#and what is dinah in

[frownyalfred]

Clark mentions something about being confused why Black Canary is with Green Arrow one day to Bruce while on the Watchtower (pre identity reveal?) and Bruce has to fight his way through that conversation without revealing that 1) he knows, from firsthand experience, exactly why Dinah is with Oliver 2) she’s just as bad as he is, if not arguably much worse and 3) she is 98% of that man’s impulse control and they can’t break up without disrupting several of Bruce’s contingencies

[savanir]

Danyal- or well, Daniel now he supposes, seeing as none of these “kind” strangers can pronounce his name right. Has found himself a golden opportunity to hopefully get back to where he actually belongs.

His current predicament was anything but what he could have ever imagined happening to him. He remembers an attack, an assassination attempt on him and his twin. He remembers taking a hit meant for Dami, he remembers the electricity coursing through his body from the weapon the assassin used and so graciously left in his abdomen, meant to make his body seize which would make attempts to keep him from dying just a little bit harder, and his death just that little bit more painful.

After that he vaguely remembers falling, and then burning green.

Next thing he knows he’s in a foreign place with foreign people trying to “help”.

Wherever he is he’s certainly not anywhere near Nanda Parbat.

But he’ll get back, and the easiest way to do so is to secure transportation and funding.

Which shouldn’t be hard as soon as he’s “convinced” this random rich guy to adopt him.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

Oliver is starting to regret the brilliant PR idea of sponsoring and supporting the new improved Star City foster care system.

In and of itself that’s of course a very good thing, and absolutely something he cares about and is happy to spend his money on, but these things should just be a given, just a thing that’s done because it’s the right thing to do.

Can’t just do that of course… we have to make a huge spectacle about it, showcase some poor but very adorable kids in need of a loving family. make a big party about it.

Oliver is vaguely reminded of pet adoption days that some animal shelters do. Also a good thing he’s in full support of, but that’s animals, and these are actual children.

The thought is making it rather hard to keep a pleasant smile on his face. Thankfully he’s very effectively being distracted by the little guy who somehow managed to attach himself to his leg and refuses to let go.

Oliver looks down.

The boy with the biggest most blue eyes looks up.

There are cameras and reporters and Oliver can feel the bad decision creeping up and the voice in the back of his head screaming, “don’t do it. DON’T DO IT”

Oliver lifts the boy up, “hey there little man, what is your name?”

He gets a big smile in return and the bad decision suddenly doesn’t seem so bad anymore, weird.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

Roy had been talking, or well, it was more like venting to Dinah about something Oliver had done, or said, maybe both, probably both… When they heard the front door open and was quickly followed by a “Dinah I have a surprise but first you have to promise you won’t get mad”

Which… bad sign, very bad sign, terrible sign.

“Oliver what have you done”

The man walks into the room and proudly shows off his latest impulsive decision, “Congratulations, it’s a boy!”

…That’s a whole ass kid.

“Oliver Jonas Queen! you did not!”

But he did and that choice changes everything.

[fawcetttweets]

A Concerned Friend

I forgot I made this one!! You guys almost didn’t get to see it :0 I wonder how many of these I’ve made and forgotten about…

Masterlist // First // Previous // Next

[diningndashing]

i had a vision

[luvbvg]

andrew lloyd webber really thought he could just take danny and sandy from grease and rename them and thought we wouldnt notice…

[etchif]

las vegas esque

[queen-lance]

[overlyobsessed223]

decaf

Hal might have physically made it to the emergency Justice League meeting Batman had the audacity to call so suddenly at 4 o'clock in the morning, but mentally he’s still half asleep. The room is dead silent, even though mostly everyone has arrived by now, save for Barry—who they’re expecting to be fifteen minutes late as usual—and Clark. The only solace Hal is able to draw upon is that he’s clearly not the only one royally peeved by the ungodly wakeup call, as Dinah and Oliver are both glaring daggers at Bats and Arthur has already made three snappish comments since he got here five minutes ago. 

All Hal knows is there better be a damn good reason for this.

Clark showing up a minute later with his arms full of donut boxes and coffees doesn’t exactly ease the high tensions in the room, but Hal does perk up a bit when the smell of strong coffee hits his nose. He mumbles a quick, “thanks, man,” when Clark places a coffee with Green Lantern written on it in front of him. Grabbing it, he’s about to take a long, desperate gulp when he sees, out of the corner of his eye, Clark place a cup labeled Flash in front of Barry’s empty chair. Even through the brain fog that’s severely impairing his ability to think, he remembers something important. 

“Hey, that’s decaf, right?” Hal asks, breaking the silence in the room. Clark turns and gives him a questioning look, so Hal points at Barry’s coffee and elaborates. “Barry’s coffee. It’s decaf, right? He doesn’t drink anything with caffeine in it.”

“Oh! Yeah, it’s decaf,” Clark clarifies, offering a cheery, chipper smile that burns Hal’s retinas. He looks well rested and ready to start the day, the midwestern farm boy in him making him stick out like a sore thumb amongst the rest of them. “Don’t worry, I didn’t forget.”

“Cool, cool,” Hal nods, settling back in his chair. He finally goes in for a sip of his coffee and barely manages to refrain from moaning out loud when the bitter taste hits his tongue. “Thanks,” he adds as an afterthought. 

The silence resumes. Only, Hal realizes that instead of everyone in the room staring at Batman, they’re now all staring at him, with varying looks ranging from confused to bewildered. Or, in Bruce’s case, unamused and unimpressed.

“What?” Hal frowns.

“That was just very, um,” Arthur trails off, as if he can’t find the words to complete his thought. 

“Cute,” Dinah interjects to finish the thought hanging in the air. She suddenly seems wide awake now, leaning forward eagerly whilst gripping the edge of the table with both hands, eyes glimmering with way too much knowing for Hal’s comfort. “Adorable, even.”

“Shut up,” Hal rolls his eyes, but to his horror he can feel his face begin to heat up. He fixes Dinah with a glare and hopes to god Clark will have the decency to not call attention to the way his heart has begun to pound against his ribcage. “For the last time, Barry and I are just friends. And for the record, making sure your buddy has the right drink does not mean you’re in love with him.”

“Uh, huh,” Dinah says, but the smirk on her face tells Hal his point didn’t quite land the way he’d intended it to. Meanwhile, at the opposite side of the table, Hal sees J’onn pull out a miniature notebook out of his pocket and begin carefully writing notes, as he tends to do when conversations about human culture come up.

“Why didn’t you ask if my coffee is decaf?” Oliver cuts in, sounding oddly hurt.

“Do you… drink decaf coffee?” Hal asks, confused. 

“No,” Oliver glowers, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at his untouched cup of coffee.

“Then why would I—”

A hand slams down onto the table, and with that the room goes silent as everyone turns to where Batman is looming over them, appearing in no mood for small talk or discussion of Hal’s love life. Hal thinks this might be one of the rare times when he and the Bat find themselves in strong agreement.  

“Might I remind everyone at this table that we have an emergency, globe threatening situation on our hands?” Bruce glares around the table. “We should begin briefing now; Flash can be filled in on what he missed at the end.”

Ten minutes into a very tense briefing, Barry finally decides to show his face. His face is even more shadowed with sleep deprivation than anyone else, and Hal instantly suspects he didn’t sleep at all, but he figures he’ll grill him on that later. Barry’s eyes brighten when they land on the cup of coffee and full box of donuts in front of him. 

Barry picks up the coffee, inspects it for a second, and that’s when Hal leans in and whispers, “I checked—it’s decaf.”

And the way Barry beams at him, it does what even Hal’s coffee couldn’t achieve—it has him teeming with energy, ready to start the day.

[wetcatschwartzy]

happy halloween 🐟🦪

[armed-with-a-waffle-iron]

Bat Timeline vs Bat Publication Timeline

I kept my receipts and citations here. I felt canon ages are the best tool to track time. Also, I used cover dates.

Neat things I noticed:

Nothing much happened in Gotham until Robin arrived both in continuity and in print history. Sorry but your lone wolf Batman doesn't exist :P

Dick permanently becomes Batman at the same age Bruce was when he became Batman; 25. Kinda poetic if you ask me.

Babs was Oracle longer than she was Batgirl in both continuity and publication history!!

Completely forgot that Dinah was literally her own mother once upon a time. Weird stuff.

There's not enough Jason!Robin stories to fit the 3 years some fans claim he was Robin for. Also the 3 years idea doesn't work if you track Dick's age. My guess is he was originally younger than 15 when he died but DC aged him up so he could be an adult when he returned as Red Hood.

It's pretty clear that Helena's integration into the group began the expansion of this complicated "family unit". She set the precedent for those noirish vigilante work relations.

Tim has to be a vampire if he's meant to be 17 three whole very explicit in-continuity years after he had his 16th birthday.

Stephanie has basically been in this gig as long as Tim! And almost as long as Helena too. Proper seasoned ass-kicker who Damian should look to for pointers.

Also remembered that Cassandra's Batgirl run is the best thing to come out of Gotham in the early 2000s.

I dunno I think the One Year Later timeskip was just unnecessary.

Kate and Renee are almost as new to the vigilante gig as Damian!

Bat-adjacent Rose Wilson was said to be 14 during her first appearance around Year 15 so she's the same age Tim.

Not Bat related but Lian Harper's age works with my timeline so yay! Born early Year 14, she's 5 during Cry for Justice in Year 19.

I have a theory, based off of Batman #416, that Dick graduated high school at 17. He says he was Bruce's partner for 6 years and that after he was fired; he left college after the 1st semester, then moved around the country, had his own adventures, and "eventually" ended up with the Titans. Also, he was 21 during the Titans' 3rd anniversary (New Titans v2 #71) and 19 when he became Nightwing (Tales of the Titans #44) so the Titans (re-)formed when he was 18. This means he probably only turned 18 in the academic year he began college (or has a summer birthday). So he was Bruce's partner from ages 11-17, did his own thing for a while as he did in the 70s, eventually joined the Titans at 18, and became Nightwing at 19. Jason comes into the picture soon after Dick retires the Robin identity.

[cbtheredcaboose-backup]

“I don’t think he can whistle at me, he lacks the apparatus” IM SORRY? you heard it folks, genderqueer electra is so real and we love that

[drbatsponge]

This entire panel shows so much respect to Cassandra Cain, like my God, this is what we've been asking for DC, literally the bare minimum. 😭

[soranatus]

Black Canary history variant cover by Nicola Scott

[stonedtalussy]

HERE ARE SOME WIPS!!!

also i just got procreate am i a cool kid now

im gonna finish drawin the london reboot sillies soon because i know a lotta people liked my og ones and i also wanted an excuse to draw the new coaches HAHA

[hypewinter]

The Young Justice learns about a new experiment going on at Cadmus once again involving cloning and decides to go rescue the clones. They expertly break into the facility avoiding all alarms only to find out that they trigger anyway. Instead of a voice coming on over the intercoms announcing intruders though, it instead announces an escape. What?

The team continues navigating the base until they come across two kids. The older boy can't be older than 8 while the girl being tugged along behind him looks around 5. The boy narrows his eyes and his body tenses up.

"You're definitely not guards. Who are you?" He questions.

It's Superboy who steps up and says "We're the Young Justice. We came here to rescue you."

The boy doesn't seem to believe them but the girl immediately gets excited. Apparently she couldn't wait to meet real life superheroes. Especially Superboy. That means whatever Cadmus was doing with the kids, they'd already implanted knowledge of the outside world in them. That didn't bode well.

The team decides to push that to the back of their minds for now and focus on the mission. They manage to convince the boy (with the help of the girl) to come with them and they get the two out of the facility. Of course this is after they take all the information they can from the servers (Thanks Robin).

As they get both kids to the medical wing on the Watchtower, the boy introduces himself as Danny and the little girl as his sister Ellie. Connor's never seen clones with such a close bond before and he can admit he's a little jealous that he and Match don't have that kind of relationship. Still he's just happy they rescued the two.

Now to find out who they're clones of and what Cadmus wanted to use them for.

[ilovedagain]

A short story about Damian Wayne and what colors mean to him.

"Maybe we should speak in a simpler way," the therapist said to the artist. After thirty minutes of stony silence, she was still trying to get the artist to say a word. "Talk to me about colors. What does blue mean to you?"

The artist's first thought was Richard. A man in black and blue who flew through the navy night sky, untethered by gravity. Skin mottled the same black and blue underneath his clothes. He tried to hide from everyone, burying his hurt deep. As if, perhaps, if he couldn't see it, others wouldn't see it too. He would guard his emotions, guard others—the fool—but he wouldn't guard himself.

"Guardian," the artist finally said about blue. He could talk about colors. He re-crossed his arms for the third time, aware of how obvious his discomfort was but unable to help it.

He knew how to face judgment, harden his heart and list his failings to superiors. But the therapist was nonjudgmental, asking him about colors, and he never learned how to guard against someone without ulterior motives.

"What about yellow?"

The artist swallowed. Yellow was the color of the cape he tried to steal from a boy who needed it as much as him. It was a flash of brightness in an unforgiving world where he had to fight dirty and vicious to earn his place. At least, that was the world before everything changed. Before the world softened around the edges and suddenly he was the dark, unforgiving one.

"Regret."

The therapist hummed. A soft, melodic sound beneath the crashing waves in his ears. Maybe she could hear how loud his heartbeat was because she didn't push him to elaborate. "Pink?"

The artist almost smiled. Pink was the tongue of his cat, stuck out in her sleep.

"Cute."

Unlike him, the therapist didn't hold back her smile.

"Black?"

That was an easy one. The color of mystery. The color of the void in his life; the empty space beside his mother. That void captured his younger self's mind, always wondering what the void was like. What it would make of him. The hard part was saying aloud, to the therapist, what it meant to him.

"Father," he said, and immediately regretted his honesty.

She nodded, not making a big deal of it.

"Red?"

The artist exhaled deeply. He thought of many things. The red of his eye-veins when he was stressed. The red blotches of blood blooming like roses on a white bandage wrapped and wrapped around a head wound, vaguely bouquet-like. The red-chested robins he found in his father's gardens and fed seeds as he sketched their innocence.

The red helmet of a man, who was really a boy, desperate and different from his family. Living despite all the odds saying he should be long dead by now.

"Life," the artist said. He let his arms drop, suddenly drained like a nurse had drawn a liter of his blood.

"Green?"

The artist froze. He stared at the therapist, wondering about her angle. Did she know where he came from—his hometown and its lifeblood? Was this the goal of her little game of colors, how she would finally glean his thoughts about his childhood home?

When he was a young boy, in a kingdom of sand and gold, green was everywhere. The green fields in a greenhouse of extinct plants. In the green eyes of his mother and grandfather, the very same eyes as his own. And in the green pools that restored life, a miracle he beheld almost daily.

He would stand before those miracle waters, anxiously waiting for his loved ones to emerge, contemplating mirages and how it must be a lie to restore life after death. And yet, his pets had survived a plague, his mother had survived a stab wound, and his grandfather had survived cancer. He was a child who believed he was lucky.

"We're finished here." He stood and left, fifteen minutes before the end of the session, disregarding the therapist's soft-spoken plea to wait.

Richard greeted him in the waiting room with a smile that vanished when he saw his face. He sprang to his feet, abandoning the magazine unceremoniously on the chair, and matched Damian's brisk pace out of the building.

"What happened?" Richard took a shaky breath when Damian ignored him in favor of speed-walking to the parking lot. Richard placed a hand on his shoulder as they reached the car. He bent his head to meet his eyes, but Damian stubbornly turned his head away. His eyes were so, so blue. "Dami, what happened?"

Damian knew, and he knew Dr. Dinah knew, that refusing to discuss that color spoke volumes, more than anything he had said during the session.

"Home," Damian whispered, feeling like a child crying on his first day of kindergarten. "Please, I just want to go home."

They didn't converse during the car ride home, though Richard stole glances at him, his unspoken words palpable in the silence. Damian fled to his room and spent dinner there. He was too restless to sleep and too exhausted to study. Tugged between the urge to fight and to freeze.

Like how all roads lead to Rome, he ended up painting. He set up an easel taller than himself and began mixing colors until he had every shade of green. He thought about home. His old home, the one in an unforgiving world where death was both constant and impossible, where pain was as abundant as gold, but at least the world made sense. The strong survived, and the strongest conquered. They even conquered death.

The scene he painted was a view inside a tower. Stone walls stretched up into infinite flights of stairs, with assassins lined up in rows on each level. The pool at the bottom cast a thick, green hue over the darkness. But the pool was an afterthought; the focus was on the walls of the tower.

He knew those walls well. They were made of bulging rocks that lay unevenly. When they were bathed in a green haze, Damian couldn't help but think they resembled cancer cells under a microscope. And that was precisely how he painted them: a tower with walls like tumor cells, splotches of assassins in the darkness, and the gaping green pool at the bottom.

Poison. Green is poison.