#Bruce on Clark’s lap: ???? I know???

[notrobinsomethingworse]

Teen!Dick, in tears: B I’m gay and I’m proud of who I am so if you don’t accept me well… I’m not sorry.

Bruce, in the middle of a very passionate make-out session with Clark Kent: Chum…

[mutteredmadness-ninjapanda16]

Even though Danny is new, Clark has never once seen the kid hesitate at an order. 

No “Ten shot expresso. Hold the expresso.”

No “Whatever will give me a heart attack.”

No “Unicorn magic with extra soy milk but hold the milk, I’m lactose intolerant you see, add cream and a cherry to the top with sprinkles but only the blue ones-”

Not one of them tripped the kid up and he always had a quip at the ready.

So really, Clark should have expected Danny would say something back at the robber with no hesitation even though the robber has a gun pointed right between Danny’s eyes.

Clark swears those ice blue eyes flashed a glowing green.

But Clark didn’t.

And neither did the would be robber.

Short DPXDC Prompts #878

Clark goes to the same coffee shop every morning and he knows every barista there. There’s a new barista who’s only been working for the past few weeks or so named Danny. One morning he walks up to see the place is being robbed at gunpoint. Before he can even quickly change into Superman to help, the new barista decks the gunman upside the jaw and disarms him. 

[witherby]

HI HI. SAME ANON :33anon here!!!

omg???? jfc christ? that was so good im shaking my cup for more 😭 i think the fact my ask is being used as a power shower is silly... i love it keep up the good work!

(side note ive done metamorphosis may i be 🎆anon.... i will be yapping at you on a later date o7)

Welcome to the club 🎆 I am smooching ur cheek

Hahaha...wouldn't it be so silly....if I used your ask again.....to post the second part hahahaha.....isn't that the silliest idea hahahaha.........

The Littlest Wayne: Uncertain Home

(Part 2 of 2)

Masterlist is Here!

"Let me make sure I've got this straight."

Everyone stiffens in their seats. When Batman says things like that, it means he is very, very close to yelling. Batman never yells unless his patience has reached its limit, his emotional threshold has bubbled over, or he hasn't slept in over six consecutive days. Given his usual activities, it could very well be a combination of the three, and the current situation is not helping.

"You —" he points a gauntleted finger at Manhunter, "— realized my child was showing signs of developing their powers six weeks ago, and told no one."

He turns to Superman and Diana next, talking through clenched teeth.

"And then you two, today, realized the same thing, indirectly told them they would no longer have a place in my home, and then they vanished under your cape."

He places his hands on the meeting table. Inhales. Exhales.

"No one attempted to reach out and express their concerns to me, the father, in either incident."

He slams his fists on the table. The wood splinters under the impact. Everyone flinches with it.

"AND NOW MY CHILD IS MISSING! DID I FORGET ANYTHING? DID I LEAVE ANYTHING OUT!?"

The silence afterwards is deafening. Bruce yanks his cowl off and slams it to the floor, running his hands through his hair.

"The Watchtower is under lockdown until further notice. We do not leave until either I find my kid, or I figure out how to track them down."

"Batman," the Flash chimes in, "I feel for you. This is a bad situation, but we can't all stay here; I have to —"

Bruce rounds the table and crowds Barry into his seat with near-inhuman speed. His eyes are wide and wild and his teeth are bared.

"We do not leave until I find them."

The lights briefly turn red and an automated voice comes over the intercom, alerting them that lockdown protocols have initiated. The heroes watch as blast shields cover the windows and the Zeta tubes deactivate, effectively blocking their only ways out.

Green Lantern re-enters the room from the observation deck with a determined expression.

"Checked the monitors and surrounding galaxy. Skies are clear, and earth-side we should be fine for at least a couple hours, so I went ahead and triggered the protocol."

"Hal!" Barry protests. "C'mon, I'm gonna be late to work again! It's not as easy for some of us to maintain our civilian covers, you know!"

"Well, then it sounds like we gotta find our missing Mouse fast."

Bruce presses a button on his gauntlet and pulls a small ball out of it, rolling it to the center of the table. A hologram screen pops up and shows a picture of you sitting in Tim's lap and enthusiastically looking at something on his computer with him. To the right of the image, a wall of text begins to appear, detailing observations made about your growth, health, and development of your powers.

"You already knew," Diana mutters, like the words have been punched out of her. Clark holds his head in his hands.

"Why didn't you tell us then, huh?" Oliver frowns. "Didn't think we could benefit from that information?"

"My child, my discretion," Bruce hisses. That shuts Ollie right back up. "This is everything I've been able to passively observe about their ability. They can latch onto any shadows in their immediate vicinity, up to a range of approximately one hundred feet, and until now has only used them for pathfinding, like solving puzzles or looking for small objects. What just happened today with Superman's cape is the first discovered instance of them being able to traverse into darkness itself."

"That's why the Watchtower is locked down," J'onn realizes. "If they can only travel so far with the shadows, chances are high that they're still in here."

"Yes."

"How do we pull them out if we find them?" Arthur speaks up, arms crossed. "Last I checked, no one else has shadow powers."

"Do what you can without risking injury to them or yourselves. If you can talk them out, that will be the ideal tactic. Any more questions?" Bruce waits a few seconds for anyone to speak up, then dismisses the holo-screen and rises to his full height. "Then everyone fan out, cast some shadows, and get to work."

--

Arthur is having no luck. He checks the furniture that was already casting shadows, like tables and beds and appliances, to no avail. Calling to you and feeling around those dark spaces isn't gonna get him anywhere.

Clark and Diana had picked up his cape and hunkered down under the fabric, gingerly asking you to please come out, Uncle Clark and Auntie Di are very sorry they implied what they did, they never meant to scare you, please please please come back.

Barry is zipping around the whole tower, checking high spaces and low, calling for you with a mixture of urgency and concern.

Ollie uses his body to cast a shadow under the fluorescent lighting and Dinah crouches in the space of it, patting the ground gently and urging you to appear. She insists everyone is worried and looking for you because they want you to be safe.

Bruce is frantic. He's visually very composed, but Hal can see the tremble in his hands as he slowly and methodically checks every single shadow he can find or create for signs of you.

"Bruce," Hal mutters, watching him check his cape for the fifteenth time in just as many minutes. "Bruce, sit down and breathe for a bit."

"Don't mention breathing," Bruce snaps. "This is unprecedented. I'm working with zero useful information and three of my teammates contributed to this situation in the first place. Can they just exist in darkness forever, or is there a limit before they get spit back out? Can they even get back out? Is there oxygen wherever they are? Are they safe or in any kind of distress? If you don't have answers to these questions or haven't found them yet, I don't want you talking to me."

He turns to check his cape again and almost runs right into J'onn.

"There was a shadow moving in the training room," he noted. "When I approached to investigate, it melted away. I found it important to tell you that Flittermouse seems to be active and uninjured judging by the ease in which that shadow moved."

The Manhunter leaves them again, phasing through the walls to continue searching for you. Bruce pulls his gloves off and rubs his face, sighing.

"Hal."

"I forgive you," comes the immediate reply. Hal places a hand on Bruce's back and offers him a thin smile. "You're a dad who's scared for your four-year-old kid. I think you're entitled to a little bit of bitchiness."

Bruce hums.

"Just a little bit, though. Like fifteen percent more bitch than your baseline. Which is to say, if you talk to me like that again I'm going to make a giant cartoon hammer and beat you to death with it."

Both men hear you giggle. Their heads whip around in the direction of the sound, and find a small, child-shaped shadow moulded into the corner. It's a strange thing, to look at a shadow with no source. It would be frightening if it wasn't you.

"Mouse?" Bruce immediately calls, stepping towards you. The giggling stops and the shadow shrinks. He crouches down, palms extended. "No no no! Don't go, don't go anywhere, please. Can I talk to you?"

You don't respond. Bruce isn't entirely sure if you can, in your current form. You haven't run away yet, however, so he inches just a bit closer.

"I'm...there's...." He stops and starts, searching for the best words to use. "Mouse, there was a misunderstanding. No one is making you leave. I'm not going to give you up or send you away, I promise."

"...m e t a h u m a n..." you mutter. Both Bruce and Hal shiver. It sounds like darkness itself whispering directly into their ears, faint and echoing and all-encompassing.

"Yes, that's what people with skills like yours are called," he confirms.

Your shadow doesn't move for a while. Bruce shuffles closer, palms extended, and is about to ask you to come out, but then your entire form wobbles and starts shrinking even more.

"...n o m e t a s i n G o t h a m..." you say, and the sadness in your voice is so potent Hal has to brace himself against the wall.

"No!" Bruce says, pressing his palm against the wall just a second too late. You dissolve and disappear. "That's not — ffffffuck."

He presses his forehead to the wall and closes his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths to avoid screaming. It takes a while.

"They're not going to talk to me," he eventually says. "They're scared of me, of that damned rule I —"

He cuts himself off and rubs a hand down his face.

"You have to do it."

"Me? Specifically?" Hal asks.

"You're their favorite uncle." Bruce pushes himself off the floor and rests his hand on Hal's forearm. "They adore you. They ask when you're going to visit Gotham again all the time. If anybody's gonna get them to understand that they're not in any trouble or danger of losing their family because of something I did, it's gonna be you."

"Whoa. No pressure," Hal says. He knows it's true though — you absolutely adore Hal, and the feeling is mutual. You feel almost like his own kid. He's just as scared as Bruce is about your current situation. "Okay...alright, I got this. Listen, tell the others that Mouse probably isn't gonna come out for 'em. Go hang out in the meeting room and gimme an hour alone. I'll bring them back."

Bruce nods, but he seems hesitant to leave the part of the hall where they spotted your shadow. Hal gives him a small nudge and he eventually turns away, his boots clocking softly against the floor.

Hal inhales slowly, holds it, then exhales for a count of ten.

He's got this.

--

He does not have this. Hal walked into an empty corridor and flicked all the lights off, choosing to sit in the darkness and try calling out to you for almost thirty minutes. There's been no luck.

He sighs and uses his ring to construct a small bear, illuminating the immediate space around him in green, and makes it walk around.

"Y'know you used to love playing with my constructs," he murmurs. "We had this game I made up, where you would chase after whatever toy I made as fast as you could and try to catch it. I let you win a lot."

He makes a construct of you as a much smaller infant, not yet able to walk, crawling eagerly after the bear.

"You'd grab the little toy and hug it tight, and then come show me you got it. And I'd scoop you up and give you a cookie before we did it all again. We had to really tone down the cookie part because you got sick one time. Bruce made me sleep on the floor for a week. Not even one of the million couches in the manor. The floor. It was the worst."

He hears the surrounding darkness around him giggle. Hal leans against the wall and heaves a large, relieved sigh.

"Hey, kid," he says softly. "S'good to hear you."

You don't respond. He tries not to feel discouraged, instead seizing the opportunity presented.

"I'm not gonna ask you to come out, but if you don't mind...I'm kinda lonely. D'you think we could play that game again?"

Hal vanishes the constructs and makes a new one — a small, stuffed bat toy. He makes it flap its little wings and flop in circles.

"Think you can catch it? This one's a bit feisty."

Nothing happens for a few seconds. Hal feels himself growing nervous, and he's about to abandon the idea and suggest something else, but then the bat just vanishes. The construct is sucked up into the shadows, like darkness itself came up and hugged it into the void. A knot in his chest comes undone.

"That," he says, "was awesome. Okay, here's another one. Even feistier than the last."

This goes on for a while. Hal makes something for you to chase, you emerge from the dark just long enough to pull it in with you, and the process is rinse and repeat. Eventually, though, you come out of the shadows more and more, staying out of it longer and longer to chase around the conjured toys, until you're just tossing them into the shadows with gleeful little cheers.

"Got it!" You cry, jumping up to reach another one, this time shaped like an owl. You're panting from exertion and grinning widely at Hal, just standing and hugging it to your chest. "I win?"

"You win again," Hal agrees, expression painfully fond. He adores you wholeheartedly. "C'mere and get a victory hug, kid. Don't have any cookies on me, but we'll do a raincheck on that."

You go to him easily, practically collapsing in his lap, and rest your head against his chest while you idly pet the glowing owl toy. The area is bathed in dim green, enough to see each other without strain but still casting more than enough shadows for you to hide in again if you wanted.

"Fantastic job," Hal murmurs, kissing the top of your head. You nuzzle into his chest even more, hiding your face. "We definitely have to do that again some time. Don't you think?"

You start to nod, but the motion is jerky. You hesitate, then shrug, hugging the toy tighter.

"Oh, Mousey," he says, running his fingers through your hair. "You didn't think your powers would make Uncle Hal stop wanting to play with you, did ya?"

You slowly nod again, curling in on yourself.

"Well, that's just plain wrong. I love you, honey. Everybody loves you, y'know? You're smart, and adorable, and soooo much fun to be around," Hal insists, giving you a quick squeeze. Your mouth twitches like you're trying not to smile. "And it's gonna be way more fun now that you have cool shadow powers! Hide and seek might get a little challenging, but we'll make it work."

"...and Daddy?" You mutter. "Will he...want to play, too?"

"I know Daddy would love to play any game you wanted," Hal swore. "Daddy loves you more than anything in the whole wide world. And you know what else?"

"What?" You ask, lifting your head. You look at him with wide eyes and furrowed brows, hanging onto his every word.

"Sometimes Daddy makes mistakes. Like creating dumb rules he shoulda broke years ago."

You look away, snuggling further into Hal.

"What if...Daddy don't wanna break the rule?" You whisper.

Hal curls around you almost protectively, kissing your head again.

"Then he's a big, smelly dummy, and I'll take care of you instead," he promises. "You can live at my house, and I'll still bring you to the Watchtower to hang out with everyone and play games, and maybe, if you're extra good, I'll take you on vacation in outer space. I'll show you things you've never seen, like planets with four moons, and people as tall as skyscrapers, and space food that turns your hair all different colors. It'll explode your tiny head!"

"Nooo!" You giggle, grinning. "I don't want a exploded head!"

"Hmm...you drive a hard bargain kid," Hal says. "Okay, I won't give you explodey-head food. But only because you said so."

He lets you get your laughter out, then gently pats your back to regain your attention.

"I know you're very scared," he says, "but I promise this doesn't change the fact that you are so, so incredibly loved. I bet if you gave the others a chance, they'd be more than willing to prove it. Especially your dad."

You tighten your grip on the owl in your arms, bottom lip wobbling for a moment.

"Could you give him a chance, Mouse?" Hal asks. "If you don't want to, that's fine. We can work an arrangement out and always try again a different day. But I know he would be really, really excited to see you again."

You stare at Hal, face tight in contemplation. He waits patiently, continuing to rub small circles in your back.

His patience is rewarded when you bury your face in his chest again, nodding.

"Want daddy," you whisper. Hal settles you more securely in his arms and immediately rises to his feet, relishing the burst of satisfaction and relief in his chest.

He takes you back into the meeting room. Bruce immediately stands up from the table when he spots you curled up in Hal's embrace, hands twitching like he wants to hold you himself.

He moves with all the carefulness of someone approaching a wild animal. His face is uncharacteristically open, broadcasting his worry for you and relief that you're unharmed.

"Hi, sweet pea," Bruce mutters, silk-soft, and that's all it takes to make you start sobbing and reach for him. Your father doesn't hesitate, sweeping you up and giving assurance after assurance that you are just as treasured and loved as you've always been, that he is so happy to be your dad, that you belong in Gotham and that will never change no matter what.

The lockdown gets lifted from the Watchtower. Several heroes, after conveying their relief and gratitude over your safety, take their leave. Diana and Clark stay behind to apologize profusely, both to you and Bruce, for implying that you would ever be unwelcome in your own home just for being different. It's easy for you to forgive them, but Bruce is grinding his jaw a bit, so they excuse themselves for the night and take their leave.

"Well." Hal claps his hands together and yawns. "I'm ready for a drink and a bed. What do we say we hit the road, huh? C'mon, B, let's get Flittermouse back home. I've hit my daily quota for adventure."

Bruce nods, walking with you back to the Zeta tubes. You've already nodded off in his arms, drained from your stressful day.

"Thank you, Hal," he says, preparing to warp home. "Come by after the kids are in bed. Let me repay you properly."

"Y'know, normally I'd be all over that," Hal smirks, "but I'm seriously beat. Can I cash my reward in tomorrow?"

Bruce gives him a small smile. "Whenever you want. Come by anyway, if you like. We don't have to do anything."

"Yeah, okay. I'll see you later, then." Hal crosses his arms and relaxes against the corridor wall, smiling down at your dozing form. "You take care. Both of you."

Bruce thanks him again, disappearing in a flash of light. When Hal drops by later that evening, he finds his boyfriend asleep with you in his arms, clinging to his shirt and drooling on his chest as you coast peacefully in Dreamland.

Before joining the cuddle pile, he finds that sitting on the nightstand, written in a combination of pen and crayon, is a contract holding both yours and Bruce's signatures:

The rule against Metahumans in Gotham is hereby null and void forever and ever.

Signed by: Daddy & Mousey

[onnahu]

Bats on the road

Clark: Bruce that's illegal!

Bruce: there's no one else on the road, what do you want?

Hal: how is it that he doesn't have powers and yet drive like a suicidal maniac!

Oliver: Well bold of you to assume he's not a suicidal maniac.

Diana: that was reassuring.

Donna: oh for the love of gods, Grayson, stop that!

Dick *sprawled over 3 different titans eating the batburger and making a mess*: stop what?

Titans: Ughhhh...

Dinah: i'm gonna puke. If you don't stop this,i'm gonna puke right on your lap and i won't even apologise because it'll be your fault.

Barbara:

Barbara: you know what? Fuck you too. And i can puke on call, so don't think i won't get back.

Barbara: *speeds up on a switchback*

Jason: you stupid bitch, don't you see we have right of way?!?!

---

Jason: we're on a fucking highway! Stop driving like you're next to a kindergarden, you fucker!

---

Jason: what a dick! We should just hit him. This baby can take that!

Artemis: SHUT THE FUCK UP!

Roy: i hate to do that, but I agree with her

Tim: oh my god it's a... (insert a rant about a very specific model of a car that Tim dreamed of having as a 13 years old)

Bart: ...what?

Cassie: yeah, i have no idea what's going on too, buddy...

[messenger-of-babel]

Always Late

Summary: Batman was late when you needed him the most, but he refused to let it happen again. (Batfamily x sibling!reader)

Word Count: 4.5K (This was supposed to be a quick fic 💀)

Notes: BIG AUTHOR NOTE INCOMING Before anyone comes for me- I know this was supposed to be a day for Chris. I'm just feeling a touch sick but still want to get a fic out, and I'm currently not able to churn out and go through his, so I'll write some Chris later! Instead I wanted something else, consider it a change up to shake some life back into the theme. I also rambled hella long on this one, so strap in, it's long and the plot got lost in the maze of my mind. I had to shuffle things around and it just kept growing and growing, oh my god so I hope it makes sense to everyone still. Clark caemo, some (very??) OOC villain work cause I forgot some of my original plot and villains so begging on my knees for forgiveness fr. GRAPHIC VIOLENCE/ TORTURE DESCRPTION FOR SOME AREAS. I should have made this two parts but I messed up and made just one massive fic. Was supposed to be batfam x reader but it started feeling more like bruce x reader hahaha. RIP my sleep schedule please reap the benefits of my labour. 😭

Again I was originally here to be a resi blog but I can't help writing for DC after a day of reading comics. On that topic I actually finished collecting Tom Taylor's run at #118, my store held #119 for me so I get to read that as a reward after the hell that will be my Monday.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When you were taken, it caused a widespread panic among Gotham.

Tabloids across the city wrote about the latest missing person, this time none other than the latest member of billionaire Bruce Wayne's family. The Gotham Gazette had been running articles about you for months already, including the scandal that had come with it. Your dirty laundry and past had been aired for the entire city to read and speculate upon. Whether Bruce had just adopted you out of pity, sympathising with the way that you had lost your parents the same way he had. Gossip about it could all be a ploy for him to expand his influence in Gotham, after the riches and estate that your family had left you behind in their untimely death. The city was thrown into chaos from the death of your parents, both of them from founding Gotham families and well-established lawyers. It was shaken more once the Wayne had taken you into his household, and now it was all but alight as you vanished.

Fingers pointed in every which way, your disappearance marking the fourth among affluent families in Gotham. Accusations had even been hurled at Bruce, claiming that he had killed you in order to gain your assets and the other missing people were to establish an alibi. After all, Bruce Wayne had no alibi for the night that you went missing.

But he had an alibi.

Bruce reflected upon that fact for three days already, while he tore his hair out trying to find you. He had been out in the city, patrolling as usual. The disappearances were the latest case, and he was determined to stop them before they continued. He had been so involved in the case, standing so close to the evidence that he didn't even consider the option that he himself would be affected, or consider the perpetrator might targe the Waynes. he hadn't expected to get a call from Alfred a little past midnight, the butler wheezing painfully into the receiver.

Blood freezing in his veins he had come home to an empty house, windows on the third story smashed in. Alfred was slumped by the phone, its sleek body hanging off the hook. Bruce had pulled the cowl off without a second thought, cradling the older man's head in his lap with shaky hands. He had relaxed slightly when there was a steady pulse under his fingers, and the tension eased further when the older man had opened his eyes.

"Alfred," Bruce had sighed out, moving the old man from his lap to against the wall, hand keeping him upright. "Are you okay-"

"They took them." came the old man's mumbled reply, and for a second Bruce's jaw just hung there.

"What do you mean?" he asked, heart thudding painfully against his ribs, panic rising once more.

"They came through the window, cut the lights. I pretended to be unconscious to use the phone line, but they came back. Cut it shortly after I rang you." the older man said, looking up with remorseful eyes. "I'm so, so sorry, Mr. Wayne." he said forlornly. "I couldn't stop them."

Bruce looked down; jaw tensed. "It wasn't your fault." he said firmly, trying to quell the despair radiating off the old man.

"They took them kicking and screaming. I could hear them the entire time, but I couldn't do anything I-"

"Alfred." Bruce said sternly. "Alfred it's okay. Let me handle it, you go make some tea." he said, helping the old man stand up.

"Tea, yes, yes that's right..." the butler murmured to himself, hand to his head. "It's been a while since you asked me for tea, sir."

"It's not for me." Bruce said, pulling the cowl back on. "It's for you. make yourself some tea and we'll patch you up. Take it easy tonight, wait for the shock to wear off."

Alfred looks at him, hesitating, but eventually nods. "We, sir?"

Bruce hums, fists at his side. "Yes. This case has escalated. It's time to request help."

He keeps his voice level as he walks away, but Alfred notes the way that he turns the corner, and the anger put into his stride.

When he gets to the cave he wastes no time, calling in everyone he can think of. His chest feels tight, breath short as his vision swims. Every signal he can send he does, the blurring in his eyes seeping into his mind too. He cradles his head in his hands, trying to calm it but to no avail. It's only when the ringing of the Batcomputer cuts through the fog that he is able to look up, shaking fingers hitting the accept call button.

"Batman?" comes the crackly voice of Nightwing, and the fog begins to clear slightly.

"Nightwing." he says back gruffly, voice hoarse.

"About time, you were making people pretty worried, you know." Dick chides, and there's the sound of yapping in the background. "What's the brief? What's happened?"

"Kidnapping." he says, voice thick. "Broke into the manor. Alfred is likely to be concussed, but it shouldn't be too serious. He's making tea, Robin is out on the other side of the city tonight. Red Robin is with you, isn't he?"

There's more shuffling on the other end before Dick responds. "Yeah, he's been helping in Bludhaven, he came last night."

"Bring him. Bring Oracle too. Everyone...come home." he murmurs, hands shaking as he tries to think clearly.

"Bruce, is everything okay with you?" Dick comes in, concern evident.

"Fine. I need people back immediately. Why?" he huffs back, rubbing the spots from his eyes with his fingers.

"Because we've all been trying to call you for the last few minutes. This is the first time you've picked up."

Bruce takes a deep breath, exhaling softly. He hadn’t realised how badly he had spaced out. "It's an emergency. They...they’re gone. They need to come home."

"The new kid?" Dick breathes. "Wait, you mean-"

Bruce nods even though he knows his eldest cannot see him. "Gone. Now come back and come back tonight." he ends the call before Dick can say anything else, and his tired eyes scan the monitor filled with a string of outgoing distress calls and an equally large number of missed ones. In his haze he had pressed every com line he had. He had pinged Jason, he had pinged Dick. Hell, he had even pinged the League and Clark, who hadn't even bothered to call for clarity, his response status just reading, 'On my way'.

He held his head in his hands, breaths laboured.

Bruce had held his own reservations when adopting you. He knew about the media uprising that it would cause, the rumours that were sure to fly. He had known what kind of mental state that would put you in, how it would angle you in a whole new world of cameras, but he couldn't help himself. He had seen you while in the suit, and maybe he had taken you in to make himself feel better. For not catching the person who had killed your parents, arriving too late. He had been training for this his entire life, it was his entire mission in Gotham, yet he couldn't stop the very crimes that had put him on this path.

If he had been faster maybe he could have saved your parents, disarming the man with the knife before it plunged into the chest of your father. Maybe he could have arrived faster so that he could have caught the offender that robbed your mother before giving her the same treatment and fleeing into the night. Instead, he was only there fast enough for him to hear you scream as your parents collapsed to the floor. He was there as you cried and shook them and tried to stop the blood spilling through your fingers, but you were unsure where to start. After all, how can someone make a decision between stopping the flow seeping from their father’s chest and the one from their mother’s throat?

He had been there to pull you away, was there to catch the last dying light of your father as he stroked your cheek before making eye contact with Bruce. "Look after my kid." he had whispered, something Bruce had nearly missed under all your screaming. Bruce pulled you away while he called for the GCPD, and from one father to another, he made sure to keep that promise.

Your relationship had been rough, clearly distraught at the way you lost your parents. You were older than he was when the same had happened, but you were still young. You had clung to Bruce the day he said he was going to take you in, and he had managed to soothe you with a soft hand up and down your back. Yet as the tabloids got worse and the gossip began to grow, you began pulling away from him and seeking the comfort of your room instead. He had done his best to protect you from the media, paying money to have articles removed and when that didn't work, he threatened to sue. It made the Gazette pull their head in a bit, but it still failed to be enough. Evidently, as there was now an empty bedroom on the third floor of the east wing.

All he could do was sigh and blink away the images of the children he had hurt, in the name of Robin or otherwise. He had to rub away the death of Jason that he reflected on in sombre moments when he thought no one was looking. He had gotten you into this mess, attached you with his name and all of its subsequent burdens. So, it was his duty to get you back and get you back safe.

Yet three days later, he had nothing.

The cave had been a buzz of activity for all three days, and Bruce, no, Batman, was acting close to a slave driver. Tim and Barbara hadn't left the caves computers in days, Damian and Steph constantly scouring the rooftops. Dick was concerned, hell, everyone was. Even the gruff Jason had been called in, and reluctantly he had answered.

"You find anything?" Dick asked, leaning against the wall with his younger brother. Jason was still suited up, coming back from the patrol around Bristol area. He removes the mask and shakes his hair free, sighing.

"Nothing. Areas come up empty. No sign of 'em."

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. "God, there's nothing on my end either. The Docks and all Southside of Gotham are clean, no traces. Any signs pointing to who it could be?"

Jason shrugs, helmet tucked under his arm. "No idea, as it stands, the kid's just gone missing. If Bruce isn't able to scrounge up a lead, I doubt I will. Not my forte. He should give Tim a break and send him out."

"Yeah, like he'll do that. He's got him tied to cave duty." Dick scoffs back. He feels bad, talking like your kidnapping was a causal affair. He didn't treat it like one, his heart stuttering when Bruce had called him in a haze and all shaken. It didn't a genius to see how attached Bruce had gotten to you in such a short amount of time, but sometimes Dick worried that Bruce was projecting his own trauma onto you. But still you were his younger sibling, a part of the family now. He had met you with a warm smile and a gentle hand the day that you moved in, coming in from Bludhaven to make the house a bit more lively while you got settled in. God, he knew what it was like moving in alone into that empty house, with only Bruce and Alfred to warm the halls. He had eaten dinner with you, took you out for walks in the garden when your grief allowed you move more than a few paces. He did his absolute best, and he knew that with time he could be a big brother to you.

Yet you hadn't been given the time, snatched away before Christmas even hit. He doubted you knew that Bruce was the Batman, or that the rest of the family had an interesting array of night lives.

Jason was the same in the way that he hadn't interacted with you much.

Honestly, he was awkward with kids, since the last kid of Bruce's he had met was the devil spawn who spat at him like an angry cat every chance he got. You were thankfully much older and easier to understand, but that still didn’t mean smooth sailing. Jason hated even coming back to the manor, and he and Bruce had been having one of their ongoing fights during the time he took you in, meaning he missed seeing you often. Yet he still talked to Dick (more so that Dick called him to make sure that he was okay) and the older man had seen you plenty. He felt like he knew you from Dick alone, but he wasn't oblivious to your story printed in the newspapers shoved under his apartment door. He pitied you, understood the grief that you must have been going through at the sudden violence that tossed your little world upside down. Sure, you had gone from luxury to luxury, but Gotham was unkind to everyone. it was the same violence that Jason strode to clean off the street, and his heart ached deep down that someone like you had managed to get caught in its claws.

"Do you think it could be the clown?" Dick asks quietly. "He'd do something as ballsy as this."

Jason tenses, thinking for a moment before shaking his head. "Not likely. That bastard likes to make a spectacle of things. No doubt he would have contacted the Bat the second he took the first victim or aired it like some twisted game show. It's not like him to lay quiet."

"So, it's someone else. It's unnatural for Gotham's villains to do something in the dark like this. I mean, it's been three days since they were abducted, and they're the fourth kidnap victim. There hasn't been a ransom note, a demand, a body. Not a peep for any of the captives. It's unnatural."

Jason hums in agreement, but they both jump as Bruce storms through grandfather clock entrance.

Everyone present turns, watching how Clark trails after him. Five sets of eyes watch the livid way the Bat cuts a path through the cave and gets into the batmobile, breaths too anxious to be released. Without a word the car screams out of the cave, and they all turn to Clark. Barbara casts a glance to Tim and then to Dick, who just shrugs, worry deepening on his face.

"What the hell's going on?" Jason growls, pushing off from the wall. Clark turns to face him, dressed in his Superman suit.

"We’ve found them." Clark says, face grim, and Dick shares a look with Jason. However, when Dick meets the eyes of Superman, he can see the flicker of worry in the Kryptonian. "Well let's get going then. Why did he leave alone?" Dick asked, slipping the domino mask back onto his face. Clark opens his mouth to speak but is cut off as Damian steps out behind his broad figure.

"Because it's the League." the younger boy says, green eyes boring in Dick's. "It's grandfather."

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Bruce drove like his life depended on it, which wasn't fair when it was yours on the line instead. He could see the dots on his monitor indicating that the others were following him, and he had assumed that Clark had proceeded to fill them in. He had asked his old friend to look after the city while he sped towards the outskirts, just in case the League decided to do something while he had his guard on the city lowered. His com crackled to life, radio filling the otherwise silent car.

"Oi." snapped the voice of Red Hood, modulated and grainy. "Don't leave without telling us what's going on. Aren't you the one always spewing that 'feel-no-emotion' bullshit? To not let it cloud your judgement? Cause from the way I see it, you're acting kinda hazy."

"I trusted Clark would fill you in." he says back, voice tense. Red Hood scoffs.

"Yeah, and he did. You called us. You tell us what the hell you want us to help with, otherwise don't bother calling at all. Don't drag us out, get us invested then not let us help when it comes to it. What was your plan, beat the shit out of Ras and taken them back by yourself?"

Bruce falls silent, and there's a slight huff from Jason on the other end.

"Honestly? not the worst plan you've had, and I respect the enthusiasm, but you still should have looped us in. I want to get a hit in too."

Bruce turns his head to the direction of the radio, snapped from his concentration on the road momentarily and it's like Jason can feel his confusion through the commlink.

"Don't give me that silence." he groans. "They're family, aren't they? I'm not opposed to a younger sibling, you know." he huffs irritably. "But do me a favour and control Nightwing, hey? He's looking as coiled as you. You might have to fight him for the first hit."

Bruce doesn’t say anything before the comm cuts off, leaving him in the silence once more and eyes going straight back onto the red dot mapped onto his GPS. You.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

When you awoke the first time, you couldn’t feel anything. Your hands were tied to your ankles behind you, black cloth wrapped around your eyes. what you did know was that you were lying somewhere concrete, face pressed into the dusty cement. You knew that on the day that you woke and they had brough you were, that there were other people thrown in the same cell as you. You also knew that those other people were dead.

You had heard them scream, heard the way that they begged for their lives when they were dragged from the pen you were in. One a day, until you were left alone with no one to talk to. They had all been kidnapped like you, affluent people that you recognised the names and voices of. You had heard some of them at events you parents had hosted and attended, and when you traded names, they had remembered you immediately. You weren't dumb, you knew that you had all been taken here because you were rich. That was the only thing that you had in common with the heiresses and finance brokers that had shared the cells with you, huddled up against the cool metal.

Now the only thing left was you and the stickiness that crept under the bars of your cage, grateful that the blindfold was on so you didn't have to see what it was. At first you thought that you were alone, that your captors had left, but you knew better. You could sense them all around you, quiet and watching. They were like an uncomfortable prickling on your neck, the ghost of fingertips across your skin. Yet the hours and minutes had bled into days, and now you didn’t care if they were there or not.

You knew that they wanted to kill you. They had killed the rest. You had been given small amounts of food and water the first day or two, but today there had been none. Your mouth was dry as you lay on your side, lips cracking with the desire to drink. Your throat felt like sandpaper when you swallowed, and the silence that you were met with when you called out only made your panic and helplessness rise. You had lost the ability to cry, body sluggish. It felt like everything was shutting down, the pain in your stomach unbearable and tongue heavy in your mouth. As the heat crept in and pulled sweat from your unwilling skin, you began wishing that they would kill you.

You supposed that your wish was answered when the creak of your cell signalled one of your silent observers had come for you, and the tug on the ropes binding your limbs together made you lurch forward. You kept your face pressed down, too weak to struggle against them as they dragged you out and gripped your hair, making you shift onto your knees at an awkward angle. For the first time in days, you heard someone speak.

" So, this is Bruce's new...child." Your captor hummed. You could hear the way that their boots scuffed as they walked, coming to stand in front of you. You could faintly feel the swish of fabric, long and tickling the floor. "I wonder if he was planning to hand the title of Robin over so soon.”

Your eyebrows furrow, but your barely functioning brain fails to process what he's saying.

"Are you aware of your family's lineage?" comes the voice from above you, commanding and deep with a hint of something malicious in the undertone, like a coiled snake waiting to strike. “Your real family, the ones who claimed to practice a just and fair law. Not Wayne.”

 You manage to shake your head weakly, grimacing as the image of your parents covered in blood flickered into your mind.

The voice above you tuts. "The sins of the father shall be bestowed upon the son," he recites softly. "And you are to pay the penance. Gotham will be purged, and the bloodlines of the corrupt shall be the first to burn, aware of their sins or not."

You don't even get a chance to ask what he's saying, the words sounding like biblical rambling. A scream is ripped through your throat instead as a sharp hot pain erupts through your shoulder, the sound of your own skin bubbling making you sick. You wail, body aching to thrash but the fatigue and weakness preventing you from doing such. The hands on your shoulders hold you still as the sensation is repeated across your body, stray tears leaking from your eyes despite your dehydrated state. It's only when you feel like you’re about to cross over, embrace the light spilling behind your eyes that you realise that the hands have left your body and that you're lying face down, discarded on the concrete floor.

You can feel the ache all over your body, a stinging and writhing pain that makes your whimper involuntarily. You can now make out that there is sound around you, echoing off the empty walls and causing your head to throb after days of silence.

For Bruce however, the world was silent despite being in the thick of the fight. They had pulled up the abandoned building on the edge of Gotham and Bludhaven, thankfully located by Clark and his x-ray vision after days of searching. He had stormed into the building with Dick, Jason, and Tim on his heels, his hands filled with a shake only the trained eye could determine as rage. The world had dripped into the pulsing cadence of his heartbeat as soon as he saw you, kneeling at Ra’s feet and being held by league assassins. He had hardly any time to process the way that you curled up and into yourself when you were dropped so carelessly, head thudding lifelessly against the floor. Forlorn, he eyed the way your body was covered with cuts and stabs, burns from the red-hot sword still held in the hands of a soldier. He hadn't known when the league had decided to dabble in torture, but Bruce felt like joining that night.

Jason and Tim were dealing with the assassins, the younger male finally freed from desk duty. He didn't know you as well as he would have liked considering that you lived under the same roof as him, but you had been warming up. He had really hoped that you could get along, but now he feared that this was going to push your back into the shell you had just started to crack, and that frustration was evident in the whistling of his bow staff as it cut through the air.

Dick had gone after Ra’s immediately while Batman raced for you, Dicks escrima sticks going for the head. Dick was fast and agile, muscles more tensed than usual as he sent well placed blow after blow. Yet Bruce wasn’t an idiot, he knew the limits of him and his team, and he knew the limits of Ra’s. That's why in what limited time that Dick bought for him he dropped to your side, slicing through your bonds with a batarang and letting your arms and legs fall free from their cramped position behind you. You groan lightly as he cradles you to his chest, weakly crying out as he justles the many wounds. He loosens the blindfold from your eyes, and your blink up at him a few seconds later, squinting against the light.

Your skin is sticky with blood both your own and not, flecked across the apple of your cheeks. He eyes the burns, the warped and rippled skin that blistered angrily and would surely get infected if not treated soon. He observes the many cages set up in the corner, the one he presumes was yours wide open and empty. He feels sick seeing the dead bodies in the other ones, imagining that it could have been you in there, dead like some caged animal for slaughter.

You make a weak whimper when he stands, and he has half a mind to join Nightwing in beating Ras so badly he'd need to use the pit again.

But he doesn’t.

He rises to his feet with you in his arms, and he calls for a retreat. You cry and moan as he hurries out, Jason and Tim covering your exit while Dick flips into the rafters and out of range of the Demon Head. He wants to fight; he wants to put them in their place for hurting his family. But the moment he had met your eyes again, it was like that day in the alleyway. You had seen him as Batman too that day, but as he laid you hurriedly in the back of the batmobile and patched Oracle in to prep the med bay, he knew that something was different from that night.

Because unlike the day you lost your parents, he had made it in time.

[urdreamydoodles]

DC Comics Characters x Fem!OC

How they handle your relationship with your dog

Characters: Bruce Wayne, Kal-El (Clark Kent), Barry Allen, Diana of Themyscira, Arthur Curry, Hal Jordan, Oliver Queen, John Constantine, Roy Harper, Koriand'r (Starfire), Kara Zor-El (Supergirl), Slade Wilson, Kent Nelson (Dr. Fate), Rachel Roth & Zatanna Zatara

Bruce Wayne aka. Batman

- Bruce’s reaction to Mr. Pickles was a mixture of mild confusion and reluctant acceptance. “You chose… this?” he asked, gesturing at the small, fluffy dog that was currently gnawing on one of Alfred’s expensive loafers. But as Mr. Pickles wagged his tail and barked up at him, Bruce sighed and crouched down, carefully scratching behind the dog’s ears. “I suppose you’re harmless enough.”

- Though Bruce often claimed to be indifferent, he developed a subtle bond with Mr. Pickles. The dog had a knack for curling up at Bruce’s feet during late nights in the Batcave, his soft presence providing an unexpected comfort amidst the darkness. “He keeps me grounded,” Bruce admitted quietly one night, watching the tiny dog doze against his boots.

- Alfred, ever the enabler, ensured Mr. Pickles was well cared for, preparing gourmet meals and tailoring a small bed that perfectly matched the manor’s decor. Bruce protested, but you caught him sneaking the dog treats when he thought no one was watching. “He’s part of your life,” Bruce muttered when you teased him, “which means he’s part of mine.”

- Bruce admired how much joy Mr. Pickles brought to you. He often found himself captivated by the way you lit up when playing with your dog, your laughter filling the manor with a warmth that even he couldn’t resist. “You’re beautiful when you’re happy,” he said one evening, his voice low as he watched you cuddle Mr. Pickles.

- Though he’d never admit it, Bruce became fiercely protective of Mr. Pickles. He once had Lucius Fox design a custom GPS collar after the dog wandered off during a walk. “I can’t have anything happen to him,” Bruce said gruffly, avoiding your knowing smile. In his own way, he had grown to love the tiny fluff ball just as much as he loved you.

Kal-El (Clark Kent) aka. Superman

- Clark was instantly smitten with Mr. Pickles. The moment he saw the tiny ball of fluff, his face lit up with childlike wonder. “He’s adorable,” Clark declared, crouching down to let the dog sniff his hand. Mr. Pickles responded by leaping into Clark’s lap, earning a delighted laugh that made your heart flutter.

- Clark’s gentle nature made him an instant favorite with Mr. Pickles. The dog would follow him around wherever he went, yipping happily whenever Clark picked him up. “Looks like I’ve got a new best friend,” Clark teased, cradling the dog like a baby as you rolled your eyes with a smile.

- One of Clark’s favorite activities was taking Mr. Pickles on long walks around Smallville. The two of them would explore the open fields together, with Clark pointing out every interesting sight for Mr. Pickles to investigate. “Look at him go,” Clark said, laughing as the dog chased after a butterfly, his tail wagging furiously.

- Clark adored how much you loved Mr. Pickles. He often watched you play with the dog, his heart swelling with affection at the sight of your laughter. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he said softly one evening, pulling you into his arms as Mr. Pickles snuggled against your legs.

- When Mr. Pickles got into mischief, Clark was the first to come to his defense. Whether it was knocking over a lamp or chewing on your favorite shoes, Clark always managed to find the humor in the situation. “He’s just curious,” he said with a grin, scratching the dog’s ears. “Besides, how can you be mad at this face?”

Barry Allen aka. Flash

- Barry was ecstatic when he met Mr. Pickles. “Oh my god, this is the cutest dog ever!” he exclaimed, crouching down to pet the fluffy little dog. His enthusiasm was contagious, and Mr. Pickles responded with equal excitement, jumping up and licking Barry’s face as he laughed.

- The two of them quickly became inseparable. Barry’s boundless energy matched Mr. Pickles’ playful nature perfectly, and the two of them would spend hours running around the house together. “I think he’s my spirit animal,” Barry joked, watching as Mr. Pickles sprinted in circles, barking happily.

- Barry loved to spoil Mr. Pickles with treats and toys, often coming home with something new for the dog. “I couldn’t resist,” he said sheepishly, holding up a squeaky toy shaped like a lightning bolt. Watching Mr. Pickles wag his tail excitedly made it all worth it.

- Barry adored seeing you interact with Mr. Pickles. “You’re like the ultimate dog mom,” he teased, grinning as you brushed the dog’s fur or taught him a new trick. But there was a softness in his eyes as he watched you, a clear sign of how deeply he loved both you and your furry companion.

- On lazy days, the three of you would pile onto the couch together, with Mr. Pickles sprawled across both of your laps. Barry would drape an arm around you, pressing a kiss to your temple as he said, “I think this is what happiness looks like.” And in that moment, you couldn’t help but agree.

Diana of Themyscira aka. Wonder Woman

- Diana was utterly fascinated by Mr. Pickles. “Such a tiny creature, yet so full of life,” she mused, crouching down to study the dog with a mix of curiosity and admiration. Mr. Pickles, in turn, wagged his tail enthusiastically and licked her hand, earning a soft laugh from the Amazonian princess.

- Diana treated Mr. Pickles with the same respect she afforded everyone in her life. She spoke to him gently, as if he were a noble companion rather than a slightly clueless ball of fluff. “You have a brave heart,” she told him one day, stroking his fur as he barked at a passing squirrel.

- Walks with Diana and Mr. Pickles were nothing short of epic. She’d take him to serene parks or lush forests, marveling at his unbridled joy as he explored his surroundings. “He reminds me of the animals on Themyscira,” she said with a fond smile. “Free-spirited and full of wonder.”

- Diana loved how much joy Mr. Pickles brought to your life. She often watched you with a look of quiet reverence as you played or cuddled with your dog. “You have such a kind heart,” she said one evening, her voice filled with admiration. “It’s no wonder he loves you so much.”

- At night, Diana would often sit by the fire with Mr. Pickles curled up in her lap, her strong hands stroking his fur gently. “He is a reminder of the simple joys in life,” she said softly, glancing at you with a serene smile. “And of how lucky I am to share those joys with you.”

Arthur Curry aka. Aquaman

- Arthur’s first reaction to Mr. Pickles was a hearty laugh. “This is your dog? He’s like a walking puffball!” he said, grinning as the tiny dog barked up at him. But when Mr. Pickles jumped into his arms without hesitation, Arthur’s expression softened. “Alright, you’re pretty cool for a little guy.”

- Despite his rough exterior, Arthur had a soft spot for Mr. Pickles. He’d carry the dog around like a proud dad, often making jokes about how Mr. Pickles was his “new sidekick.” “Watch out, world,” he said with a chuckle. “The King of Atlantis and his trusty fluff ball are coming through.”

- Arthur loved taking Mr. Pickles to the beach, where the tiny dog would frolic in the sand and chase the waves. “He’s got more guts than most people I know,” Arthur said proudly, watching as Mr. Pickles barked at the crashing waves. “Must be hanging around me too much.”

- Arthur adored how much you loved Mr. Pickles. He often teased you about spoiling the dog, but there was a warmth in his eyes every time he saw you fussing over your furry companion. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he said one day, pulling you into his arms as Mr. Pickles yipped happily at your feet.

- On quiet evenings, Arthur would sit with you and Mr. Pickles on the dock, the ocean stretching out before you. With the dog curled up in his lap and your hand in his, Arthur would glance at you with a soft smile. “This is all I need,” he said simply, his deep voice carrying the weight of his love for you and the life you shared.

Hal Jordan aka. Green Lantern

- Hal’s first encounter with Mr. Pickles was filled with unrestrained laughter. “You’re telling me this little fluff ball runs your world?” he teased, crouching to meet the dog at eye level. Mr. Pickles responded by yipping excitedly and pouncing on Hal’s boots, instantly winning him over.

- Hal had a knack for turning everything into a game, and Mr. Pickles was no exception. He’d use his Green Lantern ring to create glowing balls of light for the dog to chase, laughing every time Mr. Pickles tumbled over himself in pursuit. “I think he’s got a future as a cosmic explorer,” Hal joked, ruffling the dog’s fur.

- Despite his devil-may-care attitude, Hal took his role as “dog dad” surprisingly seriously. He’d call you from missions just to check on Mr. Pickles. “How’s the little guy holding up?” he’d ask, his voice softening in a way that made your heart flutter.

- Hal loved the way Mr. Pickles brought out your playful side. Watching you roll on the floor with the dog or giggle as he chased his tail was enough to make Hal pause and admire you. “You know,” he said one day, his voice laced with affection, “you’re even more beautiful when you’re happy.”

- When it came to mischief, Hal and Mr. Pickles were a dangerous duo. Whether it was sneaking snacks or orchestrating harmless pranks, Hal would always defend the dog with a mischievous grin. “What can I say?” he said, shrugging as you raised an eyebrow. “The little guy’s got good taste in chaos.”

Oliver Queen aka. Green Arrow

- Oliver was immediately skeptical of Mr. Pickles. “You’re sure he’s a dog and not just a walking pillow?” he quipped, but his teasing faded the moment the tiny fluff ball curled up in his lap. “Alright, maybe he’s got some charm.”

- Despite his gruff exterior, Oliver had a soft spot for Mr. Pickles. He’d often find himself talking to the dog during quiet moments, his voice low and comforting. “You’ve got it easy, buddy,” he’d say, scratching behind the dog’s ears. “No rogues, no arrows. Just love.”

- Oliver adored how much you loved Mr. Pickles, even if he pretended to roll his eyes at your antics. He’d watch you play with the dog, a small smile tugging at his lips as he muttered, “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” But his eyes always betrayed his affection.

- Walks with Mr. Pickles became a cherished routine. Oliver would take the dog on hikes, carrying him in his arms whenever the terrain became too rough. “What? He’s got tiny legs,” he’d say defensively when you teased him about it.

- Mr. Pickles had a knack for defusing Oliver’s stress. After a long day, Oliver would sit on the couch with the dog nestled against his chest, the steady rhythm of his breathing calming both of them. “He’s not so bad,” Oliver admitted quietly, glancing at you with a rare softness.

John Constantine aka. Hellblazer

- John’s first reaction to Mr. Pickles was a bemused smirk. “Well, aren’t you a fancy little thing,” he said, crouching down to inspect the fluffy dog. Mr. Pickles responded by yipping and licking his outstretched hand, earning a low chuckle from the mage.

- Despite his dark and chaotic nature, John had a surprising way with animals, and Mr. Pickles was no exception. The dog would follow him around, tail wagging furiously, even as John grumbled about tripping over him. “You’ve got yourself a little shadow,” he told you, his tone half-exasperated, half-amused.

- John’s protective streak extended to Mr. Pickles in unexpected ways. He once placed a magical ward around the dog’s bed after a particularly harrowing encounter with a demon. “No bloody hellspawn is messing with this little guy,” he muttered, lighting a cigarette.

- Watching you with Mr. Pickles brought out a rare softness in John. He’d sit back, cigarette in hand, and watch as you cuddled the dog, a faint smile ghosting his lips. “You’re too good for the likes of me, love,” he said quietly one night, his voice tinged with both reverence and regret.

- John had a knack for turning Mr. Pickles into an unwitting accomplice in his schemes. Whether it was using the dog as a distraction during a con or charming his way out of trouble by pointing to the innocent fluff ball, John always managed to keep things interesting. “He’s got potential,” John said with a wink, ruffling the dog’s fur.

Roy Harper aka. Arsenal

- Roy’s first reaction to Mr. Pickles was pure delight. “You’ve got a dog? And he’s this tiny?” he exclaimed, scooping the fluffy pup into his arms. Mr. Pickles responded by licking his face enthusiastically, cementing their instant bond.

- The two of them quickly became partners in crime. Roy loved teaching Mr. Pickles silly tricks, like how to “high five” or roll over dramatically. “He’s got flair, just like me,” Roy joked, beaming as the dog performed his latest trick for you.

- Roy had a playful rivalry with Mr. Pickles when it came to your attention. “Oh sure, cuddle him first,” he teased, feigning jealousy as the dog climbed into your lap. But his grin always gave away how much he adored seeing you happy.

- Walks with Roy and Mr. Pickles were always an adventure. Roy would let the dog explore to his heart’s content, encouraging him to chase leaves or investigate interesting smells. “You’ve got to let him live a little,” he said, grinning as Mr. Pickles barked at a particularly stubborn twig.

- Despite his playful demeanor, Roy had a deep appreciation for the way Mr. Pickles brought joy to your life. “You deserve all the happiness in the world,” he said one night, his voice unusually serious as he watched you cuddle the dog. “And if this little guy makes you smile, then he’s alright by me.”

Koriand’r aka. Starfire

- Kori was utterly enchanted by Mr. Pickles the moment she saw him. “Such a precious creature!” she exclaimed, scooping the dog into her arms and nuzzling him with unabashed affection. Mr. Pickles responded by wagging his tail furiously, clearly won over by her warmth.

- Kori treated Mr. Pickles like royalty, often referring to him as “the noble guardian of our home.” She’d adorn him with tiny accessories, like a golden bow or a small cape, much to your amusement. “He is most regal,” she declared, beaming as the dog strutted around proudly.

- Walks with Kori and Mr. Pickles were filled with wonder. Kori loved introducing the dog to new sights and experiences, marveling at his reactions. “He approaches the world with such curiosity,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “It is a quality I admire greatly.”

- Kori adored seeing you with Mr. Pickles, often commenting on how much love you brought into both of their lives. “You have a way of making everything brighter,” she said one day, her voice soft as she watched you play with the dog. “It is a gift, and I treasure it.”

- Though she was gentle by nature, Kori became fiercely protective of Mr. Pickles when necessary. She once used her starbolts to scare off a stray dog that was bothering him. “No one will harm our little friend,” she said firmly, cradling Mr. Pickles in her arms as you smiled at her protective streak.

Kara Zor-El aka. Supergirl

- Kara’s first meeting with Mr. Pickles was a whirlwind of squeals and excitement. “Oh my Rao, he’s so tiny and fluffy!” she exclaimed, gently scooping the little dog into her arms. Mr. Pickles, always eager to make friends, licked her cheek, prompting a delighted laugh from the Kryptonian.

- Kara adored how Mr. Pickles’ unassuming nature brought her a sense of normalcy. Despite her superhuman powers, she’d lie on the floor, letting the dog climb over her, tugging playfully at her hair. “You know, you’re one of the few who can keep up with me,” she teased, booping his nose.

- Walks with Kara and Mr. Pickles were something of a spectacle. Kara, determined to give the pup the best adventures, would sometimes gently float above the ground, holding Mr. Pickles in her arms as they explored treetops and open fields. “He deserves to see the world from above,” she said, her eyes shining with joy.

- Kara often marveled at the way you cared for Mr. Pickles, finding your bond with the little dog heartwarming. “You’re such a good mom to him,” she said one night, watching as you tucked Mr. Pickles into his tiny bed. “It makes me love you even more.”

- When trouble arose, Kara’s protective instincts extended to Mr. Pickles. Once, during a fight with a rogue alien, she paused mid-battle to make sure the dog was safely out of harm’s way. “You’re not laying a finger on him,” she growled, her eyes glowing red with determination.

Slade Wilson aka. Deathstroke

- Slade was initially unimpressed by Mr. Pickles. “That’s not a dog,” he grumbled, arms crossed as the tiny fluff ball barked up at him. But when Mr. Pickles fearlessly climbed onto Slade’s boot, demanding attention, Slade couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright, maybe he’s got some guts.”

- Slade’s relationship with Mr. Pickles was unexpectedly tender. Late at night, when he thought no one was watching, you’d catch him scratching the dog’s ears or letting Mr. Pickles nap on his lap. “He’s quieter than I expected,” Slade muttered defensively when you teased him about it.

- Mr. Pickles had a knack for softening Slade’s rough edges. The sight of the hardened mercenary kneeling to refill the dog’s water bowl or throwing a ball across the yard was enough to make your heart swell. “Don’t get used to it,” he warned, though the small smile on his lips betrayed his affection.

- Slade admired your patience with Mr. Pickles, often remarking on how you handled the dog’s occasional mischief. “You’ve got the kind of patience I don’t,” he said one day, his voice low. “It’s one of the reasons I can’t stay away from you.”

- Despite his gruff demeanor, Slade would go to great lengths to protect Mr. Pickles. When the dog wandered too close to one of his dangerous weapons, Slade immediately scooped him up, cradling him protectively. “You’re lucky I like you, fluff ball,” he muttered, carrying him back to safety.

Kent Nelson aka. Doctor Fate

- Kent found Mr. Pickles endlessly amusing. “An extraordinary creature in his own right,” he mused, watching as the dog chased his own tail. Mr. Pickles seemed equally intrigued by Kent’s golden helmet, often barking at it from a safe distance.

- Kent’s mystical abilities became a source of entertainment for Mr. Pickles. He’d conjure small, glowing orbs for the dog to chase or create harmless illusions that made Mr. Pickles bark with delight. “Even the smallest beings deserve a touch of magic,” Kent said, smiling as the dog pounced on a shimmering butterfly.

- Despite his lofty demeanor, Kent had a soft spot for Mr. Pickles. You’d often find the two of them sitting together in quiet companionship, Kent absentmindedly stroking the dog’s fur while lost in thought. “He has a calming presence,” Kent admitted, glancing at you. “Much like you.”

- Kent marveled at the way you cared for Mr. Pickles, often likening your nurturing nature to the compassion of the gods. “You bring light to even the smallest lives,” he said one evening, his voice reverent. “It’s a gift I will never tire of witnessing.”

- When danger threatened, Kent would spare no effort in ensuring Mr. Pickles’ safety. He once cast a protective ward around the dog during a battle, ensuring no harm would come to him. “No harm shall befall what you love,” he promised, his voice steady with resolve.

Rachel Roth aka. Raven

- Rachel was initially indifferent to Mr. Pickles. “He’s… small,” she said, raising an eyebrow as the dog sniffed at her boots. But when Mr. Pickles nuzzled her hand, she couldn’t help but let a small smile escape. “Alright, maybe he’s not so bad.”

- Rachel’s quiet nature seemed to resonate with Mr. Pickles. The dog often curled up beside her as she read, his presence a comforting weight against her side. “He’s surprisingly peaceful,” she admitted one day, scratching behind his ears.

- Watching you with Mr. Pickles brought a rare softness to Rachel’s expression. “You have so much love to give,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

- Rachel occasionally used her powers to entertain Mr. Pickles, creating small shadows for him to chase or levitating his favorite toy just out of reach. “He’s surprisingly persistent,” she noted, a hint of amusement in her tone as the dog barked at the floating object.

- Despite her dark and brooding nature, Rachel became fiercely protective of Mr. Pickles. When a magical threat loomed, she enveloped the dog in a shimmering shield of energy, her voice steady as she assured you, “Nothing will harm him. I promise.”

Zatanna Zatara aka. Zatanna

- Zatanna fell in love with Mr. Pickles at first sight. “He’s absolutely enchanting!” she exclaimed, picking up the fluffy pup and twirling him around. Mr. Pickles responded with a delighted yip, instantly smitten with her playful energy.

- Zatanna’s magic became a source of endless amusement for Mr. Pickles. She’d conjure floating treats or make his toys dance, her laughter filling the room as the dog barked and chased after the enchanted objects. “He’s a natural performer,” she said, winking at you.

- Zatanna loved how Mr. Pickles brought out your nurturing side. She often watched with admiration as you fussed over the dog, her heart swelling with affection. “You’re incredible,” she said one evening, resting her head on your shoulder as you brushed Mr. Pickles’ fur.

- Walks with Zatanna and Mr. Pickles were always magical. She’d enchant the path ahead, creating shimmering lights and gentle breezes that made the experience feel otherworldly. “He deserves a little magic in his life,” she said, smiling as Mr. Pickles pranced happily beside her.

- When danger threatened, Zatanna’s protective instincts kicked in. She once cast a powerful barrier around Mr. Pickles during a confrontation, her voice firm as she uttered the spell. “Nothing will harm our little star,” she vowed, her gaze fierce yet tender.

[asilentguardian]

Jason stands there for a while, leaning against the wall, watching Hal. It’s clear Hal is struggling to control the impulse to reach out and hold Bruce, his hands twitching and his body leaning towards the bed. But Jason was here first, and he’s not leaving.

Jason doesn’t break the silence, just watches. It wasn’t Hal. He had been possessed, totally and completely. But Bruce had held back. He could’ve laid Hal out, but he didn’t. And he’d paid the price. Broken ribs, a broken arm, sprained ankle. A ring of black and blue around his throat that Jason’s eyes have avoided since he first saw him, swallowed by monitors and the emptiness of the Watchtower med-bay.

It wasn’t Hal. But Jason had seen it, from afar. He’d watched Bruce go down and not get back up, because no one was fast enough to stop a Green Lantern out of his mind, especially when that Green Lantern was Hal Jordan. No one could get to him faster than he could have Bruce on the ground. If Clark had been two seconds later…

Jason eyes the fluorescent ring on Hal’s hand.

“Yellow light,” Hal says, his voice hoarse. Probably from the amount of yelling he had let loose, after he had been snapped out of it.

“What?” Jason asks.

“A Green Lantern’s greatest weakness. Yellow light. Preferably a Yellow Lantern. That would be the easiest way to– to stop me,” Hal explains, eyes still on Bruce, on the rise and fall of his chest. Hands still in his own lap.

Jason wonders what the rest of the Green Lanterns would think about Hal offering that information so freely. Probably they would be pissed. Jason doesn’t care.

“Bruce already knows that, doesn’t he?” Jason asks. Cause god knows Bruce would’ve figured it out a long time ago. He would have probably been thinking about all his little contingency plans all day, as soon as they knew metas weren’t immune. 

“Yes,” Hal says, voice hoarse, “but he didn’t use it.” And Hal sounds angry. Angry that Bruce refused to fight back, to hurt him. 

“He wouldn’t, not until the last possible moment,” Jason says, unable to stop his own anger from leaking into this voice. Because yes, he was pissed at Bruce. As fast as Hal Jordan is, Bruce is faster. Bruce could annihilate the whole League, if he had to. But instead, he’s here, unconscious in another hospital bed, narrowly avoiding death despite the 13 year old at home. Despite all the people who need him.

“Why the hell not,” Hal bites out. Jason lets out a dry laugh.

“I don’t know, Hal. Quite a mystery, that one,” Jason says. Hal’s jaw clenches at that. As if either had been subtle, as if no one had noticed the way they look at each other. Jason had certainly noticed. He’d noticed a lot, some things he’d like scrubbed from his memory, thank you very much.

But some things. Like Hal pulling his hand away from Bruce’s, cracking a joke anytime anyone tried to comment. Like the way he found a reason to leave the cave, whenever someone else entered. 

“If it– If it happens again, would you– Before I–”

“Fuck you,” Jason snarls, “take you and your suicidal bullshit somewhere else. He needs you here, not in the middle of a pity party. He’d rather cut off a limb than see some he loves die, you asshole.”

Hal turns towards him at that, blinks at him for a moment.

“He doesn’t– we’re not–”

“Oh stick a cock in it and hold his fucking hand already, you sorry excuse for a human. If that’s any kind of news to you then you don’t know him at all. Your eyes must have been closed for the past however long, maybe there wasn’t enough blood in your brain. No, shut up, let me tell you something else, dickwad, you’re fucking it up royally, is what you’re doing. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but from where I’m standing it looks like you’re jerking him around, because god forbid Hal Jordan have a fucking emotion about anything, that would be too fucking much.”

At some point, Jason had pushed off the wall and ended up on the other side of Bruce’s bed. His chest is heaving as he stares down a wide-eyed Hal Jordan. Hal slowly reaches a hand out and places it over Bruce’s, fingers wrapping around it tentatively. Hal swallows, looks back down at Bruce.

“I might be really bad at this, it turns out,” Hal finally says, voice strained. Jason snorts.

“Yeah, no shit.”

They both sit there for a moment, watching Bruce’s chest rise and fall, listening to the steady beep of the heart monitor. 

“Hey Hal,” Jason says, finally breaking the silence that’s fallen over them. Hal looks over at him, meets his eyes.

“It wasn’t you,” Jason says. Hal swallows again, nods hesitantly.

“Yeah. Yeah I know,” he whispers, hand twitching, like he might pull away from Bruce. Jason holds his gaze for a few seconds, then looks back down at Bruce. Leslie said he’d be under until at least tomorrow morning. Jason figures that the amount of painkillers he’s on might be enough to kill someone who didn’t get beat up as a hobby.

“One more thing. If it ever is you, you’ll regret telling me the yellow light thing for the rest of your short, short life,” Jason says, low and steady. Hal just stares back at him.

“No, I wouldn't,” Hal says softly. Jason rolls his eyes. Gross.

Jason has to stare at Bruce for just a little longer, gather his strength before he walks out of the room. His whole body screams at him to stay, that’s there’s an active threat near– near his–

It wasn’t Hal. Jason knows this. But he saw it happen. The tight leash he has on his anger is fraying, and Jason suspects Hal wouldn’t fight back, not really. So he needs to go punch something else.

[axstoria]

Clark Kent taking his boyfriend out ice skating at a local winter fair in Smallville, not expecting the billionaire to know how to stand on his own two feet on the ice.

Now, of course, he forgot that said boyfriend is Bruce Wayne, of all people. The Batman.

The Batman who can do literally anything just by watching something once.

So, while Clark is still lacing up his skates, chattering along, Bruce's gaze is focused on couples and families as they glide along the ice, taking in each moment and stride, filing it away in his mind.

He already knows how to skate—having fought Mr. Freeze so often that he actually added retractable blades to his suit—, so he shouldn't be this observant of the other people.

Clark stands up, a boyish grin on his face as he takes Bruce's hand and drags him out onto the ice, carefully steadying his poor human mate to make sure he doesn't fall.

Bruce just waves off his worry and skates away like a damn figure skater, finding an empty space and happily twirling.

Showoff.

Clark catches up with a frown, grumbling something along the lines of, "You didn't tell me you knew how to skate!"

"A man never tells all his tricks," Bruce teases back, looping his arm with Clark's, and they begin to make lazy laps around the rink like everyone else.

An hour and a half later, both are nursing warm hot chocolate to their chests, taking small sips. The beat doesn't bother Clark's tongue, but he drinks only when Bruce does, not wanting to seem glutton.

They toss the cups in the recycling after they are done, opting to wander around the several stalls set up along the streets.

When Clark shows interest in something, Bruce is already handing over cash, not even bothering to check the price tag. Anything for his love.

Clark objects stubbornly, but eventually snatches up the bags, upset that Bruce was carrying things in his presence.

They find a bench to sit on that is further away from the crowd, Clark tucked against Bruce's side, a light purr coming from his throat as the billionaire scratches his hair mindlessly.

"Now since I went to the fair with you..."

"I'm not going to a gala." Clark's voice is low and there is a hint of hesitation to it. "I report, that's all."

"Alright, alright. I guess I can't force you. Though, once we're married, it's going to happen."

Clark mutters some kind of brush-off statement, wrapping a thick arm around his boyfriend, bumping their skulls together as he happily purrs.

"I'm gonna get you rocks."

"Rocks?"

"Mhm. From whatever planet you want. I'll make you diamonds if you want them."

"That's nice, Clark. What for?"

"Our wedding. Humans give each other rocks, right?"

"Mhm."

"Kryptonians do, too."

"That's nice."

"I'm gonna get you a sapphire. Like your eyes."

"Okay, Clark."

"I love you."

Bruce pauses, a little sigh escaping him—he really did have to pick a hyperactive one, didn't he?— before he replies softly, "I love you, too."

[hmslusitania]

Batman and Iron Man would of course absolutely hate each other from the word go. But Iron Man and Green Arrow? Tony and Ollie are cut from exactly the same cloth and have just enough of the correct kind of narcissism that means they would recognise each other as an extension of themselves rather than any kind of dark mirror that Bruce would see them through.

Steve and Clark would be perfectly polite to each other (Clark is always polite; Steve knows how to pretend) but would find the other completely uninteresting. Steve and Lois, on the other hand, would get on like a house on fire.

But mostly I want Young Justice to meet the Young Avengers. Tommy and Bart running laps of the globe to see who’s faster. Cassie Sandsmark and Cassie Lang trying to decide if they’re just gonna go by their superhero names or do the school thing and become Cassie S. and Cassie L. respectively. Kon and America arm wrestling. Cissie and Tim having a bitter war about which of them got to claim kinship of Kate. Tim and Kon having to recon with the fact Billy and Teddy are basically just them but slightly to the left and also married to each other and wait why haven’t we tried that—

[frownyalfred]

Bruce providing all that paperwork to the Kents to prove he will always make sure Clark is set for life and that marrying him - and in the likely hood of divorcing him - will not hurt him in any way.

The Kents stop him 20 minutes into his power point, grabbing his - surprisingly- trembling hands and make him sit down on their weathered recliner.

They make him look at them, sip the coffee and eat the coffee cake they prepared for him, while Clark was made to run an errand to give them "space".

"Bruce. I'm glad you've...planned for what if's for my son, "Martha starts, weathered hands folding on her lap, "And while we appreciate that you want to make sure the farm will never be bought again by the bank - "

"-I bought the bank, so they can never ask you to sell -"

Mr. Kent held up a hand, "...what I think Martha is trying to get to, is that, while we appreciate Mr. Wayne making sure my son is set for life - in both sets of his life - we simply want to know that you, Bruce , will love and cherish him. Want nothing but the best for him, and will be there for him in his lowest and most vulnerable of times. In the good and bad."

"Yes. Absolutely. I promise."

"Then that's all that matters to us. That Clark loves you and that you love him in return. Now eat up, son."

Clark arrives ten minutes after Bruce powers down the power point machine and looks between them nervously, but both parties look at peace and happy. He sits at Bruce's side and sets the box of groceries down at the floor by their feet.

"Okay?"

"Yes. Ready to marry you any day now. "

"If it was up to me, we could get married right now, out in the cornfield."

"Clark Joseph Kent!"

"I'm kidding, Ma. It would be in the Barn next to Betsy the cow."

🥹🥹🥹

[hypewinter]

At first he'd been overjoyed that the cloning had worked. Then, as the weeks went by, he realized just how messed up of a thing he had done. Tim still remembered the faces of everyone after he told them. There were mixes of shock, horror and disappointment. He'd been unable to face both Bruce and Clark for a while after that.

Now Tim sat in a rocking chair within the newly decorated nursery. He looked down at the baby in his lap, who returned his gaze with a blank one of his own.

He sighed as he turned to peer out the window. It was a full moon tonight. "They're mad at me, I know," he finally spoke. "I can't really blame them either. It wasn't fair to Conner. To his memory."

Tim turned to look at the baby once more. He stared into the baby's eyes. Those painfully familiar eyes that were at the same time new and foreign.

"It wasn't fair to you either."

Tim reached down and brushed a bang out of the baby's eyes. "But I swear I'm going to make it up," he continued. "Starting by giving you your own proper name."

Until now, that baby had been referred to as just that. Baby. If not that it was the clone, the child or Conner's clone. But now that Tim had firmly decided he was raising the baby, the kid needed a proper name.

"Hmm," Tim pondered. "What about.... Kevin?"

He received yet another blank look.

"Okay... how about Alex, Wes, Kyle? Timothy Jr?"

Blank stare.

"You could be Douglas. Doug for short."

At that the baby seemed to almost quirk up his eyebrow. As if to say, "Are you serious?" Though that was probably Tim's mind playing tricks on him.

"Yeah," he said with a soft chuckle. "I wasn't really feeling that one either."

Tim closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side. "Mark, Luke, Ezekiel, Thomas, Elijah..." Great, now he was just listing off Bible names.

"Daniel..." he muttered absently.

Suddenly, Tim heard a giggle. He looked back down at the baby to see him cooing softly.

"Wait, you like that? Daniel?"

The baby giggled again. This time reaching up towards Tim. Hesitantly, he raised his hand towards the child. He couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped him as the child grabbed onto his pointer finger.

"Ok, Daniel it is."

Except for something still didn't feel right. Tim leaned back and stared at the ceiling as his tried to pinpoint the feeling of wrongness. Then it hit him. He hated whenever people used his full name. It always felt stuffy and formal. It reminded him too much of disappointed looks. Of hands gripping his shoulders or pulling at his ears, telling him to behave.

"Say," he murmured. "Mind if I give you a nickname buddy? How about Dan?"

Daniel scrunched up his eyebrows. "Ok ok, you don't like that one. I get it. Then how about Danny?"

Daniel seemed to appreciate that nickname a whole lot more as him went back to cooing contently. Tim couldn't help as a smile of his own crept onto his face. "It's settled then," he grinned, holding his child up in the air. "Welcome to the family Danny Drake-Wayne!"

He then pulled Danny close into an embrace, closing his eyes as he took in the scent of baby powder and formula. "I promise, you'll have a better childhood than either I or Kon did. I'll make sure of it."

Edit: original prompt for anyone interested

[mamawasatesttube]

man... "time machine" by autoheart has me pondering the agonies. like fuck rebirth not doing that, but. a situation in which via magic or something, everyone [temporarily] forgets kon rebirth style. and he has to deal with that. and oops! what's that? oh it's just his suicidal tendencies coming back in FULL force, haha.

like its devastating enough when his friends don't remember him. but john henry? ma kent? clark?

what's he supposed to do with himself now? he has nothing and no one. he knows what he was made for, though. he wants to die a hero. he wants to die a hero. it won't hurt anyone this time because they forgot they love him. why is he here? he's a hero. he wants to die a hero. except heroes are remembered even after they die. what are you when no one remembers you, other than "dead twice over"? and you keep thinking of how unfair it is that the first time you died it hurt everyone you love. and now they forgot you so you may as well be dead. you kind of wish you stayed dead.

so he's not exactly taking it well. and of course ma and clark take it in stride when he shows up at the farm in distress. maybe it's a case of inadvertent dimension travel or something, clark muses, stroking his chin. and kon looks at the notch on the leg of the sofa that krypto accidentally scratched while wrestling on the floor with kon three months ago and says, haha yeah. maybe.

BUT! this time all the discrepancies and all the little things that don't add up? they're the point. kon gets to go to centennial park and point at his statue next to clark and say look. look, i'm real. i lived. you loved me. i died. i'm real. i'm real. i'm real.

and i think clark gets really quiet at that point. and then he's devastated. and furious. because he has a little brother/son/cousin/Little Guy. and someone robbed him of all of his memories of him. he has so few kryptonian family members and someone took one of them from him in the most raw, horrific way possible. they took his little guy from him so thoroughly he isn't even grieving. and isn't that in itself a horror? that there's no grief where he knows grief should be?

and i think kon here just kind of sticks Hard to clark's side at this point. if anyone remembered him or the people he loved, they'd find it odd and notable how conspicuously he's avoiding tim, bart, and cassie. unfortunately, no one knows him anymore, so no one notices. but kon just can't face the complete lack of warmth in their faces when they look at him. and it feels like far too much to explain "sorry, you don't know me, but you're supposed to love me. i love you and it's tearing me apart." so he just needs as much space as he can get.

(there's definitely a subplot of tim's nosy ass going "hey bruce, who was that guy with superman and steel at the jla meeting? what was that about? he looked a lot like superman huh?? hey bruce what's up with that guy? hey bruce what's going on--" and bruce, a paranoid asshole on the best of days, just going "i don't trust him." but tim is a nosy little ferret who will not be deterred and quite possibly pulls bart and cassie in on trying to investigate the guy who looks like superman but isn't superman.)

(however, for some reason, the guy who looks like superman but isn't superman seems to want absolutely nothing to do with the three of them. isn't that weird??)

anyways it has to have a happy ending where the curse is lifted or whatever and everyone gets their memories back and kon gets to have an incredibly cathartic breakdown into ma's lap. but probably not before he nearly gets himself killed at least 4 times first. oops!

[theerurishipper]

Superbat Week Day 3: Alien Biology

For @superbatweek2024

“I’ve been meaning to ask, how exactly is it that you fly?”

Clark looks at Bruce, eyebrow raised quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Bruce starts, gesturing at Clark’s form as the man in question happily eats Chocos out of the box, “how exactly does it work? J’onn, for instance, levitates with the help of his telekinetic abilities. It would be useful to understand how it works for you.”

Clark then gives him a huge grin, eyes twinkling with either amusement or the option Bruce hates most: mischief. “It’s because I actually have invisible wings!”

“Clark.”

“No, it’s true,” Clark insists, eyes wide. “Kryptonian biology is very different from most species, you know.”

“Clark.”

“Fine, fine,” Clark huffs. “It’s no fun trying to pull the wool over your eyes, you know? You could throw me a bone every now and then.”

“Of course,” Bruce admits. “But where’s the fun in that?”

Clark throws his Chocos at him, grinning.

--

“Hey, Spooky!”

Bruce turns begrudgingly at the grating sound of Hal Jordan’s voice. He supresses the part of him that is curious. After all, Hal usually— and thankfully— avoids him for the most part. It gives Bruce a lot more peace in his day, but also has the unintended and unwelcome side effect of making him interested whenever the man swallows his pride to approach him.

“Did you know about this? Did you know and just decide to keep this from everyone?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Hal rolls his eyes. “I’m talking about Supes, man.” He looks around the empty corridor, and leans in closer to Bruce, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Did you know that he has invisible wings?���

It must be an effect of all the idiocy in the air around him, but it’s almost like Bruce can feel his thoughts coming to a screeching halt in his head.

“I… he what?”

The first thing that occurs to him when his brain begins to function again is that Clark is probably way prouder of this idea than he has any right to be. And apparently, for good reason, because Hal seems completely taken in.

Bruce hates being wrong. Especially about this.

“Yeah! He sorta mentioned it in passing… but damn, you think you know a guy, huh?”

Bruce says nothing. He simply watches Hal stand before him, rubbing his head in consternation. And in his fugue state, Bruce makes one of the most questionable decisions of his life.

“I knew.”

“What?” Hal shrieks. “You knew? And didn’t mention this to anyone?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

Hal frowns. “I guess…” Then he sighs, running a hand through his hair, frustration visible on his face. “I guess you’d know that, huh? And I can safely say that it’s the truth, cause you’re allergic to pranks and fun.”

“Goodbye, Jordan.”

--

By the end of the day, the whole Watchtower knows of Superman’s magical invisible wings. Bruce can hear the poorly hushed conversations flooding through the entire satellite.

“Batman said he had them, so it must be true!”

“Yeah, he hates fun, he’d never go along with it if it was a prank!”

If only they knew.

--

“—And now people keep asking if they can feel them!” Clark huffs, head resting on Bruce’s lap.

“Mm.”

“It was funny at first, and it still is… but now, I think it’s falling apart.”

Bruce pats his forehead. “All pranks come to an end. It’s an immutable fact of life.”

“It’s just too good to be over so soon!”

Bruce wisely keeps his thoughts about the quality of Clark’s pranks to himself. Instead, he looks up from his laptop to observe the silent pout on his face, and makes a few calculated decisions. Then he picks up one of Alfred’s cookies and tosses it at Clark’s face.

“What’s this for?” asks Clark, confusedly.

“I’m throwing this at you, in lieu of a bone.”

--

Bruce has faced many dangers throughout his career as a superhero. Dangerous criminals, the best martial artists in the world, magic users, and even literal demons. But this might be the hardest thing he’s ever done.

“You want me to make Clark a pair of…” Zatanna trails off, and looks back down at the piece of paper he’d handed her. “…invisible attachable magic wings?”

“Yes.”

Zatanna looks up at him, looking absolutely miserable.

“What did you do this time?”

Bruce bristles and glares. “Nothing.”

“If you’re in the doghouse, it’s best you fix whatever you’ve done on your own—”

“It’s not an apology present. I’m helping him with a project.” Zatanna looks mildly curious for a split second, and realization dawns on her face.

“So his invisible wings aren’t real?” she whispers, looking stricken.

Self-control. Bruce is a master of self-control. He will not raise his palm to slap it against his forehead. He will not give into that ever-present urge.

“Of course not.”

“Damn,” she murmurs, looking away as though revaluating her entire existence. Luckily for her, so is Bruce.

But she bounces back fairly quickly, which is only a credit to her character. “All right, I’m down.”

“Thank you.”

--

“You know,” Zatanna insists as she rolls up her sleeves theatrically, wand already held in her hand, “I’ve never seen you go the extra mile for a prank before. You really love him, don’t you?”

“…Just do the spell.”

--

Clark’s wings are a big hit. The Hawks are especially thrilled. Bruce loses just a little more faith in everyone’s competency per second.

But seeing Clark’s excited face as he beats his invisible wings and bamboozles everybody within arm’s reach makes it all worth it. Not that he would ever admit as much to the man himself.

But unfortunately (or fortunately, if Alfred is to be believed), Clark knows him too well for all that.

“How hard was it to ask Zatanna to make these for me?” When Bruce doesn’t reply, Clark just grins, his arms coming to wrap around Bruce from the back. “I bet it was hard. I know how much you hate asking for favours.”

“They aren’t permanent, so enjoy them while they last.”

“Sure, sure.” Clark stops speaking, and the Batcave is left in its natural state of silence.

“Thank you, Bruce.”

Bruce doesn’t turn to look at him. “It’s just a pair of wings. Zatanna made them in five seconds.”

“That’s not what I mean. I just—” Clark leans in closer, pressing himself against Bruce’s back, and Bruce can feel his warmth flooding through him.

“This was the silliest thing ever, but you went along with it anyway.”

“Clark.” Bruce turns himself around in Clark’s arms, and lays a hand on his face. “It’s not silly. If you found it amusing, who am I to get in your way?”

“I was so sure you found it… what’s the word you used? Juvenile?”

Bruce gives him one of his lesser, weaker glares. “And now you’ve decided that I’m an expert in comedy? After all the time I’ve spent projecting the opposite?” Clark just laughs, quietly, subdued in a way that leaves Bruce feeling profoundly uneasy.

“I guess…”

Bruce pats his head, ruffling through his hair. “Since when have you cared so much about what I think?”

Clark just looks at him, and then sighs, dropping his head down onto Bruce’s shoulder. “I always care about what you think,” he mutters. “Your opinion means the world to me.”

Bruce’s first thought is to tell Clark that his faith is misplaced. That Bruce isn’t as worthy of admiration or respect as Clark seems to think. That Clark is giving him far too much credit.

But there’s something in the way Clark says those words, quiet and heavy, that renders him speechless, unable to say anything; something that leaves him wishing that it could be true. And so, he just stands there, in Clark’s embrace, trying to convey all the things he can’t say.

It’s Clark who breaks the silence, obviously. “You know… if I told you I had invisible wings right now, that wouldn’t be a lie…”

“I suppose so.”

“I guess I am different from you today. Biologically. Even on the outside.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

 “So…” Clark lifts his head up to look at him, expression positively sultry. “There’s a lot of fun we could have with these. Don’t you think so?”

Bruce just looks into his eyes, and raises a hand to run his finger along the soft surface of Zatanna’s magical wings. He drags his hand back, and rests both his arms around Clark’s neck.

“Let it never be said that I don’t know how to have a good time.”

Clark laughs, and kisses him.

--

“You know,” Clark says, conversationally, idly messing with Bruce’s hair. “I might not have actually had magic wings, but you know what I do have?”

“A penchant for silly pranks?”

Bruce looks up to find Clark waggling his eyebrows, mayhem already gathering in his eyes. “Well, yes,” Clark says, “but I was thinking more along the lines of horns that can detect lies. What do you think?”

Bruce just sighs, and buries his face in Clark’s shoulder. “I can’t lie to your horns. That’s a terrible idea.”

“So…”

“Fine. Let’s do it.”

---

Read on AO3

[theocddiaries]

[CLARK IS IN THE KITCHEN WITH A TODDLER CONNER]. Bruce: Good morning, little baby. Good morning, Clark. Clark: That's very adorable, Bruce, but I'm having kind of a rough morning. Conner: Daddy, up. Clark [Robotic]: I'm sorry, Conner. Those days are over. Now, here's your lunch. Go get your bag. We will be leaving shortly. [CONNER LEAVES]. Bruce: Clark, you don't have to ice him out completely. Clark: Do you think I'm enjoying this? But I need him to detach from me before the new thing comes, or who knows what he'll do to it. Bruce: Why are you saying "thing" instead of "baby"? Conner [Ominously in the distance]: Kill new baby. Bruce: …Oh. Look, I-I know this is hard, but I really appreciate what you're doing. And believe me, I take no pleasure in seeing you suffer like this. [V.O.] Bruce:I take a little pleasure. No, but there are very few parenting issues where I come out on top. You know, I'm distant, I work too much, my pancakes are "bland". Finally, you know, something that isn't my fault. [BRUCE IS DROPPING CONNER OFF AT DAYCARE] Teacher: Hi! Have fun, sweetheart. He is so sweet. Bruce: Oh, thanks. Well, you should've seen him yesterday; he pushed a baby off of Clark's lap. He is so possessive of him. But, Clark's really working on trying not to coddle him so much, so-- Teacher: Mm-hmm. I'm not really sure it's about coddling. Sounds more like a sharing issue. You know, we've noticed Conner has a hard time with that. I wouldn't worry. Kids usually pick that habit up from other kids. Except the ones who pick it up from their parents. Bruce: … [V.O.] Bruce: I have been told that I might have the teensiest issue with sharing. But is that something Conner would even pick up on? [WHILE DINING] Clark [Goes to grab some food from Bruce's dish] Bruce [Slaps Clark's hand]: My chicken. [IN THE BEDROOM] Bruce [Takes his pillow]: My pillow. Clark [Hits the headboard while laying down]: Ow. [LIVING ROOM] Conner [Drawing with a pen] Bruce [Comes out of nowhere and takes the pen from his hand]: Daddy's pen. Crayons. Your crayons. [V.O.] Bruce: …Okay, it's possible, and I suppose for Conner's sake, I-I should work on that. Yeah, privately.

[jscrawls]

dragonborn reader! Yandere snippets

🔹🔹🔹

bruce stares at clark across the table, hoping in vain that he’ll look away from them and pay attention to the meeting. instead he seems to be pointedly ignoring him to talk to the problem the new member, slowly twirling his curly hair around his finger, it’s starting to creep bruce out. the unwavering stare and slow blinking eyes like a relaxed cat basking, the flush reaching the tips of his ears, the damn giggling. the world’s strongest man is acting like a teen with his first crush.

“superman.” bruce clears his throat, hoping the kryptonian can hear the annoyed click in his jaw.

“hmm?…oh i don’t care about the budget changes for the tower.” clark finally tears his eyes away from the newcomer, his expression instantly becoming more focused.

“…we changed topics from budgets twenty minutes ago. we’re talking about the recent reports from the lantern corps.” annoyed didn’t quite cover how bruce felt, can one meeting go smoothly?

“oh, we can investigate whatever it is together, have you ever been flying?” clark quickly turns his attention back to the newcomer, looking genuinely exited to have something to do together, possibly alone.

bruce wants to slam his head on the meeting table when the other’s quickly react with loud complaints instead of focusing on a solution.

🔹🔹🔹

you’re just washing the remnants of a potion spill off your hands when diana approaches you with a gentle smile on her face, two xiphos swords in hand. she leans against the doorframe and gestures towards you with the practice blades, eyeing the bottles covering the small round table behind you.

“you’ve been crafting a lot of things the past week, would you like to spar? the mind and body should be equally nurtured after all, no?” she smiles, the lines crinkling under her eyes in fondness as she speaks.

“well, i don't see any harm in-” you start to speak, only to be interrupted by Arthur quickly walking out of the backroom and dumping soggy plants on the clear part of the table.

“actually I'm helping dovahkiin test the alchemical properties of deep sea plants, they're very interested in learning about these and well, I'm the only one who can get them.”

His voice is a touch too friendly compared to how tightly he grips some deep colored vine looking plant, the Atlantian straightens up to be nearly as tall as Diana, you feel a bit awkward when they're suddenly staring each other down with tight smiles, caught in the middle of two royalty having a measuring contest on the fly.

“You people need Talos…” you mumble under your breath.

🔹🔹🔹

J’onn stares up at you from your lap, in his true form as he lays his head on your thigh in relative silence. His expressions are so alien that you can't read them as you speak, he just stares.

‘- and so then you finish making the potion and you quickly take off your enchanting gear before drinking it and putting your gear back on, this causes the gear's enchantments to react differently with your Magicka and you can briefly make a stronger potion and repeat the process-”

You've been rambling for a while, talking about different things in your life while he uses your legs as a pillow, he's one of the hardest to read, you accidentally nearly set a hand on him and he pushes it away. But he's still listening to every word you say, his eyes locked on yours in Stony silence.

Batman walks in the common room and takes one good look at you two, and then promptly turns and leaves.

🔹🔹🔹

Running the thief down isn't hard, they dodge pedestrians and leap over the dwemer automaton looking wagons as they try to flee with the purse clutched tightly in their hand, taking right turns in their attempt to escape you.

It doesn't take any more than a whirlwind sprint and a paralysis spell to put a stop to their crime, carefully picking up and dusting off the fabric as you turn and lazily step on the crook's leg as you start your search for the old lady.

Barry knows he could have caught them in half a second, had the purse back in the owners hands before they could blink, but there's just something about watching you on the hunt. He prefers watching from a distance for a bit as you relentlessly hound them down and take matters into your own hands, he starts to jog over to you once they're caught. He tries not to shiver in jealousy when you step on the crook.

“Heyyy dovahkiin! Good catch there! want me to run them to the police station for you?” He falls in step beside you, a big grin on his face as he looks you up and down as casually as he's able to.

“the guards will come and fetch them, won't they?”

your voice is a bit growly from having just used the thu’um, though the flash doesn't seem to mind it.

Barry nearly shivers in delight, looping his arm through yours as he starts walking faster. “Sure, sure. Hey let's go find this purses owner and maybe I'll get you out of armor for a drink or two. Whaddya say?”

“…. Flash it's middle of the day, and I have alcohol in my pocket at all times regardless I didn't need to buy any.”

🔹🔹🔹

“Dovahkiin, you're looking nice today.”

Hal’s voice calls out as you walk out of your forge room, you don't feel nice, sweaty and grimy and covered in ash smears doesn't sound like looking nice, you feel gross.

“Hello lantern.” You reply curtly as you tug at your thin shirt, sometimes it's better to wait until winter to forge dragon bone.

“That's no way to greet your favorite guy, after everything we've done together?”

Regardless of your grossed out feelings Hal strides over and throws an arm around you and pulls you closer as he pulls you towards the hall, you feel like you're sticking to his flight suit.

“lantern, I need to bathe.”

“Alone?”

Batman, who had been hoping desperately to ignore the two of them, sighs loudly in disgust and stands to leave the room. Even more annoyed when he hears Hal snickering behind him.

🔹🔹🔹

A/n: has anyone noticed how little media there is for Martian manhunter? They can't even settle on a design for him it seems

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

lowk FUCKED up, butttttttttttttt would any of the comic book yanderes lobotomize their darling? we always talkin about willingness and shit saur... ya know!! just a lil off the top if ykwim

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐂 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐁𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒…

!!! GN reader, take a wild guess (lobotomies), neurological terms used, basic delusional behaviors, unethical uses of superpowers, unethical practices in general, mentions of brain dead/vegetative/mentally handicapped reader, Hal’s part briefly describes actual lobotomy procedures, Joker jumpscare in Harvey’s, gaslighting, a small history lesson here and there, themes of forced drug abuse, Tim Drake being a good candidate for the Saw franchise.

GRRRRAAAAAAAARRRRGGGHGHHHRRR. Anon, come over here so I can give you a lil forehead smooch. I’ve always wanted to write a yan lobotomy blurb, but… I didn’t really know what direction I wanted to go. Or who to write about. The idea is was legit, “hee hee, wouldn’t it be silly if there was a yandere lobotomy fic” and that’s about it. So I guess this is my chance to get some feelings out about that, yay!!

A few of these are a bit longer than usual cuz this type of shit is my jam. I also didn’t know if you wanted me to rank them on least to most likely, so shoot me a follow up ask if that’s what you wanted. Mwah!!

Bruce Wayne: Definitely not off the table. I’m willing to bet Thomas Wayne had at least one book on lobotomies; just an antique hardback that makes for an interesting read. I can see young Bruce sitting on his father’s lap in the study, tiny hands tracing over the book’s old diagrams as Thomas lovingly describes all of the morbid things they’d do to people (you know, classic father/son bonding activities). Who knew it would actually come in handy one day? Moral repercussions be damned, my man can pull off a sick lobotomy. There are of course factors he has no control over — such as your own brain plasticity and cognitive function — but that’s not exactly his fault, now is it? What your brain decides to do post-lobotomy has nothing to do with him (jokes aside, he’d be devastated if you were totally fucked up afterwards… though he’d easily adapt).

Bucky Barnes: I think he’s had enough mind-meddling of his own to give this a hard pass. It doesn’t matter how bad you are; he’s not doing anything to your brain. You’ll learn to behave on your own accord. And thank god, cuz bro would NOT make a good brain surgeon. He’d brick you so fast. Also, fun fact, the Soviets were actually the first to ban lobotomies (if memory serves correct; Google is backing me up, so… do with that what you will). I don’t know if this carries over to the KGB and their little secret evil organization side shenanigans, but yeah. Let it be known that the chances of lobotomized Bucky went down by… like… 3%.

Clark Kent: At first, I was about to say no, but then I remembered the Justice Lords from the JL cartoon, and… you know what? Maybe. It would be a very low chance, but if it’s gotten to the point where you’re a danger to yourself, Clark would have no other choice. What else can he do? Your safety always comes first and foremost. While the two dots singed into your forehead would raise a few brows, it’s not like he lets you out much anyway. He’d spend a long time trying to cope with the guilt. He did this to save you… he just had to save you from yourself. At least his heat vision is precise enough that he wouldn’t fuck it up. Now all that’s left to do is hope that you turn out okay. He’ll consider it a job well done if you can at least still smile at him.

Dick Grayson: He really isn’t that much different from Bruce, is he? Yeah, he’d do it. Maybe with a few more reservations, but he’d still do it. I think it’s in your best interest if you don’t let him spiral this far, because he’s not against the idea of you being in a completely vegetative state. Yeah, it would suck that you aren’t as active of a participant as he’d want you to be, but having complete control over your care is good enough for him. He’ll easily let his own delusions fill that void. Honestly, a part of him might even hope you turn out with a mental capacity of a toddler. It’s the best of both worlds; while you can still respond to your environment, you also rely heavily on his care. Perfectly pliable in his hands… a dream come true! Yay!

Hal Jordan: Nah. He’s good. Last he checked, he’s not the most qualified person in the world to quite literally poke around in someone’s brain. Hell, even the thought of it makes him sick. No drilling holes into skulls, no skewering needles through eye sockets, no thanks! He’ll leave that up to the people who can stomach the grosser shit. Now, is the thought of a quick operation that theoretically fixes your bratty behavior tempting? Sure. But Hal’s not an idiot; he knows the risks, and those risks just don’t seem worth it. There’s a reason lobotomies are unethical nowadays. Unless the topic comes up in some sort of show or movie, the thought wouldn’t even cross his mind.

Harvey Dent: Neither Harvey nor Two Face are all that keen on the idea. They might’ve done some fucked up shit to you (definitely Two Face more than Harvey), but a lobotomy? That’s just a new level of fucked up. A Joker level of fucked up, even (and the thought of being compared to that piece of shit makes both sides of Dent want to light up an entire room). Besides, there’s no one on the entire planet he’d trust to pull off a procedure like that on you. While he might know a guy or two who would totally do it in this day and age, he’d sooner put a bullet in their brain than let them fuck around with yours. That being said, don’t think you’re totally out of the woods. At the end of the day, it’s all up to the coin, remember?

Jaime Reyes: Would Jaime? No. Absolutely not. It’s unethical, it’s fucked, and it’s also just gross. Anything to do with surgery makes him feel extremely squeamish, and he might actually pass out if he thinks about it too hard. But would Khaji Da? Yeah. Probably. Though it would have to be an extreme scenario, where you’re just completely beyond controlling. Khaji Da knows the risks, and while he’ll execute the technical aspects flawlessly, the results are naturally unpredictable. It would be unfortunate if the scarab lost its host’s mate. Your poor little noggin is at the mercy of Jaime’s resolve. Is he in full control? Then don’t worry, his incoherent mutterings about severing connections in your prefrontal cortex are nothing but his weird intrusive thoughts. But… if he isn’t… uh-oh.

Peter Parker: Nope. No lobotomies here. He’s quite aware of the repercussions, both morally and practically. Honestly, he doesn’t even see most of your behaviors as something in need of correcting in the first place. Maybe if you were causing yourself any sort of harm, but other than that, he can put up with a lot of your bullshit. Talking back? Name calling? Hitting and kicking? Straight-up just being abusive? As long as you don’t leave him, he’ll work with it! Peter is the exact definition of a pushover yandere. You can get away with a lot, and that includes not getting lobotomy!

Reed Richards: I can see him pulling one off. Is it the most desirable outcome? Definitely not. But there’s only so much he can put up with before he finally puts his foot down. If you’re the insubordinate type, you’ve probably given him at least 17 heart attacks by now, and it’s only natural he’d come up with a way to curb those behaviors. See, me personally, if I were to get a lobotomy from any of these men, I’m calling up Reed. He’s no neurologist, but I’m sure he can whip up something to study your brain waves and accurately predict the outcome of a lobotomy. Plus, he’d probably have the safest environment and instruments for the operation. You won’t feel a thing, trust. Now let’s hope months of collecting data and trial runs on some less-than-willing test subjects pay off!

Remy LeBeau: Yeah, no… probably not. Thanks to Sinister, he knows first hand how invasive a lobotomy is. You’d have to be really unstable for him to even consider that idea. He definitely has the means to do it — all he has to do is put a finger up to your forehead and burn through your frontal lobe — but having the resolve to do it is a different story. While he might’ve turned out semi-okay post-lobotomy, there’s no telling what would happen after yours. Way too risky. Only something to consider as a totally nuclear option. So don’t make him do something he’d rather not, okay? It’d be better for you, better for him, better for everyone.

Scott Summers: Like Gambit, he’s a victim of Sinister’s fuckery but 10 times worse. I don’t think he’d be able to stomach the thought of doing anything surgical to you no matter how disobedient you are. But… maybe we can make this a little interesting. Scott’s attracted some hella weird attention over the years… who’s to say someone like Sinister wouldn’t get his hands on you and do a little fucking around? Maybe Goblin Queen? A particularly pissed off Phoenix? While Scott himself wouldn’t dare lobotomize you, I think there’s some people out there who would. Or, hear me out: mind controlled Cyclops almost crushing your skull with an optic blast. It would be more blunt force than an actual lobotomy, but I’m willing to bet it would fuck up your cognitive function all the same. Despite the immense horror and guilt he’d feel afterwards, a small part of him can see it as a blessing in disguise (depending on how you turn out, that is).

Steve Rogers: Honestly, Cap was frozen at the funniest point in history ever. The amount of lobotomies increased exponentially from the 40s to 50s (mind you, WWII ended in 1945), and then antipsychotics were introduced as a more ethical way to treat mental illness, which Steve wouldn’t know shit about. Unfortunately for all of my fellow sickos out there, lobotomies were probably never a thing Steve liked about the 40s, but allow me to offer an alternative. Steve thinks there’s clearly something wrong with your mental health; why else would you act like you hate him? Luckily for him, this is the 21st century, where people know much more about mental illnesses and disorders. He could easily pull some strings as Captain America and get you the help you so obviously need. So, I guess the question is, how many different prescriptions of antipsychotics can one take at once? Guess you’ll find out!

Tim Drake: So… uh… y’all better pray that he doesn’t get any intrusive thoughts about this shit. And if he does, PRAY that he snaps out of his weird fit before it’s too late. DO NOT LET BRO COOK. I don’t think he’d totally fuck it up or anything, but the chances of him spiraling and performing more than one are dangerously high. You might find the out hard way just how much poking and prodding a brain can take before it shuts down. Depending on how manic he is, he might actually lobotomize you while you’re conscious. No anesthesia, no painkillers, just him pouncing on you with a hammer and pick. You will be rawdogging this lobotomy like god intended. That’s when he’d fuck your shit up. Unless you want him to brick your brain, you better fight him off and wrestle those tools out of his hands. The post-manic episode clarity would be insane. “Uh… sorry I tried to give you a lobotomy.” Cool, man. Okay.

Wally West: Wally “if you need to give someone a lobotomy, that’s honestly a skill issue” West. Who needs that shit when you’re THE master manipulator? It would take some god-tier perception (or paranoia) to see through a fraction of his act, and even so, what good will any of that do when he’s got everyone else wrapped around his finger? Fighting against him is a dangerous game. If need be, he’ll play the loving caretaker while you’re the loony one. Poor Wally… he’s trying to help you through your issues, and this is the thanks he gets? Wow. Now, for the sake of a little exploration, I think it’s important to note that Wally could theoretically go through with it (by phasing his hand through your skull and solidifying at the right angle), but that sounds way too unstable to pull off. It would probably run the risk of turning your brain into a soup, and I’m pretty sure that kills people.