#DKR

[artepti]

Fanart for @purble-turble 's DKR/TIme Travel AU! Read it here or look at their art for this AU here!

I always pictured Wukong looking downright terrifying when he found out his successor had been kidnapped, so I wanted to try my hand at illustrating it. :]

[n64retro]

Diddy Kong Racing Rare / Nintendo Nintendo 64 1997

[chocodile]

Krunch & Pipsy from Diddy Kong Racing. I like the fan idea that they're a couple, or at least buddies.

Wanna see the last time I drew Krunch?

I was 8 years old. My grandma had this hanging on her wall for over 20 years.

[ungoliantschilde]

watercolors by Matias Bergara.

[wwprice1]

Awesome DKR piece by Marcio Takara!

[louiejoyce]

Weighing in on the DKR cover debate. I think Miller’s intentions have always been incredibly clear. 😘

www.louiejoyce.com

[toytanks]

me recommending tdkr: this stupid fucking comic book fundamentally changed the way i think about media and caused irreparable damage to my psyche. and also batman adopts a 13 yr old and punches superman in the face 10/10

[bat-ofgotham]

picks carrie up like a baseball bat and hits u over the head w her

[squirrelgirlworld]

viva el oscer!

[nefarious-616-necromancer]

[temporal-nebula]

[skysometric]

new highlights video, in which Diddy Kong comes to my house and smashes a barrel over my head, killing me instantly

[n64retro]

Photo by Jake Atchison. Source: Facebook.

[scaryscarecrows]

Gordon yanks Blake down a ruined street. This has gone badly. He thought it might, but…not this badly, and not this fast.

The kid stumbles but keeps his feet and Gordon shoves him into a darkened doorway and hopes they can have a second’s respite before they run again.

To his horror, the door at his back squeaks open and he nearly falls inside. It only gets worse from there.

“Well, well.” Jonathan Crane has, to Gordon’s understanding, been playing judge for Bane’s kangaroo court. Even if that’s untrue, he’s the last man Gordon wants to see right now. “What’s this?”

The barking of the dogs comes closer and he grabs Blake’s shirt to keep him here. Sudden movements and the Scarecrow are a bad mixture.

“Crane,” he pants, “we’re not friends, but we don’t want any trouble with you.”

Crane’s face is unreadable. Rather than shut the door, he steps aside with a curt, “Forty minutes. Wake her up, and you’ll wish I’d killed you.”

He disappears into the dark building, leaving Gordon flabbergasted on the doorstep. The dogs move closer and he makes his choice. Better the devil he knows.

He drags Blake in after him and they shut the door, engulfing the place in darkness–no. Not quite. There’s a glow in the distance, firelight or something, and he begins the creep towards that.

“I don’t like this,” Blake whispers. “What if it’s a trick?”

It could be. Crane’s a bastard. But he’s a familiar bastard, and, frankly, one they stand a better chance of overpowering.

“Stay sharp,” he whispers back. Blake’s never crossed paths with Crane before, he has no idea how dangerous this could be. “Watch your corners.”

This was a bookstore once; it’s a maze of shelves, interspersed with a handful of comfy reading chairs and tables. The far wall has a fireplace set into it, and Crane’s seated in front of it with a copy of The Shadow of the Wind in his hands.

“You look tired, Commissioner,” he says, not looking up. “Been busy?”

Up close, Crane looks haggard; thinner than ever, with shadows under his eyes so deep and dark he looks skeletal. He hasn’t been sleeping, and the stress lines on his face are stark.

“Could ask the same of you,” he says neutrally, sitting down in the furthest available chair. “Heard you changed careers.”

“Merely living the American Dream.” He closes his book and turns those searchlight eyes on them. “Why are you still in Gotham.”

Really. Really?

“If I turned tail every time some asshole tried to take it over, I’d be a poor excuse for a cop.”

That sparks a laugh, sharp and mostly genuine.

“Fair enough.”

“Why help us?” Blake blurts out. “It’s like Gordon said; we’re not friends.”

Crane is quiet for several minutes. If Blake is hoping for some hidden moment of vulnerability, he’ll be heartbroken.

“If it had just been you, I’d have shut the door,” he says at last. “But they never do clean-up the way they should, and two corpses will start to reek.”

Elsewhere in the dark bookstore comes the sound of coughing. The coughs move closer and finally a white wraith comes out of the darkness.

If Crane looks haggard, Kitty Richardson looks ghastly, a vision out of some ghost story in here. She sounds it, too; when she speaks, it’s a hideous, painful-sounding rasp.

“Didn’t know we had guests.”

“Kitty–” Gordon always forgets just how fast Crane can move when he wants to. “You shouldn’t be up.”

“Does me good to. Walk around.” Gordon doubts that. She’s swaying a little, one hand clutching the nearest shelf for support. “Don’t worry so much.”

“I think I’m justified,” Crane says dryly. “That’s enough walking around now.”

She dodges him and makes her way to the sofa anyway, curling up against him when he sits down.

“You look like hell, Commissioner,” she rasps, a quick, shaky grin flitting across her lips. “Who’s the little one?”

“Detective Blake.”

“Ohh, a detective. Did you hear that, love?”

“Mm.” Crane adjusts his glasses. “You’ll forgive me for being unimpressed.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Gordon cringes inwardly. Outwardly, he tries to salvage the situation.

“You don’t look so well either, Richardson.”

“Little cold.” She squirms tighter against Crane’s side. “Nothing serious.”

Crane looks very tempted to disagree, but he just picks up his book again and intones, “Thirty minutes.”

It starts to rain. Gordon doubts that will matter.

Richardson dozes off after about ten minutes and some of the tension slips off of Crane’s face.

“Flu?”

“Mm.” He looks up at them again. “I don’t give a damn about Bane’s revolution, Gotham, or you. But I’ll give you a word of advice: get out of the city, don’t look back.”

“We can’t,” Blake protests. “There’s still people–”

“Oh, and I’m sure you think Batman will come and save you, hm? Guess again.” His tone turns mocking. “The Batman is gone. He was just a man, and men can be beaten. Case in point.” He gestures with his book. “There is no more savior. Gotham has fallen and all any of you can do now is scatter like rats.”

“No.”

“Where did you find this idealist?” Crane rolls his eyes. “Really. I’m shocked he’s lived this long.”

A chill goes down Gordon’s spine. It’s time to leave, fifteen minutes left or not.

“Thank you for letting us in,” he says. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

“One can only hope,” comes the dry response. “Good evening.”

Turning his back on Crane is not a pleasant experience, but Gordon’s hope is that he won’t risk waking Richardson up to come after them. They make it to the door unmolested, but when he turns to close it behind them, Crane is right there.

“Another bit of advice,” he says shortly. “Maybe you’ll take this one: stick to the thick ice.”

The door closes and there’s the heavy snick of the lock inside.

Well. That could have gone much worse.

[ungoliantschilde]

some Paulo Siqueira artwork in black and white.

[wwprice1]

Carrie Kelley by Peach Momoko.