine in some ways. Prying, unethical, tasteless, but they were asked sincerely.

(At least, when it came to him.)

Crane couldn’t see the set of his jaw or the look, which he had inside his eyes. But him tightening his grip was an answer on its own. The cue, which Crane might have been unconsciously looking for.

And as he kept him and this moment still, Bruce found himself thinking things, which he would have shot down four, maybe even two years ago, but now…

Now, he wasn’t so sure. And yes, he had to admit, that it was a bit scary. Even if not as scary as how much unconscious trust Crane seemed to put in him, even at his lowest. And how despite his better judgment, Bruce wasn't certain, if he could walk away from it, like he did from all other things.

"I have the fear, fear, fear, fear down in my heart." Scarecrow sung lowely and laughed.

"It's joy, Crane." Batman corrected him mostly out of pettyness or maybe, out of something else.

"No joy." Scarecrow said stubbornly, craning his neck to steal a look at him, "Only fear."

Batman didn't disagree, but his gaze turned darker. His thoughts continued to shift into direction, he never would have guessed they could of went to.

Crane remained still in his arms, singing a song of twisted nature and sick facination. As Bruce merely tightened his grip.

༻❁༺

“I see, you had finally decided to go along with that eccentric idea of yours, Master Bruce.” Alfred declared from afar, pouring tea in one of the porcelan cups, like he would do on any other normal day. “I admit, I was almost hoping you had forgotten about it.”

His voice was neutral. No bite of judgment or disapproval. Just stating facts, like one would state the weather outside. The accustic inside the cave made it sound all the more ominous in how the content didn’t match the tone.

And maybe, that's what had prompted him to admit it for the first time. Or rather, admit it to someone, “I’m out of any other ideas at this point, Alfred.”

Bruce applied extra strength, before turning on the drill again, making sure that all screws were as tight as they could possibly be. He couldn’t risk it. And this? It was as close to a bulletproof plan as he could get. After everything, this was the most secure option.

“I merely don’t see how this is all that different from Arkham.” Alfred continued, “If I may be so bold, sir. I’d say that this is exactly the same.”

Bruce paused, expression both determinated as it was cold. He knew how this looked from the side, he wasn’t that far gone yet.

“It isn't,” he said slowly. “Arkham doesn’t help him. Each time, when he goes out of there, he gets out worse than before.”

And it was a well-exposed knowlege. Where in some cases, Arkham did their job at containing the madness, at keeping it on dialed level, with Jonathan, it was the opposite. He was always returning less sane than he was, when he was put there.

Bruce knew that it wasn’t Akrham’s staff fault, that Crane’s brain was slipping everywhere like a broken egg, but it was clear that they couldn’t do anything about it. Perhaps, not for the lack of trying, but for the lack of means and actual commitment to do it.

He, on other hand —-

“Do you think, I went mad, Alfred?” he asked, gripping one of the metal bars he had installed and pulling on it, making the cage rattle slightly. Other than making a sound, the thing was sturdy. Would probably be able to contain a rhino, not just a single scrawny man.

“I didn’t say this.”

“But you thought about it?”

The reply didn’t land as a joke, and Bruce couldn’t fully say that he meant it as one. There were times, when he also had to wonder if madness was actually contentious and he had caught it somewhere along the way.

“No, I can’t say I had, sir.” Alfred answered after a long pause, still doing his usual, manual tasks, like he wasn’t standing inside Batcave, witnessing Bruce making a confinement. A prison cell underneath Wayne's manor, no less.

Batman watched the fruit of his labor with blank expression, some part of him briefly wondering if it was too far. But then, he recalled the stakes. And the simple fact, that there was literally almost nothing else he could do at this point. He did try everything. He tried talking. He tried reasoning. He tried to beat the shit out of Crane hard enough for his sense to knock back into his skull. But none of that lasted long. None of that truly helped or changed anything. Those methods stalled the process, but never truly worked.

But he knew, that something just might work, if he will have enough incumbency to try it.

“But I will admit," Alfred said after what felt like forever, "your attachment to this man is quite puzzling.”

Bruce craned his neck, throwing a partially questioning look over his shoulder. “Is this what you think this is? Me being attached?”

“You have to recognize, that you are looking out for Mister Crane way more, then you do for your other adversaries.” Alfred noted, gaze impassive, but his brow slightly raised, “At the very least, it would seem that you take the responsibility you feel for him on a different level.”

“I am responsible for him.” Bruce said plainly, putting down the drill, “I am responsible for all of them to some degree.”

“If you say so, sir. I merely don’t look forward to the day when you will decide to relocate the whole asylum down here.” Alfred sighed in a slightly exaggerated way, “I’m afraid that it would be troubling for me to feed so many mouths at once.”

Another joke, which didn’t sound like a joke.

“It won’t happen, Alfred.” Bruce reassured him, begging to get ready for the night, before adding something of an afterthought, “Just this one.”

Alfred said nothing, but his expression conveyed a rather simple, my point exactly, sir.

So maybe, yes. Maybe, he was to some extent attached to Crane. There was no helping it, he supposed. He had already made up his mind and Alfred seemed to know this too.

“Well, in that case, I feel like I need to ask what our guest will eat tonight, then?” Alfred required from his place at the top of stairs, watching Bruce putting on his vigilante regimentals, “I would hate to leave a bad first impression.”

“We’ll figure something out.” he said, putting on his cowl as his voice shifted from Bruce Wayne into Batman, “This isn’t the biggest concern right now.”

Crane was somewhere out there and he was going to find him. And when he do, this time, they will try something different. If Arkham wasn’t able to help him, it was only natural that Batman would see what he could do.

(No more failures.)

[mousathe14]

So as I mentioned before, Young Justice was interrupted by a whole “Sins of Youth” event where everyone’s ages were screwed up

Now we’re on to the unlikely yet very likely pairing of Secret and Deadman

Oh wait, pardon me, forgot about the aged down downgrade on his shirt.

It’s deadman. Does that mean his name is boston brand now?

So, Secret is an interesting member of Young Justice. The original three boys saved her from evil government scientists after they see that the smoke they’re transporting is a girl with a face and everything.

We later find out she’s dead. But for some reason she has a smoky body that everyone can see. She can also interact with the world in certain capacities.

Deadman is something else.

As the name implies, he’s dead. And as a spirit nobody can see him. He can only interact with others by possessing people. And the person that he possesses is basically unaware that entire time.

In fact there’s this really iconic scene in Justice League Unlimited of him possessing and then unpossessing Superman for you to get what I mean.

Due to reasons of I think he was kind of a jerk, some vaguely East Asian monks turned him into a spirit of vengeance which is why he’s a ghost to begin with. Pretty sure it has to do with his murder.

If I recall correctly killing his murderer is why isn’t allowed to move on and has to keep serving out justice for those who can’t have any.

However I get the feeling that this kind of thing is kind of below capital D Deadman’s pay grade.

The world needs a lower case d deadman, or I guess deadboy to deal with bullies like this.

I want to say this is going too far but honestly, I don’t have a lot of room in my heart for bullies and honestly they should be thankful there’s any space in my heart at all. Maybe taking off his clothes was a little overkill.

But he also broke another kid’s skateboard for no reason so honestly? Screw that guy.

Anyhow, since they’re dead and magical they can actually follow Klarion the Witch Boy’s trail. And it turns out Klarion the Witch Boy is pretty easy to track even without magic.

Boy can best be described as “subtle as a brick”

Hm, that car reminds me of somebody…

Must be my imagination. Everybody knows Lightning McQueen isn’t real.

As someone who will never be able to grow up I’m sure this has been a great learning experience for her.

It is also sad that this brief event comic that, may I remind you all takes place in ONE DAY, is the only chance at adulthood she’ll ever get. What must it be like to be trapped forever in one moment in your life, literally unable to grow past it and into a new person the same way everyone else around you can.

Okay, this is getting too sad once again, let’s get back to other stuff.

Like Klarion the Witch Boy’s catgirl familiar!

Teekl is some sort of demon creature bound to Klarion the Witch Boy. I don’t know if he trapped her or if she enjoys being his lap cat.

I think the form she takes on varies by story. I’ve seen her just turn into a big tiger thing I think.

So I hadn’t brought this up before because I was gonna do a whole montage but Klarion The Witch Boy has been collecting super villains and turning them into kids for… reasons.

Honestly the selection makes no sense, like what the hell is Penguin doing here? He’s a crime boss and club owner, if you need a heavy then Killer Croc or Poison Ivy are right there.

Welcome to the circus, we got fun and games. Which means where in the territory of boston brand, the deadboy.

Which, well, if you wanted to know why his costume is “like that”, that’s why. Circus performer.

Man, the artist was really making some “choices” for this segment.

I hadn’t really commented on the art because it’s very particular and I don’t hate it the same I hated the art of the Superman&Superboy segment. They make some strange choices I don’t care for, it’s overall very “weird” but considering we’re in the realm of magic and dead people we kind of need a little weird.

And the exaggeration of some of the expressions are great even if they’re a little off putting at times.

So in a stroke of brilliance, the dead duo steal Teekl.

Boy he’a pissed. A brilliant way to get him exactly where they need him honestly.

Soon, Klarion The Witch Boy’s nonsense will be thwarted. Mostly. There’s this whole post I made about how he made Lobo a kid and now that’s everybody’s problem.

Anyhow, this whole Sins of Youth thing was a wild ride, but we are approaching something resembling a conclusion. Just gotta do a bit of clean up commentary on strange nonsense.

[grinningjaws]

The first attack seemed normal. It was true that attacks in his territory were few and far between, but it still happened and was a source of aggravation for the large croc man. Of course it was usually one coming to challenge him. Most abided by the old laws when it came to that.

Except...this wasn't a true challenging. Lark had approached with a bellow at the single barracuda man. A fight he was very sure he would win despite the speed advantage that the other had. It wasn't until he was ready to jolt forward did three more bombard him. Lark didn't expect that. Barracudas didn't hunt in packs like this! He could feel the blade and teeth digging into his back as they tried to hit spots that would maim and kill. He was fortunate the group of them were young and clumsy with their fighting. He kicked himself for letting himself get cocky. He kicked himself for underestimating the ferocity of his opponents.

He was lucky he was still alive and managed to kill one of them, scaring the others away. It still felt like this had been targeted, something he shoved deep into the recesses of his brain...because surely...surely not. She wouldn't...would she?

Lark would just lick his wounds like he always did, but the care from others was not something he was used to. Even if he was avoiding the subject altogether. Poking and prodding was met with an insecure bite. He hated that he felt so weak now. That he was laying facedown on the bed staring at his dying phone as people worried about him. It left a strange stir in the pit of his stomach. Made his eyes itch in a way he wasn't used to. He hadn't done anything to warrant that behavior from anyone. It wasn't like he was helping them the way he was helping his family. After all these years friends still seemed so foreign to him.

-------

The next day gave him another stir in the back of his head. Lark always knew when someone or something was in his territory. It was like an innate trait that urged him to get up out of bed with a low groan. This time he didn't mess around, shifting into the form of his crocodile. The wound was covered more, but the salt agitated him further as he let out a particularly nasty bellow out into the surrounding waters.

There was a flash of true fear that jolted through his body at the sight of a single orca man rounding an underwater stone formation. Paranoia clawed in his brain as his eyes flicked around. There were more right? He knew they hunted in packs.

First barracudas...now an orca. Surely she wouldn't.

Except orcas were a particularly nasty dig considering how his younger brother had died. Something his mother would know. Died because he had been young and stupid and distracted and cowardly. The itchy and clawing paranoia continued as it swirled around his own family like a darkening whirlpool in his head. No. Lark had purpose within his family. This island was important. The geysers were valuable even hidden. His mother knew that. Even it it was on the edge of the family territory.

The orca hit like a truck on his already weakened body. Finish the job. A crocodile never went down without a fight and his loyalty prevented him from fleeing. The blood stained and spread out like wisps as the two of them fought for what felt like an eternity when really it had only been ten minutes. Those ten minutes stretched as Lark was ripped into even more. The orca laid dead in the water. An insult to just leave it, so he did as a reminder to anyone else that wanted to come around.

There was a massive chunk out of his tail that Lark was sure would be permanently etched as a reminder. His arm and neck ravaged as he clutched at a still seeping wound on his neck with a firm grasp of his hand. One of his teeth had been busted, a gash along his jaw that made his already fucked up mouth more shredded than usual.

He stumbled on shaky human legs to his shack. If this happened again he knew he would go down. He couldn't handle another attack like this. A chill went down his bloody back as he gripped the doorframe of the front door, head ducked so he didn't hit his head. He breathed slow, trying not to black out. He knew that could be dangerous since he had also been smashed in the head particularly hard. Most likely a concussion.

A brief close of his eyes as he took a few more steps. He caught himself on the table, almost knocking it to the floor with his weight, as his legs buckled. A very clear trail of blood as he moved into the room where the bed was, taking the entirety of it as he crawled in, busted tail stretched out from the door into the kitchen.

He fought with himself for a long moment, but there was no way he could patch himself or just wait this out like he normally did with large wounds. Lark didn't want to die if this happened again. So, with shaky hands he had managed to wipe clean with his own blankets, he reached out...but of course it was hard to divulge just how bad off he was. Even now.

[s0lemnhypn0s]

(Crocodile Genderbenders DNI)

I already had the strong headcanon that Crocodile's expressions of affection take the form of A. Petnames and B. more importantly for this post, physical touch. I like to imagine he clings onto Mihawk tightly when they sleep together (In general, he likes to be holding something while he sleeps - A person being much better than a pillow), likes having an arm wrapped around Mihawk or a hand on his hand or thigh. Sometimes he might play with Mihawk's hair while he's talking to other members of the crossguild. Generally a very "I need my hands on you now" kind of partner

But last night I read a small little thing about Crocodiles and their sense of touch, and how sensitive it really is. Each of the little bumps on their body are filled with nerves, far more sensitive than that of a human fingerpad, and it allows them to sense far off movements from potential threats and trespassers on their territory, all the way to prey in the water. But, Crocodiles are also very physically affectionate animals, especially when it comes to mating, so this sensitive sense of touch comes in handy with communication to other crocs. Before mating, they will rub and sort of cuddle up with each other to see if the other Croc is willing to mate. They'll even do this during mating as well! But, a Crocodile might also rub snouts together as a way of showing dominance or submission.

so basically, what I'm saying is I'm right for forever and Crocodile is a cuddler. eat your heart out

[charkyzombicorn]

Well fuck Dragon! Au where he tries that bias bullshit on Crocodile and gets kicked in the dick for it while Crocodile just leaves with their son. Au where Luffy is the prince of Baroque Works and Robin is his bodyguard/best friend

I'm so sorry I lost this in my asks!!!

I saw that SBS that said Croc would spoil his kids rotten and yes definitely absolutely also timeline what timeline anyway

Croc left the RA when Luffy was abt 2 months old, Iva didn't want to directly betray Dragon so they started the half level in impel down and was down there for a while monitoring comings and goings and conveniently missing every letter their vice monarch sent abt Croc being stashed away on Peachy Island - he didn't Need need to but sailing on his own with an infant would be rough especially since most of his contacts were also connected to Dragon (and not completely coincidentally on Dragon's part) so he would be sailing alone. Peachy Island is also where he meets Bon Clay (13-14 at the time) and he becomes something of a son to Croc.

Croc and Luffy spend 3-ish years there before Croc decides he's not in fact done playing with fire and he wants to be a warlord so he can be a pirate with a respected home territory to keep Luffy and also because staying still so long made him Itch. Luffy spending 3 years surrounded by people with a bit more focus on vanity and identity mixed with being raised by Croc does mean that Luffy gets a sense of style! Croc does not allow jorts in his house :( so Croc forms a small crew with Daz (afab went to peachy Island to fight Ivankov for testosterone got a found family is still on the quest for T), Zala (Old Old contact I'm aging her up 20 years because reasons. She knew Croc back when he was still on Whitebeard's ship and is one of the few that doesn't care at all abt the RA), Bon Clay (Croc was hesitant to bring him but he could more than hold his own Croc made sure of that), Drophy (left Amazon Lily because she fell for a man but then she killed him teehee she was on Peachy Island for groceries mostly) and Galdino (his sister's trans and lives on Peachy Island he visits her and her kids sometimes)

They set out, Croc making a massive name for himself mostly by accident (he likes planning things but he can't help being cool) but then the marines strike a deal - if he can remain an active pirate while being targeted by the other warlords for 1 year then they'll give him the warlord title (it was harder to become a warlord back then) so Croc says deal but then secretly gets Garp to pick up his grandson, says in no uncertain terms that if Luffy gets mistreated Garp will never see him again and Garp humors him mostly but still agrees and takes him to Dawn. Meanwhile the hunt begins, the only current warlords are Mihawk, Doflamingo and Moria and Croc manages easily enough by seducing two of them and beating the stuffing out of Moria thrice. He only wanted to keep Luffy away because he didnt trust any of the warlords to not do any research and find his glaring weakness. Also because Garp had been nagging him for years to let him see his grandson (Crocodile doesn't like the seperation, he's very clingy in an Italian way)

So Luffy lands on Dawn, immediately calls Shanks crusty and says he smells like if you soaked a sock in booze, Shanks thinks he's the funniest little guy ever. All the Shanks stuff happens, then Croc comes back for his kid only for Garp to pull a fast one (and by fast one I mean he told Dragon abt Croc and Luffy and Dragon decided to fuck with the groundwork Croc was laying in Alabasta so Garp could hide Luffy better this was not coordinated the Monkey family is just rude) so Croc had to turn right back around to chase Dragon away and Garp threw Luffy up the mountain (Luffy knows his dad's coming back for him but he doesn't know how long it'll take since his dad's only late when something bad happens and he eavesdropped that what his dad was doing was dangerous. Ace asks how Luffy knows his dad isn't dead, Luffy doesn't have an answer)

While Croc is away he finds Robin and takes her in

By the time Croc can get back to Dawn Luffy has 2 brothers and a sister and Croc decides Dragon and Garp keeping him from his kid means he has full rights to take the three new ones also

When he starts Baroque works the kids are called the Wani's (after bananawanis because they're as cute and also as vicious as them to Croc)

[ashenwinds]

GOD AUUUUUUU

Flameheart: God of War and Fire. He and Ramsey were the first two gods of the realms. Originally just the god of war, he absorbed the title of god of fire after killing the other god ( who just so happened to be one of Junior's parents ). His patron animal was the dragon, but over time the entire species went extinct due to hunting by Ramsey's people. In retaliation, Flameheart had his followers kill all griffins -- resulting in both becoming weaker. Flameheart mostly remains out of mortal affairs, living in an estate within his territory, appearing as a regular man who strangely has lived for generations upon generations. He is the overall arching god of the realm, but there are temples dedicated to the other gods within his hoard. He will, however, get involved in mortal affairs if 1) given enough offerings to bless one faction over the other 2) they start to question his rule or threaten his territory or 3) just influence a few people to go to war to keep his strength going. He takes in Junior after the death of their parents, however, Junior was taken from a mortal family with Flameheart not knowing the kiddo is a godlet. Continues raising them with Junior being none the wiser that their papa is the war god, and that the others around are also gods. His godly creature form is a mix between a dragon and basilisk, his wings over time being more used as arms to move around as he begins to forget how to fly. And for once, he is the largest out of the group in his godly form, but still pretty short when appearing human. The best offerings for him are rum, gold and jewels, well aged weapons, blood, and even life sacrifices.

Chi: God of Chaos and Destruction. The last of Flameheart's main gods to appear in the realms, and the last of the five to gain their second affiliation. They are an absolute handful at the start, often getting involved in the affairs of mortals just to create more chaos. Needed to be reined in by Flameheart since too many humans were getting killed by accidents. They had to be trained up by Flameheart to control their strength especially when the "argument" was happening between him and Ramsey since it did cause a lot of chaos and in turn strengthening Chi. Had to learn that chaos in small bursts is beneficial to the mortals, and without the mortals, they would lose their strength. Their patron animal is the crocodile, which are very abundant around their temple -- a place where many baby crocodiles are kept until they are old enough to be on their own. Which is also the creature they turn into and often just trot around carrying the baby crocs in their mouth like mother crocs do. However, they will attack humans or other gods that get too close to the estate without being welcomed. Best offerings for them are spicy foods, rum and teas, blood, sacrifices, and charcoal.

Ruth: God of Alchemy and Metal. Very neutral most of the time as long as you don't annoy her or get in her way of progress. She meshes very well with Duchess and later on Junior due to the overlap of their affiliations. She loves the curiosity of mortals, but often finds herself getting irritated when said mortals start to invade her own practices or try to one-up her. Mortals often worship her for innovations in medicine and often alongside Grimm for proper structuring of their towns and cities. Her patron animal is the owl, once again often found around her temple. There are a particular set of owls that have brilliant red eyes that act as surveillance for her -- mostly used in finding new ingredients for her brews or to ensure there are no invaders within her Captain's realm. Still an excellent tactician like she is in the main verse. Offerings for her include herbs, gold, silver, iron, bronze, gin, and berry mixes.

Duchess: God of Magic. Not a huge fan of mortals especially as they start leaning more towards science than her magic. Mostly keeps out of the affairs of mortals, lest they are witches who seek to learn her knowledge and use it. Her magic varies from healing to causing problems for others -- although curses are left for Gideon to deal with. She mostly hangs around Flameheart's territory, although not always around him and the others. Duchess mostly prefers to wander about and be alone, occasionally coming to the estate in the later years to experiment alongside Ruth or help train Junior. Her patron animal is the crow. Intelligent, often misconstrued to be omens of disaster or ill-fates, but crafty and can hold grudges. She uses her crows to carry messages but also gifts like ingredients for Ruth/Junior or if some idiot gives one of Gideon's offerings to her ( gets annoyed that people often confuse the two of them ) Her offerings are bones, blood, wine, ashes, herbs, and rare inks.

[devilsrecreation]

Coming up with at least one headcanon for some minor characters in TLG cuz I’m bored

Pua:

You know how I hc that Pua used to be just like Makuu? He was actually 10x worse. Waaaay more cold hearted and disrespectful than Makku was. He didn’t even give animals a warning that they were in his territory, he just attacked

He spent his whole life fighting, which is why he has the best technique of all the crocodiles. It’s also why he easily won the mashidano against the crocodile leader before him

He redeemed around the time when Mufasa was king, specifically during Kupatana. Like Simba with Makuu, Mufasa decided to give Pua a chance since he was the new leader of the crocs at the time. But unlike everyone else, he took the time to bond with Pua, able to understand where his opinions were coming from while teaching him how important the circle of life really is. Through his royal friend, Pua eventually saw the error of his ways and promised to better himself from now on

This song is 100% him and his redemption during Kupatana

He was totally the dad figure in Makuu’s life. Kiburi’s too. All the crocs in Makuu and Kiburi’s float, honestly

Come to think of it, he was a father to basically all the reptiles in the pride lands. Always the guy you’d go to for advice

Makuu used to look up to him as a hatchling and he knew it. Used to rub it it everyone’s face back then, but he’s since chilled out as all the hatchlings grew up. He won’t lie, he still misses those days. Being Makuu’s idol kept him motivated to be a good leader and role model

He honestly wasn’t surprised when Kiburi started a mutiny. Kiburi has always been really independent and had different views than his fellow crocs. Even then, he never saw it as a bad thing. He doesn’t even think Kiburi’s a bad croc, he just made a bad decision….a REALLY bad decision. He blames the dry season (and later Scar ofc). It brings out the worst in animals, especially reptiles

Speaking of Kiburi, he visits him in the Outlands just as much as he visits Makuu. And ya’ll, when I say Kiburi actually smiles whenever he sees the old croc, I mean it. It’s not his usual semi-amused smirk, it’s a genuine smile cuz literally everyone else sucks compared to him. And not only that, but Pua tells Kiburi not what he wants to hear, but what he needs to hear: “You don’t need to compare yourself to anyone else, because you are a good leader in your own way. Nobody can take that away from you”

Tamka:

Because the wiki says he’s basically the crocodile version of Chungu, I’m gonna go ahead and say they’re close friends

I learned that crocodiles like to give each other piggyback rides for fun and Tamka does that very thing to the rest of his float. He did it when they were all kids, he still does it now. He doesn’t even stop at crocodiles, he’ll gladly do it to everyone else in the Outlands. He loves it

He can’t ride on other crocs though cuz of how big he is. He could when he was little, but not today

He’s always been the biggest croc, even as a hatchling. So big, he basically did a barrel roll out of his egg

Maaaaay or may not be related to Pua (they look very similar)

Nduli:

He’s the youngest out of the entire float (both Makuu’s and Kiburi’s)

Because he’s the youngest, Kiburi has made a promise to protect Nduli at all costs since he knows Nduli looks up to him (and he kept following him everywhere lmao). He’s kind of a big brother to him

He’s pretty close with Cheezi and they love hanging out together. Cheezi’s trying to teach Nduli how to stick his tongue out (nobody told either of them crocodiles can’t do it)

No headcanon here. Just an eepy Nduli :3

Badili:

Okay first off, can I just say what a cinnamon roll he is? He’s freaking adorable and I wish he came back cuz they made every single other leopard a villain. Like, he should’ve helped the Guard at SOME point!

Is friends with pretty much everybody in the Backlands and no other animal would dare pick on him cuz he’s a big sweetie. You mess with him, you mess with the entire Backlands (unless you’re another leopard but Mapigano doesn’t bother him anymore so it’s okay)

His goal in life is to befriend one of every animal in Africa, which is exactly why everyone likes him

Dahabu:

Has met pretty much all the other leaders in the pride lands during her visits and they absolutely adore her. Even Makuu doesn’t really mind her company

Thurston tries to hit on her but she keeps friendzoning him (girl please, you’re too good for him)

General headcanon:

Talking to your dead relatives isn’t just a lion thing. Other animals can do it too with their own species, they just don’t know it yet

Even Ushari can make himself known to other snakes if he wants to (which he does), but other animals can’t see him

[wizardofvamp]

You get 1, 8 and 10!

What are their physical signs of being undead/otherwise supernatural (if any)?

Depends on his hunger, without blush of life Anatol looks... really bad. He's been hovering at humanity 5 for a few decades so he's got all the greatest hits-- deathly pale/waxy skin, dark veins that stand out more than they should, sunken eyes, ect. If he's over two dots of hunger he has a bad habit of leaving his fangs out, especially if he's around other vamps/potential snaccs.

He, as well as Roman, have a very light wood grain pattern scarified into their skin. Only visible in bright light/sunlight in Roman's case, and most people who notice assume it's an elaborate body tattoo. Otherwise Anatol is pretty boring compared to other Tzim bc unless he is with clanmates/those he know well he doesn't get too creative with his presentation.

With blush activated he looks anemic, but otherwise healthy.

8. What annoys them the most about other vampires? How about specific clans or sects (specify)?

What annoys Anatol in general? He finds fears regarding blood bonding overblown/counterproductive/a product of an ego in need of interrogation. In his mind, it's a fact of undead life. Your spirit is now your body, and both body and spirit are malleable. Freaking out about it not only does nothing to prepare you for thralling/being thralled, but actively works against your chances of making it out of the arrangement soundly. So he often agrees that, yes, you need to be mindful/cautious about vitae and the kindred that offer it. But blind fear/abstinence often just feeds into the toxic power dynamics and arguably makes them worse.

Obviously this is an attitude he keeps to himself, or maybe dole out to a new ghoul/fledgling if they ask/he likes them. Now that he's out of the Sabbat and in the Cam his attitude is slightly less controversial... but not by much. Bc he's not pro blood-bond for structure reasons he's pro blood-bond bc he assumes its a fact of unlife and stopping it from happening is Sisyphsian at best.

As for specific clans? I guess easy answer is Ventrue, since in his mind they are as synonymous with the Cam as the Tremere. So he usually writes most Ventrue he meets as unquestioning bootlicks/paranoid landholders who don't even have the decency to not take themselves so seriously.

He likes poking fun at the Tremere, but doesn't really have any deep seated prejudices about them that aren't also shared by the Ventrue. Also Tremere have the bonus of fiddling/experimenting with shit so at the very least they're doing something with their bullshit structure that isn't just sitting around pretending you're better than everyone.

This is verging on spoiler territory so leaving it under the cut:

Unlike the above, Anatol's grievances with the Lasombra are less based on passing impressions and more rooted in a belief that the clan sold out the Sabbat (and specifically threw the tzim under the bus) in order to curl up at the Cam's feet. Sure, his pack more or less did the same thing but at least they were honest with themselves about why (our shit got rocked and we would prefer to keep our unlives intact, thank you). Also... Roman may or may not be flirting with some Lasombra who may or may not be offering to embrace him. So they also are stealing ghoulsbands/embraces from him now, too.

10. Which discipline would they like to earn? Why?

So my answer is less what he would like to learn and more of what he's choosing to learn instead of the one thing Mihal asked him to do.

Right now he's Mr. Stubborn Man in refusing to learn blood sorcery. Why won't he learn it? Because he's bad at it and it's embarrassing. He has gone out of his way and learned Celerity/Fortitude/Turn Into Croc just to put off learning the blood nerd shit.

Recently this has resulted in some real consequences-- his grandsire is now dead because he had the Sheriff do a blood test instead of just learning the very basic ritual that would have let him do it himself. So obviously, the jig is up after all this time. He is now bugging the local Giovanni about learning Oblivion. :)