#and that strange man in a batsuit too

[nadertigerkay]

SAINW Shredder: I fear no turtle, but that THING,....... it scares me.

Where are the adults?

Oh, there they are.

[gothamite-rambler]

Dimensional Crossroads: Martha

Context: Portals from a mysterious source have been opening up around the world. Recently, Jason made the mistake of falling through one, along with a version of himself that didn’t die horribly. But it doesn’t stop there. In another dimension, Martha Wayne survived the robbery, while her husband and son fell victim to the mugger.

In her world, her Robins are called Doves—comprised of Kate Kane, Beth Kane, Barbara Gordon, and Stephanie Brown. Martha has been through a lot: dealing with creepy stalkers, facing a Joker-like Selina Kyle, and burying her grief. Now, she and Bruce are about to be surprised to see each other, even if they aren’t their versions.

Batwoman, aka Martha Wayne, landed effortlessly from the portal above, her feet touching down silently. She smiled, feeling satisfied with her graceful entrance.

Batwoman!Martha (age unknown): I still got it.

She surveyed her unfamiliar surroundings, taken aback by the array of heroes and villains that surrounded her, but she steeled her focus.

Batwoman!Martha: Hm, Giovanni mentioned I’d land in places different from my own. But this place is really something… a gender-swapped version of my world?

She groaned after using that word, realizing it was a term Barbara had recently become obsessed with as she delved into fan culture. Barbara had been sharing all sorts of things with her, and "gender swap" popped up frequently in those discussions.

Batwoman!Martha: I’ve been around Barbara for too long if I’m referencing her.

With a sigh, Batwoman retrieved a device given to her by her version of Oracle, designed for navigating these dimensions. It blinked with data about her new environment.

Batwoman!Martha (fascinated): Huh, I was somewhat right. This place has a… Batman? Where is he? I hope he’s not my husband, driven mad by some dark fate… I can’t deal with that again.

As she hummed to herself, Batwoman wandered through the chaos until she spotted a man in a blue-and-black spandex suit and a young blonde woman in a purple spandex outfit. She then stepped forward to the figure of Batman, who was assessing the pandemonium before him. She tapped his shoulder gently.

Batman turned around and saw the strange woman in a batsuit that closely resembled his own.

Batwoman!Martha: Oh my... God.

Martha instinctively covered her mouth in shock. Behind the cowl and suit, she recognized him—her Bruce, now all grown up.

Batwoman!Martha (whispering): You’re here and… alive?

Batman (monotone): I’m assuming I died in your dimension. Are you my cousin, Kate? If so, I hope you’re not as aggravating. And please, don’t be a stalker.

Martha sniffled as her tough exterior began to crumble, and she pulled him into a warm embrace. Nightwing and Spoiler exchanged shocked glances, concern etched on their faces. Batman, on the other hand, was bewildered by the sudden hug.

Batman: Ma’am, whoever you are, let go.

Spoiler (shouting): Yeah, he’s not a hugger!

Batman (annoyed): Spoiler!

Spoiler (shrugging): You’re not!

Martha’s eyes widened in realization, and she quickly pulled away, embarrassed by how she must have looked to these strangers... with the exception of Bruce.

Batwoman!Martha: Oh dear, sorry! I’m making assumptions, young man.

Batman (in his 40s): Young man?

Nightwing: Ha, he's old as hell!

Batman groaned, covering his eyes in annoyance. Batwoman, still in shock, could only smile at the potential adult version of her son. She had so many questions but knew she couldn't reveal them in a public area where people were running around in a frenzy.

Batwoman!Martha: I mean, uh… adult man. You are an adult man! Tax filing age. Nice suit, very well made. It’s loud here. How about you and I—just us—head to your Batcave to discuss all this?

Batman (suspicious): Um, sure, but in a few minutes. I need to handle this situation first before it escalates.

Batwoman!Martha: Oh, right! I almost forgot the intensity of what we’re facing. I admire your focus on the task at hand. Mind if I lend a hand?

Batman (confused): Sure. If you’re a version of me, I assume you’re a hero.

Batwoman!Martha (pulling out a sleek red and black gun): All right! Let me get my proper weapon—Batgun. Who should I aim for?

Batman swiped the gun from her grasp, walking away while gesturing for Martha to follow.

Batman: I don’t know what the rules are in your dimension, but here, I don’t use guns and I don’t kill. I hope you can respect that while you’re here.

Batwoman!Martha: Oh, of course... of course.

Batwoman!Martha (in her head): Poor Brucie must have been traumatized after losing… me. Is Thomas alive? I’ll ask about him later. For now, I can fight alongside my son!

Batwoman!Martha (speaking out loud): Lead the way, sonny, and we can catch up afterward.

Batman (finding her odd): Honestly, you’re very strange to me right now and I'm not sure what catching up means in this context.

Batwoman!Martha: Oh, don’t worry! You’ll understand at the Batcave.

Batman rolled his eyes, still unaware of the true identity of this version of Batwoman. All he wanted was to resolve the chaos of the night.

To be continued...

[erakun]

“ … like, it’s not bat-MAN … it’s like he’s some sort of bat-KID !! ”

“ and what even is that thing next to him?! ”

• kieran d. davis “ the Kidd ” is: the Batkid , and his BFF in the entire multiverse? Robert !

Kieran D. Davis

… is just a name that Kidd uses when people ask. He’s an orphan who grew up in East End, never knowing who his parents were and never had clear memories before the age of 11 - only flashes. Learned to survive on the streets on his own, having the façade of a helpless child carried him throughout his life until he was around the age of 17 (a year before the events of Batman: Year One), he began learning how to pickpocket and fight in order to defend himself.

One fateful day, he’d been cornered by a group of gangsters after he’d pickpocketed the wrong guy. It was too late when Kidd realized he had pickpocketed some sort of big shot, and before he was about to meet his end, a sudden, inexplicable event happened that would change his life:

Some sort of tiny, humanoid being holding a giant, cartoonish mallet managed to knock out the men who cornered Kidd. From that day onward, Kidd and the being known as “Robert” would become Best Friends (Forever), fighting their way through life in Gotham.

※ Robert is an entity that is similar to Bat-Mite.

A year later, Kidd had witnessed sightings of The Batman, and eventually falling into a sort of obsession with the idea of this caped vigilante that hides in the shadows. Robert would encourage this behavior, even helping Kidd in creating his makeshift Batsuit. While Batman faces his bigger, tougher opponents, Kidd would do something similar in the streets of East End, in hopes that he would catch the attention and maybe even praise from his idol.

Though on one fateful day of Batkid meeting his idol, Batman, on the field, in trying to help him fight off some minor villain’s henchmen, Batkid would get reprimanded by Batman afterwards. Being told that fighting crime wasn’t a job for some kid, and that if Batkid was ever seen in the streets again, he would be in big trouble.

Kidd didn’t listen to this lecture, however, thinking that Batman was just trying to protect his “Number One Fan”, but Kidd decided that he could handle this life. There were a few close calls of being caught by Batman, but he was able to make some narrow escapes.

Eventually, though, he would get caught. Kidd would be charged with assault and battery, later investigations will lead him to also be charged with theft. After a few days in Blackgate penitentiary, Kidd would be transferred to Arkham Asylum due to his strange behavior: obsessing over Batman, talking to himself on many different occasions, and other questionable behavior.

※ Talking to himself sometimes includes talking to Robert, one of Robert’s abilities include shielding herself from appearing to anyone. But sometimes Kidd does talk to solely himself.

In Arkham, he would be diagnosed with Schizophrenia. Some doctors have suggested Psychopathy, but none of them can come to a definitive conclusion.

On some occasions, Kidd has managed to escape from Arkham, but what nobody knows that it was with Robert’s help. When being questioned, Kidd had no other way to explain it. But nobody would ever believe him.

Kidd would never commit too serious crimes aside from assaulting Batman’s enemies, committing vandalism, and committing minor theft to sustain himself. However, he would sometimes align himself with characters such as Harley Quinn or The Scarecrow because he thought it would get him closer to Batman.

His other hobbies would include practicing parkour and graffiti.

[helga-heason]

Letter #9

Dear Selina,

I hope this finds you well. I’m sorry for the month-long silence. It has been ridiculously hectic around here - and I’ve been doing basically nothing. There’s a weird unrest in the streets of Gotham, like some sort of rebellion is simmering, waiting for ignition. Myself and Gordon have been watching the Danger Twins like Gotham PD watches me (like overly cautious hawks) and so far they’ve behaved, but… There must always be a calm before the storm.

Speaking of storms, I think God saw the state of Gotham and decided to be kind to us for a while. We haven’t had much rain in months. So, of course, when I went out on a walk outside last night, there was a downpour halfway back to the cave. I wasn’t wearing the Batsuit at the time, and I feel a cold coming on. Although, to be fair, I’ve gotten colds even with the Batsuit on, so I can’t entirely blame the weather. I look a bit like a drowned rat when I get soaked, and you’d probably love teasing me for it. The Rat and the Cat, how’s that for a name? And thankfully it’s not El Rata Alada this time. I hope.

I’m writing this as I sit on the edge of the platform where the Batsignal is, Robin sat by my side, my legs dangling off the side and my feet kicking back against the wall now and then. Alfred has often said that you can tell I’ve been stuck in my traumatised childhood for a pretty long time through certain habits and beliefs - this habit being one of the tells. I mean, I don’t often sit here and kick my legs. I wasn’t really aware I was doing so until I started writing this letter, when it suddenly sunk in and hit me that my legs were moving. It’s oddly calming. It’s nice to just sit here as the city moves along below me, as the wind picks up a little and a breeze blows by. I actually rather like it when there’s a chill in the air - I find it refreshing. It is a bit of a pain when it’s particularly cold and I’m wearing the Batsuit, though.

Robin’s still bringing feathers back, but sometimes she’ll bring a stray cat or two as well. They don’t live here, only Robin does, but I’ll feed them and wash them and make sure they have somewhere to go before I send them out of the Batcave. Surprisingly, I’m not heartless. Both you and Robin have a thing for strays. I wonder if I do too? It seems I have found a second job in this city, rehabilitating and rehoming Gotham’s cats. With assistance from some of the Gotham PD, I might be able to get the calico cat bandits out of your old apartment. It’s a very strange life I lead, and this isn’t the first time I’ve thought that today. Loneliness can lead us to the darkest of places, but even in darkness, there is light. The light in this case being the new homes for the cats.

I’ve often wondered if this is my true vocation in life - chasing after petty criminals, solving ciphers, visiting the mayor and a guy who calls himself ‘the Penguin’, trying to flush out Gotham’s corruption, and trying to prevent the city from being flooded again - but I know, as the rain beats down on my skin and Robin meows like some deranged raccoon beside me, I’m right where I’m meant to be. This is who I am. For the longest time I thought that it was a weakness, that I needed to be someone or something else, but after meeting you and very promptly losing you, after reflecting on everything and keeping an eye on the Danger Twins… I see now that it’s a strength. I am Bruce Wayne, and I cannot change that - but maybe I don’t need to. I can only hope that you have the same sense of purpose that I now feel.

I hope you’re well.

Yours, always, the Bat(man) - and Robin the cat.

I promise you, some day, I will tell you who I am. And if you run away, it’ll hurt, but I’ll understand why, and I won’t chase after you.

[preciousthingsareprecious]

Hearts Pounding and Blood Coursing

I am back with yet another D&d week fic! Is everything I write going to be set in Dick as Batman times? Maybe. Maybe. This one certainly is. 

Dami Calls Dick “Baba” / First “I love you” / “You’re not my father!” “I am well aware.”

Summary: When Batman goes missing on patrol, it's up to Robin and Batgirl to track him down. Will they fall into the same trap he did, or make it out in one piece?

AO3 Link

~

The old warehouse looked ready to collapse in on itself any second. Damian wondered why Gotham was so littered with them. He’d told Grayson a hundred times that they needed to do something about them. Wayne Enterprises could surely step in and repair them or rebuild them or do anything to prevent them from becoming hives of villainy as they were wont to do in Gotham. 

Grayson. Damian’s chest tightened. Grayson would not be able to talk Lucius into anything if they did not rescue him soon. The stupid man had gone on patrol alone and had not returned. Thus it was up to Batgirl and Robin to rescue him. 

“You ready, Baby Bat?” 

“Call me that again and I will paint that horrible motorbike of yours a garish shade of orange.” Damian snapped, less focused on coming up with proper revenge threats and more on finding his lost partner. 

“Alright, remember the plan, you’ve got the window on the second floor and I’ve got the one on the first. We meet in the middle or wherever we find Batman.” 

“I would not forget such a simple plan so soon after making it.” Damian replied, already pressing a gloved hand against the window in question to test it, “Now may we begin? Or would you like to chatter until whoever is inside parades Batman’s dead body out of the front door?”

“No, let’s go.” Brown replied. 

Damian nodded, the glass was firm under his palm, not quite as ramshackle as the rest of the building. He slipped a laser cutter out of his belt and ran it across the edges of the window, and let it fall backwards into his palm. 

“And Robin?” Brown added, as Damian was setting the glass aside, “Batman’s going to be just fine, okay?”

“Tt.” Damian responded, then added a quick, “I know. He will.” as if to convince himself of the fact as well. 

He climbed in the window and dropped quietly into the building. Damian found himself in what looked like an office. An old desk stood off balance, titled down on a broken leg. Papers and overturned file cabinets took up most of the rest of the room, with huge windows that looked out over onto the warehouse floor below.  

Damian slipped out of the door and into the hallway beyond it. He flicked a flashlight on to illuminate the dark interior and crept through, ears perked up for any sounds. 

The whole building smelled of dust and mildew, and something else that was sharp and sour. Around him, the walls were covered in ancient cracked paint that might have once been white, but now looked more yellow than anything under the beam of the flashlight. Cracked and broken picture frames featuring staff, products, and some construction site Damian couldn’t recognize decorated the walls, and floor where some had fallen. 

An eerie unsettled feeling crept it’s way into Damian’s head, tingling from the back to the front like cobwebs. He spun on his heel, the flashlight swinging wildly first behind him, then up to the ceiling to check for the source of the feeling. 

Nothing. He was alone. 

Slightly abashed, but still feeling odd, Damian turned again to continue down the hall. The feeling only seemed to increase as he walked. No doors presented themselves at first, which was strange. This building should have a number of offices in it. 

Damian thought back to the blueprints he and Brown had analyzed a few hours earlier. Grayson had left them open on the Batcomputer. Their one big clue to where he’d gone. 

There was one section of the building with a longer hall than others, but Damian had thought he hadn’t come in that way. Had he already gotten turned around? That quite simply wasn’t possible. He’d only been moving for a few minutes. 

He slowed his pace, flashlight swinging from wall to wall as he carefully examined each one. No doors still. So he must have come in the other way. Perhaps his fretting over Grayson had caused the error. Mother had not been entirely incorrect in her assumption that feelings for another caused problems. 

Still, Damian had decided that he was willing to fail a little more if it meant keeping Grayson in his life. 

The further into the building Damian moved the worse it smelled. The sour, acrid, scent that had been mostly hidden under mold and disuse gradually became the prevailing one. Damian scrunched his nose at it, and tried to figure out where he knew it from. It tickled his memory, like something he should know and made the hair on his arms raise. 

So far, he had heard nothing from Batgirl. Though, that was a good sign. They had decided to keep the comms silent until they found something or needed immediate assistance. They had no idea what Batman had run into in this warehouse, nor how he had been taken down. It was best not to draw too much attention to ones self, and wasting time with pointless updates or incessant chatter would be just that. 

He could have sworn he’d seen the same picture of the construction site three times now. But, no he was probably just seeing things. Mistaking the weird old building and land for something else in the dim light.

With every step that unsettling feeling grew stronger, until at last, he came across a door. 

Damian should have been relieved seeing it, but the anxious feeling only grew as he reached out to turn the knob. 

Slowly he eased the door open, and peered into the room, listening for any sounds of occupation. When no lights flared on or voices sounded he took a step into the room. 

The smell here was far worse than it had been in the hallway, as if something inside were the source of it. Damian gulped back bile and stepped further inside, his flashlight held ahead of him like a shield. 

As he did so, the world swayed sideways. Damian blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the room still seemed skewed to the side. 

He took another step forward and all at once the memory of the smell hit him. Fear toxin. Not as strong or as tick as he was used to, and still masked with unknown notes but Crane’s toxin all the same. 

He reached up to alert Brown of the situation and tapped the comm unit in his ear, comforted by the fact that the usual hum of connection reached his ear. 

Before he could say a word though, something cracked against the back of his skull and his world went black. 

When Damian came to, it was slow and plagued by shadows cast over everything from the back of his eyelids to the ceiling above him. He blinked at the ancient popcorned paint and yelped as all at once it seemed to morph into staves, razor sharp and now raining down on him. 

Damian shot up from where he lay, and found himself not impaled by a hundred sharpened stalactites of paint but simply faced with a throbbing headache and hands bound in front of him. 

He sat, just breathing for a few moments and staring down at the cuffs and his gloves. After a moment the nightmare faded, but left that same lingering uncomfortable feeling he’d gotten on entering the hallway. Fear, he now recognized it as, not the overwhelming fear Crane’s toxins were best known for, but something more subtle. Like waiting on the jump scare in a movie. 

The room didn’t smell of the toxin, and Damian assumed what he was feeling was lingering effects from what he’d breathed in earlier, and not a new dose. 

The lighting in the room was provided by a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling which Damian glared at. Of course Crane would be so predictable as to make the room he’d been placed in creepy in the most cliched of ways. 

His gaze travelled down from it and across the mostly bare room. More yellowed walls, cracked with age, and decorated with dreary photos resided here. And then there was—

“Batman.” Damian breathed. 

Grayson lay in a crumpled heap in the center of the room. Damian had been dropped in at the back, either before his brother had been returned or Crane had purposely carried him over the unconscious body of his partner. And Grayson had better only be unconscious or Crane would feel Damian’s wrath unleashed fully against him without hesitation. 

Damian scoffed at the flimsy cuffs Crane had put on him and picked the lock quickly. The villain had not even bothered to attempt to remove Damian’s belt or other gear. 

Soon he was up on unsteady legs, much to his displeasure, and then taking the few strides needed to reach his Batman. 

He crouched beside him and began his examination of his partner. The first thing he noticed was the rise and fall of Grayson’s chest. Then his eyes caught sight of the variety of bruises coloring his chin, how his lips were split and swollen, and the various rips and tears littering the Batsuit. One lense of his cowl was broken out and Damian could see another ugly black bruise over his closed eye. 

Crane had not wasted a moment with Batman it seemed. Something he would pay for if Damian had the opportunity to avenge Grayson. But first, he needed to get his brother out of here and inform Brown of the true danger lurking in the warehouse. 

This time when he activated his comms no one bashed him over the head. 

“Batgirl.” He said, keeping his voice low, “Scarecrow is here. He has incapacitated Batman and locked us in a room together. I will do my best to get him out, but I would do better with your assistance.”

As much as he despised asking for help, Damian was not a fool. He could not both carry Grayson and defend him if Crane returned. Batgirl’s backup would be key in them all getting out of there alive, and in potentially apprehending Crane. 

“I will be right back.” Damian promised Grayson, then stood. 

There was only one door in the room, and Damian moved towards it. He was careful in his examination, wary both of traps and his mind playing tricks on him. He was far too lucid for the earlier gas to have been pure fear toxin, but he could not discount it having lingering effects beyond what he had experienced waking up. 

He tried not to wonder if any of this was real or fake. He was sure now he’d imagined the hallway being longer than it was. If that was false, what else might he be seeing that was a lie? What if he was hallucinating his Batman being there, beaten and bruised? What if something worse lingering outside the door? 

What made it worse, was the fact that with Crane lurking it was highly likely a nightmare was waiting for them, real or imagined. 

It didn’t matter. Damian couldn’t be frozen by what ifs. His Batman was hurt and needed him. Grayson needed him to act like this was real and keep moving. 

The door was not locked. Of course it wasn’t. This trap was turning into an even deeper trap with every minute longer they stayed. It made the fear in his chest twist into dread. A cold sharp worry right between his ribs. 

Damian swung the door open right into more darkness. He growled, this was getting ridiculous. The one thing he no longer had on him was his flashlight, dropped when he’d been foolish enough to get knocked out. 

Fine, he had other light sources he could work with. And if he had to walk in the dark he would. Brown was surely on her way, even if she had not responded to him yet. 

He turned back to Grayson to crouch beside his brother. 

“Batman?” Damian prompted, shaking Grayson’s shoulder gently, “I would much prefer it if you were mildly conscious and were not complete dead weight.” 

He prayed that the Grayson who woke up was both sensible and toxin free. It was a hope he thought might be in vain, but based on his own experience with Crane’s toxin tonight the man seemed to be testing a new strain. It seemed less all encompassing and more designed to disorient and instill a quiet, constant, fear of a more general nature. 

His brother groaned. 

“That’s it.” 

Damian’s encouragement seemed to help drag Grayson back to the surface. So much that he watched a bleary blue eye blink open through the shattered cowl lense. Grayson’s eye was bloodshot, but his iris looked normal. Well, normal enough for a possibly concussed, probably drugged, and definitely beaten, Batman.  

“Come on Batman, we need to go.” Damian said, tugging at one of Grayson’s arms. 

His brother mumbled something incoherent, but allowed himself to be dragged up from where he’d been curled. It took some effort, but eventually Damian had Grayson awkwardly positioned over his back like some kind of kevlar covered sloth. One arm draped over Damian’s shoulder, fingers brushing against his uniform, with the other was held tightly in Damian’s hand. 

He tapped his R insignia to light it up. The beam was pathetic compared to his flashlight, but it was all he had right now unless he wanted to waste time searching Batman’s belt for a flashlight that might or might not be there. 

On Damian’s first step forward, Grayson seemed to be putting in some effort to push himself with his feet. By the time they made it out the door, and took a random left down the hallway, he was already flagging. 

Damian grit his teeth and bit back a complaint. Even this situation was better than the alternative. Damian would drag Grayson for miles over dealing with him under the influence of fear toxin the way it normally worked. 

He hefted Grayson a little higher against his back from where he’d slipped. His brother’s chin rested on his shoulder, and Damian could feel his breath against his neck. He felt Grayson’s breath pick up, as he stirred back to wakefulness. 

“What’re we doing?” he asked, voice thick with exhaustion. 

“We are escaping a trap you fell into.” Damian explained. 

Grayson tried to pull away, “S’not safe. You have to go.” 

He was thrashing now, so much so Damian had to stop moving forward just to keep him held up.

“Stop fighting me and we will! If we do not keep moving we will be in even more danger--idiot!” 

Grayson had thrown himself off Damian’s back, and thumped against the floor with an oof. After a moment he flipped over to look up at Damian, a deep frown on his lips. 

“Batman!” Damian snapped, then realized, that perhaps he had been wrong in his assumption that Grayson was not dealing with toxin effects. 

He was a fool. He should have given Grayson a shot of the anti-toxin the moment he found him. 

“Calm down.” Damian said, lowering his voice to something soothing, “You are injured and drugged, and if you do not listen you may hurt yourself worse.” 

Grayson pushed himself up on his palms, wincing, “You need to leave, Scarecrow is here and he’s after Batman.” 

He nodded, kneeling beside Grayson, “I know. You need to let me give you a dose of the anti-toxin, and then we are leaving.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” 

Damian blinked at him, surprised by the sudden petulance in Grayson’s voice. It sounded a bit like Drake when he was disagreeing with Grayson. 

Careful, Damian slipped a vial of anti-toxin out of his belt, and popped off the lid. He held it out so Grayson could see it. 

“Okay. I am not telling you what to do, simply asking. Will you let me give you this? It will help you feel better.” 

Grayson shook his head, lips going from a frown into a pucker. Is this how everyone felt when Damian was being difficult? He would have to keep that in mind in the future. Grayson was a saint for putting up with his antics longer than the ten seconds Damian had been dealing with Grayson’s. 

“Listen. We need to get moving. If we stay here much longer we’re going to get caught. You need to let me do this.” 

Damian reached out to take Grayson’s arm. He was just about to press the syringe between a tear in the uniform when Grayson yanked his arm back.  

“You’re not my father!” He shouted, sounding almost just like Damian had heard himself sound a  hundred times when he’d still been wary of his brother. 

“I am well aware.” Damian frowned, furrowing his brow. 

It felt very strange to him to imagine Grayson seeing Father in Damian. It was a complicated feeling that made his chest feel tight like he was about to cry. It was also something he could not linger on for long. Grayson was not in his right mind, and every moment they sat there on the floor was another moment Crane could find them in. 

More than that, it was frightening. A word Damian did not use often or lightly. Seeing Grayson like this was...wrong. Grayson should not be childish. He should not be so confused he saw Father in Damian. For one they were nowhere near the same height. For the other, well, Damian did not think himself worthy of being compared that closely with his Father yet. Perhaps ever. 

But it was more unsettling to see Grayson so helpless. So disarmed by this drug in his system. Damian did not like it, and he wished to right this wrong as soon as possible. He resolved himself to get the anti-toxin into Grayson’s veins now, no matter how the man fought him. 

Of course, that’s when he heard it. The creek of a footstep on the wood paneling in front of him. 

“Stay down.” Damian said, standing, then added, “Please.” 

He didn’t wait for Grayson to respond. Instead he spun on his heel, trading the syringe in his hand for a batarang. 

A few feet before him, Crane stopped in his tracks. Even illuminated by Damian's dim light he could see the man wore his typical scarecrow mask, and carried a scythe in between his palms. 

“Hello, Little Bird.” Crane sang, “I see you found your bat.” 

“Tt. He was not hard to miss.” Damian said, bracing himself. 

Crane hefted the scythe, pointing it towards them, “Of course. I was hoping you’d be a little more impacted by the sight and not run off so quickly. You’re a hard bird to frighten. Do you know how much toxin I pumped into that hallway earlier?” 

Damian shrugged, “I don’t care. In fact, I’ve had enough of your blabbering.” 

He threw one then two batarangs at Crane watching the man deflect one with the scythe, and dodge the other. 

Crane tsked him, stalking forward. “Not so fast, Bird Boy. I have a bone to pick with your mentor first.” 

“No.” Damian growled, brandishing a third batarang in his hands, “Keep moving and I will end you.” 

“Doubtful.” Crane said, his mask pulling up into a smirk, “Bats don’t kill.” 

“Batman doesn’t kill.” Damian corrected him, “You touch him again and I will not hesitate to take you down.” 

Crane chuckled, and took a step forward, only to yelp, then jerk as if he were being shocked. When he collapsed forward, Damian saw the source of his sudden strangeness. Batgirl stood, taser held forward, a blinding grin on her face. 

“I had it covered!” Damian protested. 

“You’re welcome.” she said, already moving to zip tie Scarecrow. 

“Tt.” Damian said, and opened his mouth to argue further, but was stopped by a hand on his ankle. 

“Damian?” 

He turned, and found Grayson leaned forward just enough he could grab Damian. He was looking confused, and concerned mouth turned down and eye worried. Damian’s heart skipped a beat. Grayson had heard him say he’d kill Crane. Damian would not break his promise, not with Grayson safely behind him, but he’d also been furious with Crane and ready to defend his Batman however he needed to. 

Dread pooled in his stomach. What if Grayson thought Damian serious? What if he--He did not have time to worry about that right now. They needed to get him home and taken care of. Batman’s health was his priority, not how he viewed Damian. 

“It’s alright.” Damian said, voice dropping back to a careful softness he hoped would soothe an toxin induced reactions, “We are leaving.” 

Damian knelt again by Grayson’s side, and began the process of trying to help him up. Thankfully, Brown was here. Once she’d finished with Crane, she added her own strength to Grayson’s other side, and together they carried him out of there. 

The exit was surprisingly close, and soon Damian was settled in the back of the Batmobile beside his Batman. While Brown drove, Damian held Grayson's hand and did his best to explain the rescue to his brother. At some point, however, Grayson passed out again, tilted over, and against Damian. It was not an unpleasant feeling being the one Grayson trusted enough to fall asleep against. 

Pennyworth took over when they got home, and Grayson was, mercifully, mostly fine. Bruised, battered, and unconscious, but he’d be fine. That knowledge eased some of the tension in Damian’s chest.

Both Grayson and Damian received doses of anti-toxin. The way it almost immediately started to make Damian feel better hinted that he'd been more effected than he'd first assumed. Damian would never voice it, but he was grateful for Brown's save. He wasn't sure how well he would have done in a true fight against Crane in that cramped hallway.

He showered quickly then planted himself at Grayson’s side, ignoring Pennyworth’s suggestion that he should lay down and rest his own bruised head while he waited for the anti-toxin to completely remove the lingering feelings of fear in his system. Sitting was just as good as laying, and this way he could keep an eye on his brother. Brown offered to stay, but Damian waved her upstairs along with Pennyworth. He’d be fine keeping an eye on Grayson, while they moved for a cup of victory cocoa, or tea in Pennyworth’s case. 

There was no victory for Damian tonight. Not until his brother woke up and he knew he was fine. 

Even being home, and not in the middle of some wild trap, Damian still couldn’t get over Grayson being so vulnerable. It was wrong. His Batman could be an idiot, but he was also competent and strong and worthy of respect. He was not helpless or so confused he viewed a child as Batman. 

So Damian held vigil. 

He played on his phone, opening up a mindless game he could pass the time with while still being able to keep one eye on his brother. Unfortunately, Damian ended up getting kind of wrapped up in a particularly hard level. It took a solid ten minutes for him to clear it, and when he looked up again it was into bright blue eyes, totally aware of where they were and who they were watching. Damian’s cheeks flushed. 

“Grayson.” he said, dropping his phone into his lap and straightening. 

As he did, his phone slipped off his thigh and smacked onto the floor with a loud thump. Damian stared down at it for a moment, briefly considering leaning down to pick it up. Instead he planted his fists in his lap and looked back up at Grayson.

“I am glad to see you have awoken.” 

His brother’s lips quirked into a wry smile, “You would have seen a bit earlier if you hadn’t been so focused on, Candy Crush?”

“Angry Birds.” Damian muttered, cheeks still hot. 

He leaned forward to examine his brother. He couldn’t say Grayson looked too much better, but the split skin on his forehead was cleaned and closed with a butterfly bandage, and his lips were looking less swollen. His expression, happy and open is what was truly improved. 

“You are looking better.” he said, “I’m glad.” 

“I’m feeling better.” Grayson responded, “Wanna give me a run down of what happened? My memory is spotty at best.” 

Damian kicked his feet up onto the bar on the bottom of his chair, “When you did not return by morning Brown and I began to make a plan for your rescue.” 

Grayson nodded, “You found me?” 

If his cheeks were not already red they would have blushed again, he shook his head, “Crane got the drop on me. I am not sure what he was planning, however it seems my intent on getting you out upset his plans.” 

“We were moving down a hallway--” Grayson stopped, his eyes widening, “Oh, Dames I’m sorry. I was the worst wasn’t I?” 

Damian tilted his head, “What do you mean?” 

“I kept seeing Bruce, and for some reason I was mad at him.” Grayson ran his hand through his hair, “That was you, right?” 

“You were not too much trouble.” Damian shrugged, “In fact you may have helped prevent Crane successfully sneaking up on us again. In the end, Brown saved us both.” 

He wanted to ask if Grayson remembered the actual confrontation, but at the same time Damian was not sure he wanted to know. He almost squirmed, but held back. Robin did not squirm. 

“Thanks for coming after me.” Grayson said, reaching a hand out to Damian. 

After a moment, Damian took it. 

“I am glad you are okay.” he said, “I--did not like seeing you injured.” 

“I bet. You sounded pretty angry.” 

Damian wasn’t sure how to respond. He tapped his heel on the wood under his foot. 

Grayson squeezed his hand, “It was sweet, you threatening him.” 

“You--” Damian spoke before he thought about it. 

“I?”  

He swallowed, “You did not think I was serious, right?” 

“You promised me you wouldn’t kill, right? I believed you then, and now.” 

Damian nodded, “Of course. He should not have hurt you.” he added, again losing the words before he thought about them. 

Grayson slipped his hand out of Damian’s to reach up and brush it through Damian’s hair. 

“You either.” 

“Tt, do not be so sentimental. It is foolish.” 

There was that smile again, “I think I have the right to be sentimental. My baby brother and basically little sister came running to my rescue.” 

Grayson reached for Damian’s hands with both of his, “In fact, I’ll be a little more sentimental.” he pulled Damian forward, “Join me? I’m tired and I don’t want to be alone. Plus I doubt Alfred’s going to let me trek upstairs until at least tomorrow.” 

Damian rolled his eyes, but allowed himself to be tugged forward, “Fine.” he relented, “but only because Robin must make sure Batman rests properly.” 

[batfam-rewrites]

Batfam During Quarantine: Avatar

Dick: Okay, lets try to keep the craziness to a minimum. Harper and Cullen are quarantining for two weeks so lets not do anything to make them jealous.

Duke: *Duke and Tim walk into the room* Omg, We just finished watching Avatar The Last Airbender for like the fifth time right now! I LOVE THIS SHOW SO MUCH!!! WHY DID THEY EVER TAKE IT OFF OF NETFLIX!!!

Dick: Guys, come on. I literally just said to keep the craziness to a minimum.

Tim: They have Netflix set up on their tv. They should be fine.

Damian: What is Avatar The Last Airbender

Everyone: *gasp*

Selina: Some....

Jason: Sh ta ta ta ta. *presses his finger to Selina’s lips* Don’t speak, I know just what you’re sayin’, so please stop explainin’.

Selina: Really Jason? How long have you been waiting to use that one?

Jason: *breaks into a dance* All night long, all night.

Stephanie: What is going on with you Jason? 

Tim: I know right? You don’t ever listen to Lionel Richie, let alone pop music.

Jason: It’s his fault! *points at Dick* Him and his stupid playlist!

Dick: “Don’t Speak” isn’t on my playlist though.

Jason: I ummmm...... radio.

Dick: *gasp* You listen to No Doubt!

Jason: No! Maybe!

Dick: O-M-G!

Jason: They’re a guilty pleasure! Now don’t mention it again.

Cassandra: Guys!!! What is The Last Airbender?

Duke: *starts to explain but Dick holds him back*

Jason: *to Damian and Cassandra* You poor depraved children.

Damian: I’m not a child.

Jason: Hahaha, your cute. Avatar The Last Airbender is the beautiful brain child of Michael Dante DiMartino and Bryan Konietzko. It is a fantastic series that can not be summarized by anyone or even a movie. Anyone who tries instantly robs the person of the magic of the original series and ruins the exper.....

Damian: You know what, screw it. This isn’t worth it.

Dick: NOOOO! Come on Dami, we can watch it all together, just the nine of us.

Duke: Yeah, come on Damian.

Stephanie: It’s a really great series Dami.

Cassandra: I mean I’m interested.

Tim: *turns his head towards Cassandra* We already knew you were on board. *turns his head back to Damian*

Damian: Fine, I’ll give your stupid show a chance.

Everyone: Yaaayyyyy!!!! *they all start to head down stairs when Dick gets an alert on his phone*

Dick: Actually, this is going to need to wait. Cass and Tim, come with me. I’ll alert Babs and Kate.

Jason: Why, what’s up?

Dick: There’s been a murder at Blackgate.

Batman, Batwoman, Batgirl, Red Robin, Orphan, and Commissioner Gordon

Jim: Batman and, wow there are a lot of you!

Batman: We want to try and get this over with as soon as possible.  

Jim: Very well. Victim is Julian Gregory Day, better known as Calendar Man. The body was found at 10:15. He left his cell at 10 to meet with the D.A. to talk about getting a reduced sentence. Both of the prison guards who were escorting Julian Day were knocked out during the attack. All of the camera’s were out, too.

Batwoman: The marks on his neck suggest that he was strangled and can’t quite tell but there’s something under his fingernails. He couldn’t have saw this coming but he definitely tried to put up a fight.

Batman: Okay, Batgirl and Orphan, lets have you head to the morgue with the diener and see if they could find out what’s under his finger nails. Batwoman, question Hugo Strange. Go through the audio files and see what you can find. Red Robin, you and I will see what any of the inmates in the cell block know. Jim, order your men to check the other camera monitors for anything suspicious.

Jim: I’m not one of your......

Batman: *glares at Jim Gordon*

Jim: I could figure out your identity any time I want. 

Batman: *smirks* Is that a promise?

Jim: It’s a door I’m willing to keep closed unless you cross the line.

Batwoman

Something she didn’t mention at the crime scene was that there was traces of reddish brown hair, so that points fingers at James Gordon Jr, Clock King, Edward Nigma, and Roxanne Sutton. Kate has her suspicions, but as of right now everyone is a suspect.

Hugo Strange: Hello Batwoman. How may I assist you?

Batwoman: I need to know about a few of your patients.

Hugo Strange: You know I can not tell you much I am.....

Batwoman: I am familiar with the confidentiality agreement. I need to know about Julian Day.

Hugo Strange: Poor guy. It’s a shame what happened to him. His most recent audio files are all yours. You’ll find the information you need in there.

Batwoman walked out of the room and began listening to the files in the secret Batcave in Blackgate.

Batgirl and Orphan

Batgirl: *walks into the door* Ugh, what is that smell?

Orphan: Rotting goat sex.

Batgirl: *burst out laughing* What?

Orphan: Rotting goat sex. 

Batgirl: What made you say that?

Orphan: Red Hood told me that’s the name of the yellow squares you put on sandwiches. The ones that go bad over time and smell like this room.

Batgirl: Okay, don’t listen to Red Hood anymore. It’s called cheese Orphan.

Orphan: Cheese. Okay. Got it.

Batgirl: So, how are you enjoying quarantine in the mansion.

Orphan: It’s not bad. Been sparring a lot. 

Batgirl: Who exactly? You’re not hurting my boyfriend right?

Orphan: Nope, but I kicked Helena’s butt a few times.

Batgirl: WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY!!!

Coroner: *walks out* Hey, so the.... Sorry, am I interrupting something.

Batgirl: No. Tell us about the body.

Coroner: Okay so prior to his death it seems the victim was drugged with a depressant. Obviously slowing his reactions. Underneath his fingernails are threads from the string that was used strangle him and some dead skin cells.

Batgirl: There’s not a lot of options for strings except for shoelaces, and unless someone has a very old shoelace, that means the string had to have come from outside the prison.

Coroner: Correct, the threads are definitely not made from the same material as the shoelaces.

Orphan: Anything else.

Coroner: Yes, there was some short white hairs found on his body which is odd, but probably from facial hair or eyebrows.

Batgirl: Thanks! Let us know when you have an idea who those skin cells belong to. *both Barbara and Cassandra start walking away* Tell Red Robin what we found out.

Orphan: But we’re supposed to report to Batman.

Batgirl: Fuck Batman.

Selina, Bruce, Lucius, and Alfred

At Wayne Tower

Bruce: *starring at his computer screen* If I buy this company, then I can buy a donut, and the cosmic donut will make me live forever, plus more profits, because three coffees plus one donut equals one Tim. *Lucius Fox knocks on the door* Do you want to build a snowman?!

Lucius: Mister Wayne, we need to talk.

Bruce: What is it Lucius?

Alfred: You’re overworking yourself.

Bruce: *looks up from his computer* Dad, I mean Alfred, Selina, what are you doing here?

Selina: No simple way to say it but this is an intervention.

Bruce: I don’t need an intervention.

Selina: Bruce, it’s been a bit over two months since quarantine began. You’re company is doing just fine. Don’t you think you deserve a break?

Bruce: With a little less help from Red Tim, I need to work as much as possible to get the cosmic coffee back on track. The hacker a few weeks back did a bit of damage.

Alfred: Master Bruce, even the Batman needs a break from time to time. Isn’t that the real reason you have Master Dick running around in the Batsuit instead of you?

Bruce: No! *Bruce takes a moment to think it all over* Partially.

Lucius: You are putting to much pressure on yourself. You keep on talking nonsense and are obviously sleep deprived.

Bruce: No! I’ve haven’t put enough pressure on myself since I became Batman. Once Batman came into the picture I didn’t focus on the company any longer. And I’m not sleep deprived, I’ve slept 4 hours last night! I’m getting more than enough sleep.

Lucius: You had more of an impact on the company then you think. If it weren’t for you acting as a real CEO, we wouldn’t be doing a going green initiative, there wouldn’t be a yearly fund going out to local orphanages, you created a functioning way for employees to work from home while increasing productivity. I can go on for hours about the positive things you have done as Bruce Wayne.

Selina: You have done so much. Come home, sleep. Enjoy time with you’re family.

Bruce: I can’t do that, I can do more. I can help other companies, too.

Alfred: I remember one time, it was when you turned 5, your father was supposed to be at the hospital. However, the day before he had worked all day to make his patients feel better, so he could spend the next day with you. He wouldn’t have missed your birthday even if it would cause the end of the world. Master Thomas knew the importance of taking time off to spend time with his family. It is time that you do the same.

Bruce begins to tear up. He reflects on how often his father worked day and night, but regardless how often he worked, he always had time for him and his mother. He knew his father loved him with all his heart. Then he thought of Alfred. He wasn’t really his father but Bruce always saw him as one after his parents died. Alfred loves him as much as he loves his own family. 

Bruce: *rolls his chair back and walks over to hug Alfred* Thank you Alfred.

Alfred: Anytime sir.

Batman, Batwoman, Batgirl, Red Robin, and Orphan

*In the Blackgate Batcave*

Batman: What did we find?

Orphan: The threads under Julian’s finger nails came from a string outside of the prison meaning that it could be one of the employees who’ve killed him. Skin cells under his nails are being scanned now, and white hairs were found on his body. Also cheese is not called goat sex.

Red Robin: WHAT! *Dick and Tim start laughing hysterically* 

Batman: Why would you think that!

Batgirl: Jason told her. That’s beside the point though.

Red Robin: *whispers to Dick* What did you do?

Batman: *whispers to Tim* I don’t know.

Batgirl: Stop whispering, we can all see you!

Batman: Got it. Kate what did you find?

Batwoman: Day was in an extreme state of paranoia before he died. Talks about how he was going to tell the D.A. about corruption in Blackgate.

Batman: Interesting, did he say anyone’s name?

Batwoman: It’s not clear, but I would assume so.

Batman: That makes sense. When Red Robin and I interviewed his cellmate, Drury Walker, he said he was starting to suspect something was going to happen. He had suspicions that James Jr. was going to kill him.

Batwoman: If I had to assume, I would say the same. I noticed a large sum of reddish brown hair at the scene where the body was found.

Batgirl: There was white hair found on the body though. With Day being strangled the killer would be close enough to possibly have a few hairs fall onto his body.

Batman: Do you have a sample?

Batgirl: Obviously.

Batman: Okay, I’ll program the computer to scan it. I know it’s not ideal but we’ll find out in twelve hours. Tim, Cass, and Kate, go update Commissioner Gordon. Babs, do you mind if we talk for a moment.

Batgirl: Sure, if you feel like doing so now.

Batman: *takes off the cowl and mask* What’s wrong? 

Batgirl: How could you not tell me Helena was staying at the mansion!

Batman: I didn’t want you to overreact.

Batgirl: How could I not! One of your ex girlfriends is sleeping under the same roof you are!

Batman: Look, this conversation is a bit more complicated than I anticipated so we’ll talk more about it later.

Batgirl: You know what, do yourself one better and just don’t talk to me at all. *Barbara places her mask back on as she storms out*

Red Robin: *sneaks out from behind a door* I swear I totally wasn’t eavesdropping, but that sounded like it could have gone better.

Batman: Yeah, it could have. *Dick than walks out pulling the cowl over his head and placing his mask back on*

Batman and Batwoman

Batman: *knocks on the door*

Hugo Strange: Hello Batman, Batwoman! How may I assist you?

Batman: We have some more questions to ask you.

Hugo Strange: Please, come inside!

Batman: How has James Jr. been doing in his sessions?

Hugo Strange: He has been doing very well! Obviously he had to spend a small period in solitary for killing his cellmates but he is getting better. If he is a prime suspect you may look into his files.

Batwoman: When did you two last meet?

Hugo Strange: Yesterday.

Batman: When did you two conspire the death of Julian Day?

Hugo Strange: I’m sorry, what are you talking about?

Batwoman: *grabs Hugo Strange by the shirt and lifts him* DON’T PLAY GAMES WITH US STRANGE! ANSWER THE QUESTION!

Hugo Strange: I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about!

Batman: We saw that you transferred Day to Gordon’s cell! He has killed every cellmate he’s had! You were sentencing him to death!

Batwoman starts to shake Hugo Strange violently until a gun shot is heard from across the room. 

Batgirl, Red Robin, and Orphan

James Jr.: Hey Batgirl! I see you’re walking again, isn’t that such a neat surprise.

Red Robin: Shut up, James!

Batgirl: James, we want to know what happened?

James Jr.: ..........

Batgirl: Answer my question asshat!

James Jr.: Whoa little sis... I want to stay I was told to shut up!

Batgirl: Do you realize what’s happening?

James Jr.: I’m being interrogated.

Batgirl: You’re going to be transferred to Arkham. If you confess your time there could be reduced! 

James Jr.: Fine... I confess...... I cut open your teddy bear and filled it with razor blades when we were kids.

Batgirl flips the table and pins James to the wall, punching him in the head multiple times. Orphan then runs in, trying to help Red Robin to get Batgirl to stop punching James Jr.

Batgirl: Rot in fucking Arkham for all I care! You should have been sent there to begin with!

Batgirl, Red Robin, and Orphan begin to walk out the door before James Jr. lying on the floor yells.

James Jr.: WAIT! It wasn’t me, I promise!

Batgirl: Doubtful.

James Jr.: Red Robin, come on. I know you’re going to give me a chance. Hear me out.

Red Robin: Batgirl, let’s give him.....

Batgirl: NO! HE HAD HIS CHANCE! HE DECIDED TO WASTE IT!

Orphan: Batgirl. Please.

Batgirl: *stops in the hallway* Fine.

A few minutes later Red Robin is in the interrogation room with James Jr. with Orphan.

Red Robin: James Jr. Did you kill Julian Day?

James Jr.: No.

Off in the distance they all hear the gunshot from Hugo Strange’s office.

James Jr.: And there’s my proof.

Batman, Batwoman, Batgirl, Red Robin, and Orphan

Red lines flow down Hugo Strange’s face as blood pours from the hole in his forehead. Batman and Batwoman turn around to see who fired the shot, and are shocked to see Eduardo Flamingo. Batwoman drops the dead body of Hugo Strange as Flamingo fires three shots at both Batman and Batwoman. Both are unfazed by this and punch him in the face, causing him to fall back on the floor.

Batman: *picks up Flamingo* Who hired you?

Eduardo Flamingo: *cough* You just watched him die.

The GCPD arrives to the room and arrest Flamingo.

Commissioner Gordon: Freeze! You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.

He had confessed to everything. The murders, the contract Hugo Strange offered him to kill Day. No details was left out. By the time they all left the prison it was 12:30 in the morning.

Batman: Batgirl, let’s talk. 

Batgirl: I don’t want to talk.

Batman: Babs, if you won’t talk, then listen, please? *tears start to fill his eyes and make their way down his mask*

Batgirl: If anything, you listen to me *tears streak down her mask as well* I don’t know where I stand in this situation, and right now I really don’t care! For the time being don’t talk to me. *she takes out her grappling hook and leaves the four other members just standing there*

Batwoman: I’m not going to get too involved in this, but you know if you need to talk Dick, let me know.

Batman: Thank you.

The two hug and then go their separate ways.

Dick and Barbara

When they got home, Dick reached for his phone and started to text Barbara. He tried to explain how he never knew Helena was going to show up. How she showed up out of nowhere. How she is his everything, his world, and he doesn’t blame her for being skeptical but he still loves her. 

Barbara doesn’t want to read a word of Dick’s excuses. This has happened before when Dick was dating Koriand’r and Zatanna. Even before they were in a relationship, she knew he at one point was seeing multiple girls at a time. She doesn’t know if he is really sleeping with Helena behind her back, but she knows that she can’t trust Dick for the time being.

After his shower he walked to his room where he saw Helena laying on his bed in her costume. She then tosses his Nightwing costume at him.

Helena: Hey Dick, how about you throw that on and we do a bit of role play.

Dick: Cool, I’m into that. I’ll be Nightwing, the guy who loves Batgirl so much, and you’ll be Huntress, who sleeps on the first floor. You’re going to leave my room and I’ll lock my door for the rest of the night.

Helena: Rough night, lover?

Dick: I told you to stop calling me that.

Helena: I know, but I love it.

Dick: Helena, please just leave.

Dick just lied on his bed staring at his phone, wishing that Barbara would text him back. Fifteen minutes later he hears a knock at his door.

Bruce: Hey Dick! Are you okay?

Dick: What is this? Am I dreaming?

Bruce: No. I heard what happened. Just know if you ever want to talk about it, you can come to me. 

Dick: Thanks Bruce!

Bruce: Want to watch Avatar as a family? Damian told me how you talked him into watching it. I think it’s a fun idea!

Dick: *smirks* Sure!

They both walk downstairs to the media room as they see everyone down there already. He noticed Helena was sitting at the far end of the room so Dick considered sitting by Tim and Stephanie who seemed to have been chatting it up, but decided against it and sat near Damian. 

Dick: *leans over towards Damian*

Damian: Don’t you even think about it Grayson!

Dick: *wraps his arms around Damian* Come on, you know you love my hugs!

Damian: I will cut off your arms in your sleep,

Dick: You’re so adorable when you think you’re threatening.

The episode begins to play and everyone fell silent. As the second one ended everyone looked at Cassandra and Damian to get their reaction.

Cassandra: That was awesome!!! Let’s watch one more!

Damian: It is surprisingly entertaining. A little silly but intriguing.

Jason: WE KNEW YOU WOULD LIKE IT SUCKER!

Tim: One of the greatest shows ever!

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Is It Really THAT Bad?

I’m going to warn you all now. This one is going to get a bit angry at the end. Normally I would try and remain as professional as possible, but in this case, I don’t feel like I would be able to.

Batman & Robin is a film that has lived in infamy since its release in 1997. Upon release, it was critically reviled, and this hatred of the film continued long into the modern day, where it frequently tops “worst films of all time lists” to the point where it actually is listed on the Wikipedia page for “List of films considered the worst.” It was nominated for at least 11 Razzies but only won a single one, and it went on to be a frequent punching bag on the {REDACTED] Critic’s web show, where he would get irrationally angry at the mere mention of the Bat Credit Card. In contemporary reviews, Mick LaSalle of The San Francisco Chronicle stated “"George Clooney is the big zero of the film, and should go down in history as the George Lazenby of the series,” which is less of a criticism and more of a compliment, if I’m being totally honest.

Most of the stars would take a negative stance towards it as well, with legend stating that if you tell George Clooney that you saw the film in theaters, he will refund you for your ticket out of his own pocket. Chris O’Donnell likewise is not particularly fond of the film, stating "It just felt like everything got a little soft the second time. On Batman Forever, I felt like I was making a movie. The second time, I felt like I was making a kid's toy commercial." And, perhaps most depressingly, Joel Schumacher himself was apparently very apologetic for the film, though this may or may not have come about because of years and years of vitriol being directed at him for making this film.

In the wake of Mr. Schumacher’s passing, I decided to re-watch the film, as I am famously rather fond of it, and I am going to tell you all why the answer to the question “Is it really THAT bad?” is a loud, resounding, NO.

THE GOOD

There’s honestly quite a lot to like here, more than you might think. I think first and foremost what you need to understand going in is that this is a silly, cartoonish take on the Burton style, blending the silliness and camp of the West series with the drama and aesthetics of the Burton films, all while adding some over-the-top, colorful flair. John Glover, who appears in the film as a cartoonish mad scientist, even has gone on record as saying "Joel would sit on a crane with a megaphone and yell before each take, 'Remember, everyone, this is a cartoon'. It was hard to act because that kind of set the tone for the film”… the last sentence makes the statement very baffling, but at least even the actors were aware of what they were doing. If this doesn’t sound appealing, well, the opening is sure to warn you off, as it is a suiting up montage with various shots of the firm butts, large codpieces, and stiff batnipples of the Dynamic Duo. The movie is very upfront about what you’re in for.

On the subject of the infamous batnipples, Schumacher stated "I had no idea that putting nipples on the Batsuit and Robin suit were going to spark international headlines. The bodies of the suits come from Ancient Greek statues, which display perfect bodies. They are anatomically correct." It seems a very odd choice, but it’s pretty clear that he meant it as an amusing little design choice and nothing more. Of course, this hasn’t stopped everyone and their mother from spewing homophobic comments about how he was purposefully making the film gayer, even from star George Clooney, who has said that he played Batman as a gay man and was told by Schumacher Batman is gay. It’s so disgusting that people did and continue to do this, because honestly, the costumes are fine, and even if they are meant to be fanservice… so what? O’Donell and Clooney’s asses look nice, as does Alicia Silverstone’s when she dons a suit. The fact hers is just as form-fitting as the other two really shows that the whole idea Schumacher did it because he was gay is ridiculous; the man was very egalitarian about the fanservice in the movie.

Whatever else Clooney says, he does a pretty great job as Batman and Bruce Wayne. His speech at the end of the film where he talks to Mr. Freeze and reminds him that he is a good man and offers to help him is honestly one of the few moments in any Batman film where Batman actually feels like the one from the animated series, a man who fights crime but also wants to help the people he’s trying to stop. Clooney just has a very natural charisma that lends himself to playing a hero, and while there are a few awkward moments in the performance, he captures the fun and charm a more lighthearted Batman should. Michael Gough’s last turn as Alfred is also surprisingly poignant, and a lot of mileage is gotten out of his genuinely tearjerking subplot.

Of course, the very best part of the film is the villains. Uma Thurman is clearly having a ball as Poison Ivy, and she gets to have a ludicrous amount of costumes as well as numerous moments of fanservice. She also has the power to turn every man around her into a simp, which is absolutely amazing and leads to quite a few scenes of Batman and Robin slapping each other over her. But f course, there’s really no doubt that the best part of the film is Mr. Freeze. He’s a combination of the sillier Mr. Freeze from the West days and the more modern take of the character most are familiar with, the tragic anti-villain who wants to save his wife; such a character would take a talented man capable of comedy and drama in equal measure. And who better than Arnold Schwarzenegger? Joel Schumacher wanted a man who looked like he was chiseled from a glacier, and Arnold certainly fits that description. He spends the movie juggling some of the most corny puns you can imagine and a lot of truly powerful, understated drama, and it really does work. You honestly get the sense that Arnold really gets Mr. Freeze and what makes him a great character. Also, that suit he has is amazing.

As a final note: the Bat Credit Card is absolutely not stupid. Linkara has defended it in the past, giving reasons why and how it could actually work, but really, all that needs to be said is… is this any more ridiculous than Shark Repellent Bat Spray?

THE BAD

So don’t get the wrong idea here; this film is far from perfect. As is the case with any comedy, the humor can be hit or miss; not all of the puns land, not all of the jokes are great. You’re never going to get a perfect comedy no matter how hard you try, and this is no exception.

As for performances, I think O’Donnell’s Robin and Silverstone’s Batgirl are a bit wonky. O'Donnell has long been a source of derision for his whining, and while I think the hate is a bit overblown, he does spend a ludicrous amount of time in this film being snippy, miserable, and arrogant. I think he actually fights with Batman more than any of the villains! Still, his performance isn’t horrible, he just gets a bit too whiny at a few points.

Silverstone is a bit of a bigger problem, but she’s not quite as bad as even I remembered. She’s pretty much Batgirl in name only, since she’s related to Alfred in this, but she’s mostly okay. The issue really is that her arc in the film is relatively bland and feels a bit shoehorned, which comes to a head where she fights Poison Ivy in a designated catfight, obviously because they didn’t want Batman to punch a woman in the face I guess. There’s just one issue with that:

On the subject of Ivy, while she definitely does have plant powers here, they’re strangely underplayed. She rarely uses them even when it would probably be beneficial, instead relying on Bane to do most of the fighting for her. Ah, Bane… Bane is one of the few things about this film I can’t really muster up any sort of defense for. While his creation scene is rather cool, it doesn’t lead to much of interest, as this version of Bane is pretty much a mindless supersoldier lackey who serves Poison Ivy. Now, this was still relatively early in Bane’s existence, as he had only debuted in 1993 and was really most famous for his signature “breaking the Bat” move, but it still is baffling why, with that famous thing fresh in everyone’s minds, that they would just choose to go and basically make Bane into Evil Diet Captain America. Surely they could have either saved him for a sequel or utilized him in a way more befitting of the character? I think this Bane is kind of responsible for the negative perception of Bane as this big, dumb bruiser, something that works like The Dark Knight Rises and Arkham Origins have thankfully gone a long way to rectifying. Bane is at his best when he’s a cunning genius bruiser; here, he’s nothing but a glorified prop.

Is It Really THAT Bad?

The answer is no. No it isn’t. AT ALL.

I’ve always felt this film came out at the wrong time. It was towards the end of the 90s, during the Dark Age of Comics when everything was dark, gritty, and edgy. The world didn’t want a movie like this back then; they wanted stuff like Blade, who would come in shortly after this film and show us how to make that aesthetic work. I guess in terms of Batman they wanted something more like Dawn of Justice, which really speaks volumes to how awful the 90s were for superheroes. 

Look, I’m not trying to convince anyone this is the greatest Batman film ever. Even I don’t think that; Batman Returns, The Dark Knight, and Under the Red Hood are all much better films. But is this really the worst Batman film now that we have the deeply misogynistic and disgusting The Killing Joke and the relentlessly bleak and unpleasant Batman v Superman? Hell, it’s not even worse than Batman Forever! At least the Batman in this film has some kind of emotional range beyond “plank of wood!” And even calling it the worst sequel ever is just… so baffling. Again, this is definitely better than Batman Forever, lack of Jim Carrey notwithstanding. And can you honestly look me in the eye and tell me that this is worse than any of the Terminator sequels after the second film? Worse than Iron Man 2 or Thor: The Dark World? The almost half dozen Alvin and the Chipmunk sequels? This is only the worst sequel or even a bad sequel if it is the only sequel you’ve ever seen in your life.

A lot of the hate for it from back in the day carries a strong undercurrent of homophobia. Much like the infamous backlash against disco, it’s seriously uncomfortable, and it definitely is cruel how accusatory people were towards Schumacher’s intentions for the suits of the heroes in the film. The fact that even the two main stars have gotten in on it is a bit disgusting, though O’Donnell questioning why there needed to be a codpiece is certainly less offensive than George Clooney saying he played Batman as a gay man for… whatever reason. Was he implying that Batman being gay made the movie worse? I’m not sure what he’s on about there. Even The New Batman Adventures made a cruel dig at the film; notice the sign and the effeminate-looking boy. You could only get homophobia this good in the 90s!

The hatred of this film is absolutely overblown. It’s so ridiculous. #70 on the bottom rated movies of IMDB? #1 on the 50 worst films of all time list from Empire? Doug Walker’s personal punching bag whenever he needs to talk about a bad sequel, to the point where he literally said no one wanted a comedic take on Batman in his worst sequels video? Come the fuck on.

Joel Schumacher may or may not have ended up hating this film, but he certainly was made to feel like shit for making it… and it is honest to god not that bad! But he was just absolutely eviscerated, to the point where this was a fucking headline when he died:

Literally fuck all of these people. Fuck io9 for their insensitive headline. Fuck Empire for rating this as the worst film ever. Fuck Doug Walker for his constant bashing and his shitty old “chimp out over the Bat Credit Card” gag. Double fuck Mick LaSalle for shitting on George Clooney’s performance while also trying to say George Lazenby’s Bond was bad. In fact, fuck George Clooney for his weird idea that playing Batman as gay is a bad thing (sorry George, but I can’t defend this). Fuck the Razzies. Yes, it was nominated, but I just feel it’s always a good time to say “Fuck the Razzies.”

I will never say you have to love or even like this film, but the sheer amount of vitriol and hatred for it is absolutely beyond me. At worst, this film is just a bit too goofy, and at best, it is a fun tribute to the campy days when Batman just couldn’t get rid of a bomb. I didn’t take off my score this time. I’m proud to say I gave this an 8/10, personally. If I’m being honest, a 6.6 – 6.9 is more appropriate, because it does have quite a few issues, but god, this film is not bad at all. It’s silly, goofy, campy, and fun… but bad? Not by any stretch of my imagination. And fuck the critics for convincing an entire generation that this is Batman at his worst, when we have Batman fucking slaughtering his ways through criminals and fucking Barbara Gordon on rooftops these days. I will always take stupid ice puns over misery, murder and creepy intergenerational sex, thank you very much.

I hope you can rest easy, Mr. Schumacher. Maybe you didn’t love your film in the end but, wherever you are, I hope you know I loved it.

[snickletastic]

Interrupted {Jason Todd x Reader}

warnings~ cursing, mostly fluffy i think

request~  Jason reluctantly goes with his wife to her high school reunion, They see her old friends and have the unfortunate chance of running into her cheating ex and the mean girl he cheated on her with. They try to start shit with the reader who just takes it in stride before thanking them. But she's not living in the past anymore and introduces them to Jason much to the bully couple's jealousy.

a/n~ i ended up having a whole lot of fun with this one, but of course encountered some awkward moments during it. i think it goes pretty smoothly, but there are some bumpy parts that im sure youll notice. i hope you guys like it :)

___________________

“I just know that this is gonna be great,” you murmured while leaning over the counter to get near to the mirror so you could get a closer look at your lipstick application. 

Jason let out a quiet groan as he buttoned his shirt, “I’m going for the food. You know that, right?”

“Yeah baby, I know,” You shut the tube of lipstick and turned to your husband, who was rolling up the sleeves of his button up. “You should wear these shirts more often, you look adorable.”

“Adorable? I was hoping for something along the lines of sexy,” Jason mocked, “maybe dashing? Absolutely fetching?”

You ignored his complaining and fixed his tie for him. “I need you to be serious tonight...or at least a little serious,” you focused on pulling the tie through the hoop, “I really want this to go well.”

“Can you believe it’s been ten years since you graduated? Feelin’ old yet?” Jason teased while watching you fasten his tie.

“Don’t you start,” you lightheartedly threatened him, “You’re a year older, anyways.”

“I know you are but what am I?”

“You’re a moron,” you rolled your eyes.

“I know you ar-”

“Quit that, you man-child!”

“Fine,” Jason stepped back and admired you, “You’re looking sexy tonight.”

You blushed, “Than-”

“For an oldie,” Jason teased again, “Sorry. Okay. I promise. I’m done now.”

“Can we go now, or are there any other jokes you wanna make?”

Jason considered quips for a moment, looking thoughtful. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m done.” You sighed in relief and began walking out the door. “Don’t forget your walker, babe,” Jason called out while watching you leave.

_____________________

The banquet hall of the upscale Gotham hotel was filled with hundreds of familiar faces. You graduated from Gotham City High School, so your class had about 1,000 students or so due to how overpopulated the city is. Why? You could never figure it out. Why is Gotham so populated when there is a new psychopathic murderer every other week? A man dressed in a batsuit defending the city? A running theme of poison being dropped from blimps flying over? Who knows. Maybe it’s the charm.

Jason never had the chance to graduate, because, well, he died. You were worried that he’d be uncomfortable at the reunion, him being reminded of things he missed out on. But you were also hopeful that this would give him the chance to experience things he never got to. Now here you stood, watching your husband down 3 crab cakes all at once.  There was nothing you could do other than stand there and stare in disbelief; not at his immaturity, but at the size his throat must be to be able to eat so much at once. “Huh,” you wondered aloud.

Leaving your husband at the buffet, you wandered off to the center of socialization in the room hoping to find some old friends. You met with some old buddies, sharing information about your lives nowadays. The most interesting part of the reunion thus far was the people who seemed to be background characters in highschool; npc’s. It was amazing to see people you disregarded along the way without trying to; whether it was the girl who sat behind you in biology or the guy you’d make awkward eye contact with in the halls every now and then, you’d forgotten that they were living people, too. Now the boy who swallowed an eraser back in sophomore year was a doctor. The girl who got bullied for being a nerd was a renowned writer. Straying away towards the walls, watching people interact, you stood with a glass of soda in deep thoughts. 

Until you got interrupted.

“Y/n? Is that really you?” an obnoxiously high voice approached you. Turning, you saw the most dreadful glimpse of the night; your ex-boyfriend, Blake, and on his right arm, the girl he cheated on you with in senior year, Kennedy. You could already feel yourself turning nauseous from the sight.

“Wow! It is her!” Blake jeered.

“Hey,” you tried to say pleasantly, but it came out as more of a cry for help.

“I saw you standing over here all alone, staring at everyone having all this fun- I figured you needed some company!” Kennedy taunted in her grating voice.

“Actually, I-”

“No need to explain yourself, snookie bear,” Blake smirked. You could feel your back tense at the pet name he used to call you even though you told him how much you hated it. “We just wanted to tell you that Kennedy and I,” Blake squeezed his partners waist, “Are getting married next weekend in Bel-Air!” Kennedy squealed and held out her hand, displaying her big diamond ring.

“Um, congratulations guys. That’s great. I didn’t expect either of you to last this long. As a matter of fact, I thought I heard that the two of you broke up a few years ago,” You smiled at them, mockingly. There were rumours that he had cheated on her with her sister. 

“We moved past that,” Kennedy’s smile faded, “Now we are happy together. That’s all that matters.”

“Hey, three’s company,” You shrugged and took a sip of your soda, “I have to g-” You were interrupted by an arm slipping around your waist, and the sudden appearance of a body emerging next to you. Jason. You looked back to the distasteful couple in front of you, and there was nothing you wished for more in that moment than a camera. Jason towered over Blake, and even Kennedy, who was in heels. He casted a shadow over their boastful attitudes, too.

“Hi,” Jason waved at them.

“Who’s this?” Blake’s demeanor changed immediately.

“This is my husband, Jason. Jason, this is Blake and Kennedy,” you introduced everybody to each other. Jason must have remembered their names from your stories, because his face dropped the moment you said them.

Blake sheepishly held out his hand towards Jason, who seemed to contemplate accepting it or not. He did though, and he certainly asserted his dominance by clutching Blake’s hand so hard that you could hear something crack. He finally let go, and Blake softly whimpered and held his hand, clearly in pain. 

His fiance ignored him, though. “Why, I didn’t realize you were married,” Kennedy held out her right hand, putting her left one, with the ring, behind her back. Jason graciously accepted the handshake, “Nice to meet you. I like your eyes, the blue really stands out.” Kennedy blushed at the compliment and flashed a smile. “The shade of them doesn’t help you look any less dead inside, though,” Jason quipped and let go of her hand.

“My husband and I have to go now,” you broke the awkward silence, “It’s been so great seeing the two of you again. I hope you find happiness with your new wife- and her sister.”

You held onto Jason’s arm and walked away. “Do you wanna dance?” Jason asked, trying to ease your apprehension.

“Not really, I just wanna go home now,” You shrugged.

“Fair enough,” Jason said before stopping at the buffet table again, stuffing some hors d’oeuvres into his pants pockets. 

“You can’t possibly be serious,” you shook your head and smiled at his foolishness.

“One thing I learned on the streets is that you always take free food no matter what. I’m not passing up these fancy ass snacks.”

_________

Later on, you sat on the couch with Jason while watching television. He pulled shrimp out of his pocket and munched on it unwittingly. Earlier he offered you a fancy cheese from his left pocket, but you declined. 

Now you were just bummed out that the reunion ended up being a letdown, and Jason took notice. He just wasn’t sure how to go about making you feel better other than offering you pocket cheese. 

You laid and admired his features as he ate another shrimp, and then watched as his eyes flickered. You knew that face. He had an idea. He grabbed the remote and turned the T.V. to one of those strange music channels that played romantic piano. Then, he got up and held his hand out to you, “May I have this dance?” he bowed to you.

“Huh?”

“Just go with it,” he exhaled.

“Okay,” you took his hand and he pulled you up.

He awkwardly rested one hand on the small of your back and held the other one out dramatically, like a ballroom dancer. “Trust me, I’m a professional,” he beamed.

The two of you did a dreadful ballroom dance in the middle of the living room, in your pajamas. It was so much better than the reunion had been. All that was there were things of the past, but all that matters now is fooling around with the guy you love to the sound of uncopyrighted music on the T.V.

masterlist

[fleur-de-leap]

Too Old For This

Summary: Double date time! FlashFlood (Oleda x Flash) and ArcticBat ( @duchess-winter‘s oc Anya x Batman) going to a club to get some info. This is longer than I’m used to, and could have been a LOT longer, but I was working on it in spurts over a few days and got kinda tired of it so...yeah

Also, outfits were inspired by this cool shop on Etsy, CoquetryClothing!

“I have...so many regrets right now.” Bruce grumbled, following his fellow League Members into the loud building they’d likely spend at least a few hours within. He did not want to be here at all, wanted nothing to do with this… but they’re trying to get information on a suspect who is known to frequent this location, and instead of using his typical tactics, he was…. Convinced, to try and blend in a little more. 

Which is how he found himself in a club full of people younger than himself, in admittedly less clothing, let alone armor, than felt comfortable. Adjusting the borderline mesh shirt he was wearing, the only saving graces being that it was long sleeve, black, and he had been allowed to wear a blank tank top underneath that was designed with a hood, as strange as the design choice was. Taking a small step to the side to let the others in as he took in his surroundings, trying to adjust to the volume and flashing lights, he kept his head down some with the hood up in attempts to hide his face. While they weren’t in Gotham anymore, he was still recognizable and was trying to blend in somewhat. 

Anya came in after him, a small giggle coming from her that Bruce still picked up on despite everything else, feeling some of the tension leave his muscles. “It’s not that bad. Might even do you some good, to do some recon amongst the people instead of from the shadows.” She retorted to his earlier complaint, gently resting a hand on his arm in an attempt to calm him. 

At the very least, she succeeded in distracting him. She looked absolutely wonderful tonight, even if it wasn’t her typical clothing. A black crop top with a small window and silver trim, and a silver high-low skirt that had so much glitter that it caught every small shift… Bruce wasn’t oblivious to the fact she had worn black as an homage to him and his Batsuit. It was flattering. 

However, his admiration of how gorgeous she was was interrupted by Wally and Daniella following in behind them, Wally having the guts to put an arm around Bruce’s neck and giving him a dazzling grin that could rival his own when he is posing for pictures. “Relaaax, it’ll be fine! Might help you loosen up some too.” He teased, but was quick to let go in favor of spreading his arms out and upward, clearly ‘at home’ here. The music was fast paced, and seemed just his style. Speaking of his style, apparently it doesn’t include ‘subtlety’, based on the fact he’s wearing a black shirt with blue and yellow lightning streaking across it that practically glowed under the club’s lights. Pairing that with a pair of black jeans and red sneakers, anyone with a lick of sense would be able to figure out who he was. 

Daniella rolled her eyes but beamed happily as she followed Wally, seeming just as in her element as him. “Oh, be nice Wally.” She scolded playfully, even lightly slapping his arm. She didn’t really seem to understand subtlety either, however she seemed to get the memo about color coordinating to some degree. She had on a red cropped hoodie with a shimmery gold interior, an obvious homage to Wally’s Flash costume. She had on dark red shorts but with a skirt that matched Wally’s shirt, black with blue and yellow lightning. And heels that could probably kill a man with one good kick, but other than that they seemed impractical. She seemed to know what she was doing, though. 

“While it’s great that we get to check out someplace we can actually enjoy, we’re still on a mission. Keep an eye out for our thief, or any information on him we can get.” She reminded, glancing around the room but already swaying to the music. She was absolutely used to this. 

“I call checking the dance floor!” Wally shouted over the music, already rushing off towards it as quickly as he could without his superspeed. While he may not be the most mature member of the League, he was thankfully good about not using his powers when not in his suit. 

“I’m not letting you have all the fun!” Daniella called after recovering from her surprise, laughing and chasing after him with surprising ease. Batman had to admire women and their ability to maintain their balance on the tips of their toes like that…

Anya was still by his side though, clearly amused by the younger heroes’ antics. “Well Bruce, where do you want to start? Trying to sneak your way to VIP?” She suggested, mimicking him in his survey of the room while avoiding having anyone bump into them by keeping against a wall for now. 

“Honestly, I might go check the bar first. Bartenders pick up more information than you might expect with how busy they are… And I can already tell I’m going to need a drink to survive the night.” He grumbled, giving her hand a small squeeze before letting go and heading that way. Anya was free to do as she pleased, of course, as he had no intention of dragging her around with him. 

Anya took advantage of this freedom by going to do as she had suggested, trying to see if she could flirt some information out of the VIP section about their target. While she may not be happy to be somewhere so… busy, she knew that it was necessary, and thus was able to find the energy to power through. Figuratively, of course. 

After making sure she was at least decently covered, she went up to the guards of the VIP section, batting her eyelashes and trying to play the ‘innocent’ card. 

“Excuse me… I’m trying to find someone, and I was hoping you could help me…” She started, not intimidated in the slightest by the men. Without giving them time to respond, she continued to describe their target. “About yay tall, blonde, brown eyes?” She tried, giving them a hopeful look. 

However, the guards shook their head and asked her to please leave, or present a VIP pass. Well… that was a bust, for now at least. She can try again a bit later, and keep an eye on the area. For now she wandered around some, keeping nearby. She spotted a flash of Wally’s red hair, making her snicker softly. Who knew he could dance?

Wally and Dani had worked their way towards the center of the dance floor, moving with ease amongst the sea of bodies, blending in with the crowd if you weren’t looking specifically for them. Their dancing styles were different, Wally’s focusing on foot work while Dani’s used her whole body, but they worked so well together. It made sense why they gravitated towards each other. Thankfully, they were still on task despite having the time of their lives. Wally was peeking over the top of the crowd and occasionally bent down near someone to ask if they had seen his friend, claiming to have lost track of him, using the same description that Anya had. Dani had to rely more on the asking aspect, smoothly working her way through the crowd as she searched for her ‘friend’, but the two of them were never more than a few people apart. Always within sight of each other. Good. They could keep each other out of trouble. 

So Anya took to looking for Bruce, hoping he was making better progress than they were. He was sitting at the bar already, drink in hand but just… staring at it. That’s not a good sign… Time to see why Bruce was brooding this time. 

Weaving her way through the people of various levels of intoxication, she took a seat on the empty stool next to Bruce, successfully snapping him out of his train of thought. 

“Are you alright?” She asked him softly, leaning closer to make sure he heard nonetheless. Getting a nod in response, she furrowed her eyebrows skeptically before mimicking the famous “Bruce Brood.” Or at least… that’s what she calls it in her head. The expression he makes when he’s thinking really hard about something that’s bothering him, but he doesn’t want to talk about it. Furrowed brows and a deep frown that bordered on a pout, hunched shoulders and arms crossed on the table. 

Feeling his shoulders shaking slightly before even realizing he was chuckling, Bruce shook his head in amusement with a small smirk. “I’m fine, honest. Just wondering how it seems like no one here recognizes our thief… it’s frustrating.” He admitted, his calmer expression replaced by the Bruce Brood again. 

Anya let her own expression relax to her natural thoughtful expression. “Perhaps the lighting makes it harder… or they don’t pay attention to appearances, and focus on names or actions?” She suggested, looking to him to see if he thought it was possible or not. 

“Maybe… but in this kind of place, you’d think people would pay attention to appearances. And he frequents here… Our best option might be to try and wait for him to show up tonight, since he should… but I was hoping to get more information about him like this. Gossip, background, hobbies, interests, anything…” 

“Bruce, please… relax. We’re doing everything we can, but we always manage in the end. It’ll turn out ok. I don’t want you to go stressing yourself grey tonight.” 

The teasing earned her a snort of amusement and another head shake before Bruce took a big sip of whatever drink he had, looking at the glass for a moment before turning his attention to her. “Do you want anything?” 

Anya hummed in thought before nodding. A drink sounds good right about now, and then he won’t be drinking alone. When they flagged down the bartender, she ordered her drink just barely over the volume of the music. He seemed to get it however, nodding and set to putting it together for her. 

“Any idea if Wally and Daniella are having better luck than us?” Bruce asked after a moment, quirking an eyebrow as he focused on her again, taking another sip of his drink. He plans on making it last the entire night, because he doesn’t need to go getting himself drunk while on a mission. 

“Can’t tell. They’re having fun for sure, absolutely surrounded. I’m pretty sure they’re still on task, just enjoying it a little more than we have been.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Relax, Bruce. Let them have their fun. We’re still at the stage of the mission where it’s ok for them, and you know as well as I do that they can step up when they have to. They’re in their element, we can’t expect them to be completely serious. Plus that would just draw attention to them.”

“I know, I know…”

Anya laughed softly in amusement, leaning into his side for a moment. It was a small, brief sign of affection. But it was plenty enough for them right now, since they were out in public. 

After a moment of consideration, Anya got an idea that just might make tonight a little more bearable for the two of them. 

“How about a little deal?”

“A deal…?”

“Once we get done with this mission, we both go back to your place, and have our version of this. Our music, our pace.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, but just the thought of it released some tension from his muscles. Giving her an affectionate smile reserved just for her and finishing his drink much sooner than anticipated, he gave a definitive nod. 

“Deal.”

[northoftheroad]

Not worth the effort

Written for the DickandDamiweek 2019. Theme: Rain.

Rainwater puddles glistening in the cold light from the surrounding buildings. That was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. In the clear water, there were wisps of darkness – coloured by blood. His blood.

Damian shut his eyes and collected his thoughts. The man he had followed had managed to cut him in the thigh; he remembered that. Something was aching in his forehead, and there was a feeling of something warm and sticky in his face – perhaps blood from a wound, perhaps bleeding from his nose or mouth.

He was in no immediate danger. He would not bleed out from the cut; the blood hadn’t been running freely when he continued the pursuit, before he tried to make the jump between two industrial buildings but had failed to reach all the way, and tumbled down to the ground.

Of course, he was an expert in how to break a fall; but a hard impact been unavoidable and he had lost consciousness for a moment. Now he felt drained, his body a mass of pain, his head foggy while the blood was slowly seeping into the rainwater around him.

He would catch his breath and rest, just for a little while. As wet as he already were, another few minutes wouldn’t make a difference. Then he would force himself to rise and find his way back. Surely he would be able to walk, after the rest.

There was no alternative. Damian was fairly certain the communications device in his belt had been destroyed in the fall. It would be difficult for his associate to locate him.

He felt a nagging doubt that Grayson would even make much of an effort to find him. The man’s life would be simpler if he could offer Drake the position of Robin back, after all.

The newly minted Red Robin had clearly shown his opposition to being forced to leave the junior position in the partnership that was Batman and Robin. Grayson would be happy to get a chance to mend that bridge… He would get the opportunity to work with someone he knew and trusted – and loved.

He felt a nagging doubt that he was worth the stand-in Batman’s effort, too. He had made mistakes, after all. Being overconfident, distracted, let himself be wounded and, finally, let his prey get away from him.

Father would be disappointed. He could imagine the man’s face, frowning with those well-known furrows between the eyebrows and tightness around the mouth.

And Mother… She had wanted him to learn from his father and grow into a worthy heir. Instead, he had lost Father and could not even keep up with the circus boy that was Wayne’s first chosen heir.

Yes, Mother would be disappointed, too.

No one would question if Grayson found him too late. It wasn’t the first time the new Robin had slipped away to challenge the Gotham underground, after all, and been close to death thanks to his impulsive actions.

No one would question if Grayson didn’t hurry.

He never even knew that the man was approaching over the rooftops. Not until the swooshing sound of a cape traversing air reached his ears and seconds later, the new Batman made a soft landing some yards in front of him.

Damn the man; he could have landed further away, to avoid those extra water drops to splash over him. But Damian pressed his mouth shut and didn’t speak. Neither did his mentor, who swiftly moved to Damian’s side and crouched.

The hands of the new Batman felt all over Damian’s body, checking for injuries. Seemingly satisfied, the man withdrew his hands for a few seconds. Damian experienced a strange feeling of loss, but then he felt a wet gauntlet on the top of his head and a voice, much too gentle to come from the cowled head, asked, “How do you feel, Robin? Do you think it’s safe to move you? I can’t find any injuries that should prevent it, but you know best.”

Damian hesitated for a second; then he slowly and carefully tried to move one part of his body after the other. He had a headache, and his back hurt where he had landed, the knife wound in his thigh pulsated in pain and the possible cut in his forehead was stinging. But he could feel all his limbs, and he did not think he had any broken bones.

“It is safe,” he decided, whispering.

Grayson's hand moved a bit on top of Damian's head, and he replied in a low voice, “Good. Up you go, then,” before picking him up. His mentor moved him around in his arms until Damian was settled in what the man probably deemed as comfortable a position as possible, with his head resting in the crock of the man's neck.

“Okay there?”

He clicked his tongue in reply to the stupid question. Of course, it wasn’t okay – he had failed, he was sore all over and felt acute pain in several body parts, and now he had to suffer the indignity of being carried like a baby. But he would endure and come back stronger and better…

Grayson seemed to interpret the sound as a go-ahead and started walking. Damian concentrated on keeping as still as possible and tried to fix his thoughts on his mistakes and how he could learn from them. He wanted to avoid lingering on the feeling of being curled up in his new guardian’s arms or thinking about the inappropriate scolding that the man was surely going to give him once he was home and deemed safe.

But when they closed on the Batmobile, he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

“How did you find me?”

The man in the Batsuit chuckled – Damian could feel the puffs of air on his scalp. It was an odd sound coming from someone in the guise of The Dark Knight.

“Batman never reveals where he hides all his trackers, Robin. I’ve learned that the hard way.”

Damian knew he should be affronted. That he should raise objections to being tracked like a pet, deemed too irresponsible to be left without supervision.

To his shame, the feeling that first crossed his mind first was relief. Relief that Grayson thought he was worthy of keeping an eye on.

That his Batman wanted to protect him.

[kenzie-kitty]

Enemies? Part 2 -Batman/Joker

Part 2 of “Enemies?”, which was posted not too long before this.

Definitely a trigger warning for a suicide attempt in this part :/

Part 1 is here

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was evening in Gotham, raining as usual, and the sun was setting slowly behind the tall buildings. The only strange thing about the night was that it was the end to a relatively uneventful day; the bank robbery was the only crime that had happened, and no one had actually gotten hurt.

Joker wasn’t feeling up for any other adventures at the moment, and he doubted he would any time soon. He considered taking off on an early retirement, but he’d come to actually like Gotham and the people in it. Specifically one person.

As he wasn’t doing anything illegal, he chose to go for a walk; he loved the smell of gasoline and smoke that had permeated the joke shop due to his arrival, but city-polluted fresh air was just as great. The streets were deserted, as they generally were in the southern side of the city, so Joker didn’t have any issues while he strolled through the cracked streets. His mind kept going back to his Dark Knight, the man who had stolen his heart without even knowing it. He couldn’t help but give himself the tiniest slice of hope that they’d end up together; he wanted desperately to know the Bat inside and out.

‘Don’t be stupid, clown. He’s a hero, you’re a villain; you’ll never be together. He’s a million times too good for you,’ his mind taunted him, slashing at his emotions with mental knives. He argued back and forth with the harsh little voice, eventually giving in and agreeing with it. He even started to join it.

His distracted mind was the reason he didn’t see the dark shape coming at him from his side.

~~~~~~~~~

Bruce, now in his Batsuit, made a quick trip to the police station as soon as the sun began to sink. He’d wanted to know more about the robbery, surprised to hear that Joker hadn’t made his usual jests or even shown his face. Come to think of it, the clown had been acting stranger than usual for the past couple months; Batman had heard him more than once muttering to himself, and he thought he’d heard the clown say something about a dark night.

Before he left the station, Gordon pulled him aside into the lockup.

“Listen, Batman. We’ve all noticed how you and Joker seem more… friendly than you used to, and we’ve kinda found that if we do as he says most people survive. So, uhm, we still have his coat and weapons from yesterday and I thought I’d give them to you to get back to him,” Gordon explained, handing Batman the dirty purple coat and a small shoebox filled with the aforementioned weapons.

“We aren’t friends. He doesn’t have friends. He’s just calmed down a bit, and I’m taking advantage of the down-time,” Batman claimed, taking the Joker’s belongings. He left the station and climbed onto his bike, speeding off in the direction of the bakery he’d dropped his clown off at the night before.

‘There I go again, calling him my clown,’ he thought, getting more and more annoyed at himself. He’d even asked Alfred about the food, but nothing sounded like it would’ve caused this. Besides, it would’ve stopped by this point had it been the food.

The bakery came into view and Batman parked in the shadows between it and its neighbor. Looking in one of the broken windows, he could see that no one had so much as touched anything inside recently; he wasn’t surprised he’d been mislead, Joker was becoming less hostile but he wasn’t getting any dumber.

He decided to walk around in case he could find any semblance of life in the dirtier side of the city. It didn’t take long for him to hear the distracted mutters of the Joker, nor did he have to look far to figure out where the costumed man was. He saw the green hair first, glowing slightly neon in the light of a lamp, and then the greasepaint came into view. Batman had to smirk at the way Joker would subconsciously flick the strands of hair from his face.

It was then that he noticed the coat he was wearing, identical to the one he’d left at the police station. He almost laughed aloud at the thought that the Joker had a closet full of identical outfits; he managed to achieve a blank look on his face before he moved toward his clown. ‘Stop calling him that,’ came the little voice again, but he ignored it.

As he got closer to Joker, he heard parts of what he was muttering. “Stupid clown… never be together… too good for you… never deserve his love… might as well die…” He suddenly became concerned for Joker, although he had no idea who or what he was thinking about. He closed the distance between them and shoved the clown into an alleyway, holding him against the wall with his hands over his head. For a moment, Joker struggled, not knowing for sure who was holding him down; the second he realised it was the Bat, he calmed down and sighed.

“If this is about the bank, it was because I got… bored,” Joker claimed, an unreadable look on his face.

“You’ve been awfully calm lately,” Batman accused, pushing his other questions to the end of his list. “What are you planning?”

“Do I really look like a guy with a plan?” Joker retorted immediately. “No, I’m just… letting everyone get used to the silence before I hit them with a big surprise.”

Batman narrowed his eyes at his clown, pressing Joker’s wrists together in his one hand as he began to struggle slightly. He couldn’t help but notice the lean yet muscular body hidden by the layers of tailored fabric, and the full lips underneath the bright red greasepaint. He mentally shook his head to refocus and continued the conversation.

“You left your things at the police station.”

Joker shrugged. “Yeah, but I know a good tailor and I have many more weapons than where those came from,” he smirked and winked at the Bat.

Batman kept his face straight as he revealed the coat and shoebox with his free hand. “Now you have the original coat and more weapons. Gordon wanted rid of them,” he supplied the explanation before Joker could ask; he was always doing that, giving the explanation the second he assumed his clown would ask. ‘Stop calling him yours, Wayne! He���s not, he’d probably rather be with Dent than you.’ He once again pushed down the voice.

“Why give them back when you know I’ll probably just cause more damage with them?”

Batman shrugged, “They’re yours and Gordon doesn’t want them. Neither do I.” He mentally punched the voice telling him he was lying about not wanting them, if only just to have a piece of the clown with him.

Joker stared at him for a heartbeat, suspicion clear in his eyes, before nodding slowly. “Well, I can’t take them from you with my hands caught above my head, now can I?”

Batman grunted and released one of his hands, quickly tightening his grip on the other to keep Joker where he was. The clown grabbed his things, first putting the coat over his arm then holding the box in his hand. “Uh, thanks,” he muttered, looking away from the caped vigilante and out into the dark street.

“I have more questions,” Batman informed, gaining back his clown’s attention. Joker nodded and put on his normal bored expression. “Ask away,” Joker motioned for him to continue with his freed hand, the weapons in the box sliding around making clicking sounds as they hit each other.

“Why steal money when you’ve said yourself that it’s not about the money,” Batman asked, dark eyes narrowing. Everybody had wondered it, constantly saying that he was contradicting himself.

Joker sighed in slight annoyance. ‘No one ever listens!’ His verbal replay showed he was becoming tired of answering the question. “It isn’t about the money, not for me. But, to everyone else, it is! See, people think that it’s money that can make them happy, but in reality it’s anything else. Friends, adventures, excitement, love! That’s what brings happiness; not money.”

Batman was taken aback by the answer. He didn’t think his clown- this mass murdering, bank robbing clown- was so sentimental. He then had to wonder if Joker had these things; he knew his clown had his own adventures and excitement, but friends and love? Everyone in the city was awaiting the day they’d see the clown’s corpse on TV as they danced around it.

“How’d you come up with that?”

Joker shrugged as best he could with one arm still extended above his head, slightly painfully he might add, and looked away from his Bat again. “Let’s just say it, uh, came to me in a dream,” he jested quietly, licking one of the scars inside his cheek. He was trying his hardest (ha, hardest) to ignore the way his Bat’s body was pressing against him; there was hardly any space between them. He tried to figure out a way to get out of his Knight’s grip, or at the very least put a small amount of space between them.

“Would you, uh, mind not standing so close to me? I’d rather not be pressed against you,” Joker lied. He internally winced when he noticed that he hadn’t made that statement sound anything close to being the truth.

Batman heard the lie in Joker’s words, though his mind tried to tell him he was imagining things. ‘Joker couldn’t possibly feel anything close to even liking me. He just wants to play mind games, just like he always does, don’t pay any attention to what he wants.’ The Bat ignored the Joker’s request and asked yet another question. “What’s the next big surprise?”

Joker found it increasingly more difficult to concentrate, especially when Batman repositioned his feet to find a more comfortable stance and inadvertently brushed harshly against Joker’s hips. Joker took slow, calming breaths to try to cool himself down, not hearing Batman’s question as he did so.

“Joker, answer the question,” Batman growled, surprised he was able to hide his reaction to accidentally brushing against his clown’s hips. Joker wasn’t responding and Batman could see that something had made him uncomfortable. ‘No, he can’t be… He’s just playing around,’ his brain insisted even as Batman could see a flash of… arousal? flash through his clown’s eyes.

“Joker?”

Joker blinked, finally calm enough to realise that his Knight was staring at him suspiciously through his mask’s eye holes. He cleared his throat and managed a smile. “Heh, gotcha!” He shouted weakly, somehow knowing his Bat wouldn’t be convinced. He had to get away before he said anything more condemning. “I, uhm, just realised that I, uh, left my oven on,” he smirked nervously before somehow wriggling out of his Bat’s grip and taking off down the road.

He ran fast, not caring how awkwardly tight his pants had gotten; he had to make it back to the joke shop without further stalling. He was close to his hideout when he was again shoved into a wall in an alley by his Knight.

“Oh, hello. So we meet again, Dark Knight,” he greeted as sarcastically as he could to cover his arousal. The fact that he’d been forcefully slammed into a wall (twice) was not helping.

“What are you hiding, Joker,” Batman growled, hoping to get the answer to the underlying question. It suddenly occurred to him what Joker had called him. ‘Dark Knight? He’d been muttering about a dark knight for days, could he have meant… me?’

“N-nothing, I have nothing to hide. Well, I mean, I do but nothing actually of concern to you,” Joker mentally cursed himself as he managed to somehow sound more suspicious.

“What did you call me?”

Joker’s paint covered eyebrows knitted together at the question. He’d been expecting something more… aggressive to follow his statement. “W-what do you, uh, mean?”

“You called me ‘Dark Knight’,” Batman clarified. “Why?”

Joker mentally stumbled for an answer that wouldn’t reveal how he felt; he couldn’t think of a believable reason to call him that, not one that wouldn’t bring the expectation of further explanation. He swallowed thickly, looking everywhere except his Dark Knight. He hadn’t even realised he’d called him that out loud, and he certainly hadn’t been wanting to do so.

“You’re not answering,” Batman growled. Joker couldn’t help but be aroused by the deep sound of the false voice and the feeling of being pressed against by the man who haunted his mind day and night. He knew that if his Bat moved his leg even slightly to the left he’d be able to feel Joker’s erection through both their layers of clothing. He had to distract the masked vigilante somehow and run; he didn’t want to hurt him, he’d done enough of that already. So he went with the next thing he thought of.

Batman’s eyes widened as his clown’s painted face was suddenly closer, their lips forced together with the surprisingly strong hand of the clown. He stood there, head stooped down in their kiss, as Joker let out a happy sounding hum. Then, as quickly as it had happened, the kiss stopped. Batman opened his eyes, although he wasn’t sure when they had closed, to see an empty space in front of him.

Joker was gone, but his paint was on Batman’s face as the only evidence he’d been there in the first place.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Joker slammed the joke shop’s door closed and leaned back against it, sliding down to sit on the floor. He felt the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. ‘Why did I do that?! He knows… He fucking knows!’

His head fell forward into his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. He tried to hold back the tears, knowing they’d lead to sobs; he hadn’t cried in years and knew he wouldn’t be able to handle himself if he started now. The salty liquid streaming down his face, creating tracks in his makeup that was already smearing off, had its own ideas. His shoulders shook as he realised he’d made a mistake by letting himself feel anything for his… the Batman.

He stood suddenly, slamming his fist backward into the wooden door and ignoring the sting in his hand as he walked into the back room he’d made into his bedroom. He found the bottle of vodka he’d taken from a gas station a couple days ago and twisted the cap off. Taking a long swig from it, he fell back onto his small bed and let sad sleep take over.

~~~~~~~~~

Bruce pulled the last of his costume off and tossed it to the ground of the Batcave. He’d changed into his normal clothing before he remembered the greasepaint that was still on and around his mouth. He pressed two fingers against his lips and pulled them away to see them covered in red and white paint. He wiped the last of it off his face with his black shirtsleeve and exited his secret hideout. He headed home to his penthouse, hoping to be able to think over his clown’s actions.

~~~~~~~~~~

Time had passed since their kiss, ten hours to be exact. Joker hadn’t left his hideout in that time, instead spending the day sitting on his bed unmoving. His minions had knocked on the door plenty of times but left believing he wasn’t there; he knew at some point they’d either enter to check on him or completely leave him be, but he didn’t care. Caring had been what hurt him in the first place. It always did.

He vaguely noticed the sun setting and the room becoming darker as time slipped deeper into the night. He supposed he should get up and eat or drink something before he passed out, but couldn’t bring himself to move until he decided to do something to get rid of his feelings.

He stood shakily and walked slowly to the dingy bathroom. His reflection showed a tired man with more tanned skin showing than greasepaint and dark rings under his eyes. The green in his hair was fading, but he didn’t have the energy to re-dye it. Looking away from the grimy mirror, he picked up the three shallow jars of his makeup.

He opened the first jar to see pasty white cream that he knew would be cold on his warm skin. He carefully slathered it over his face, leaving the areas around his eyes, mouth and scars clean of white as he knew they’d be covered in their own designated colors. Closing that jar, he twisted open the jar of black, seeing inky darkness as he did so. His fingers dipped inside and brought his covered fingers to his eyes. He smeared it over the lids, making sure no skin was showing through.

The red was always last, and he made sure to wipe the white and black residue off his fingers before he coated them in the crimson paint. He covered his lips first, pushing his thoughts of Batman’s soft lips as far from his mind as he could; he knew any tears would ruin the perfected makeup. His fingers painted the red over his scars and he shuddered slightly as he felt the jagged edges.

He stepped out of the bathroom and pulled on his purple coat, the one his Bat had brought back to him, feeling the familiar slight bulge of his favorite blade in his pocket. Sighing and rolling his shoulders back in a move of decision, he left the joke shop, thinking it would be his last time seeing the old building.

~~~~~~~~~~~ (Trigger warning for this upcoming part)

Bruce was back in his Batsuit as he stood at the top of one of the many skyscrapers of Gotham. The sun had set once again as he stood watching over his city. Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice come over the radio waves through the earpiece in his mask.

“Batman, I know you’re listening to this and even if you, uh, aren’t, you’ll hear it later,” Joker’s voice said quietly. He sounded… different; there was a twinge of pain in his nasally voice. “I, uh, I just want to say that we’ve had a good run, you and I. But, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. I suppose I should resort back to my more normal self and give you a time frame to find your, uh, victim. So, you have five minutes until they’re… dead.”

Batman immediately jumped down from the building, using his suit’s wings to guide him away from the ground and across the sky; Alfred, who had been listening, used the signal to pinpoint the location of the voice. It took only a minute and a half for Batman to find the place; Joker was at the top of one of the largest skyscrapers in the city. And he was alone.

The Bat quickly used his Bat hook to scale the building, leaving him with only a minute left to figure out his clown’s plans. The clown in question had moved to the opposite end of the roof and was standing on the edge of the roof, his back to the vigilante.

“You found me,” he halfheartedly congratulated him, his shoulders slouched as he stared down to the ground.

“Who’s the victim?” Batman questioned, worriedly hoping he wouldn’t get the answer he was thinking. Hope was not on his side.

“Don’t you get it, Dark Knight? It’s me!” Joker shouted suddenly, swaying forward concerningly. He glanced at the purple watch he had around his wrist to see that he had ten seconds left. He turned, and what Batman saw made him gasp.

Those green eyes that were usually filled with anger and murder were now filled with sadness and tears. His makeup, which had obviously been applied with great care, now had streaks on the cheeks. A gust of wind blew his coat back to reveal his favorite suit, the one with the metallic blue, hexagonal patterned dress shirt, green vest, purple jacket, and purple slacks. He had a light green pocket square in the jacket’s breast pocket and shining green cufflinks on the sleeves that peeked out from under his coat’s sleeves. He was dressed how he wanted to be remembered; as the Clown Prince of Crime.

“Joker… You don’t want to do this,” Batman reasoned, taking a step toward him.

Five seconds.

“Yeah, I, uh, really do,” Joker confirmed quietly, edging his feet back. “And you won’t stop me. Because this city would condemn you for saving the terrorist clown.”

Three seconds.

“I’ll save you because no one deserves to die, especially not like this. Especially not you,” Batman insisted, taking two more steps forward.

One second.

Joker gave what he thought would be his last smile. “Goodbye, my Dark Knight.”

He felt the upward draft hit him hard as he fell backward off the building; his wavy hair flew up along the sides of his painted face and his coat was plastered against his back. He knew more tears were leaking out of his eyes, but he didn’t care; he closed his eyes against them and waited for his body to hit the ground and blackness to take over.

He must have been halfway to the ground when something wrapped around his ankle and stopped his fall. ‘No! No, no, no, no, no! He’s not supposed to save me! He can’t save me! We’re enemies, and it isn’t even like he’s breaking his rule! I was killing myself!’ He mentally screamed at his Bat as he was lifted back up to the roof. His back hit the side of the building every so often, but he barely felt it as the (second) bottle of vodka he’d downed merely fifteen minutes ago finally numbed his body.

“You,” he muttered with depressed annoyance as he was pulled over the edge and set down in a sitting position. “You just couldn’t let me die. Why not?! Huh?! I have nothing left to live for, Batsy! You’re the only one who’s willing to save me, and now it’s for no real reason. You wouldn’t have broken your rule, I was jumping on my own! Why can’t you just forg-”

His depressed speech was suddenly cut off as his lips were covered by Batman’s. Shocked, he froze, not sure if this was some sick trick to just shut him up or if it was real. He couldn’t sit still for long, however, and he leaned into his Bat’s chest, returning the kiss wholeheartedly as he placed his hands lightly on his chestplate. He felt as Batman grinned against his lips and couldn’t help but pull away to see the rare sight.

Batman was still smiling as his clown pulled away; he could accept that he was in love with the murderer and that the murderer was in love with him.

Joker smiled back at his Dark Knight, then looked away as he realised he’d probably never get anything like this again. I mean, they were enemies. Right?

“Hey, look at me,” a smooth voice said. Joker knew it had been his Bat, but it wasn’t gravelly; it was familiar, though he didn’t know why. Looking up, confused, he opened his mouth to speak but was stopped by a gloved finger.

“Listen, Joker,” he started. Joker braced himself for the next words he knew he would hear. “I think I should get you off of this building just in case you got physically hurt or you decide to try again.”

Joker hadn’t been expecting that to be the next words, but he nodded. Batman lifted him with one arm before grabbing him around the waist. “Now, we could take the stairs, but it’s faster to fly,” the Bat smirked, giving his clown a slight squeezed before jumping off the building and using his free arm to guide them down. Joker felt the updraft of wind hit his face, but this time he wasn’t crying or falling. He was floating with a grin as he held onto his Bat’s arm.

They landed safely on their feet and Batman lead them to where his Bat Bike was waiting only a few blocks away. They hopped on, Batman in front and Joker on the back for the second time that week with his arms around his Bat’s waist, the dark cape being moved to the side. They sped off in the direction of the storage lot for Wayne Enterprises. Joker wondered what they were doing there when Batman likely knew where Joker was staying, but he didn’t say anything as he navigated inside the fenced in lot.

“Normally, I would’ve blindfolded you or something, but I have to doubt you’d do anything to hurt me at this point,” Batman informed him as he stopped before a group of large storage trailers. Joker was still getting used to the familiar smooth voice that was obviously the vigilante’s real voice.

“You could blindfold me anyway, I wouldn’t mind,” the clown teased, resting his painted chin on his Dark Knight’s shoulder. The latter glanced back with a smirk before slowly driving them forward and through the large door of one. The inside was dark for a split second before the floor began to drop down; Joker was amazed by how discreet the Batcave was made. No one would think to look in Wayne Enterprises.

It took only a moment for his amazement to be for the brightly lit, white room. He saw a desk covered with high-tech computers and televisions sitting in the center of the floor. To his right, a section of the wall rose up to reveal a dark garage-type space and he saw his Bat rolling his bike into the space before closing it.

“Alright, c’mere. I have to check for wounds, so take off your coat and jacket,” Batman instructed, motioning for Joker to follow him and sit at the desk. Joker did as he was told and looked around as Batman placed his two clothing items at the empty end of the desk. “Your shirt will have to come off, as well, so I can actually see if there are wounds,” he teased gently, his lips hovering just next to Joker’s ear.

The makeup-covered man felt a small shiver traveled up his spine as he unbuttoned his flashy shirt and folded it sloppily in his lap. The vodka was wearing off and he could feel fresh bruises on his back and a slight headache was pounding in his head.

“No bleeding, so that’s good,” Batman murmured as his fingers slid lightly around his clown’s back. He was shocked into momentary silence to see scars scattered across his skin, and that was only his back; he had to wonder what -or who- had happened to this man, besides himself. He stepped slightly over to Joker’s side to check his arms and head for any wounds he might have overlooked. There were less scars on Joker’s biceps, but the few that were there looked to be painful.

“What’s the diagnosis, Doc?” Joker jested quietly, feeling the slight sensation of bare hands brushing over his skin. He suppressed another shiver as he realised his Bat was examining his other scars, the ones he could keep hidden. “I know it, uh, looks gruesome,” he swallowed quietly, pulling his arms quickly through the sleeves of his shirt and redoing the buttons.

“They suit you, Mr. Puts-his-own-life-in-danger-so-many-times-I’m-amazed-you’re-still-alive,” his Bat joked, resting his forearms over Joker’s shoulders.

Joker snorted but remained quiet as he leaned back into the armored chest of his Bat. He froze as the entrance opened again; his Bat stood up straight and blocked the view of his clown from the arriving newcomer.

“Alfred, how good to see you,” Batman greeted in his false voice. Joker heard quiet footsteps coming closer and he couldn’t help but panic a little as he thought of what this Alfred would think. ‘Oh, fuck! What if he’s already in a relationship with this guy?’

“Well, I didn’t see you back at the pe-”

“I’ve been busy,” Batman interrupted, gaining a suspicious look from his elderly butler. He motioned with his head that he had someone here, but didn’t move to reveal who it was just yet. “You remember when I had you look for where the Joker was? Well… Found ‘im!” His false voice had gone back to his normal one as he forced Joker’s chair around and moved to stand beside him as his clown waved nervously at the old butler.

“Uh, hi,” Joker greeted slowly, looking at his Bat and back to the nicely dressed, older British man a few times.

Alfred stood looking at the two for a heartbeat before he addressed his master. “If you’re going to bring you boyfriend to you cave, you could at least put a sock on the pod’s door,” he teased, giving Batman a smirk.

The caped man was stunned into silence by the statement as Joker laughed incredulously; the Bat smacked his shoulder playfully, causing his clown to let out an amused “Ow.”

Alfred shook his head and turned back to exit  the cave, muttering something about young love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okie, so I’m gonna post the rest in a final post a.k.a. Part 3

I hope if you’ve made it this far you’re enjoying this. I’m honestly feeling giddy like I did when this was first written, so I hope it’s well received.

Please don’t copyright, it would be super mean.

[tenitchyfingers]

so currently my top 10 superhero movies list is:

Black Panther (the one true, undisputed king of all superhero flicks with the best antagonist in any superhero movie to date, followed only by the Vulture and Obadiah Stane - I like Obadiah because he didn’t fucking whine about how mean the protag is and didn’t try to justify himself, he’s a ruthlessly evil motherfucker and he embraces it fully AND THAT’S THE KIND OF VILLAINS I LOVE-, every other goddamn antagonist is a completely forgettable, annoying cardboard figurine that’s frankly interchangeable one with the other) (also it doesn’t hurt that Killmonger REALLY had a point and I found myself actually rooting for him too which was the only time a superhero movie had me morally conflicted)

Iron Man 1 and 3 sharing the spot (used to be number 1 before BP came out)

Deadpool 2 (fucking come on this movie was EPIC fun and honestly I can’t find flaws in it, it’s just I’m way more emotionally invested in the previous ones)

Thor 1 and Ragnarok (1 because I loved the directing and 3 because WE ALL KNOW WHY AND I KNOW YOU LOVED IT TOO)

Guardians of the Galaxy vol 1

The X-Men faves aka: X-Men 1-3 (because fuck you, that’s why, I love all of them) and Logan (damn it was so sad and gritty I almost forgot it’s technically a superhero movie but still man what a great movie). All in the same spot because they deserve it and I’m fond of all of them

Venom & Ant-Man, same spot because I love them for the same reasons (both are just fun, neither of them was pretending to be more than a boom boom bang bang action movie and both were entertaining which is what superhero movies are supposed to be)

Batman Forever LITERALLY FUCK! YOU! I WILL NEVER NOT LOVE VAL KILMER WITH EVERYTHING I HAVE AND ALSO UMMMM BATSUIT WITH NIPPLES YES THANK YOU 

the Spider-Man faves aka Amazing Spider-man 1 (I maintain that Andrew Garfield is my true Peter Parker and technically Spidey is my favorite superhero and has been since I was a child I COULD NOT LEAVE HIM OUT EVEN THOUGH THE MOVIE VERSES WERE MOSTLY SHITE) and Into The Spiderverse

Wonder Woman (it was great and I felt all fuzzy and empowered and also hell yea Gal Gadot... up to the final battle which was so disappointing and anti-climatic, and also FUCK that romance which was so forced I had to cringe at every scene they shared)

Aquaman is probably like... around the 15th position after Doctor Strange, GOTG vol 2, Spidey Homecoming, the first Avengers... which isn’t BAD, because I genuinely enjoyed all the movies listed up to here and I consider them all worthwhile, fun movie experiences so I’m not saying this is a bad movie because dear god did I see WAY worse in this genre and I would never compare it with shite like the X-Men prequels (NO I DO NOT CARE ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU LOVE THEM, I HATED THEM WITH MY WHOLE ENTIRE BEING) or Cap 1 and 3, I just... don’t consider it even remotely as good as the top 3 y’know? It was just too over-the-top cheesy and like, usually I consider cheesy a point in favor when I’m talking about movies (I mean... Batman Forever) but damn, there’s gotta be a limit. But I loved seeing Jason Momoa in nearly every shot so that’s a plus. Anyway the DCEU stays inferior to the MCU and Sony/Fox’s Marvel. 

[dreadhaus-literature]

{January Collection} #16

Elephant

Wednesday’s Theme: Description

It’s all fun and games until the Batman shows up and insists you make good on the Elephant in the Room.

Monica swallowed the nervous sound that threatened to spill past her painted lips, staring up at the intimidating figure backlit by the flirtatious moon streaming through the open window. Cold air bit at her bare arms but she almost couldn’t feel it, the Batman was so close all she could take in was the spiced metal scent of Gotham’s Night Stalker. He was in full regalia, from his billowing cape to his cowl, and Monica...was left wondering why it was she sometimes mocked his outfit, again? Granted she’d never seen him so close, before--she had no idea he knew where she lived. She was just one of Gotham’s eight million residents, and she was likely one of the most anti-social--except online...which is how this whole thing started. Monica was an internet personality in Gotham, boasting a Twitter following in the millions that would make most view-thirsty YouTubers jealous. Monica was most known for her scathing wit and hilarious re-telling of Gotham’s many problems using Twitter’s 240 character limit, but most days she didn’t need all that to get her point across. Liviari’s Lines was a popular Gotham-centric podcast Monica hosted twice a week that others clamored and fought to get a spot on, and Twine’s 5 second video format was perfect for Monica’s quick wit and excellent camera work. If you wanted to be in the know, you came to Monica’s many social media outlets. She was Gotham’s virtual tour guide and literal millions flocked to her for the hot take on Gotham any given day of the week.

It was only a matter of time before Batman wound up on Monica’s radar. The caped crusader was out on patrol every night, punching faces and returning snatched purses, and while Monica didn’t necessarily have a problem with the guy...how do you not mock a guy in a giant batsuit? It started out light-hearted, with Monica making quick quips on her videos and podcasts about the Bat’s nightly extra-curriculars, but with so many followers her words caught like a spark against dry tinder and anything she said about Batman was trending for the next three days. Monica may...not have made the best judgment call when one day, on air, she was confronted with the question “Is Batman hot, tho?” And she responded without missing a beat--

“Fuck Batman.”

And it was clear by the tone of her voice she did not mean in the silk sheets and rose petals kind of way. It was just, her guest had put her on the spot! She’d done a damn good job of never mentioning Batman’s attractiveness, that just wasn’t her style. Something about him made her want to turn her nose up rather than sink to her knees and the retort had just slipped out--but it had taken Gotham by storm. The hashtag #FuckBatman blew up instantly and stayed at the top of Gotham’s feed for weeks; people were putting it on their bios, it was on T-shirts and coffee mugs, and eventually Monica was collecting royalties for an off-hand comment she...really didn’t mean! Of course she didn’t actually have a problem with Batman, but it was too late to take it back!

The other side of the coin, that Monica could have no way of knowing, was the repercussions it was having for Batman, known to select few as Bruce Wayne. He was a genius when it came to tech but he didn’t care for social media and thus, had no idea who Monica, aka Liviari, was. He’d heard her name in passing from Duke or Tim, and he knew Jason though she was “smokin’ hot,” because Bruce had been in earshot when Jason said it aloud to Dick, who didn’t disagree. Unfortunately for Bruce, in this social media age, being out of the loop didn’t prepare him for the backlash of two little words, until he was out in Gotham on patrol and after saving someone, was met with, “Fuck Batman,” and a peace sign selfie, like it was some sort of strange battle cry. Bruce had been so taken aback he didn’t even know what the hell to say, and his staring had made the person he’d just saved so uncomfortable he’d run away from the vigilante with a cry of, “It’s just a j-joke, man, lighten up!”

Bruce had initially chalked that up to some idiot with something to prove, but the following day, on his way in to Wayne Enterprises, he saw no less than a dozen people in “Fuck Batman” shirts and one of the security guards at the front desk had the audacity to have the coffee mug. Bruce was confused and a little annoyed--

Until he found out the why behind this new media campaign.

“Smokin’ hot,” was the term one of his sons had used to describe Monica, and while Bruce wouldn’t argue that, he would put it a different way. Breath-takingly, strikingly gorgeous, was a more apt descriptor for the internet personality that was turning Bruce’s world upside down. Immediately his agitation over this new slogan subsided then ignited like a spark, flames fanned into lust so potent he had to shift position as he stared at Monica’s picture on the computer in the Batcave. Bruce was not a man who was occupied in carnal pleasures, he had too much on his plate, but he knew enough to indulge if only to keep his body from getting distracted--so it hadn’t been so long that he was just in need of a woman’s touch. No, this was something else entirely and he kept his cerulean eyes locked to Monica’s smiling face on his screen as he basically devoured her. Minutes ticked by then bled into hours as his search history filled up with every available social media page and article about Gotham’s Gossip Girl. An obsession was taking root without his conscious awareness, so that the sun rose with him still in his chair--he missed patrol for the first night in years, too busy was he collecting everything he wanted, no, needed to know about Monica.

Anyone who asked got the same response, “I need to know who she is so I can nip this in the bud. This could get out of hand, fast.” And it sounded logical, even if Jason’s only response to it was continuously, “Fuck Batman.” But Bruce had a different reaction every time he heard the slogan, now.

Would she?

There are downsides to those with rigid discipline, that most don’t want to acknowledge. If they begin to hyper-focus on something nothing can deter them, and they’ll convince themselves they’re doing the right thing because they always do the right thing. Batman doesn’t do wrong, Batman is the beacon, the symbol of justice and what’s right in Gotham City. If he’s set his mind to doing something then it has to be the right call because Batman can’t be anything else.

That was what Bruce told himself when he began stalking Monica.

Bruce just needed to know what sort of woman she was, of course. If she was going to be out here, influencing the work he was doing in their city, then he needed to know so that when the time came to approach her, he knew the best way to do it. It helped that Bruce didn’t examine his habits much more closely, because there was no reason for him to spend every available moment on patrol perched on the building across from hers, watching her through her window as she went about her nightly routines...she was even more breath-taking in person, something Bruce hadn’t prepared himself for. Pictures normally do a person plenty of justice, but the first time Monica unknowingly turned to face him through the window Bruce had to brace himself on the ledge of the roof he was on, fighting the blood pooling low and putting too much strain on his cock in his suit. He’d actually grunted at the pressure, his mind racing with thoughts that weren’t exactly what one might expect from Gotham’s hero. What was he supposed to do, when she had lips like that? His mouth ran dry with the imagining of what she tasted like, and as she’d turned and walked away from the window he was left just hopelessly staring, while Duke called his name over the radio comm repeatedly.

Bruce had called up an old fling that same night, buried himself deep in something familiar, but he had to keep his eyes closed so he could imagine it was Monica’s legs wrapped around his waist. He’d kept his hand over the other woman’s mouth so she couldn’t speak and ruin the illusion, and in the end Bruce could only come when he thought of Monica’s voice in his ear, calling him Daddy, begging to be filled. He’d tossed the condom away with a scowl after it was done, irritated that he’d wasted himself when Monica should be full and happy, sated and sleepy in his bed. He got up to shower, callously tossing over his broad shoulder that the other woman should see herself out. The only one allowed in his bed was across the city and Bruce didn’t get a wink of sleep that night.

That was when he knew this had nothing to do with lust and this was not something he could just “get over” or get out of his system. Bruce spent the hours he was at work chasing alerts and updates from her social media profiles (he’d signed up for every platform she was on using an anonymous username so he could follow her easily) and his patrols always took him by her place so he could see her. Thanks to her videos and podcasts that he played over the Batmobile’s speakers and screens he was haunted by her voice, and Bruce was losing himself to a firestorm of obsession that he felt was justified. She called him out, drew him out of the shadows with two simple words, and she had to answer for it. She had to answer for what she’s done, bringing the Bat to his knees. This was unacceptable, how could she continue to be so unaffected by him when he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing her smile? He hated anyone touching him anymore because he had no idea what she felt like. Any woman stupid enough to try it on with him was met with a harsh glare and a reprimand, because if it wasn’t Monica it wasn’t good enough. Bruce was at his wit’s end and one night, tonight, the line was cut and the glass shattered, so that he climbed through her window and forced her to face her fear.

Monica opened her mouth to say something, but her teeth clicked together out of chattering nerves when Batman inclined his head slightly down; she couldn’t see his eyes behind the cowl but she knew he was staring at her mouth. Gotham’s Hero was unbelievably tall and looked carved from marble, and Monica swallowed thickly as her eyes drifted down from that square-cut chin to watch the muscles coil and ripple beneath the suit she’d once thought looked dramatic and ridiculous. There was some question as to whether or not the Batman’s muscles were real or etched into his suit but she could now confirm...it was all the man. The suit had nothing to do with his physique, it was simply molded to fit what was unfairly perfect and almost inhumanly so. He moved, a single ripple of power like a jungle cat and she retreated, his prey and fully aware of it as her back bumped against the wall.

“Say it.”

The voice that spoke was not what she expected Batman to sound like; she’d expected a voice that was rough, unpolished, but his baritone slid over her skin like velvet rope, binding even as she ached to hear it again.

“W-What?” Monica’s whisper caught at his thundering heart and his gloved fingers cinched with the desperate need to bruise, to claim what was trembling before him. He slowly unclenched his hand, flattening it on the wall beside her head. She was so petite he had to bend his spine to get in close but he would have broken it just to close the distance between them.

He stopped a hair’s width from her lips. “Say your little catchphrase. I’ve had to hear it for weeks. I want to hear it from the source, now.”

Monica’s throat ran dry as she fought to swallow. He was...trying to intimidate her and she shouldn’t have been surprised by that, it was Batman after all and he could stop some criminals before they even committed a crime just by his presence alone. She hated that it was working, her body responding to his close proximity and that voice. His breath was ghosting across her lips, and a part of her wanted to close the distance and kiss him. That damn cowl kept her from being able to read him but she had the distinct feeling even if she could see his face she wouldn’t be able to tell what he wanted. The problem was...she knew exactly what he was talking about.

“L-Look,” Monica brought her hands up, trying to hide their trembling as she settled them against his chest--and her knees nearly buckled. The wall of muscle she felt beneath his suit sent a rush of liquid heat pooling between her thighs and she clenched her bare legs, all the sudden too aware of the T-shirt and panties that constituted her pajamas. “It was j-just a joke. Obviously I appreciate w-what you do for Gotham. But if you t-think you’re going to intimidate me by showing up in the m-middle of the night, you’re in for--”

Bruce couldn’t stand it any longer and his lips crashed down on hers, taking advantage of her talking to split her lips with his seeking, hungry tongue. She tasted cloying, not unlike sweet red wine that passed his time at charity events, and he pushed her further, harder back against the wall so she couldn’t escape him. He was staunch in his no killing policy but even Bruce had to admit to himself if someone interrupted him kissing Monica in this moment he’d seriously consider rethinking his position--he could not release her mouth. Her trembling fingers pushed weakly at his chest but he didn’t miss the way her hips raised and met his lower half and he broke the kiss just to groan at the friction between them. His gloved fingers buried in her hair, forcing her head back against the wall as he drank from her lips like a dying man, his other hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise so she would stop trying to put space between them. There’d been too much space between them these past few weeks and he wouldn’t stand for it, now. She was shaking in his embrace and he met her fear with his strength, showing her exactly what Batman was capable of. He held her up, forced her to him eagerly and he didn’t care if that was how he came across. Composure was everything to Batman, but the man beneath the cowl was suffering at the hands of this petite woman who had Gotham wrapped around her finger--Gotham’s Hero was no exception to that.

Monica could hardly believe Batman, the Batman was kissing her. And god, could he ever kiss. Her nails skidded against the armor over his chest and her fingers slipped up to his powerful throat until the tips of her fingers were caressing his jaw, feeling the ghost of a 5 o’clock shadow. His chin, his jaw were so square she couldn’t help imagining it between her thighs and she stifled a moan against his mouth--he heard it and chased it, growling out his displeasure that she would try to keep it from him. Monica was helpless as she offered up another keening whine, one he greedily swallowed as his hand slid from her hip to cup her ass, gripping her with obvious possession she didn’t know what to do with. There was more than just lust and sexual tension in this but without the knowledge of how long Batman had been investigating her, watching her, Monica could only follow where he led. With one arm he lifted her and pressed her back against the wall; her legs wrapped around his waist and he made a deep noise of approval as she was opened up for him. Monica’s cheeks tinted in the darkness at the slick feel of her thighs spreading; he’d know how much she was enjoying his kiss as he ground against her, but she quickly lost that thought at the impressive bulge that pushed right against her clit. Her breath slammed from her lungs at the implications of what he would, what he could do to her and as his tongue caressed hers she could only tighten her arms around his broad shoulders knowing she couldn’t entirely fight this.

Bruce told himself it would matter if Monica fought him, of course he’d never take advantage of an innocent girl, but he buried the echoing truth that he was out of control beneath the sweet sound of Monica’s moans and those keening little noises she made. Those sounds would haunt him, chase him like her skirt tails during the waking hours and he knew without even having to be inside her that this would not be the only time he’d have to have her. Whatever was happening here, it was just the beginning. Who could blame him? Bruce sacrificed so much for this city; so much of his time and his resources, his own Family had bled and died for this city, so if this was Gotham offering up a gift in exchange he was going to take it with both hands. His gloved fingers slid from her hair, slamming into the wall beside her head as he felt her heat slide over his engorged cock again. Christ, she was killing him. He hadn’t intended to fuck her tonight, he just wanted to see her, to talk to her; he was going out of his mind with the distance between them but now that he was here, he couldn’t stop himself. It was akin to dropping a starved man at a table with his favorite food; one bite wasn’t enough to satisfy and even after kissing Monica to the point she had to beg or she’d pass out he knew it wasn’t enough. He released her gasping mouth and as her head tipped back against the wall, dragging air into those starved lungs, he attacked her throat.

“P-Please, B-Batman--”

“No,” Bruce accented his words with the bite of perfect white teeth against the curve of her throat. “Those aren’t the words I want to hear.”

Monica knew what he wanted but she couldn’t get the words out. It was one thing to jokingly caps lock it with her followers, or even playfully chant it on-air with her podcast guests, but when the Batman had her pinned to her bedroom wall, his tongue doing something wickedly sinful against the pulse in her throat, well, she couldn’t say it.

“If you don’t say it,” he warned, “you’re going to do it.”

Monica pushed her hips more insistently against him, felt his body’s responding shudder and found her body had accepted that long before her mind had. She was so wet she was sticky with need, staining the front of Batman’s suit and she would have apologized or been mortified if she could think beyond Bruce suckling at the tender skin of her throat.

Bruce could feel her dripping down the front of him and he ground against her, using the wall as leverage when all he wanted was to bury his impressive length so deep she screamed. He just couldn’t release her throat to make good on his promise, not yet, not when he was bruising the skin and leaving a claiming mark behind that she wouldn’t be able to hide. His hand slipped from the wall to cup the opposite side of her throat, pushing her deeper, harder into him as his strong fingers kneaded the supple flesh of her ass. He wanted his gloves off, but again couldn’t stop to remove them, his teeth sampling skin so sharply she cried out and he ached to feel her fingers in his dark hair. Beneath his cowl Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut; he was going to fuck her, claim her, fill her, yes because he couldn’t leave her without doing so, but this could only be the beginning. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, to live his life peacefully until he had all of her, in every way he could. Bruce deserved that, he was owed that, because he was convinced this was his reward for all he’d sacrificed. No one ever touched the Batman, much less the man behind the mask, but Monica was so far beneath his skin he’d never get her out of his system and he finally released her bruised throat with a groan of desperate need.

“My gloves,” he managed between clenched teeth, and Monica responded immediately as he offered one hand to her, then shifted her slight weight to offer her his other. She tugged them free and was immediately rewarded with the calloused grip of his fingers as one cupped her ass, the other making short work of the front of Batman’s suit.

Her eyes widened as the moonlight cast a long, thick shadow as Batman’s impressive cock slipped from his suit and he made no other move but to slide it up the crease of her thigh. That same hand pulled her panties to the side, exposing her fully to his covetous intrusion. “W-Wait, don’t you need--”

Protection? There was no protection to be had, not when Bruce had set his mind to having her, all of her. Monica’s head was thrown back with a stunned, pained squeal as Bruce split her tight cunt with the thick girth of his dripping cock. He groaned, his head falling to rest above hers so that she was wholly, fully trapped against the wall and his unforgiving frame, his one arm hooked around her back, his other struggling to keep him braced against the wall. He had to clench his jaw as he felt her shift to accommodate him; she was so small, so tight he was going out of his mind. He’d never had any woman grip him so tightly, to the point he wasn’t certain he could move and Bruce had nothing if he didn’t have control. His fingers cinched against her waist as her choked sob of pleasure-pain ran down his spine like her fingernails. She was killing him, squeezing him so tightly, her sweet voice raking over raw nerves until he was certain he was losing his mind with want. The weeks he’d spent stalking her had all led up to this moment but there was no preparing him for what it felt like inside her; he bottomed out and her thighs gripped his hips as if to stop him from moving but what choice did he had? He had to have her. He’d die if he didn’t.

Monica couldn’t stay quiet, not when she was so full. She’d never been filled like this before and she was terrified that as soon as this was over, she’d be left feeling empty. It had her matching Batman’s desperation with her own, her arms tightening over his broad shoulders and he didn’t let her down; he trapped her further against the wall, his other arm circling her back to press her closer. She lifted her head, staring up into his masked face and even without seeing his eyes she knew he was staring at her.

Bruce couldn’t take his eyes off her. Lit by the moon and so full of him there was no room for anything else, she stole his breath away. His chest was heaving with the exertion it took not to raw her, but he wanted desperately to. She arched against him and just like that, he gave himself away that he couldnt’ deny her; he was drawing back only to thrust up once, one solid, deep thrust and she cried out. He devoured her with his eyes alone, wanting to commit this moment to memory, to hold him over until the next time--and there would be a next time. She slid over him hot, wet, sinfully tight and he lost himself to a deep, hard rhythm that had her toes curling and her spine arching to accommodate him because he was so thick, so deep she knew she’d never get him out again. He closed the distance between them, searing her with a kiss that she struggled to keep with his cock buried so deep she couldn’t uncurl her toes. Her walls were stretched to their limits, her cunt dripping off him onto the floor as his strong fingers gripped and kneaded the supple, biteable flesh of her ass--he’d have to get to that next time, leaving marks in intimate places so she’d be too shy to show anyone else. Bruce may not have the rights to claim her but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to. Anyone trying to move in on his woman would find themselves scared off by the Batman, and he would have no shame about doing it.

Anything, absolutely anything would be acceptable to do to be able to have her. He’d never felt anything like this in his life, the wet heat that was searing him like a brand so that his body was secondary to the ever-increasing thud of his heart. Bruce kept his lips pressed to hers, taking long, drugging kisses as her breathing matched his own frantic pace, his hips snapping into hers with desperate need to fill her; it had been the only thing on his mind for weeks and to be so close was shredding his rigid control. This was bad, she was bad for him, like a killswitch to control he’d spend decades honing into a weapon all on it’s own but what was he to do? He wasn’t strong enough to let her go, not now that he’d had a taste of her. His tongue split her lips and he swallowed her rising cry, feeling her body clenching around him and he grunted in response. He wanted to tell her, not so tight, he wouldn’t last and he wanted nothing more but for this to last, but he couldn’t get the words out. He was going up in flames right alongside her, driven to running down his climax because she was doing nothing to stop hers.

“I-I’m, I’m--”

“I know, beautiful, I know,” Bruce spoke against her mouth, “be a good girl and cum for me.”

Monica’s body tensed, her spine arching to the point of pain as she gave in to him and he followed her, pinning her against the wall as his hips snapped up once, twice, as if trying to get himself deeper and deeper with each roll of their shared orgasm. He spilled so deeply inside her she felt tears prick the corners of her eyes; she was so full, her fingers grasping at his broad shoulders as he kept their bodies locked tightly together so that not a single drop spilled from between her thighs.

Bruce was near convinced he died and this was some form of heaven earned for years of sacrifice; there was no way this was real, that she was real. His body, for the first time he could feasibly remember, felt satisfied. His cock twitched, still buried so deeply inside her, and he drew in a shuddering breath with the realization he would eventually have to set her down and face the reality that she had no idea who he was...but that wouldn’t stop this. It couldn’t change the course of what he’d begun, tonight. It didn’t matter if this time got her pregnant or not. He knew who she was, where she lived, and the tracker he’d placed inside her phone case before she’d even known he was there would allow him an even more intimate look into her life until she was ready to let him all the way in. Was it wrong? Probably. But Bruce had gotten a taste of something he could not live without, and that does...strange things to even the sanest of individuals.

Besides, Monica should have been careful what she wished for when she uttered those two little words--

Fuck Batman, indeed.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

After this last episode with the making the 'batsuit' scene you should totally do a story about the first time Claire made some sort of costume for Bree

For the first time in my life, I cursed my juvenile disinterest in sewing. As a child, I’d mended clothes out of sheer necessity, the rigor of constant travel taking its toll on my shirts and trousers. I had cared little for skill back then, regarding the whole affair as a tedious chore that kept me from more important duties—namely, dusting off bones for Lamb.

As an adult, I was a surgeon, but even that seemed to do me no favors. Despite my professional expertise—how many wounds had I stitched with far sharper tools on far more delicate materials? —it seemed I still couldn’t manage a bloody Halloween costume. In previous years, I’d simply bought one or asked Millie, our neighbor, for a helping hand at the cost of a bottle of wine.

My break from tradition was inspired by a recent conversation, whereupon it was revealed—to the horror of several Betty Crocker types—I had no plans to slave over a Singer for the sake of my daughter’s trick-or-treating.

“Oh, but you must,” one woman had said.

“Your child would so appreciate it,” another had chimed in.

“She’ll be the only one whose mother didn’t make her costume.”

I’d rather thought Bree wouldn’t notice either way, she being the sort who’d drape a sheet over her head, stare through two circular cut-outs, and cry “Boo!” as if she were the most convincing ghost in the world. But the women’s scornful expressions had stayed with me, stirring up feelings I hadn’t felt since I’d arrived in America: a nagging self-consciousness; a desperate need to prove myself.

Bree was ecstatic when I informed her that I, not Millie, would be making her costume this Halloween, and what was it she’d like to be? Frank’s incessant prattling about the monarchy had clearly made an impression. Of all things, Bree had chosen Queen Elizabeth II, who’d been crowned the year before.

If I’d known how complicated it would be, I might have scrapped the project altogether and thrust expensive merlot in Millie’s face. Being without such hindsight, I now had a half-constructed dress that looked more like a war casualty than a royal ballgown.

“You sodding bastard,” I barked at the sewing machine.

My daughter, sitting not five feet away, looked up from her book with a delighted smirk. I groaned, already envisioning the moment Frank would walk through the door, greeted by an oral report of the day’s linguistic infractions (most of them mine). Though Bree shared her biological father’s penchant for mischief, she’d adopted the English reserve of the man who raised her. With frequent lapses, of course—she, after all, was my child too.

“Mama,” she tsked now, “you know what that means…” Smiling, she pointed towards the table beneath the window, which sat littered with the odds and ends of our daily life. The dried stems of pressed flowers sprouted from a medical textbook. A dog toy, practically chewed into oblivion, sat beside Frank’s corn cob pipe—a habit he’d taken up as a way of ingratiating himself to Harvard’s social circles. At the center of it all, however, stood the glass jar whose cheery label, “SWEAR BANK,” had become the bane of my existence.

Two weeks ago, Frank and I had been called to Bree’s school on the grounds of discussing a recent misbehavior. Our daughter, it seemed, had a fondness for words that were unsuitable to a woman of 35, much less a girl of 6. The principal’s meaningful looks had plainly indicated he knew where—or from whom—Brianna had received her vocabulary lessons.

“Children, you know,” he’d said, leaning forwards. “They don’t just learn these things by themselves. I think some disciplinary action could be taken at home…”

And so it was by Principal Gellar’s suggestion that we—the Randalls of ill repute—came to use a swear jar. For every curse, the delinquent had to add two quarters, with each subsequent offense requiring double that amount. A mild punishment, I’d thought, until it was obvious that losing pocket change wasn’t sufficient inducement to watch my own mouth.

Because of this, it was agreed that I prepare a proper dinner—from scratch, not frozen—if I exceeded my daily max of five swear words. Frank promised to exchange his loose leaf tea for Lipton’s, should he do the same, though this was more a demonstration of his superiority than his solidarity. Unless provoked, he rarely said more than the occasional “damn” in Bree’s presence.

Rummaging through the purse at my feet, I extracted money from my wallet.

“There,” I said, giving it to Bree. “Happy?”

Bills in one hand, Bree counted her fingers on the other, “That’s six today, Mama,” she said, still smirking. “So what’s for dinner?”

I snorted and motioned her towards me. “Well, if you want this costume finished, I’ll have to take a rain check.” I looked at the chaos strewn about my work table. “A two-week rain check.”

“I guess that’s okay,” Bree said, skipping over to my side. “Daddy and I will have meatloaf tonight, and you can have soap.”

I laughed. It always baffled me how my child—once a gurgling thing with an untamable cowlick—had transformed into a human capable of swear words and jokes.

As they always did when Bree came close, one of her hands automatically rested on my head, tiny fingers submerging themselves in a tousle of curls. They found the tender patch behind my ears, beginning an idle massage that expelled all tension from my body.

She’d done this as a baby—then, with a naïve curiosity; now, by the simple force of habit. It reminded me of someone else, though I knew it was merely coincidence and not some genetic trait passed down through the centuries. Still, the small fingers always grew larger in my mind—pads turned to callous and nails made blunt—as they moved in slow, gentle circles towards my temples. I could hear Gaelic, spoken softly, and see a calmness wash over a startled horse, as it now washed over me.

I shook the memory away, and returned to the disaster cascading into my lap.

Really, there was no hope for it. Uneven hems. Too-large and crooked stitches. The circumference of one shirtsleeve would fit someone’s thigh, not Bree’s skinny arm.

“Smudge,” I sighed, “perhaps this wasn’t a good idea. I mean—” I gestured at the clumsy mess before me, and Bree removed her hand.

She leaned closer, head tilted to examine the work I’d done until her expression turned into one of obvious resolve. “I could always be a hobo,” she said matter-of-factly. “Or a garbage man.”

In that moment, I swear I had never loved her more.

Clearly unconcerned, Bree flopped down on the couch, and asked, “What’d you dress up as when you were a kid, Mama?”

“Come to think of it, I can only remember one Halloween,” I said, sitting back. “I was a little older than you, and my outfit was a hodge-podge of things. Somewhere between Indiana Jones and a girl who raided a closet, blindfolded.”

As a vagabond who drifted from continent and continent, Halloween never seemed to cross Lamb’s mind. A brief lecture, perhaps, about its pagan origins—but there was none of the pomp and circumstance one would see today. Being only vaguely aware of the holiday’s existence myself, I had never found us lacking for it. Our days were already filled with adventures, strange characters, and the spirits of years past.

It was one of Lamb’s colleagues—a charismatic American named Tom—who put forth the notion we hold a celebration of our own. Even I, who by this time was more adult than child, couldn’t resist the idea of being someone else, swapping ghost stories under a full moon, and gorging myself on sweets.

Lamb, bless his soul, was more than happy to oblige me. It was a belated birthday present of sorts, as October 20th, 1926 had passed in whirlwind of sand and dirt. The more immediate concerns of suffocation and hazardous winds had taken precedence over cake and candles that day.

Lamb and Tom took me to the market one morning, each of us bouncing from stall to stall to inspect the wares. After hours of browsing, we’d managed to scrape together a rudimentary costume, though it had none of the frills, silks, or skirts Tom had assumed I’d want.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be a princess?” he’d said, regarding me sideways. At the insistent (and fiftieth) shake of my head, Lamb had clapped Tom on the back with a jovial smile, reminding him that I was a girl who preferred slouch hats to tiaras. I recall grinning up at him, then, and taking his hand as we walked back to camp. In truth, I think I’d just wanted to be Lamb for a night.

And so there I was days later: a poor man’s cowgirl astride an invisible horse, galloping through the nearby village in search of treats. Naturally, few people were prepared for the presence of my wild-eyed, boyish self at their door. But most smiled at my requests—all spoken with a pitiful Southern twang—and indulged me with whatever they could spare. Lamb, meanwhile, stood at my side—an elderly pirate-guard who assured them we were not, in fact, bandits.

We returned to camp at sundown with a sack full of furry, odorous, and glittering miscellany slung across my shoulder. Against all sense, someone had given me a pack of cigars, and I placed one between my lips. Knees braced and arranging my hands into a finger gun, I did my best Butch Cassidy impression as Lamb inspected the bag for other inappropriate goods.

“That stuff ain’t yours, old man,” I’d said, words mumbled by the cigar. “Stick ‘em up.”

Lamb had hooted, crying, “Excellent, my dear! Just marvelous!” and took a seat across the fire. His head bent before a lit match, the flame lighting the end of one of the contraband cigars.

What I remember most, though, was his face when he looked up at me. My cheeks were flushed beneath a layer of grime. My too-long pants were pooled around my feet, while my dark hair was pulled into a bushy ponytail. I imagine I’d been the image of freedom and recklessness—a person who appreciated the simplest of joys, like dress-up and too much sugar.

“You’ve always favored your mother, Claire. But I daresay that right now…” And here, Lamb’s eyes had shimmered, his expression grown suddenly soft. “Right now I see so much of your father in you.”

“Mama?” A voice broke through the haze of my memory. “Mama, were you listening to me?”

“Hmm?” I said distractedly, slowly returning to the present. Shaking her head, Bree said, “Maybe next year I could be a cowgirl too?” before launching onto an entirely different topic.

Seeing my daughter chatting confidently away, her hands fluttering with the excitement of conversation, of being with someone…Seeing her hair catch the sinking sun and the mischief inside her curving mouth—a mouth that would never cease to amaze me with its jokes and its compliments and its observations. Seeing these things, and how her slanted blue eyes took in her shabby costume—unbothered by its inelegance but appreciative of the work I’d put into it—I thought I saw so much of her father in her too.

[differentjokes4differentfolks]

WTFIT Chap 12

A.N. AND FINALLY WE GET TO THE NIGHT IT’S BEEN LEADING UP TO!!! As always, you guys, enjoy!! ^-^

AO3

A tuxedo is hardly suitable armor for tonight, but it’s the most inconspicuous one when Bruce Wayne is to appear at the Gotham City Gala instead of Batman. Alfred plans on driving him and Tim to the observatory, Bruce knowing he needs to be ready for cameras, Tim able to just slip away in the distraction. It sounds easy. In theory.

When they arrive at the observatory they’re swarmed by cameras, Alfred opening the door to the car and Bruce blinking at the flash, still not used to the blinding lights even after years of this. Maybe I should wear sunglasses when I get out of the car next time. Tim doesn’t seem to care, flashing smiles this way and that, posing just slightly so that it looks casual. Bruce almost has to pull him along after himself.

“You think they got my good side?” he jokes, nudging Bruce.

“I think they got all your sides,” Bruce says dryly, glancing around. “We’re not here for photo ops.”

Tim pouts. “Fine.” He pulls out his phone, taking a selfie. Bruce can’t help but roll his eyes, Tim noticing. “It’s for my insta.”

“Does anyone even follow you?” Bruce asks, striding over to the center of the building and leaning over the railing. He knows he should be mingling, but his mind is too alert for mindless commentary. If someone comes over he’ll chat, but what he’s really waiting for is the okay from Dick that they’re in the building.

Tim follows him, clicking away at his phone screen. “A couple thousand. They like my hair, I think.” Bruce laughs. Tim looks affronted, but it doesn’t take long before he gives in and laughs along with him.

The scene around them is brightly lit, but still almost ethereal in the naturally dark observatory. People in all different color clothes decorate the room, suits and dresses galore. People flaunting what they have, conversing and swaying to the soft music in the background and holding crystal glasses in their hands, perfectly poised. There’s an auction later on tonight, where most of the money with be raised.

Tim slips away, ready to investigate while still looking like just another visitor, leaving Bruce alone to try to distract if he needs to. Bruce figures whenever Dent’s plan is supposed to be revealed, it’ll be around or during the auction. So he just needs to kill time. Shouldn’t be too hard.

He sees Gordon out the corner of his eye. None of the party-goers look too concerned, Bruce figures living in Gotham has desensitized them to danger, at least a little. An evacuation would lead to uproar, but he’ll make sure it doesn’t come to that.

*

“Jason, could you drive this car any slower?” Dick feels like he’s part of his seat now, the speed pulling him back. Jason just smirks.

“Too fast for you, Grayson?” He pushes on the pedal a bit more, the car jolting faster. “I love this car, it doesn’t even roar if you stomp on the pedal. No wonder Bruce can sneak around everywhere. it’s so freaking quiet.” He swerves onto a side road, Dick grabbing onto the door handle.

“Jesus Christ, slow down!” He’s got nothing against going fast, but Jason is being absolutely criminal with his speeds. It’s a wonder he can even see anything that blurs past them. Cars beep as they see the Batmobile, whether in anger or appreciation he can’t tell. He can’t even see the expressions on people’s faces. Holy hell, if Jason doesn’t end up killing them both he’s going to strangle him.

At least Jason has the foresight not to park next to the observatory and instead hide it in a nearby grove. Dick’s legs wobble just the slightest bit as he exits the car, leaning on the vehicle. He waits for his heart-rate to return to normal, for his sight to slow down with the rest of the world. Jason jumps out laughing.

“Like a rollercoaster. If Bruce ever doesn’t want this baby, I’m taking it.” He taps the Batmobile, smoothing his hand over the shiny paint job. He glances over at Dick. “You okay?” His voice almost sounds concerned.

Dick holds his hand up to his mouth, keeping his nausea at bay. “‘M fine.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “We should go.”

“You sure you can walk?” Jason asks with a snort. Dick shakes his head to clear it, standing up straight.

“Yeah.”

The observatory glows from here, a few hundred feet away. He’d love to take Barb to a ball sometime soon, she’d look great in a dress. Maybe when they don't have work to do.

Tonight is unusually warm, Dick barely feeling the cold winds through his suit. And Jason, well, he’s comfortable as can be in his leather coat. They run over to the building, Jason deciding to make a little conversation.

“How long has Tim been Robin?”

“I think he started a few months after you...left.” To be honest, the actual events that happened while Jason and Bruce were in the Middle East are hazy to Dick. First he’d heard that Jason had died, then that he was in the hospital, then that he was fine but wouldn’t be coming home. He still hasn’t figured out what the truth is.

“And he’s good?” Jason says, voice neutral.

Dick nods, an awkward move since he’s running. “Yeah. Bruce doesn’t really trust him for anything too big, ever since the incident. I guess he wants Tim to have more experience before tackling a big challenge.”

Jason slows a bit. “Makes sense, but how does Tim take it?”

“He doesn’t complain too much, but I know he’s itching for some adventures of his own. Why?”

Jason shrugs. “Just wondering. He seems nice. You know, from what I’ve seen.”

“You should hang around more,” Dick says. He hasn’t seen Jason in at least a year, no wonder he’s missed out on the new member of the Wayne family.

“Maybe,” Jason doesn’t sound all that convinced, upping his pace again so that he’s ahead of Dick. The conversation is apparently over, leaving Dick to realise the younger man has basically turned into Bruce. Broody, stubborn, and ‘independent’. To be fair, he has a better sense of humor, but the fact of the matter is he and Bruce are more alike than not. He should just come home.

The duo nears the back door to the observatory, opening it quietly to look at what waits for them inside. Jason slips in, Dick following and activating his comm.

“Batman? We’re in.”

*

There’s the go ahead.

“I need you to scope out the area,” Bruce utters quietly. His eyes flicker as he takes in the whole room, making sure no one is in hearing range. He can’t see Tim anymore, and he wants nothing more than to sneak off, don his batsuit and get into the action. This job might wear him out, but he’d rather do that than go to glittery balls. Apparently star themes mean deck out the decorations with sparkles. It’s a little blinding, actually. Too garish.

As it stands, for now he’ll be protecting the wealthy in his three-piece. He’s made a little conversation, friendly banter, rumours of what’s supposed to be at the auction, what the fundraising goal is. The better the items the more money raised, but nobody really knows what’s up for grabs. Strange.

“Bruce Wayne.” He turns to see Gordon nearing him. He inclines his head in greeting.

“How goes the surveillance, commissioner?”

Gordon gives a one-shoulder shrug, his body language tense. “Nothing’s happened so far.” He stands out from the rest of the crowd, dressed in his usual uniform. A hand rests on his hip, lighting on the gun he always wears. He’d be crazy not to, but the sight of it always rubs Bruce the wrong way. “How’s the party?”

“Nothing’s happened so far,” Bruce says with a smile. Gordon spares a one syllable laugh, likely the only time he’ll laugh tonight. “How’s Barbara?”

“Busy. Lots of schoolwork, you know.” Gordon cards his fingers through his hair. “It’s funny, she almost seems to work more than I do.”

Bruce laughs, though he wonders when, if ever, Barbara plans on telling her father just what she does. He has to be getting suspicious at this point. But he won’t be the one to say anything. It’d be one more thing on Gordon’s list of worries, his daughter helping fight some of Gotham’s deadliest criminals. And judging by the dark circles under his eyes, Bruce figures he should let Gordon focus on this tonight.

He says goodbye and moves on, picking up a glass of champagne as he goes. The moment he does he realises he probably shouldn’t drink anything that could slow him down, offering it to someone he passes. The more he glances at his watch the slower time seems to pass him by, so he decides to walk out onto the balcony for some fresh air.

The stars peek out from behind passing clouds, threatening rain or snow later tonight. The wind rushes past Bruce as he leans over the banister, a telescope to his right. A couple stands there, peering through the eyepiece, shivering in their formal attire. The woman’s wrap does nothing to keep her warm, a thin silk that threatens to blow away. It’s almost scenic.

He closes his eyes and just listens to the people around him, hoping time passes faster. He’d do anything to be with the others, actively doing something instead of just watching for danger on the sidelines, making sure nothing happens up on the main floor. He knows they’re capable, but he hates relying on others regardless.

“Bruce Wayne?” He purses his lips slightly before turning around, a fake smile on his face.

“Yes?” Oh. It’s a solicitor.

The man goes into his spiel of what he’s advertising, Bruce looking at him quizzically and tuning him out best he can while still maintaining an air of politeness. Dick updates him occasionally, Bruce humming and trying to look like he’s agreeing with the man in front of him. His hands clench just a little, a couple of times he’s tried interrupting, he even tries to cut him rudely off at times, but it’s futile. He’s trapped by a salesman on steroids.

His saviour comes in a crisp white suit, a purple flower on his lapel. Bruce flashes Joker a grateful smile, thinking he’ll steer the man away, provide a means of escaping with a clever joke.

No such luck.

Instead the clown decides to drape himself over Bruce, nipping at his ear. “Did you miss me?” he asks, his voice saccharine. The annoying solicitor steps back, eyes wide. Bruce has no choice but to hold Joker, no way he’s just going to drop him, even if he is being a nuisance at the moment. He’s going to cause a scene.

“Of course,” he says. “But I’m in the middle of something.” He gestures to the solicitor, who frowns.

“Who the hell are you?”

Joker steps forward, holding his hand out to shake. “John Doe.”

“Right. Isn’t that a name they give unidentified dead people?” The man says skeptically, arms crossed. Joker pulls back with a pout.

“It’s my name.” He looks back at Bruce as if to say Can you believe this guy? He narrows his eyes at the salesman. “Now unless you were selling ways to avoid annoying conversations, I’d leave. My boyfriend and I are busy.” He keeps his arms around Bruce, waiting. Bruce knows if they weren’t at a social gathering in normal clothes the solicitor would be on the floor. As it is, if looks could kill...

The solicitor hems and haws at the situation, Bruce not wanting to comfort him but knowing how intimidating Joker can be, even when he isn’t out terrorising the city. Finally he mumbles an excuse and walks away, shooting a glance at Joker. Bruce breathes out a sigh of relief. He also shoots Joker a look, a mix of curiosity and annoyance, verging more on the side of the former.

“Your boyfriend?” He asks the man, who relaxes his grip.

“It was the first thing that came to mind,” Joker says flippantly. “Don’t like it?”

Bruce shakes his head. “No, I just didn’t expect it. I like it.”

Joker smiles smugly. “I thought you would.”

“How did you get in?” Bruce asks. This Gala was basically by invitation only, as far as he knows.

Joker’s less than amused by the question. “You don’t honestly think I wouldn’t be able to sneak in, do you? It was easy-peasy.” Bruce focuses on him, his hand lifting up one of Joker’s lapels. “Like the suit?” He places his hand over Bruce’s and flattens it over his chest, where a steady heartbeat pulses under Bruce’s fingers.

Bruce nods appreciatively, noting how it hangs on the clown’s frame perfectly. He doesn’t bother asking where the suit’s from, he doesn’t want to know. “It’s nice. Suits you.”

Joker snickers, keeping his voice quiet so that it isn’t his trademark laugh. “Your puns are awful.” He leans back on the banister, breathing in the cool air. “So, tonight’s the night. You ready?”

“I have to be,” Bruce says, looking out at the crowd. “Anything could happen at this point.”

A half hour to the auction and it feels like the calm before the storm. He’s going to have to just wait at this point, Joker sitting on the narrow railing casually.

A glint catches his eye, a person flipping a coin next to him. He looks up to see the person already looking at him with a grin.

“Nice night, isn’t it? For fireworks?” He says. Any other person would have shrugged it off, maybe commented yes, or how they didn’t know there’d be fireworks tonight. Bruce shrugs, though he’s on immediately put on guard and wants to punch the man in the mouth. The coin gives it away, of course it does. It’s a sign of Harvey’s plans.

“I guess, but I didn’t know there’d be fireworks,” he says, voice air-light. Joker smirks. The man smiles.

“They’re supposed to be explosive, you know what I mean? The main event.”

Bruce maintains his calm demeanor, nodding. “I had a friend who used to do that,” he points out, gesturing to the flipping coin. “Harvey Dent. He’s in Arkham though, right?”

“Didn’t you hear the news? Crazy son-of-a-bitch got out. No one knows where he is.”  The man is terrible at lying, Bruce can hear the joke in his voice.

“I hope Gotham’s safe.”

Joker coughs, trying not to turn it into a laugh. “Batman’ll save us. Always does, right? From those evil, nasty villains.” Bruce elbows him slightly, hoping he’ll knock it off.

“Hm.” The man smiles cryptically. Bruce narrows his eyes slightly, taking a glass of champagne off a passing tray. For appearances, again. He takes the tiniest sip, feigning indifference to the man but feeling every bit on edge.

“Anyways, I should get going, this party’s a drag.”

“Aw, what a shame,” Joker says, and Bruce knows he’s fighting not to roll his eyes. “Leaving before fireworks?”

“Never been a fan,” the man says as he walks away. Bruce decides not to follow him, Joker’s grip on his arm tightening.

“I’ve never liked that guy,” he murmurs, taking the glass from Bruce and swirling it. “Too cocky. Harv won’t let me take him out. You’re gonna let him go?”

“Of course not.” He comms Tim, who tells him he’ll make quick work of the man. He’s probably still in his suit, but so long as he isn’t seen he should be fine, Bruce is sure.

A crackling noise comes through the earpiece then, Bruce wincing at the sharpness of it.

“Oracle-”

“Hello, Bruce.”

A chill runs down Bruce’s back. “Harvey.” He edges further away from the crowd, making sure he’s out of earshot.

“Enjoying the gala?”

“Disappointed you’re not here,” Bruce deadpans. Harvey laughs. “How did you escape again?”

“Again? Sorry, Batman, I think you’re confused. Or maybe I pulled a fast one on you.” Bruce can almost see the smirk on the villain’s face, and has never wanted to reach through a phone and throttle someone more. “Anyways, how’s Alfred? A little lonely, I think.”

Bruce’s jaw clenches, his grip on the balcony tight. He doesn’t look at Joker, who he knows is listening intently to what Bruce is saying. “Leave him alone.”

“How about a race?” Dent asks smugly. “You getting here by the time I find the man. Shouldn’t be too hard for the Batman.” There’s a click, and his voice is gone, Oracle’s flooding through.

“He’s not at the manor yet. If you leave now you might be able to beat him there. I’ll warn Alfred.”

Bruce gnaws at his bottom lip anxiously.

“Can’t you let your kids deal with this?” Joker asks, noticing Bruce’s mood. His eyes are clouded over, the way they tend to get on long nights. He’s tense, ready to fight at moments notice. But Bruce shakes his head.

“I don’t want them to deal with everything happening here, not until the worst is over.”

Joker rolls his eyes, dragging Bruce further away from the crowd and into one of the darker halls, where they can’t see the main area. “Bats, they’re old enough to fix this, don’t you think? Let them take care of it.” Bruce listens, and the clown continues, “What about Robin?”

Bruce thinks about it. He could have Tim up on the main floor, nothing to worry about too much...

“Come on, you can’t always be the main hero. Go save your butler, he’s more important. Be selfish, just this once.” Joker’s eyes glimmer in the dark, reflecting like a cats. They focus on Bruce, who knows he’s right. He could trust Tim to do this, he’s been practicing for this for ages. But if something goes wrong… “You’re always taking care of the city, take care of yourself just this time.”

Bruce makes up his mind, albeit with more than a fair share of reluctance. “Alright, fine. Robin could handle this. Let me just check up on how everything else is going.”

*

Jason and Dick sneak past most of the thugs, rushing into the next room, where they find a whole machine rigged to the walls.

“Holy shit,” Jason breathes out. “They weren’t kidding when they said they wanted all of them dead. Bombs and...did we not get all of Crane’s toxin?”

A moderately large beaker of green liquid rests on top of a crate, a pump siphoning out the liquid into what Dick guesses leads to the emergency sprinklers.

“I guess not. It was probably just a diversion, when it comes down to it.” Dick kneels down next to the timer, glancing at the time. 00:45. “This gives us quite a bit of time, actually.” Right up until a few minutes into the auction, if the clock’s right.

“Don’t jinx us, Dick,” Jason warns. He stands near the door, making sure he doesn’t hear anyone stepping too close to where they are. “Here, I’ll disarm it, you stand watch.” He goes over and nudges Dick away from the timer, the latter standing and taking his place at the door. The walls are cold, the lights flickering. The perfect basement atmosphere, Dick thinks.

“I’ve never seen this kind of timer,” Jason mutters. “Sionis must’ve worked overtime to make it.” He pulls out his tablet, plugging it into the dangerous box. “It’s like the world’s deadliest relay. Everyone puts in their part and Dent finishes the race.”

“Not today he won’t,” Dick says. Steps come closer to the door, and he waves Jason away so that nothing seems out of the ordinary. He steps away from the door, and the thug walks in, the door shutting behind him.

“There’s no way I’m staying here while the bomb goes off. It’s a death sentence,” the thug mumbles. He carries his gun lazily, swinging it around like a baseball bat. Dick rolls his eyes, these people aren’t very loyal. But maybe that’s why they’re expendable in the long run. In any case, it’s time for the man to take a little nap. He steps out from behind, covering the thug’s face with his hand until he goes limp in his arms. Dragging him away so that he slumps against a wall, he returns to his spot at the door.

“Babs? I need you to turn off the mechanism for the emergency sprinklers.”

“Sure, but what about the explosives?”

“They’re on timer, Jason’s figuring it out, don’t worry.”

“I’ll send you what I have, Barb,” Jason says through his comm.

“Right. Is everything else alright?”

“So far so good, I’ll update you.” Dick hears a knock on the door.

“Hey buddy, you okay? You been in that room for a while.” Dick leans on the door, preparing his best thug impression.

He meets eyes with Jason, who watches him expectantly, ready to leap if need be. Lowering his voice, he answers. “Yeah, man, sorry. Just taking a break before the Bat shows up, making sure the bomb’s okay.”

There’s a pause. “You sound sick, you sure you’re okay?” Jason muffles a laugh, Dick faking a cough.

“I’m fine, honest. Just got a little cold, I’ll be right out.” He hears receding footsteps and breathes out a sigh of relief. Jason lets out his laugh, shaking his head.

“Nightwing the sick henchman. Amazing.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Dick retorts. “I’m an amazing voice actor.” A glance at his watch. Twenty-five minutes to the auction. So long as the bomb is disarmed in time they’ll be fine.

*

Tim looks back over his shoulder as he traverses the main room of the observatory, weaving around people and sneaking glances at the items behind the makeshift stage at the things being auctioned. A couple times he’s been looked at warningly, so he makes sure not to overstep. Or to overstep when he’s sure no one’s looking. Though he isn’t quite sure what he’s looking for. Anything could happen at this point. It’s a pile of fancy vases, jewelry, diamonds... nothing he’s particularly interesting, and nothing he’d count as being out of place. And yet he has a sneaking suspicion.

He makes the mistake of getting caught snooping, a heavy hand landing on his shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the man says gruffly. He scowls at Tim, who shifts back so the hand falls.

“Sorry,” he tries. “I’m just super curious.” He laughs it off, quieting when the man doesn’t reciprocate. He sure doesn’t look like the usual upper-class type. His coat doesn’t fit him right, he’s not clean shaven, his hair is pushed back messily. Dick steps back away from the items, out of the man’s line of sight and away from anyone’s hearing.

“Bruce, some of these people aren’t the usual kind of millionaires. Just saying.” He states it casually, hand in his pocket as though he were just chatting to a friend though a bluetooth earpiece.

“Got it. No sign of Mr. Dent?” Bruce’s voice is just as relaxed, if Tim didn’t know him better he never would have noticed the slight tension in his tone.

“Not yet. Five more minutes and the auction starts, what do you want to do?”

“Well-”

“Haha! We finally disarmed it! Boy, imagine if it had gone off,” Jason pipes up. “Oh hell, I think they heard us. Dick, why didn’t you stop me?” He goes off his comm. Tim doesn’t know whether to laugh or worry about them now.

“Should I go help? I wore my suit under my clothes…”

Bruce sighs, and Tim can tell something isn’t right with him. “Yes. I’ll take care of things up here for now. But be careful, and hurry back. There’s something I need to take care of.” Tim enters the men’s bathroom, slipping off his coat. He doesn’t bother being too careful with his shirt, he can always get a new one later, but he makes sure to takes his mask out of his pocket. He exits the stall, and shoves his clothes into a bag he’d hidden in the small closet just in case. In hindsight, he hadn’t realised just how prepared he was.

Just as he prepares to sneak out someone walks through the door, blinking at him in astonishment.

“You’re Robin, right?” The man’s eyes are wide, not sure if he should move or stay and talk. Tim stops, fidgeting. He puts his hands on the man’s shoulders, switching places with him with an apologetic smile.

“Yeah, but I gotta go, you know, protect you guys, so I can’t really talk.” He rushes out, still grabbing onto his bag, feeling the man’s gaze still on him. Well that was awkward. Wonder if it’s ever happened to Bruce…

The basement is empty save the men crowding around the door, where he assumes Dick and Jason are defending themselves best they can. Tim purses his lips, they won’t get anything done with the barricade of thugs. He sneaks up to the distracted men, pulling one away easily and knocking him out quickly. It’s not the best move and he knows they’ll realise they aren’t alone anymore. But he figures after the second man he takes out he can hide and cause a distraction away from Jason and Dick. Which is basically what happens.

He slides behind a divider, shifting away silently to avoid getting caught. He does not want to get riddled with bullets tonight. Or any night, come to think of it. Footsteps thud past him, and he glances back to where the door is, seeing Jason slip into the room quietly, staying in the shadows. Tim assumes Dick is taking care of any thugs that might have gotten into the room.

There’s a solitary thug stepping a little too close to him, he decides to kick his feet out from under him, knocking his head back hard against the floor and choosing a different spot to hide. He sees Jason taking care of two, though he notices there are less than before. Maybe they were smart and ran before the bomb exploded. Self-preservation is a good quality in a person, it makes them reliable that way. It also leaves less people to waste energy on, at the moment. He meets eyes with Jason, who drops silently to knock a man to the floor. Dick’s finally left the room to take care of the last two men who’d been frantically waving around their guns, looking a little too trigger-happy for Tim’s liking.

When the coast is clear he walks out, Dick passing out high-fives. Jason complies with a weak hand, Tim returning it with more energy. Now all that’s left is Dent, who Bruce can probably take care of, but not in his fancy suit. He’s probably feeling super antsy just thinking about it.

Tim opens his mouth to talk, but he freezes when he hears a click.

“Don’t move, any of you.” Tim fights the urge to turn and face the thug, Dick watching him. Jason growls. “Put the gun down. Your hands are shaking, you probably can’t even use it.”

A round of bullets goes off, flying right past Tim’s ear, who at this point is barely even breathing.

“You think I can’t? Turn around slowly.”

Tim pivots to face the man, trying to stay expressionless.

“There’s three of us,” Dick states. “Think about it. Take down one of us and two more will pin you down.”

The man’s expression is steely, eyes on Dick. Tim nods just the slightest bit at Jason, who brings a hand up to his ear slowly.

“Imagine if we had a blackout right about now,” he says casually. The man turns to him angrily, but Jason just holds his hands up innocently. Barbara’s voice comes through all of their headsets, Tim smiling just the slightest bit.

“Heads up.”

And then the lights go out.

[bilhanabipolar]

HEY LISTEN TO MY NEW VOLTRON HEADCANNON

So recently I’m falling in the hell called Marvel and DC. I can’t escape. And I decided to invite my beloved-Voltron-childrens to this madness.

VOLTRON HEADCANNON WHERE EVERYONE IS DC/MARVEL FANBOY/FANGIRL

let’s start with

Hunk.

His favorite Marvel’s superhero is Hulk, specifically Bruce Banner. Because, first of all, he is the SANEST one in the gang. Secondly, Hunk felt amazed by Bruce’s personality that are logical and irrational in the same time. Sometime Hunk imagine himself turn to be a Hulk and smash everything that can possibly hurt his friends. Last but not least, there’s a fact that Hunk and Hulk only have one different letter.

His favorite DC’s superhero is Superman. Do not ask.

Pigde.

Her favorite Marvel’s superhero is Dr. Strange. She love how sassy that wizard. That’s all.

Her favorite DC’s superhero obviously is Cyborg. I mean, a semi-human and semi-robot being that still act like a normal-dork teenager yet with some damn knowledge and power over the universe, how can she ignore that? Well, talk about a hero with technology, there’s a fact that she do like Batman too. But that knight is tooooo damn emo. Cyborg will always be her favorite. She is planning to turn herself into some semi-mechanical-being, but Matt seems have a problem with it.

Lance.

His favorite Marvel’s superhero is Captain America—which is basic. He had various Captain America action figure back in his bedroom. When Civil War came out, he and his fellow nerd stand with Captain America. They literally made a campaign for him. Such a dedicated fanboys.

His favorite DC’s superhero is Hal Jordan. Hal’s prettiness catch his eyes. A handsome confident man with a fearless will power. Lance is inspired by Hal’s character that influenced his own personality. He is Lance’s role model.

Keith.

His favorite Marvel’s superhero is Black Widow. Oh dear god, that lady has a move. One day, he asked Coran to make new practice session where he can sparing with a hologram of Black Widow—which was of course declined because of the lack of information about ‘this ma’am’.

His favorite DC’s superhero is Batman—but he kind of hate Burce Wayne. Anyway, he knowledge Batman’s martial art that is so awesome. Somehow, he felt a strong connection with that man in the batsuit and personally felt related with him. Anything about justice that he need to know he learned from Batman.

Shiro.

His favorite Marvel’s superhero is Winter Soldier... wait is he count as ‘hero’? Shiro doesn’t mind that. Somehow he feels familiar with Bucky. You know, some kind of ‘I should be dead years ago’ and ‘oh, look, I got a new arm’ like that.

His favorite DC’s superhero is Red Hood aka Jason Todd. It’s not just ‘I love this boy’, but more like ‘I’ll do anything for this boy’ kind of thing. He cares about Jason so much and believe Jason deserves more love. This Kosmopapa hated Bruce back then. He’s the kind of person who will join Jason-protection-squad. In another Shiro’s favorite superhero list, there’s Deadman. No explanation acquired.