#bruce is playing with blob

[bun-fish]

WIP update !!!

Imaginary Book Cover huehuehue

Of @noir-renard 's If You Give A Bat A Burger

(tap for better quality :)

markers and color pencils, the basics works the best.

I thought about toning down the colors (or just straight up leave it the way it is) of our resident fully-dead ghosts, but I couldn't resist adding the pink hair & boxing gloves Angela deserves ;)

there are two Yoricks in this btw

Just the Gang (in progress):

[emacrow]

When 20 year old Danny moved into gotham for Space Engineer University, his apartment that was set up thanks to Sam had exploded due to a super villain. (joker)

Leaving Danny's only available apartment that was stuck to a seedy part of Gotham. Nobody didn't told him that most of Gotham's waters that wasn't from the rich area was very very pollution with nasty rancid junk ectoplasm.

Ellie and Dan were with him due to a core accident with a forgotten fenton trap that hadn't been torn down yet, but they were now 4 and 6 years old physically and mentally until The medicine Frostbite specifically made for them to take every once a month, help their core regained the loss energy to reform back to their natural state later.

Luckily he had the fenton ectoplasm water pipes filter to throughly clean out the nasty junk to turn back into normal pure ectoplasm mixed water which was a bit light greenish blue to the normal person's eyes but glowing green to liminals, ghosts and halfas. Though he had to sneakily goes transport down in the sewer to fixes those rusty ol pipes, made a undead zombie friend whom seem to be trapped in a terrible limbo of saying a repeated phase.

Then danny felt a bit terrible that some of the neighborhoods also had the same problems with the pipes. Whom is the mayor to not investigate this much rusty pipes that had a a few thousands spirits and feral blob ghosts of the deceased not properly buried!?!

Seeing sick looking children outside with a bad case of slow bad ectoplasm poisoning jerk at his slow beating heart. He knew that if it goes on, there is going to be enough corrupted ectoplasm to cause a lminals to go completely crazy with enough mixed dark ghostly intentions and territorial issues from the restless spirits (a certain leader of assassin sneezed)

The protection mixed space core in him was nearly feral at this point of all the harm that had been done to the people of gotham before Danny gave in, called in his parents to sent him a couple hundred of fenton ectoplasm water pipe filters and grab emergency fenton shovel smacker to start building proper graves for the restless spirits..

By next three month, just looking at his window to see the street kids playing outside actually acting like children, looking more healthy and lively, the anemic lady next door who just had a baby seem more calm and friendly instead of paranoid and scared when he first met her with a package of freshly baked fenton Brownies.

He had almost replaced 3/5 of gothams rusty ol waters pipes, had made nearly 10 thousands Graves more then what he had expected after diving deep in the Gotham's oceans, lakes, ponds, and abandoned public pools.

So far that Gotham has gotten a positive effect when the first morning of August came in, as that the Gotham's news went viral as the black smog clouds that mostly covered Gotham's skies had parted to reveal a beautiful sky along side with incredible decreased in Crimes in certain parts of gothams.

Only for Danny to arrived into his Apartment to see Gotham's City Spirit, who was absolutely jaw dropping gorgeous sitting on his Couch with Dan and ellie chatting her ears off.

Meanwhile a certain bat fam are becoming more and more anxious as the decreased in crimes at night became to the point that tim is becoming more paranoid then gollum from the rings, damian is becoming nearly feral with the lack of criminals to beat upon, dick is actually enjoying the break, dick had been commenting on the lovely colors that gotham had been getting lately, and Jason haven't contact them in weeks ago until last Friday coming by for Dinner feeling and seemingly like the ol Robin he once was before that Bruce had actually ugly cried clinging to him when Jason hugged him.

[sleepingdiaryzzz]

Hear me out

Batsis baking something for them just because shes bored but shes horrible at baking (or she would just sabotage it idk put some peppers on the cake)would they just eat it?

Yandere Batfamily x reader

The kitchen smelled like war. Not the type fought with fists and weapons but the kind fought with flour, sugar, and an oven’s unrelenting heat. You stood in the middle of the chaos, apron smeared with batter and the counter coated in the powdered remnants of your efforts. You weren’t a baker—hell, you barely knew how to fry an egg—but boredom had a cruel way of twisting your decisions.

So here you were, baking for the people who had stolen you away under the guise of "family."

Not that you called them that.

Still, the silence of the manor grated on your nerves, and after hours of sulking and dodging their hovering presence, you thought, Why not? Maybe the mess would annoy them. Maybe the smell would be enough to break through their obsession-induced fog and remind them you weren’t playing along with their delusions.

The cupcakes you pulled from the oven looked… edible. Kind of. Half were lopsided, and a few were slightly charred. You dumped a ridiculous amount of frosting on top in an attempt to salvage them, but the end result was a tray of pastel blobs with vaguely cake-like shapes.

“Perfect,” you muttered sarcastically, swiping frosting from the counter with a finger.

Before you could second-guess your plan, the sound of footsteps approached. Slow, calculated. Bruce. You didn’t need to see him to know it was him—the weight of his presence filled the room like a stormcloud.

“Baking?” His voice was calm, laced with a hint of curiosity that made your skin crawl.

“Yeah,” you replied shortly, not looking at him. You started stacking the cupcakes onto a plate, pretending you didn’t care that he was watching. “Got bored.”

Bruce stepped closer, the faint rustle of his coat as deliberate as everything else he did. You hated how easily he could unsettle you. “It’s nice to see you trying something new,” he said, his tone gentle—fatherly, even.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the plate and shoving it toward him. “Here. You can have them.”

Bruce took the plate without hesitation, his gloved hands looking out of place against the childish swirls of frosting. “Thank you,” he said, as though you’d gifted him something precious. “The others will appreciate this.”

As if summoned, the rest of the Batfamily began to trickle in.

Dick was the first to arrive, his easy smile faltering only slightly when he saw the cupcakes. “Did you make these, [Name]?” he asked, grabbing one before you could answer.

“Yep,” you said flatly, crossing your arms. “Don’t expect much.”

He took a bite. For a moment, his face betrayed nothing, but then his expression twisted into something that could only be described as polite horror. “Wow,” he managed, forcing a swallow. “These are… unique.”

Jason snorted as he sauntered in, the smell having lured him from whatever dark corner he’d been brooding in. “What’s this?” he asked, swiping a cupcake from the plate Bruce held. “Looks like someone murdered a unicorn.”

“Eat it and find out,” you snapped.

Jason raised an eyebrow but took a bite anyway. His reaction was less subtle than Dick’s—he gagged dramatically, spitting the mouthful into a napkin. “What the hell, kid? Did you put salt instead of sugar?”

“I don’t know, maybe!” you shot back, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

Tim appeared next, looking bleary-eyed and clutching a mug of coffee. He grabbed a cupcake without a word and took a bite. His eyes widened slightly, and he coughed. “Is this… is this cinnamon?”

“Possibly.”

“Cinnamon and… garlic?”

You frowned. “I didn’t put garlic in there.”

Damian was the last to enter, his nose wrinkling at the plate as though it offended him on a personal level. “What is this monstrosity?” he asked, glaring at the cupcakes.

“Dessert,” you said dryly. “Take it or leave it.”

To your surprise, he picked one up, inspecting it like it was a puzzle he intended to solve. He took a cautious bite, chewed, and swallowed. “Tolerable,” he declared, setting the half-eaten cupcake down with a disdainful sniff.

“See? Tolerable,” you said, pointing at Damian as though his judgment absolved you.

Jason groaned. “Tolerable isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement.”

Bruce, who hadn’t taken a bite yet, finally broke his silence. “It’s the effort that matters,” he said, his gaze settling on you with unnerving intensity.

You glared back at him, hating the way he spoke as though you’d done this out of love rather than sheer boredom. “Don’t read into it,” you said sharply. “It’s not like I had anything better to do.”

Bruce didn’t respond, but the faint smile tugging at his lips told you he didn’t believe you.

Despite the disaster your cupcakes turned out to be, they ate them—or tried to. Even Jason, after some grumbling, finished his. Maybe they thought it would please you. Maybe it was another way to force their twisted idea of “family” on you.

Or maybe, you realized with a pang of unease, they just couldn’t say no to you.

The thought was more unsettling than anything else.

[starry-bi-sky]

I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.

Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.

And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.

Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.

They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.

When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.

Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.

When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.

"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.

"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.

Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.

Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.

Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.

When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.

Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.

because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far

when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)

danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.

and god help him, he's going to help people.

[emotional-piece-of-meat]

Since all batfam members struggle with the chronic “face with subtitles” case, I wanna rank them, depending on how frequently and demonstratively they use it.

10. Alfred: a raised eyebrow for all occasions conveys the whole range of emotions. Nobody knows whether a blank expression is a consequence of his personality or professional deformation, and they all are too scared to ask.

9. Bruce: this autistic blob cannot express his emotions through his face for his dear life. He surely overplays as Brucie, don't get me wrong he is good at masking, but naturally he is not really expressive.

8. Cass: uses her body language to communicate, so she can express emotions though her face pretty well. However, she is really out of touch with her feelings so most of the time she feels “nothing”, so she just copies whatever her siblings do.

7. Tim: has a pretty narrow range of emotions he shows, usually annoyance and disappointment. Specifically makes himself extremely hard to read due to upbringing and circumstances, even though he can be a diva or at least play one.

6. Barbara: has a professional side eye, but mostly keeps her emotions to herself. She differs from the rest of batfam in the superpower to convey her feelings with words through her mouth, so she does not use her face much for communication.

5. Jason: was more expressive as a child, now hides most of his positive emotions. However, he is very demonstrative with the negative: he thinks you are shit and he is not ashamed to show you that, furthermore he will make sure you know that.

4. Dick: the boy was taken out of the circus, but the circus could not be taken out of the boy, and now it is everyone else's problem. He is fully able to control his facial expressions, but it is so much funnier when he doesn't, so he chooses to be happy.

3. Damian: thinks he is extremely good at hiding his true feelings, maybe even as good as his father or grandfather, but actually he is not. He is a child after all, and children tends to be easy to read, but he keeps to stubbornly deny his involvement with children and people with emotions.

2. Steph: she does it on purpose purely for shits and giggles, because being annoying is a defence mechanism at this point. Naturally, her face is expressive but not that expressive, she often exaggerates it just to mess with people.

1. Duke: these are not subtitles, this is a one-man show, and you'd better watch carefully. He puts his whole soul into this performance, the range of emotions he demonstrates through his face is so wide, it's not a simple comment, it's a whole ass essay.

[tea-and-vodka]

DP x DC Black Parade AU (inspired by... well... The Black Parade by MCR)

- - -

Constantine had mentioned an event known as The Black Parade, or The Spirits' Travel, something Batman had never heard of outside his own music habits (that he would never admit to).

[SOMETHING SOMETHING, BATCLAN MEMBERS PLUS J.C. END UP AT A CLIFF TO WATCH THE EVENT]

Dick watched the stars as he stood dangerously close to the edge, clearly awestruck. Damian was not as interested by them. The stars only brought back memories made bitter and painful by loss, memories of him and his brother when they were little.

"Uh, what's that noise?"

The Bats and Birds immediately snapped to attention at Duke's words, alert for any potential threats. A faint repetitive drumming could be heard, like what one would expect from the lead drummer in a marching band.

Constantine huffed in amusement as he flicked the excess ash off of his cigarette before making a vague remark about the parade approaching. As he brought the cigarette to his lips, toxic-green whisps began to curl up from the ground before dissipating, a slow wave of appearances starting from their lefts and spreading rightward as the drumming drew closer.

"What is this, Constantine?" Batman questioned, though it sounded more like a cross between a growl and a threat.

"Exactly what you signed up for, Bats. Now, I'd recommend that you all stand back for this; you wouldn't want to be taken them." He retorted, gesturing with his half-gone cigarette off towards where the drumming seemed to be coming from.

The vigilantes' heads snapped over to the left, internally startled by what they saw.

A massive, glowing green parade was coming towards them, moving through the air like an Asian dragon. It was populated with obviously non-human people, dancing, flying, twirling, laughing, and playing as they continued through the sky. Many were playing a wide variety of instruments or singing, but it all blended together into a happy, content, but somber melody. The green whisps twirled and drifted through the air around them like anti-gravity confetti, along with chittering blobs of the same color and red beady eyes. But one thing caught Damian's attention quickly.

"Why are they glowing Lazarus-green?" He snapped at the blonde.

"It's ectoplasm, kid. Lazarus is just corrupted ectoplasm." Constantine responded calmly.

Left with more questions than answers, Damian turned his attention back to the ghosts that were now flying directly past the group. Some waved as they flew past, including a few children that made Bruce and Dick's hearts clench.

Near the end of the precession, they heard a faint, young voice that caught their attentions, though not more than Damian's.

"Wait up, Cujo!"

As the end of the parade approached, so did a young, white-haired, bright green-eyed teenager flying after a Lazarus-green dog. He laughed as the dog suddenly turned around from the chase, jumping off of nothing and into his arms. The teen smiled widely as he drifted along, holding the puppy closely.

As the ghost got closer, Damian ran to the edge of the cliff, only held back by a startled Dick.

"DANYAL!!" He shouted, reaching out for the boy.

The ghost's head snapped up, looking directly at Damian with shock written across his features. The dog leapt from his arms, bounding away and into the crowd. As green eyes locked onto a domino mask, he spoke almost breathlessly.

"Dami?"

Tears threatened to escape Damian's eyes as he reached out desperately for the other boy, held back by his brother along with Constantine as well. "DANYAL!"

The white-haired boy's eyes widened as he seemingly came to a realization. "DAMI!" He yelled, attempting to fly to Damian as he reached for him. Some of the other ghosts nearby wheeled around as they noticed what he was trying to do, a few grabbing him.

One with long blue hair(?) and a guitar had him held on one side as they quickly began to speak to him. "Woah there, Babypop! Stay together, you know how dangerous it is to get separated!"

The teen in their arms shook his head as tears streamed down his face, slowly being pulled farther from his black-haired counterpart. "NO, NO, PLEASE! DAMIAN!!" He nearly begged, reaching out as far as he could.

Damian had nearly slashed through the men holding him, his father having to join in to keep him back as he thrashed in their holds. Face twisted in emotional agony, he shouted once more. "DANNY!!"

"I'LL FIND YOU! I PROMISE! I'LL FIND YOU!" Danny shouted as his spot in the parade drew closer and closer to a portal that had opened outside of the humans' collective notice. "STAY SAFE; I WILL FIND YOU-!" Cut off by the portal, the last traces of the collective of ghosts disappeared.

Swirling itself out of existence, the portal disappeared with all of the fight left in the youngest vigilante. He collapsed to the ground, silent and nearly unmoving.

"Baby Bat?" Dick asked, concern lacing his tone. When his brother didn't respond, he gently reached out, slowly pulling him into a hug. When he didn't get a response, he held him closer.

"Robin."

Neither Damian nor Dick responded in any way to Bruce's prompting.

"Who was that?"

- - -

Sorry for how rough this is, I just wanted to get the idea out before I forgot! Essentially, Danny and Damian are twins, and when they were, like, four, Danny got dunked in the Lazarus Pits but didn't come back up from it, instead being taken through the Infinite Realms for a few moments before getting flung back out through another, smaller rift between dimensions. He was found by Jazz while the Doctors Fenton were out doing their ghost hunting thing. They adopted him and that was that.

[cryptid-quest]

Cryptid of the Day: Kinderhook Blob

Description: In 1962, Bruce Hollenbeck was 10 years old, playing with his cousin in the woods behind his house, when they heard a high pitch whistle. That’s when they saw a white object peering at them from behind a pine tree. Two years later, two men walking in the woods saw a similar creature. The blob was last seen by two 14 year old boys while they were camping. 

[labete-du-gevaudan]

In 1962, Bruce Hallenbeck was 10 years old and loved to play in the woods of Kinderhook, New York. He and his cousin were playing behind Hallenbeck's house when a loud whistling sound pierced the air. The children stopped in their tracks, obviously confused by the noise. While looking for the source of the sound, the children saw a mysterious figure behind a tree. It was white object that was peeking around the tree at the two kids. Hallenbeck reported that the creature had no eyes despite the fact that he thought it was watching them. They quickly ran back to the house.

For two years, nothing else was seen. Until an anonymous witness claimed to see a floating white blob moving toward him while he was on a hike. He ran away in fear but returned to the scene with his friend, armed with a shovel and pitchfork. Upon seeing the creature again, the two men dropped their weapons and ran away.

Other sightings reportedly also took place in 1964. Some witnesses claimed to see the creature in 1978 where it was described as "bell shaped". There were even sightings of the Kinderhook Blob as recently as 2017. Witnesses Owen Farley and Anthony Malanowski described the creature as 7 feet tall. It floated toward them at a high speed and the two men ran away as fast as they were able.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

XXVI. “grave responsibility”

parts: previous / next

plot: after months of hostile bickering, you finally complete an unconventional interview with Bruce. all’s well that ends well? not quite.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, suicide discussion, feelings of shock, brief mention of hallucinations, feeling unsafe, regret, nausea

words: 9.4k

a/n: the latter portion of this chapter discusses suicide, an attempt occurs offscreen and there are no descriptions of the act or injury. if you would not like to read this, the next chapter will include a blurb at the beginning to summarize what takes place in this chapter so you can still follow along!

"Bruce?!" His chest was heaving, and he had mud snaked up his legs to his thighs. You clutched the notebook tighter as he walked closer, nervous about his intentions as your eyes darted along his haggard frame. The single streetlight down this alleyway (which is why you chose it, it was the only one that was even halfway lit) cast a shadow across half his body, obscuring his face, darkening his hair and outfit until he was mostly a dark blob of nothingness. When you took a step back he stopped, and a single hand appeared with its palm facing you.

"I don't want to scare you." His voice was low and ragged from what looked like a full-send sprint the half mile distance from city hall. The only thing letting you know you weren't entirely gripped with fear was an initial reaction of laughing, which you stifled; what person says that of all things to calm their victim? But as you stood defenseless in the dirty, bloody corridor, panic encroached.

He saw how nervous you were as your face was cast in the dim light. He held both hands up now, submissively, looking nowhere but your eyes. He stepped slowly, methodically, gently to his left so he could be in your light. He had the sense you were as skittish as a feral cat, and once again he didn't blame you. As much as you put him in situations, he put you in them the same. "I wanted to tell you why I was upset that night." And why he needed you to help, but he couldn't get that sentimental of words out of him; they rung discordantly in his head. He diverted his eyes from you for just a moment, looking around to see if there were any place even slightly more private, but you startled at his shift and made that an impossibility. Now or never.

The lack of ache in your heel reminded you your amygdala was running the show now, adrenaline perking your muscles. You needed to focus and fully internalize the situation, or it would be a blur just like the last meeting with him. You watched him with a thorough stare; memorized what he was wearing, thought back to what street he was on, tried to recognize the watch on his wrist. How long has it been since I left city hall? Fifteen minutes? Ten? Less? It was instinctual, what you always did walking anywhere in the city in case the police needed a spotless report. His watch was silver, his shirt dark gray with a rounded neckline, his pants were black and lightly pleated. He smelled like smoked honey, and it was so deep even a hundred washes couldn't take it all out, in case he tried to play it off as some other guy, in some other outfit, in some other alley.

He soaked up your studying, making sure to keep as casually still as possible for you to get your read on him. Outside of the suit even he felt it a bit unsettling out here. As you scanned his outfit he flashed back to the tattered denim around your ankles, and how he held the same frame, the same power. Every defense melted from him in an instant. Standing wasn't going to do, was it?

Bruce sank to his knees, balanced a hand in front of him on the chunky concrete, and sat his ass flat in a mucky, lukewarm puddle. When he looked up at you he relaxed his shoulders, and took firm control to slow his breathing. The dilation in your eyes quickly shrank, the wide fear in your face washed away to pointed confusion. He tucked each leg under the other for good, deescalating measure.

Criss-cross applesauce. You blurted out a laugh that sounded more like a maniacal shriek, or some sound a seagull squawked. It was reflexive, coming more from the juxtaposition of the scene in front of you than anything light and humorous. Yesterday you'd scrolled through hundreds of fanfic blurbs and imagines about how distinguished, classy, and inaccessible the man was—if only they got a load of this. For the first time you'd ever seen him he seemed to embrace a speck of humility. You felt a wash of embarrassment at him acting so docile, unable to stop ruminating on how perceptive and analytical he was. You knew he sensed your fear, and it fucked you up.

"My head was jumbled that night. I didn't intend to find you, I was trying to find something on my own. But," His inhale was quick and deep. "I don't know how much I trust my perception anymore. When I saw you, I wanted you to help reality test my, sanity." He spoke the word with a deep sigh and rapid blinking. A slight scraping sound scored his words, anxiously picking at his nails, squeezing the tips of his fingers until they were blushed scarlet.

Sanity? When you peered more intently (which was possible only by him breaking eye contact) you noticed a slight tremble in him. Now your brow furrowed, desperate to pin down Bruce Wayne's thing. More than anything he seemed to be a chameleon, able to slip in and out of any situation through altering his behavior and appearance. You didn't want to be convinced too easily, knowing full well this too could be a ruse. Some final plea to empathy to guarantee you wouldn't tell before leaving forever, and his hail mary a show of humility. "Why would you need that tested?"

He peered up at you; when your eyes locked again that weird, illegal sensation gripped you once more. Could charisma and manipulation be this intense? Be translated only through agonizing eye contact? "Have you seen any owls around?" His words were barely above a whisper, and you had to strain your ears to hear, nearly forcing you to step closer. Owls? "Like the bird? Owls?"

He nodded. "But drawings. Etchings. In any jewelry, windows, streets, buildings, pins, papers?" Jesus, his eye contact... fucking piercing. Nothing rang a bell to you. You didn't know if they even had real, live owls in Gotham, but no, you hadn't seen any drawings, jewelry, anything owl-themed. Come to think of it, you really hadn't seen one since you were a child, on a school trip, or out camping. You shook your head, the confusion and loss in your body language flitting pain across his face. If this was an act, he was convincing, you'd give him that. The bags under his eyes, the tremble in his torso and hands, the desperate searching in his eyes as he tried to enter your soul through your eye-sockets. He averted his eyes again, and you could breathe. "I think I'm hallucinating them. That night I saw Vry wearing one again, and..." Why was he spilling all of it out to you?

Again? You'd never seen her wear anything with an owl on it. He paused and heaved more breaths, as if it were torturous for him to tell you these things, and maybe it was. How comfortable would I feel saying this to him?

The rest of that night spilled out of him, and it felt about as outside his conscious control as vomiting, and equally pleasant. "When I came home Alfred was... concerned. He showed me the death reports on my great grandfather, and the same thing happened to him. Hallucinating owls." He spit these words out like they were knives. "Right before he died." He crossed his arms over his shoulders in a makeshift hug, squeezing tightly as his now unfocused eyes stared absently down the alleyway.

Oh. Your first instinct was to hug him. He looked so decidedly small... maybe his charm was working, and you resigned to stay put. He sighed again, his shoulders going stiffly up and down with it. "Now I'm here. And you gave me your answer." He looked deep in thought, burrowed in it. Hallucinations? His great grandfather, right before he died? The two pieces didn't quite fit together for you; sure, he was stoic and antisocial, but he... when you came up with nothing more, you remembered how little you truly knew about him. He could've hid any symptoms easily from you, only having to be 'on' for two hours a week, a small handful of times. Maybe that's why he doesn't want to interview. Maybe that's why it's hard for him to speak about his family.

Scuffling, clamoring sounds muffled in the background alarmed Bruce, which alarmed you. He stood up swiftly. "It's paparazzi." His wide eyes were back on you, he looked like a deer in the barrel of a gun. He glanced behind you as if studying where he could run to. The butt of his pants and the back of his shirt were alight with mud, his hair mussed, collar of his sweater askew. You could practically hear the headlines if they caught the both of you.

He couldn't just ask you to follow him, not after you'd been so hesitant of it in the past, not in the middle of the dark evening, not when you were whizzing through unmarked alleys. Not a chance you would go for it. As much as he didn't do bribes, he was thinking about how much cash he had in his wallet and if the paps would go for it. Maybe he could ask you to leave, run to the end of the alleyway and turn different directions, and you’d be spared their invasion.

Your apartment was just three blocks further and your keycard let you into the parking garage. He'd know where you lived for one night, and far from the room you lived in... "C'mon." You motioned for him to follow and turned north, focusing on the weight of your heels as you ran so you didn't slip. You thanked yourself for sticking to shorter heels than Mar had recommended. Gotham even makes it hard to run away.

He also wondered how you could run in heels for the few seconds he was behind you, wondering how you weren't laid flat by a twisted ankle. Maybe he was just too anxious, his legs too rubbery. His feet were catching on every pothole and clump of rock.

Wordlessly, you both arrived not two minutes later to the parking garage. The streets were so dark he was easily camouflaged, and when there had been a car with particularly bright lights you'd paused and stood in front of him; you couldn't tell if he was annoyed by this or not, as you were still wanting to engage with him as little as possible. You had boxes to pack, Mar to hound for an answer, and the debilitating fear and confusion of starting over with no idea what to do with your life. Much to look forward to.

When the garage doors shut, he spoke. "Thanks. I'll call Alfred for a lift in a few minutes." He found a raised yellow parking block and sat down quickly, immediately placing his head back in his hands. This couldn't be happening. You'd acted so confused when he asked that, there was no way you'd seen anything like it. He was dumb to think it was anywhere but outside his head. Vry hadn't even glanced down at the ring, Gordon didn't even care to mention it likely because it wasn't there... jesus.

Your heels in his periphery reminded him he wasn't alone, and could save the spiral for later. He watched as you mindlessly kicked at pebbles and toyed with the phone in your hands. Why did you help him? Was it pity? He thought he was coming off pretty pathetic, desperate even. Shame burned white-hot in his gut. Why did he run after you? Why'd he tell you? Why couldn't he just believe what was right in front of him: he was sick, in the same way, the proof was quite literally sitting atop Alfred's desk as he sat here avoiding it. He stood abruptly, and a haze of dizziness struck him. He ignored it. "I'm sorry for asking you. For following after you." As much as he was physically here right now, he wasn't. Lost in twisting thoughts, a sudden desire to draw up a bucket list, to plan for handing over Wayne Enterprises in case things didn't help, in case—

You shrugged, not knowing quite what to say with the stale silence. "It's fine."

"The interview." He gestured to your hand, which was still gripping the recorder and journal tightly. He livened his posture, his tone, trying to deflect from the vulnerability he'd let slip out of him, teetering on the edge of a panic attack. "We can finish it if you'd like."

The disappointment at having to come to Dr. Vry's office the next morning empty-handed was gone now, and you were more upset hearing him give you another opportunity. You'd prepped yourself to distract with the last perishables in your freezer (a pint or two of Ben and Jerry's and whatever else you could muster eating so it wouldn't be thrown out) while you splayed out in bed watching something on streaming. The thought of such a task now... You shook your head and looked away from him. "You don't have to do that. She'll be fine, I don't ever have to see her again after, so."

"Are you sure? We can do it now, I don't mind." He sounded so genuine, suspiciously so, but you had no time to investigate or tease. You thought about how it would feel to be back in your room tomorrow night empty-handed with absolutely nothing having come from your time here. The thought was harrowing. Your degree was useless in this economy, Mar wasn't answering, and you'd gotten on the bad side of one of the most powerful men in America.

You needed anything you could get, and an interview with a notable figure was far from grasping at straws; it would give you a bit of a boost, something to put on a resume that could give you a much-needed leg-up over the competition... but trying to pull answers out of him would be a Herculean task. You stood awkwardly, looking vaguely in his direction. "You didn't really have answers for me before."

"I'll come up with something. Hit me." Anything to deflect from impromptu, hastily-shared vulnerabilities.

You looked around for a place to set the recorder, until you placed it on the ground. You pulled your knee up to rest the journal on it, but the balancing act had you hopping around nearly crunching the apparatus as you regained balance. Using a car window, bumper, or hood wouldn't do; you'd bumped into a few cars down here before, and they were uber sensitive... there was just no way. Would it be so bad if he knew where I lived for one night? The windows didn't open very well, he couldn't exactly swing in. The door was heavy and loud, and you'd be able to grab some sort of knife if he tried coming in the middle of the night. Christ... "We can go up to my apartment for a few, I guess." Get this over with. Finally! Done! Fucking done! Please!

"I don't want to intrude." He stood up slowly from the parking block, you didn't have any reserve in your patience to humor him. "I've got a fridge of perishables to eat through, if you can help me with that you'll do me a favor." You walked towards the elevator and heard his light footsteps follow. You felt a bit bad for him. His confession had been markedly vulnerable, and the box swiftly shut. Mar called them your 'mediator tendencies'; no matter how shitty you felt someone was, if they showed any meekness whatsoever you desired to soothe them like a sick, stray cat.

It was strange how quietly you both walked into your apartment. You flipped on your singular lamp, walked to the freezer, and had him choose a pint. Wordlessly he picked one, and within thirty seconds he was standing in your bedroom while you readied your things, popping open some Cherry Garcia. After you'd popped open your journal, clicked the pen, and positioned the recorder in his direction, you looked up to see him eyeing your armchair in the corner. His eyes flit back to yours and he immediately cast his eyes to the ground. "Ready." He nodded, but you didn't believe it.

You looked over to the armchair you'd sat in last night, feverishly finalizing these notes. Your mouth tugged into a slight grin. Bruce Wayne in the plush pink chair. You nodded your head toward it and he walked quickly, his legs taking long, sweeping, easy strides. He was extra tall with your heels off, plopped down on your mattress looking up at him. But as he walked past you noticed the gray, brown soak on his back, and hopped up. "I'll get a towel, wait." You trekked to the bathroom and grabbed your last clean one, groaning over why you'd bought white. Upon entering the doorway you tossed it to him, and it caught on the end of the spoon still in his mouth. He winced as a clack sounded, and you stifled a laugh. Even if he was being more humanoid tonight, he was still him.

Your bed felt extra warm after the cool bathroom tile, even with the chill of Bruce in the room. He broke the silence, which surprised you enough to turn toward him. He sat, looking about ten spoons deep into the pint. "I've never had ice cream like this." His brow was furrowed, much too seriously for the situation. You wanted to cackle again, but barely held it in by squeezing your fingers together. He sighed. "Alfred only gets Breyer's. Plain."

Maybe it was a coping mechanism, maybe it was your body dissociating from the stress of the rest of the night, of leaving, of a man you so disliked and so feared sitting alone in your apartment while you were otherwise defenseless, but you broke into furious laughter. You wanted to question him further but you couldn't. You fell onto your back and held your stomach. You couldn't see him but you knew he still had that look on his face, the one he always had with you. That bewildered, annoyed, specific fucking face. Stomach cramps plagued your fun, slowing your uproar and letting you sit back up to face him. A fucking pint? Of ice cream? He talked about it like it was alien. You made the mistake of glancing your eyes up to his, and he was making that face. You scrunched your face together tight, feeling like it was getting to the point of bullying the man.

"What?" Defiance coated his tone. He'd never seen you laugh like that, or really, at all. He shoved another cherry chunk into his mouth to abate his own grin. He didn't understand what was so funny, but it felt funny. You shook your head and picked up your pen. "It's funny because it's such a simple thing, and Breyer's is, that's, I don't know." The humor of it was beginning to leave you, and you heaved a sigh to recenter. "Are you ready to start it?"

"Are you?" He gestured with the spoon and you used every muscle in your face and stomach to reign in another laugh. His defiance had melted a bit. His next scoop sounded like it scraped the bottom, and you looked over, shocked. "Already?"

"Pints are deceptively small." He sat the empty cardboard on the desk beside him. "Not like Breyer's." The ghost of a snicker, the faintest smile tempted his lips. He cleared his throat. He played it off by biting the inside of his cheek. "You said you wanted me to clear it out...?"

You thought of the second pint sitting in your freezer, and signed it away to him in your mind. "Sure, get the other one." A moment later he was taking the lid off of a pint of Half-Baked. You waited for him to get situated and hovered above RECORD. "Can we start?"

He nodded, unable to speak as he chowed down, but he was moving the rest of the dessert off to his left. You pored over the questions left unanswered and unsaid, pain cinching your chest. This evening was so erratic. Frenzied. Fucking weird. You pressed the button and cleared your throat; it always made you anxious when the button hit, even when you did roleplays in class. It felt like signing a legal document, like someone could pore over your recording and read into every little thing. Dr. Vry had told the class to treat journalistic recordings with utmost integrity and professionalism, because if your name ever got called into question it could be incredible evidence to get you out of a tight spot, keeping your name and slate clean from people who may not have liked how they came off.

"Mr. Wayne." You felt uncomfortable saying it, but that's how it had to be done. "The public knows a great deal about your business ventures, your family history, and other professional pursuits. I want to dive a bit more into the personal. What do you hope to accomplish in your personal life, outside of career aspirations?"

Christ, he really didn't have an answer for that one. But he said he would, and after masking his mounting anxiety as 'thinking', he pulled something semi-accurate out of a lot of jumbled nothing. It felt strange to speak so formally, his voice twisting into shapes only ever bouncing off the walls of city hall. "I've put a lot of emphasis on helping Gotham; if I had to say, I would like to..." Nothing. It wasn't genuine. He hoped to eradicate violent crime in Gotham, but unless they knew he was also Batman, that would just be another career aspiration. Was Batman a career? He'd never thought of him that way. He didn't fully look up at you but he could see you glancing at him from the corner of his eye. Doesn't have to be genuine. More of a family name thing than anything. "In the next decade, start a family. Then live out the latter half of my years raising my children."

You stared at him, blank-faced. The way he'd choked that out was brutal; his face scrunched, his hands clenched over his knees, his foot was tapping obnoxiously against the ground... cool it, Y/N. Be grateful he's even doing this for you. You moved on to the next, then. You would've rather sliced off the edge of your tongue than ask this, but he'd tempted the topic and you'd deliver for all the teenagers in the world who thought they had a chance with the guy plastered to their wall. Be professional. "It's a question often posed in the comments of Scypher and across other social medias: are you currently in a romantic relationship? And if not, what do you look for in a partner?" Dr. Vry always said to throw in a 'smoothie' to every interview: something digestible and flashy to get the clicks, but still relevant. Something in popular discourse, Gen-Z. You didn't really know if she knew anything about 'Gen-Z' but—Bruce was staring at you, looking insulted. You shrugged and mouthed to him People want to know making him roll his eyes and sit stiffer in the chair. "Not at the moment. Currently very focused on getting through this election campaign and the Spring budget rollout."

Wonder how Scypher's gonna take that. You noted he refused to answer the latter half of your question, but the recording felt like a tight leash, giving no slack for side conversation. "Speaking about the campaign, The Gotham Times has speculated that you might have a mayoral stint in the future. Any plans?" This one should be easy for him.

"You never know." He let out a strained laugh you could tell was only meant to be transcribed in the article. Had he been media trained? He couldn't have... maybe when he was younger? Do little kids get media training? "My father would have made an incredible mayor. I fear I could never live up to that." He wasn't giving you anything extra; sitting there, still, looking the same as he did all evening with a bit more sweat, water, and wind having embraced him. Stoic. Unapproachable.

You checked the time; it was almost eight. You had to have enough time to write this, finalize it enough for the fucking world to see it, and have enough sleep to drive fifteen hours to get home just after midnight. "What's something that you wish more people knew about you?"

It was at precisely this point that he remembered he was debuting a new persona, a different persona, one that needed to be hyped up, more performative than genuine. The same refrain from the earlier conversation blurted out of him. Only after saying it did he realize you wouldn't get the reference, because you hadn't been in the group he was talking to. "Besides my appreciation for jetting to Dubai to work on my physique?" When you had no reaction but a dead stare, he rushed to explain, stopping just shy of anything escaping his mouth. The recorder in the corner sat like a menacing god. He gestured at it until you gave in and flipped it OFF. He waited for the red light to disappear completely to speak. "Do you, have questions written?" He was flustered, and noticed you fiddle with a beige paper when he said it. "I prefer writing things out."

Unconventional, sure, but it was hard to hide your laughs and even harder to witness him break his brain trying to concoct verbal responses. He spoke again. "Underline the questions you want me to answer." He was too embarrassed to act out Bruce Wayne in front of you, and too much was at stake to toss the boyish banter to the side. You felt the nervousness emanating off of him; how worried about ethicality could you be when you'd initially blackmailed him into doing it anyway? You acceded to him. "Sure." He buried the shock at your swift accommodation deep in his chest. As you underlined, you made sure to keep to the questions least interesting to you and most generalizable to the interests of the public. Who liked Bruce Wayne? Besides the many thirsting after him and the older people who had been enamored with his philanthropic parents, he catered to businessmen—people who thought if they only idolized him enough, they could become him.

Many thought your reclusive nature was due to hatred of the city that so cruelly took your parents, yet you seem to still have a passion for Gotham; what drives that passion?

As a burgeoning philanthropist, what was your 'aha' moment?

You're a very hands-on person. Does this drive your enthusiasm?

You do a lot of traveling?

How does your public-facing life now compare to your more private one before?

What do you think is the biggest challenge facing Gotham City today?

What values are fundamental to you, and why?

What's your favorite way to unwind?

As a celebrity from birth, how do you handle criticism?

What's a book that you'd recommend? Anything you're reading right now?

What do you believe in that others might not?

What's your favorite quality about yourself? Least favorite?

How do you spend your weekends?

What is your idea of happiness?

Any weird habits?

What's the best piece of advice you've been given?

You kept the rest untouched. Light, easy to format, mix of depths. Exasperation threatened to derail you completely; if they'd wanted a better interview, they should've cornered Bruce Wayne in a public setting themselves. You hopped off the bed and handed the journal, paper, and pen to him. "I have to finish packing. Lemme know when you're done." Being close to him felt like being on fire, and you splashed your face with cool water from the kitchen sink as soon as you escaped the deoxygenated room.

You meandered, wandered, skipped from wall to wall of your living room, occasionally stopping by for some grapes, a bite of apple, or a sip from the two different juices open in your fridge. Folded the blanket that was over your couch, stacked the pillows, rolled up the rug. Put all the silverware and dishes in a box, save the ones you would use in the morning for some last-minute snacking. Packed away some cans from the pantry, disassembled the lamp, dining table, and two of four dining chairs (why did you ever think you'd need that many?) before Bruce appeared with the journal in one hand, the empty ice cream in the other. "Finished." He set the journal and ice cream on the kitchen island's edge. His voice was low, his expression tired. He gestured with a nod of his head to the two standing chairs. "Need help?"

You wanted to say no out of some misplaced sense of feminism, but you needed to get writing ASAP. By now it was past nine, long past when you thought you'd start. "I just need these two broken down." In a blink he was knelt down beside you, expertly wielding the thick wood legs like he'd telepathically scanned the crumpled manual at your feet. In just a few more blinks he had the entire chair broken down and placed nicely on top of the other two. Without pause he shifted his weight toward the other chair, and within thirty seconds it was broken down. Each chair had taken you ten minutes at least. You bristled, but your curiosity outweighed the jealousy. "How do you do that so quickly?"

His voice was low, emotionless. Even less than usual. "I'm used to fixing things."

You bit back a snarky retort. This isn't fixing them, it's... You stood and walked to grab the journal while he heaved (well, very easily, like carrying an empty plate to the sink) the pile of wood into the large box with the other pieces. He started turning to face you and the rest of the room, and you quickly snapped the journal open to skim it. Your eyes bulged when your thumb kept turning page, after page, after page. You glanced up at him to see him studying your reaction. "Is it acceptable?"

Acceptable? He'd given you a damn dissertation. "Yeah, I mean," You kept flipping pages and noticed questions you hadn't underlined answered. You flipped more, more, and noticed he'd answered every one. The hour hadn't been long at all, if this was the case. "You didn't have to answer every one, I can't fit them all in." Shit, he'd even answered that one? You hurriedly shut the journal before you could dive too deep into whatever swirled around his head. "Um, thank you." Heat tinged your cheeks. "You didn't have to do that, you didn't have to do any of this, really." Had he written them to actually help you, or was he trying to make you feel guilty? Every passing minute you spent with him only added to his mystique.

He shrugged, just as emotionless and guarded, but somehow emptier. "I figured. Now you have options."

Now the both of you were at a standstill. You'd finally gotten what you wanted. "I'll have to take some artistic liberty on how things were expressed. Fill in some exposition."

He nodded. Stayed still as a statue in the back of your living room, the glow of the kitchen lights lighting half his face.

You skimmed the column requirements internally, making sure you didn't conjure up a question the second he left forever. "You seemed to be acting... social, and laughing. Do you want me to go toward that?" This wasn't usually what happened—usually you wrote what you saw.

His blue eyes were bright and heavy. "Use your best judgement." His eyes darted around the mostly empty room, and you wondered if he was picking up on microscopic hairs on the ground, x-raying through the walls, photographing everything with one look. He existed in uncharted territory between normal and superhuman. You rocked from side to side to self-soothe, anxiety bubbling in your gut. "Anything else you need help packing?"

Your head shake came before you'd even thought about if it was true. "I'm good."

Almost invisibly, he cocked an eyebrow. "You sure?"

Another autopilot response. "Yeah. Thanks though." This whole exchange felt surreal, between the weight of his presence and the weight of the column. You couldn't submit to your anxieties until you'd finished typing it or you'd freeze into a ball of overwhelm. Bruce walked toward your door with a slower, steadier gait, almost lingering, but there was no way you could internalize that. He doesn't want to stay, he wants to get the fuck out of here. How much restraint is it taking for him not to just bolt and say 'sayonara'?

... did you want him to linger? "Bruce." He turned across his shoulder, with his hand on the doorknob.

"Thanks again. This will really help me out. And the money, I'm still mad you didn't talk to me, that's messed up but," Quick, sharp exhale. "It's really helping my family." In the silence after, you wanted to tell him she was starting a new treatment, you wanted to tell him how it was going, you wanted to talk to him. After this you'd never see each other again, and it was... affecting. You still thought it was a bribe, you still thought it was to help you keep quiet, you still thought he was scary, and unnerving, and spoiled. But he hadn't hurt you yet.

He nodded, feeling like a 'you're welcome' would've been sorely misplaced. Seeing you stand in your kitchen, heels off, hair messy, dress wrinkled from cleaning, it all felt so normal. He felt an insanely persuasive urge to move toward that, to bathe in it, to finally let his chest relax, his shoulders drop and escape into everyday nothingness. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure." The sound of both your voices in the abject silence was isolated and stark.

"Why do you hate Gotham?"

You fought the urge to sigh at him opening the can of worms again. "I'm just not built for it." He stared at you like you hadn't said a thing, his expression unchanged, still as a stump. You feared if you shrugged again your shoulders would pinch a nerve. "It's too fast. Can't keep up."

He squinted. "You can be honest."

"I am." But you quickly lost the defensiveness. "I have a friend here who loves it. She's thriving, she's not phased. But..." You stared at the wall beside him floating somewhere between here and Washington. The length of today, last night, and tomorrow was weighing on you. If you thought about this much longer you'd crumble back into your existential crisis. You didn't finish your sentence.

Bruce didn't know why his stomach clenched seeing you look sad, much like he didn't know why he'd felt the same pang at city hall... before you'd blackmailed him. But now you'd already done that, the interview was done, you were leaving the next morning, and the sensitivity remained. "What?" His voice was gentler, warmer. Your throat constricted, preparing for tears you begged your body to suppress. "She's tougher than I am."

He didn't miss a beat with his response. "You seem pretty tough to me."

"Yeah, sure." Please leave. I'm about to cry.

He was lingering, and at this point he fully knew it. He hadn't realized that, if he was successful with his newfound persona, no one else would ever know his identity. The thought was sobering, seeing how he'd taken for granted someone else knowing. The second he stepped out of the room he had no one to go to ever again outside of Alfred, and with his age... he'd be resigned to spending the rest of his life alone. Why was he worried about this? Why was he thinking about this?

He noticed the tears welling in your eyes. Was it your mom?

"What?"

Shit. The stress of the evening was wearing on him. He didn't make mistakes like that. "You don't have to answer that."

He'd said it like he hadn't intended to. His eyes searched the ground like he was searching for a way out. What the fuck's the harm in it now? The tears had been beckoned, you knew he saw you shaking... you almost gave in, but you couldn't even chance a look up at him under such wuthering eye contact, let alone talk about the complicated, insidious grief that was your mom's illness. You shook your head at him and leaned your hip against the counter, hoping he wouldn't say another word, praying he would just leave. Your heart raced, and only sped up further when you saw him take a step toward you. "Stop. I'm fine." It came out harsher than you intended, and you only doubled down on it when you saw his brow furrow through the crest of tears threatening to cascade past your waterline.

He wouldn't stop staring at you. You decided to face his eye contact unflinchingly, letting the tears stream down your cheeks without comment. His eyes squinted slightly, following the path of each tear down your cheek as if he were caressing each one, holding its weight, soothing it. His chest puffed like he was drawing in air to speak, and you intercepted, shame pummeling you indiscriminately. Fuck, his presence made you feel so vulnerable, so seen, it was excruciating and untenable. On impulse, you lashed out. "Can you just leave already?"

He looked away and nodded. You could barely see through drowning tears but he looked ruffled, sensitive, a bit upset. Almost like he was kicking himself for letting the question slip at all. He turned and opened the door to the empty, dark hallway, with its smattering of tiny nightlights an inch above the carpet. You squeezed your eyes shut tight, white-knuckling gut-wrenching sobs away. He paused halfway out the door, and your ears strained for any whisper from him, but nothing came. The click of the front door dropped you to your knees, choking out cries and stifling pained screams. The devastating loneliness was inescapably stitched into your side, stomping its dirty, muddy feet all over the parts of you that clung to hope.

In the same instant, the shame intensified; not only did you feel shameful feeling so vulnerable in front of Bruce fucking Wayne, the shame of casting him aside and being so curt mingled with severe FOMO of being able to tell someone who was willing to listen. He was willing to listen to me, and I fucked it. When will anyone else be willing to listen? You shoved yourself up off your knees and flung yourself toward the door, whipping it open to look down the hallway.

Silence. Unadulterated, empty halls. Punch to the gut.

You woke up the next morning plagued by the weight of the night before. After the sob session, you’d spent the next few hours typing, editing, formatting, and finally printing it at the 24 hour office a few floors below you. A solid hour was spent just reading through all of what he had written in your notebook: not only had he answered every question, he had given multiple paragraphs of answers to a few of them. Some of his answers had been so transparent you had to flip pages before more guilt visited about turning him away so coldly. What is your most treasured memory? was answered with this:

I remember camping with my parents once. It was the only time we went out as family in private. It was by a river, and I couldn't sleep because of the rushing water. My father woke up and walked me to it; we sat there in the grassy, dirty rock, and everything went quiet. He talked to me about the current, told me how it eroded the rocks underneath, pointed his flashlight at trout jumping above water. He let me dip my feet in, and I clung to his hand. It was steadying. I looked up and saw the stars—you can't see them in Gotham. It was the first time I felt real. I could see the size of the universe. He toweled off my feet before getting back into the tent. The next morning he got called for surgery, and we left. I asked him to come back, and he promised we would. Two weeks later they died. I haven't felt that feeling since. I cherish it.

You couldn't even think about publishing that. Most of it was relatively benign besides, as he answered much of the 'deeper' questions through the new playboy lens, talking extensively about yachting, spas, hunting trips, tennis, and other activities of the elite. The only other ones you'd felt had any real truth to them was What do you hope you grow out of? (He hoped to grow out of needing to 'save' everyone, which felt like a Freudian slip it was so candid), and the one that had caught your eye last night: What, if anything, makes you nervous? You were surprised he spoke frankly still; he was nervous about going to events, nervous when he put on the suit (that shocked you), and generally only didn't feel nervous when he was home with Alfred.

Except, there had been a question he left entirely unanswered: Say it's the end of the world: how would you spend your last day? You couldn't read too much into it before you slipped the copy into your backpack and set off to campus.

Dr. Vry will be thrilled. Finally, the first interview with Bruce Wayne! Finally, the journalism department could be saved! Huzzah! You snickered to yourself as you scurried through the last few blocks. Every footstep felt like a simultaneous step toward freedom and to the gallows; freedom from Gotham, imprisoned in small-town America destined to float around from dead-end job to dead-end job, with no friends and, potentially sooner rather than later, no family to show for it either.

Steps, steps, and more steps, then the old familiar hallway. I've made her happy. I did what I said I would. This is exactly what she wanted. You were stopped in your tracks by a spectacled man in the doorway of Dr. Vry's office. He looked over and motioned for you to come in, looking busied and lost in thought, even as he finished his sentence to her. Dr. Vry nodded for you to take the chair across from her, and you sidled past the stranger to slip into the seat. Like a switch flipped, all eyes aimed at you before you could even adjust in the seat. They stared at you a moment, and you held out your folder, plopping it neatly on the desk in front of her. You opened your mouth to tell her you'd gotten the interview, but the man intercepted. The folder laid untouched between you and your former professor.

"Ms. Y/L/N. My name is Dr. Jonathan Crane, I'm the lead psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum. I wanted to meet with you this morning to discuss an urgent matter." He held out a stiff hand, and it was cold when you touched it; clinical, transactional. Thoughts swirled in the backrooms of your mind of how much warmer and more inviting Bruce's handshake was. You wondered what a psychiatrist was needed for; you stifled a chuckle thinking Dr. Vry was going to try therapizing you to persuade you to stay. Except the room was grim and heavy, and the silence weighed fifteen tons. You nodded at the both of them, your eyes shifting between in search of words that would close the chasm between what they knew and you didn't.

Dr. Crane took a horrifyingly deep breath, so deep there was a shudder at the end of his inhale. "Before we begin, this is highly confidential information that must be handled with the utmost care. In that spirit, in order to share this with you it is necessary to sign an NDA." The man with startlingly blue eyes unsheathed a stapled collection of papers from his bag that sat against the leg of the desk. The top of the paper read: RELEASE OF PERSONAL HEALTH INFORMATION – HIPAA REQUIREMENTS.

Dr. Vry nodded at you and bowed out of the room, saying she would be back as soon as 'Crane' welcomed her back inside. As soon as she shut the door, Dr. Crane announced he was going to be locking the door, and if you consented. You agreed, tentatively, adrenaline beginning to tense your muscles to fight. After the door clicked and the lock turned, he sat down a white noise machine by the door. "To enhance privacy." He gestured for you to look over the small packet, and you obliged.

There was a section underneath the title which had options, and one checked: If patient does not consent to release of records but professional judgement necessitates a duty to warn. Another box was checked underneath it, too: Imminent risk of harm to self or others. Your name was listed under the section Affected Parties, for which there were only two lines. The name right above yours: Alfred Pennyworth.

You looked up with your mouth fallen halfway open. "I don't..."

"You do not have to sign, but this ensures we stay as trauma-informed as possible for our vulnerable patients. This document simply states that you will not share or discuss this information with anyone outside of myself. The line for signature is on the third page." You skimmed the large-printed paper, and didn't see anything of note. You signed, but your signature was shaky, scrambled.

"Thank you, Ms. Y/L/N. We will make this quick, and I will only share information relevant to you." He stashed the document and took Dr. Vry's seat across from you. He looked very psychological, if someone could even look that way. Rectangular, rimless glasses in sterile steel; a scholarly suit that you'd imagine someone teaching at some place like Oxford would be outfit in. Brown blazer, white collared shirt tucked under a chunky knit sweater, a red tie peeking out. His fingernails were clean and trim, his face entirely smooth like he weren't even capable of growing a beard. You wrung your hands under the table, nervous that he was psychoanalyzing you as you both sat. His eye contact was unwavering; if you thought Bruce's was intimidating, this was terrifying. He didn't even blink.

"In preface, this is not an investigation. We are keeping things very close to the chest for the time being. We do not think you at fault for last night's events, this is purely an attempt at safety planning." By this point you were feeling dizzy. Heart-pounding. He paused too long, this wasn't right. Just as you were about to burst and shout for him to SPEAK, he clasped his hands together gently above the table and sighed. "Late last night at just past 10pm, Mr. Wayne attempted suicide."

You went still, tinnitus loud between your ears, fuzzing up the edges of your vision. He continued, as if you weren't visibly unable to process new information in such shock. "He's currently in the medical ward at Arkham receiving treatment. He'll be fine, for now."

The for now sat like a boulder in your gut. You sat further up in the chair and leaned your head down, bile rising in your throat. I'm gonna vomit. And vomit. And keep vomiting. You tried to speak but nothing came out, not even a squeak. Bruce had seemed sad when he left, sure, but he always seemed sad. Nothing alerted you to danger, but... you thought back to how he plopped down in the puddle, how weird the city hall meeting felt with him, the desperate humility tinging his aura and painting his behavior. A personality change. Suddenly you felt like an idiot. You felt like an idiot not taking more care when he opened up to you, not seeing it for what it was. His lingering. Was it a last-ditch effort toward connection? For someone to intervene? The unanswered question, you snapping at him... your gut knotted with guilt; you felt woozy. "I could've saved him, I met with him, I talked to him,"

"Hey." Dr. Crane reached out and placed a hand on your trembling wrist. "You couldn't have known." He gave a small grin that didn't reach his eyes. He had no smile lines there at all, actually. God, your mind swirled. "I know that he met with you, he told me. That's why I'm here, you were the last point of contact."

Your eyes snapped up to his from the now bloody hangnail you'd picked off during this conversation. He hadn't called Alfred for a ride? The thought of him leaving your apartment to wander around downtown, suicidal... fuck. Crane didn't waste time getting to the point. "He asked to see you. Multiple times, in fact. He said you worked for the Gazette, and I got in contact with Janay this morning."

"He wants me to see him?" Your face was scrunched with concern, your body vibrating with grief. Why would he want to see me? I was a fucking jerk. I probably pushed him over the edge, fuck, fuck. What did he do? Why did he do it? "What did he, what did he do?"

Dr. Crane shook his head. "I cannot disclose specifics unless he gives explicit consent. I only came here to safety plan."

Safety plan. He said that again. "What does that mean? You want me to see him?"

"Not quite." He adjusted his glasses and leaned closer. "It appears he's been in a mental decline for some time. He needs treatment, and in the meantime we need you to help monitor his safety."

He could see by your visible confusion you didn't have half the information you needed to make an informed decision. "I'm definitely not trained for that," Yeah, you weren't, but he didn't know that you were worried you had actively made his suicidality worse.

"If you agree, I will personally ensure you receive deescalation training and psychoeducation around psychotic disorders. You'll have my number, and if anything goes awry, I will respond swiftly and immediately."

It wasn't clicking. Why me? What about Alfred? But you were afraid to ask. Why had he asked for you in the first place? Why did he try to kill himself at all? Was it something you said? Something you didn't say? Was that insatiable urge to hug him a fucking cry from the universe to fucking do something?

"Janay informed me you were leaving your post here, and that you permanently reside outside of Gotham." Dr. Crane put a hand on the tabletop and peered at you with piercingly blue eyes. They were icy, and cold. Is that even legal for her to give out? "I say this with utmost delicacy, Ms. Y/L/N; you are at no fault for his self-injurious behavior, but my clinical judgement paired with his trauma history leads me to believe your leaving pushed him over the edge." He leaned in closer to you, his expression clinical, distant, with a tinge of rehearsed compassion from a one-week training on bedside manner.

Discordant guilt flushed through you. It wasn't your fault, but it was? You weren't at fault, but something you did made him decide to take his own life? "If he needs to be watched, I can't do that, he wouldn't even want that, I'm not trained," Hot, salty tears stung your lash line as your anxieties poured out of you. "I don't know him, I don't know how to help him,"

"You may not think so, but as far as his next-of-kin explained, he doesn't have many social contacts. You seem of particular importance to him." He glanced at the folder discarded on the table. "Even trusting you to give his first interview, impressive."

You sat, slumped in the cold, hard chair. The thoughts had quieted to a fuzzy, helpless sensation, but nothing concrete outside of the gripping, visceral feeling of I fucked up. Dr. Crane spoke again. "Believe me, this is certainly unconventional. However, his status as a public figure is critical context. He is refusing long-term care, and after the 24 hour hold there's nothing we can do to prevent this happening again."

"What about therapy, medication?"

"That's the very issue we've run into and why your cooperation is imperative. Mr. Wayne is refusing any medical intervention. As far as my assessment goes, he is not answering the risk assessments honestly. He's a smart man, knows how to work the system. I'm concerned if you do not agree to this, there will be nothing we can do to save the last member of the Wayne estate."

At this point you felt as if you were floating above your body. The stakes were too high, everywhere. Too high with your mom, too high with this, too high with the interview. How were you critically involved in the continuation of both Bruce Wayne's life and a major department at one of the biggest universities in the country? Anger boiled up in you, overtaking the shock and sadness. You were helpless; how were you supposed to say no? Whenever you stepped into this room you were made to feel like you had all the power in the world, yet you were so quickly discarded if you tried to take up any actual space. He sensed a clear shift, because he spoke up quickly. "This time is crucial and temporary. I have reason to believe that after no more than a few weeks, he will be able to stabilize with medication-assisted therapy. Then your post is finished."

"You want me to convince him to get help?"

"Precisely." He pushed up his glasses with his pointer finger.

"What about the other name on the form? Alfred Pennyworth?" Would be weird to name him as his butler.

Dr. Crane sighed, like he was giving up information he really didn't want to share. "I met with Mr. Pennyworth last night upon Mr. Wayne's arrival from Gotham General. I'm afraid he's already been trying to convince him for many months to begin therapy; Mr. Pennyworth worried that might have been a trigger in itself."

Fear ballooned in you. "Then wouldn't it be the same for me? I know him even less, I really don't think a single interview signifies..." you trailed off. How is me going to one city hall meeting a week enough? Does he know how often I see him? You imagined Bruce alone in some dark room, the walls covered in soft, spongy material. Chained to a bed. If those dark thoughts crept in again, at any other point in the week, there would be nothing you could do. You were afraid the responsibility of keeping him alive would consume you, and if it didn't succeed... christ. No matter what anyone told you, no matter if a higher power came down and denied your fault themselves, you'd never be able to forgive yourself.

Dr. Crane's face was grim, and he spoke like you'd already signed the dotted line. "All you can do is try.”

[sisaloofafump]

I can’t get enough of your tiny batblobs with their funky little arms. Do they ever grow GIANT or do they remain itty bitty?

Other examples: 1, 2, 3, 4.

Details & math:

He is most corporeal at the edges and in thinner parts like the ears and fingers. The eyes don't ever disappear but they can dim significantly or glow brightly.

His voice is modulated and doesn't come from a designated source. It is pseudo-telepathic. He can do his "hn"s without that however.

The arms can be as long as he wants to a max of 10 meters (typically sticking to under 1 meter and up to 3 for dramatics). Using a grapple gun mimics the arms and can be visibly interchangeable, but it doesn't actually act as an arm or have dexterous use of fingers.

(don't verify my math I only play-tested 3 scenarios) It's not that he doesn't get any bigger or less stable, he just has to reserve that for life-or-death-of-the-universe situations.

He can take a bunch of different shapes and can stretch out like a ferret if need be. However, there are limits:

Super tall = max width:height ratio of 1:20 (ears included) Super wide = max width:height ratio of 1:5 (ears included)

--------------------------------------------------

The very important human aspect:

The change takes place when he puts the cowl on.

Originally, the cowl was part of his physical suit but after a few years of working as batman it became more metaphysical. Now he only needs to mime putting a cowl on and by the time it's over his eyes, he has already mostly transformed.

This makes emergency changing while in civilian clothes much easier, but doesn't provide the protection from harm or grapple abilities that it does when he's in his suit underneath.

It's the same process to remove it. To do so requires an innate understanding of The Bat being a mask that Bruce wears, rather than an inseparable part of his identity (note: although I do think that Batman is an integral part of Bruce, the sheer cryptid nature of the blob is partially a separate entity). Family and friends can sometimes take it off him as well, but it varies:

Diana: Can remove it easily and see through the mask due to her innate abilities with truth magic

Clark: was the first person to be able to remove it, back when it was still transitioning from a physical to metaphysical object.

Dick: Was the first batkid to be able to but only gained the ability once he was Nightwing and it's still a struggle. Despite that, he does it often when arguing with Bruce

Jason: No matter how much he wants, the more he tries, the more elusive the mask gets

Tim: Could do it all along and does it fairly regularly when needing to talk to Bruce face-to-face. It got harder as he got deeper into being Robin but has gotten easier again over time

Stephanie: Was the first person after Tim to be able to do it and she found out she could early into knowing Batman. It came off so easily but was she so panicked by that fact that she's never done it since

Cassandra: Does it easily but gravely and only reserves it for the most extreme situations

Barbara: Has been able to do it for years but it's hard and avoids any situation that would make her do it

Duke: Could do it the easiest and quickest of all, with no hesitations what so ever. As of yet, he hasn't had the chance

Damian: Has never been able to and resents that fact

(Kate only could in dire situations. Helena and Harper aren't aware that it's something anyone could do, however Helena could trigger it by accident)

That's all my immediate thoughts!

[moonlight0934]

Persuasion

Bruce types, his eyes burning. He knows that he should have given up on his work and gone to bed hours ago. Especially with Tim sitting in the corner, working on cold cases. He hasn’t even stopped to make Tim go home like he normally would, but he just wants to be done with it so badly. At least done with enough that he won’t have to get up quite so early later this morning. He glances at the clock in the corner of the screen.

Shit, it’s three a.m. already.

“Tim, you should go home.”

Tim hums without even looking up. Bruce pinches his nose, forcing himself not to roll his eyes at the kid across the room from him who is far too similar to Bruce for his own good. Bruce stands up, stretching.

“Tim, did you hear me?”

Tim hums again, even though he’s obviously not paying attention.

“Tim!”

Tim looks up.

“Yeah, Bruce?”

“You need to go home. It’s late.”

“Can I crash here tonight?”

It’s not the first time Tim has asked Bruce that, but Bruce is always tempted to say no. He knows that Alfred will be angry if he makes Tim go back to his empty house, or make him risk sneaking in if his parents are there. Especially since it’s so late.

“Fine, you can. You’re still sleeping on the couch though.”

Tim nods, and stands up. He stretches, his joints popping. Bruce winces slightly as he grabs his stuff to go up the stairs with him. He heads straight to bed, turning his phone and JL communicator off. He falls asleep almost immediately because of how absolutely exhausted he is. He wakes up a few hours later feeling sore and still so tired.

Why am I awake? I haven’t been asleep long enough.

Then he realizes that there’s a small hand shaking his arm.

Jason?

He’s half-way through asking if Jason had a nightmare when he realizes that it’s Tim standing beside his bed.

“Bruce.”

“What do you want?”

“Someone named Clark is calling the house phone. Is Superman calling you?”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m smart.”

“Did you answer, or did he leave a message?”

“He left two messages, and then I answered. He said that he wanted to talk to you, but your phone was going straight to voicemail. He tried to make it seem like it was something normal, but since I figured that it was Superman, I also figured that it was something to do with Batman.”

“Get out. I’ll be down in a second.”

Tim nods, and runs out. Bruce pulls on a hoodie, and follows Tim down the stairs. Tim is on the phone, smiling.

“What are you doing?”

“Making him uncomfortable by making small talk without divulging anything about myself. I haven’t even told him my name. He’s unnerved, probably because I’m in your house.”

Bruce takes the phone.

“What do you want, Clarke?”

“We need your help. There’s an alien that’s trashing Central right now, and it’s calling for all hands on deck.”

“I can’t. Robin is at my house right now, and I can’t just leave him here.”

“Bring him for all I care. We just really need your intelligence for this. Wait, was I talking to Robin while actively trying not to die?”

“Yep.”

“He’s suited for you, isn’t he? Anyway, I won’t call you for a week if you come down here.”

“Alfred isn’t here to watch Robin, I seriously can’t just leave him.”

“I’m serious too, just bring him. It’ll be fine. He seems smart, so he could even be helpful.”

“Fine, but you’re not calling or talking to me for a week and a half.”

“Sure thing. I got him to come, and he’s bringing his newest kid. I told you I’m persuasive,” Clark yells.

Bruce hangs up.

“I hate my life. Ok, come on. We’re suiting up, and heading down to Central in the plane.”

Tim nods.

“Am I going to meet the Justice League?”

“Yes, unfortunately. There’s an alien that they can’t figure out how to deal with. They’re idiots.”

“I assume you have to play babysitter and save them a lot,” Tim says as he follows Bruce down to the cave.

“Yep.”

Tim snickers. They both get suited up, and fly over to Central. Most of the Justice League is there, flying around this giant blob alien. Bruce lands the plane, and walks out.

“Ok, stay safe, and try not to talk to any of the Justice League members. They haven’t met you, and they’re easily distracted.”

“Oh, that is not how I thought that was going to go. So I can go near them, but I can’t talk to them?”

“Exactly. Just stay safe, ok?”

“I will be super careful with the giant alien blob. It’s like the blue thing off of Monster Vs. Aliens.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying, but ok.”

Bruce grapples over to Clark, leaving Tim by the plane. A wad of alien goo flies towards them immediately, but Bruce just ducks out of the way.

“What’s the situation?” he asks, sounding annoyed and tired.

Clark opens his mouth to respond, but then Tim lands next to them.

“B.”

“What Robin?”

“I figured out the monster’s weakness.”

“Hi, Robin. It’s nice to meet you,” Clark says.

Tim looks at him, cocking his head to the side.

“I’m not allowed to talk to you. Anyway-”

“Robin, what is it?”

“Water. It screamed and started to dissolve when I threw water at it.”

“Why were you doing that?”

Tim just stares at Bruce until Bruce turns back to Clark.

“Well, you heard him. Try to throw a lot of water at it, and see what happens.”

Clark nods, and flies away to tell the others.

“Why were you throwing water at it?”

“I didn’t mean to actually. I was drinking some water by the plane while trying to figure out what I needed to do. Then it started spitting goo at me, and I dropped my water. It spilled everywhere, including on the goo that had already hit the ground. It was hilarious.”

Bruce nods, too tired to care. He grapples over to where the League is congregating.

“Ok, we tried it, and it worked. So, now we have to figure out how to get it over to the water, or we can fill that giant crater with water. We’d have to work on distracting it at the same time, then we’d have to lure it over there,” Clark says.

“Where did this thing even come from?” Barry asks.

“I don’t know. This is your city. Anyway, we can figure that out later,” Hal replies, folding his arms.

“Lantern, fill up the crater. Superman, Flash, you’re with me,” Bruce says, then walks past them.

It’s not a hard process to keep the thing chasing them, and it falls right into the crater when they lead it over there. It’s completely dissolved within three minutes. Bruce turns to say something to Clark when he sees Robin fly past. It looks like something tossed him, and slams into the wall of a building a few feet away.

“Robin!” Bruce yells, taking off towards him.

There’s still no visible threat. Tim’s head is bleeding heavily, and he doesn’t focus on Bruce when Bruce sits him up.

“Robin, status report.”

Tim just blinks lethargically.

“Mh, he hit his head pretty hard.”

“Who is that?” Hal demands.

“That’s Bat’s new Robin. He’s the one who figured out the water,” Clark says.

“Ooooh, you hit Bat’s kid,” Barry says.

Bruce turns around so quickly.

“You did this?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t even aware you had a new sidekick. He just popped up out of nowhere, and scared me.”

“What are you? A toddler?”

Bruce picks Tim up.

“I’m taking him home. We’re going to be talking about this at the next meeting. Also, you are not “persuading me” into taking him anywhere near you guys again,” Bruce growls, cradling Tim against his chest.

He still doesn’t get much of a response from Tim, so he sits Tim right next to him. He watches him the entire flight home. Leslie is waiting when he gets there, and she checks Tim over. Bruce leaves him there, and goes to his room. He can’t stand to wait around like he’s done so many times before. So, he waits in his room until Leslie comes up to tell him that Tim will be fine.

“Ok, good. Thank you, Leslie.”

Leslie nods, and walks back out. Bruce puts his head in his hands.

I can’t believe that I let my teammates hurt my partner. What would I have even done if he hadn’t been ok?

Bruce spends the rest of the night overthinking with his anxiety overcoming all of his rational thoughts.

[analviel]

Idea: Batman, and by that I mean the Cowl, is what gives Bruce the ability to Batman. Like of course he went through all the training and all, it's what made him eligible for the new Cryptid status in the first place, but there's also something about that cowl that crosses Bruce from hypercompetent badass of the highest caliber, to hypercompetent bastard who's probably from the ether. Yes, this is another Cryptid Bat thing.

That cowl had picked up a lot of things and got dunked in one too many mysterious liquid of the Gotham variety and at first Bruce was just impressed at how it was able to survive certain attacks unscathed and then it was just downright absurd that it wouldn't be damaged by ANYTHING, like the Venom or maybe blue beetle suit but the sentience is all Bruce, and the cowl eventually starts shifting into itself so it can meld into Bruce's shadows and he could transform immediately. Abilities include but are not limited to an infinite pocket space in the shadow of the cape, white lenses- or what used to be white lenses that appear and perform like actual white eyes, the cowl moves with every shift of his face muscles, it's not just a carved angry mask, shadow travel, Blob-ivism -he's a boneless boi-, physical attacks and even some magical could be dodged by creating a hole in the middle of him, heightened hearing maybe, etc. Add as you will.

Again, the Cowl is not sentient. But, like any single cell thing it can't be there if there's not a specific environment or feature that it could feed on.

Bruce greets Commisioner Gordon and cross paths with young Barbara. There's a circus and something tries to grab at Dick. Kate tried to eat it back when she thought it was trying to devour her.

Tim spends several months with a tiny shadow pet thing.

Jason reads to his little guy he's come to calling Horatio (ahem).

Idk, it's the best of both worlds of Cryptid Batfam who's just dick-ing around, and Actually Cryptid Batfam who's definitely plays it all up.

No one who doesn't have a Cowl themselves knows the truth (does Alfred have one? He certainly doesn't use it to dress up in a ridiculous animal suit).

Which means we look forward to Damian's introduction in the family -Bruce was still human when he trained with them but something happened to the man after he left that turned him to a Thing from what the Al Ghuls had observed in their later encounters.

[velvetvexations]

*hands you the microphone* Talk about tim (the robin)

Okay, well, first we have to establish that I got into comics from a very early age through my dad's comic books, all of them from the 90s. That gives me some very peculiar fixations, some of which suck because Danny Ketch and Kyle Rayner will never again be the Ghost Rider or Green Lantern that "matters". Really, Tim was overdue for that treatment.

(this is also why I'm the single biggest fan of the entire Death & Return of Superman arc that will ever live - the animated movie was nice, but what's the point if Luthor isn't pretending to be his good son while married to a protoplasmic blob in the shape of Supergirl?)

One in particular I that I loved was Robin II, one of three mini-series' that set the stage for his ongoing. Looking back on it, I can see how the "young gun has to take care of things while the big man is away" plot isn't terribly unique...

...but it did more than that. Because, see, Tim didn't just have a life outside of being Robin - he had a life outside of Bruce.

Look at him go, in his modest little house (you know, for the 90s) playing fucking D&D. And he's soliciting their input by disguising it in the language of the game! That's so fucking clever and awesome!

I talked about how I don't like when Dick is treated as less Bruce's son, right? Tim, unlike Damian, never competed with him for that spot because he wasn't Bruce's son AND DO NOT TALK TO ME ABOUT IDENTITY CRISIS THAT NEVER HAPPENED.

No, see, that's the genius of Tim Drake: Dick? He was a sidekick. He became Nightwing to grow up, to become his own man. Tim did what Dick couldn't, because Tim, even at a young age, was already his own man. Not only was his personal life not connected to Bruce, you have to remember, Tim deduced who Batman was all on his own!

And then, while Bruce recruited Dick and Jason, it was entirely Tim who pushed him to take him on!

To me, Tim is, if I'm honest, probably my favorite Robin because he was my Robin, just like Kyle Rayner and Danny Ketch were my Green Lantern and Ghost Rider. But within that context, I'm capable of recognizing something I think all fans of Tim Drake delight in pointing out.

Tim put the "& Robin" in Batman & Robin. Tim took the Robin identity and surpassed Dick-as-Robin by being, before long, Batman's equal.

And that, anon, is what Tim Drake means to me.

[franki-lew-yo]

-Ranking Neopets by Design and Colors-

My sister and I are in a nostalgia kick over neopets and I've decided to do some design geeking and talk about neopet creature design.

Like I am with Pokemon I prefer my Neopets looking definitevely neo-ish, so less like just any old animal you can find in the real world. Keep that in mind as I separate these by both objective opionion ("that's a well designed neopet") vs my personal preferences ("zomg that's MY FAVORITE neopet"). Know that I'm trying to take into account the:

overall design with the basic paintbrush colors

paintbrush creativity

Unconverted vs converted art and how the likability changes therein because of the character that crosses over from the art (I personally dgaf about unconverted art. I think the stock-look for the pets is fine as it is it just sucks to loose what was such cute art for the paintbrushes)

customability

a final note: I've never played neopets for myself. I don't have time to take care of a virtual pet, let alone 4 or more now that I'm an adult. While I'd like to have a neofamily and work hard for the money for them I kind of would really prefer a job first.

All of these preferences come from watching my sister play the game and my own fondness for the pets as toys and as comics over the years.

Format for this post

[neo-species name] [objective opinion/10] | [personal interest/10]

>detailing why and what I like about said pet, personal stories ect.<

Paintbrushes of choice:

[will pick anywhere from 3, 5, or 10 specific colors the neopet looks best in. If it's highlighted = fav colors for them.]

Acaras 6/10 | 4/10

Properly monsterish, though I kind of hate it's feet ngl. Monkeycatrodent thing is alright in my book. I would never have guessed they like to swim or that their horns are bendable. Overall servicably neopet-ish.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Pirate, Halloween, Toy, Pastel, Mutant, Purple, Maraquan, Steampunk, Disco and Royal Boy

Aisha 9/10 | 6/10

One of the most iconic neopet-neopets you could have. Cat-like but not exactly a cat with antenna things. I hated when TNT felt the need to have Aisha characters open their eyes in the comics. Ew.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Shadow, Pastel, Oil Paint, Disco, Cloud, Baby, Candy, Alien, Halloween and Wraith

Bloomaroos 10/10 | 8/10

Perfect realization of a real life animal as a neopet, ESPECIALLY when it stood on it's tail! Delightfully simple, cute and sweet looking. I love Bloomaroos. Certified best bois.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Baby, Christmas, Pirate, Cloud, Mutant, Rainbow, Polkadot, Plushie, Maraquan and Robot

Boris 10/10 | 7/10

You're gonna learn quickly that my favorite neopets are ones that are never unique to one kind of animal but also not just a hybrid. Bori is sufficently armadillo, pangolin and fox like enough all at once. Beautiful wonderbread. Can never get enough of em.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Pastel, Relic, Speckled, Plushie, Halloween, Rainbow, Baby, Fairie, Toy and Woodland.

Bruces 5/10 | 5/10

Literally just a penguin with a bow (yes I know it was og a joke on a real life person). Kinda pointless once Club Penguin was a thing. Sweet but not my fav.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Ice, Darigan, Fairie, Disco, Pastel, Plushie, Halloween, Tyrannian, and Royal Boy and Girl

Buzzes 10/10 | 6/10

Never a big fan of bugs, but I actually like how unique of a bug-creature Buzz is so up it goes. Dragonfly with dragon features never fail!

Paintbrushes of choice:

Camo, Plushie, Fairie, Pastel, Woodland, Baby, Maraquan, Royal Boy, Electric and Skunk

Chias 7/10 | 2/10

Bleh. I don't care for the pets that are just blobs with legs. Also there was that one flashgame where a chia ate innocent petpets so I've always kind of hated it.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Maraquan, Chili Pepper, Disco, Purple and Mutant

Chombys 7/10 | 6/10

Cute dinosaur, but also, just a dinosaur. Not much to say.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Woodland, Tyrannian, Baby, Camouflage, Pink, Royal Boy and Girl, Maraquan, Desert, and Candy.

Cybunnys 3/10 | 8/10

For all I love rabbits, Cybunny's kind of just a rabbit when you get right down to it. An absolutely ADORABLE rabbit, but still. Also it's basic color options are limiting like Usul. Not worth the limited edition in my eyes, but definitely a good solid neopet.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Draik 5/10 | 6/10

kEYUUUte dragon...but, like Cybunny, also just a dragon. Again, drawn very cute. Feels kind of out of place compared to the other Neopets dragons too based on gargoyles, I guess.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Elephantes 7/10 | 7/10

It's hard to mess up an elephant and it's "less is more" here. Personally I think it's new sprite is a VAST improvement compared to it's old one. I hated it's creepy grin growing up. Elephante is a cutesy elephant with a bunny tail and teeny tiny wings that's sitting down in the old art. How can you POSSIBLY ruin that gorgeous art with a nasty toothy grin?

Paintbrushes of choice:

Cloud, Pastel, Mosaic, Fairie, Maraquan, Relic, Tyrannian, Plushie and Royal boy and girl.

Eyries 8/10 | 10/10

Despite it kind of just being a griffon, Eyrie looks pretty sweet. Good use of bird and cat elements rather than just a mish-mash. A regal neopet, like every kid wants when they're smol.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Flotsams 5/10 | 6/10

Not a huge fan of evil/notevil species variants. Apparently it's more of a fish than it is a dolphin which knocks it down a few points as I always wanted it and Jetsam to be dolphins.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Royal Boy and Girl, Pastel, Oil Paint, Woodland, Baby, Halloween, Robot, Plushie and Silver

Gelerts 7/10 | 6/10

Despite just being a dog with long ears and tail something just works about Gelert. If you have to have just a regular animal best make it unique like that.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Toy, Baby, Mutant, Speckled, Candy, Maraquan, Spotted, Wraith, Steampunk and Woodland

Gnorbus 8/10 | 10/10

Funny enough I actually dislike llamas, but Gnorbu is best boi. These guys don't have a threatening bone in their bodies. I just think they're neat. It works as far being both obviously based on a llama/alpaca but still it's own creature. It also looks really good in the new art, better than it did before.

I WANT A GNORBU PLUSHIE SO BAAAAAD!!!

Paintbrushes of choice:

Grarrl 5/10 | 7/10

That's a t-rex alright. I like how friendly they make it in modern day, I guess.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Fairie, Disco, Royal boy and girl, Christmas (unclothed), Toy, Halloween (unclothed), Valentine, Camouflage and Darigan

Grundo 10/10 | 7/10

Neato. Unique but basic alien. Good job. Wish I had more to say. Oh, I guess also when you learn of Neopets' scientology roots they're a little uncomfortable.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Robot, Mutant, Fairie, Royal boy and girl, Plushie, Steampunk, Speckled, Woodland and Glowing

Hissi 5/10 | 6/10

Where I liked it back in the day, I kinda think Hissi now is just "snake with wings". Which like...cool but not that cool. Sorry to be so salty, Hissi.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Plushie, Fairie, Christmas, Halloween, Spotted, Baby, Dimensional, Maraquan, Pastel and Desert

Ixi 6/10 | 9/10

Ixi is drawn very oddly for a goat tbh (it's apparently both a goat and a deer??), but at least it's a cute goat and nicely stylized. Perfectly solid goat-pet.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Jetsam 6/10 | 5/10

Same as Flotsam. Shark man. Pet of the edgy kid who lives down the street who bullies girls he likes because he doesn't know how to show affection.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Baby, Camouflage, Relic, Fairie, Woodland, Pastel, Royal Girl, Electric, Toy and Pirate

Jubjub 9/10 | 3/10

Cuter than a Kiko and Chia but still kind of icky. Idk.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Purple, Baby, Marble, Chocolate and Wraith

Kacheek 10/10 | 10/10

Perfect neopet. Chibi and cute and innocent looking. Great example of a "not specific to any one kind of animal"-design, and perfect complimentary design to Xweetok in terms of early vs later design.

Paintbrushes of Choice:

Pastel, Ghost, Cloud, Valentine, Mutant, Plushie, Disco, Baby, Toy and Relic

Kau 4/10 | 9/10

While that is indeed a VERY cute cow, it is still just kind of...a cow. L for creativity. Otherwise, beautiful cow.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Kiko 8/10 | 1/10

Ew. Sorry Kiko. You can really tell it's one of those early designs. Wholey unappealing to me.

Best paintbrushes:

Halloween, Maraquan and Speckled

Koi 6/10 | 3/10

Freddy Fish. I got nothing else other than I think it looks stupid when it's got it's fists up.

Best paintbrushes:

Rainbow, Disco, Woodland, Pastel and Spotted.

Korbat 6/10 | 9/10

In fantasy-stories and fantasy stories ONLY do I accept long-tailed bats, so good on Korbat for beating the odds and also just being a neopet I've always wanted as a plushie. DARLING fantasybat~

Paintbrushes of Choice:

Kougra 6/10 | 9/10

Like Ixi, Kougra isn't really that stellar as it's JUST a tiger (though they also try to make it over kinds of big cats, which is smart), but they do so much with it and make it very appealing. Also Fairie Kougra was and will always be GORGEOUS.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Fairie, Baby, Island, Desert, Spotted, Christmas, Steampunk, and Royal Boy and Girl.

Krawk 6/10 | 8/10

Cute croc with a cute haircut. I wish I had more to say but I don't. Very fun to draw!

Paintbrushes of choice:

Island, Shadow, Baby, Fairie, Camouflage, Royal Boy and Girl, Christmas, Speckled and Pirate

Kyrii 10/10 | 6/10

Undecided jerk-a$$ rodent wins high for me. You wanna pet it and make it mad. I just found out it's supposed to be a weasel which bumps it up. Still, would never be my first choice.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Pastel, Steampunk, Royal boy and girl, Stealthy, Plushie, Fairie, Skunk, Fire and Halloween

Lenny 7/10 | 7/10

Pretty storkbird but still just kind of a stork. Needs some work. Luckily it has some lovely design touches with it's paintbrushes.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Lupe 7/10 | 5/10

Wolf. It's face-fur always annoyed me. Also it's so overrated by TNT.

Paintbrushes of choice:

White, Royal girl and boy, Mutant, Baby, Darigan, Maraquan, Spotted, Relic, Candy and Christmas

Lutari 7/10 | 5/10

Despite it being a mustelid Lutari just doesn't pass my test. Needs a little more "something" to it's final look. Props to my sister's childhood friend who called it "The Icecream Weasel" before the entire pet was available to create.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Island (undressed), Rainbow, White and Royal boy and girl (undressed).

Meerca 9/10 | 5/10

Manic ball-rodent. Actually looks pretty neat monster-wise though I again I personally wouldn't choose it as my own.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Candy, Fairy, Halloween, Plushie and Toy.

Moehog 7/10 | 10/10

I miss Moehog's old derpy look, but no matter what I love it so much. So delightfully fugly. I could love it up all day. I wish they made more plushies of it back in the Limited Too years.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Myncis 5/10 | 4/10

Potat monkey is cute, but still a monkey. Not my fav.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Halloween, Pastel, Polkadot, Skunk and Toy (with symbols).

Nimmos 4/10 | 1/10

I don't know what about Nimmo I dislike so much but I just dislike it. It looks and feels creepy to me for some reason. I dislike skinny frogs in general. Frogs aren't skinny. They foldy and slim sometimes, not skinny like newts or salamanders are. Icky neopet. Hate it.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Baby, Wraith and Darigan.

Ogrins 9/10 | 5/10

I'm very split on Ogrin. For some reason or another I find Ogrin kind of ugly and overdesigned. Like, it looks like the protagonist to a 3d animated not-Dreamworks film that takes place on another planet who's voiced by Frankie Muniz. And yet I admire it in terms of being a unique creature. Feels like a Dr. Seuss creation because of it's paw feet, or like the camelopard of old beastiaries. As with all personal unfavorites, I like moreso it's paintbrush colors than I do the species overall.

Peophins 5/10 | 9/10

The critical side of my brain is hellbent on pointing out how Peophin is JUST a hypocampus...but the mythology horsegirl in me is just gushing over there being a hypocampus at all. Genuinely I think it's really regal and cute and pretty. Would love one as a plushie. Also I think it's newer art is superior to it's old art.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Poogles 10/10 | 10/10

Perfect dog-thing especially with it's evil toyvariant that always creeped me out. Besides that though it's very much a neopet's neopet with them big ole 2000s' eyes. Love it. The only limited edition pet that I think is worth it's limited-editionness.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Christmas (unclothed), Toy, Candy, Fairie and Robot (unclothed).

Pteris 6/10 | 5/10

Bird. Good bird, I guess. Um...I guess I like it's weird tail?

Paintbrushes of choice:

Christmas, Shadow, Royal boy and girl (unclothed), Fairie.

Quiggles 6/10 | 4/10

Better than Nimmo but that's not saying much. Needs to calm down, even though I appreciate how happy it is.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Halloween, Royal Boy and Girl, Fairie and Robot.

Rukis 6/10 | 3/10

Not a fan of ants and ants, crickets and mantises even less so with anime eyes no less. Buzz's eyes are much better.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Fire, Polkadot and Fairie.

Scorchio 5/10 | 6/10

Basic dragon man that's also definitively neopet-like enough to make it a classic! Though, hard to draw for some reason...

Paintbrushes of choice:

Woodland, Darigan, Fairie, Halloween and Fire.

Shoyru 7/10 | 10/10

Personal fav since I had a beloved Shoyru as a plush as a kid. I count it as a dragon even though it's supposed to be a pterosaur. I think I just really love it's face and body and the fact that it's wings are separate from it's body actually makes it stand out from the dinosaur it's supposed to be.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Fairie, Plushie, Polkadot, Robot, Pirate, Christmas, Woodland, Burlap, Oil Paint and Electric.

Skeith 10/10 | 6/10

Again never liked the "coded to be evil"-type neopets, but a decent grumpygrump dragon person. Adorable.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Royal boy and girl, Biscuit, Camouflage, Baby, Darigan, Halloween, Fairie, Pastel and Woodland.

Techo 4/10 | 4/10

Literally just a lizard. Cool lizard, but still.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Stealthy, Woodland and Fairie

Tonu 6/10 | 6/10

Decent rhino/ancient mammal thing with a hint of triceratops thrown in. Good job.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Pastel, Tyrannian, Orange, and Royal Boy and Girl (unclothed)

Tuskaninny 6/10 | 5/10

Not my fav (and I guess nobody else's fav since they're mega unpopular?) kinda weird eyes, but otherwise cute for a seal/walrus.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Oil paint, Baby, Spotted, Plushie and Royal Boy

Uni 6/10 | 10/10

I have a soft spot for Uni since I overhated it so much as a kid for being 'girly'. TBH I don't hate unicorn/pegasus hybrids in their own isolated fantasy and I think Uni just looks perfectly adequate as one. Also great alt. for My Little Pony lovers who want their ponies looking like ponies again and don't need a cutiemark to enjoy a good fantasy horse.

Paintbrushes of choice (cheated):

Usul 7/10 | 4/10

I have a thing against usuls. Always found them utterly unappealing personally wise and overrated by TNT. They're good 'not exactly squirrel'-creatures but they're hampered by it's basic coloring problems. Also, it always struck me as a "mean girl" neopet even though I guess canonically that's what Uni is. Bleh.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Skunk, Pastel, White, Brown, Royal boy and Girl, Usagi boy and girl, Halloween and Ghost.

Vandagyre 5/10 | 6/10

I don't know what it is. I think it's the pose, but objectively I think Vandagyre is kind of lazy even though other neopets work well with the "this animal but with these other animal parts added on". I feel like the paintbrushes though really go hard or go home for this pandabearowl, so I like that.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Wocky 5/10 | 6/10

Very cute but...literally just a cat. Also it's basic coloring could be annoying with it almost always having a pink-ruff.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Polkadot, Fairie, Baby, Halloween, Ghost, Royal boy and girl (unclothed), Plushie, and Elderly Boy and Girl.

Xweetok 8/10 | 10/10

A more modern answer to Kacheek on account of it being alike to several but never one exact kind of mammal. Better overdesign elements than Ogrin to me.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Split, Fairie, Speckled, Silver, Baby, Halloween, Pink, Royal Boy and Girl and Stealthy.

Yurble 10/10 | 6/10

I remember when this thing debued. Such a fun time! I love how they look vaguely lion-maney but also gerbil like. So cute. So NEOPET.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Fairy, Pirate, Snow, Checkered, Skunk, Plushie, Fire, Origami, Pastel and Purple.

Zafara 9/10 | 8/10

Perfect neopet to end an alphabet with and also just to end off on. Like a neopet version of a Dr. Seuss creation. I love it's smile and it's spikes. It's just very friendly.

Paintbrushes of choice:

Steampunk (unclothed), Woodland, Royal Boy and Girl, Valentine, Starry, Christmas, Plushie, Fairie and Pastel.

-----

[tanglepelt]

Run ghost run 7

Ao3 prev next

The last week has just been one mystery after another. More to dig into, more to investigate. Static in the ears, secret government, missing persons cases, radio silence, being grounded and a cruel and unusual punishment no more coffee. Who cares if he’s been analyzing videos or waiting for blood results for the last three days. Tim just wanted to know just as much as anyone else why he glowed green.

Sleep was for the weak.

Forcing him on house arrest was not going to get answers. Forcing him to sleep was going to get anyone anywhere. Just a waste of time. Going out and investigating could. But here he was stuck in the Batcave with the demon child. Cause of course it was the two of them out of everyone.

Not to mention the sudden lack of communication from the batgirls. Barbra couldn’t trace them neither could he. Following their trail via camera went dead quick. They just had to infiltrate that base in the middle of nowhere Illinois. There were no public cameras or even privately owned ones they could get into. Just farmland. Corns, soybeans, and 27 million acres of farmland.

Their comms and trackers were just standing still. They just stopped communicating three days ago. Barbara tried sending signals to try and get them to unfreeze. She wasn’t successful neither were his attempts.

Bruce went missing child hunting.

Then the mystery kid showing up just to vanish.

Duke had been waiting for him to leave the library. It should have been child play to track Danny and see where he went. Duke lost him to a shadow blob monster thing. No clear image was available. It was more corrupt than the picture of the kid.

While Dick and Duke were out looking for him, Tim was in the Batcave investigating. Barbara was stalking cameras assisting Bruce. Who knows where Damian was. Not his problem.

Danny’s search history went from concerning to this is bad to why. A town that didn’t exist. So-called Fenton’s only exist at a college event. More specifically for an event three people ran. Jack, Maddie, and Vlad masters. For some ghost portal prototype. The first two had no online records, no driver license, not even any bank account. In all but college they don’t exist.

Looking into masters would be in order. Masters had always liked to brag. Tim can recall Vlad talking about a college reunion. He had been bragging about how he was going to host it. That was roughly 6 months ago. If the three had been acquainted those two were likely at the reunion. Vlad would have posted about it somewhere.

For the last four months Vlad’s accounts had been inactive. This could have been just after the reunion. Was he now involved?

Buried away there was a single article. By one Harriet Chin. It was only due to a deep dive that he found it. It cited the reunion. It had Vlad Masters name. This article got her discredited from her original job. It’s now posted solely on some sketchy websites. She claimed these “ghosts” possessed a Jack Fenton. Then that he manages to unposses himself. She had interviews in the article from Jack, Fenton, Maddie Fenton, and Danny Fenton.

This article was posted five months ago. Harriet’s socials have also been inactive for the last four months. Those associated with the Fenton’s just seemed to be disappearing.

Whatever Fenton Works was. It didn’t exist digitally.

The entire ant-ecto acts. Which is a pure act against the meta protection Acts. Provided no proof of their findings. The single politician who had these acts written out was kicked out of office. He hadn’t even lasted a term. The day after the bill went through, he was relieved of his position. There was nothing on the guy after he was kicked out. Another mystery to solve. For a later date.

The pages available were obviously biased with no real facts. Just saying their dead must mean they're pretending. Multiple statements even contradict themselves. Citing that some entity destroyed the entire town to bring back the forest. If they were non-sentient, why did the entity only act when the town was supposedly chopping down trees?

It directly brought a reason why it acted. It didn’t just come out of nowhere and attack. It targeted a single town, not named in the acts, only after an event happened.

The unnamed town had to be this, Amity Parks. In every regard, it no longer existed. He had looked at the same sites as the so-called Danny “Cosmos”. Nothing new there. Tim did use Internet Archive to look at previous versions of websites. Amity Park used to be in government records, roughly 10 years ago. Which isn’t shocking, the proof it existed had already been found. The fact It had been removed from everything official was a piece of resistance.

Someone had to have erased it. Any previous records are gone. Records of any politician or mayor is gone. Looking at past renditions of websites he could find them. This wasn’t a town going ghost. It was a town being wiped out of existence.

It had to be a two-way information block. This Danny was likely Danny Fenton had clearly no knowledge of heroes at all. Barbara said he had seemed confused all while doing his research. He had searched What are metahumans? That’s common knowledge. Then looking up are heroes real? really sealed the deal. Even searching how did anti-ecto acts pass? to find no results. Anti-Ecto Acts? also with no results.

It’s a cover-up. Bernard did tell him there was a secret government agency plotting to destroy the meta-protection acts.

It was the only thing that made sense right now. A hidden law and a hidden town. People disappearing history being wiped out. This was prime conspiracy evidence.

The acts shouldn’t have passed. Playing off as an environmental bill and forcing the vote in the same session. Red flags right there. The league has people who are supposed to watch for this. Even when it passed, they should have been informed.

This wasn’t just a law against humans. It specially targeted a group of non-humans not in their jurisdiction. Whatever these beings where it wasn’t a ghost. Ghosts don’t act how these acts describe these entities. They are essential acts of war. Allowing the United States government to exterminate and experiment on them at their discretion. It mentions ecto-contaminated as well. That implies these beings can infect another. If a normal human was infected this could allow the government to experiment on anyone. They had a whole ghost investigation ward to handle this. This whole mess could lead to the loss of rights for any individual.

Why didn’t this get flagged?

Tim was happy he wasn’t going to have to tell the league about this.

Now all they had to do was get Danny somewhere safe. The fact he had no idea who any of them were was going to help oh so much. His searches for them gave him so much joy. Is Batman a demon? Why is batman a cryptid? Does Batman work with the government? Who is red robin? Why did red robin name himself after a restaurant? Why does a child have swords? Does Robin stab people?

This was going to be a headache.

Those rope burns didn’t come from nowhere. Not to mention on top of them were marks from cuffs. It’s very possible he’s considered ecto-contaminated. The way he nervously looked around, the way he reached for his throat, the look of panic, and the search history all added up. Unfortunately, the case presumably the government caught him and did experiments on him.

He was stumped by the last thing he looked up. Do birds and bats get along? Where do birds and bats co-live? Where do starlings and noctules live?

Somehow the starlings and noctules fit in. He wasn’t sure how yet. Tim would figure it out.

It was only when the kid vanished they regained connection with the batgirls.

The two fed them small amounts of information. The two were in a lab in Amity Park. Releasing a boy from the lab. Somehow got frozen in time. It was all connected. They needed to find Danny.

Bruce was heading their way now. Stephanie had a drive with all the data from the lab. Once it got here, they’d have to organize the data.

Bruce had already contacted the league.

The three would be back at the cave tomorrow night at the latest. They wanted to look scout the town. Get a better picture.

A beep on his phone alerted him to the time. While doing his research and finding all the connections the night was nearly up. It was right around 4 am.

Nightwing: Spotted the kid. Choose to nap on the roof of an abandoned building.

Good. That means the answers are almost at hand. Just a matter of convincing the kid to let them help. Considering Danny was looking up if Batman was a demon, their vigilantes’ personas could be useless. Civilian forms trying to help may work the best.

Red Robin: looking at his search history I wouldn’t be surprised if he ran the minute he spots you.

5 minutes had passed before the response.

Nightwing: He jumped… off the roof. With a peace sign

Nightwing: then just vanished.

Nightwing: no splat

Tim just didn’t know how to respond to that. Maybe he could find more info on the ghost ward. Nothing popped up the two times he’s searched. Maybe the third time is the charm.

Before he could begin his search, he was promptly getting kicked out of the Batcave. Tim’s said it once hell say it again. Sleep is for the weak. He took like a 20-minute power nap yesterday. He was fine.

All he needed was some coffee. He was over the house arrest. If going out the window is what it takes. It’s what it takes.

**

Danny expected to wake up to the sun. Not a ghostly chill going through him. His ghost sense? This was even smaller than the incident yesterday. Just a simple chill no blue breath coming out.

Looking around he couldn’t quite spot him, more felt. He knew there was at least one entity watching him. Grabbing his backpack and slinging it across hi back he started to walk towards the door. The plan was simple. Get into the building away from prying eyes.

He was prepared this time. Fully expecting something to jump out at him.

Danny did not fall on his dairy-air this time when a child dressed as a traffic light landed in front of him. Not just any child but Robin. The sword wielder, who has probably stabbed people. He was not dealing with this.

Robin had to have been the one who set him off. He could feel lingering death and some mix of ectoplasma. It wasn’t quite right.

Danny was fairly positive he heard someone in the distance cursing.

He really wasn’t paying attention to Robin as he spoke. More concerned with the impending danger. His heart was beating, he could feel the blood rushing to his head.

At some point Nightwing got in front of him. Now both him and Robin were in front of the door. It looked like the blue one was scolding the traffic light. Maybe he heard something about being grounded. Stuff about staying point and not going off on his own. Maybe something about the color green.

All he knew was he was trapped.

Looking at the edge of the roof and back towards the blocked door his decision was made. Ignoring the way blues hands went up.

This certainly wouldn’t be the first roof he’s jumped off. The first while injured and powers on the fritz. But it was better than being trapped. He is not too sure how he got to the edge of the roof. He knows they tried to stop him.

Just looking at them he flashed the peace sign as he jumped.

[samgirl98]

Cain and Abel Wept 6/?

Prev | Next

Danny watched the sunrise on the safe house’s roof. He didn’t move even as the sun got higher in the sky. His parents and Jazz were fast asleep, but Danny couldn’t relax enough to go unconscious. It was a good thing he didn’t need as much sleep as a regular human.

Danny fiddled with the card and cell phone that Batman Bruce had given him.

Once upon a time, Danny had dreamt of meeting his birth father.

Once upon a time, Danny had imagined Batman would appear like a demon in the night against Ra’s Al Ghul and save both Danny and Damian.

Once upon a time, Danny dreamt of being a family with the Detective and his little brother.

Those dreams had been crushed when his little brother thrust a sword through Danny’s chest.

Danny thought he had long since let go of the sadness and anger he felt every time he thought of Damian’s betrayal, but seeing his baby brother again brought those feelings to the forefront of his mind and a new feeling, guilt.

Danny could still see every sad look, every unshed tear from Damian every time Danny flinched away from his brother.

“Ugh, this is so unfair,” Danny yelled at the sky.

He had wanted to be a normal kid with a normal loving family. He had wanted to play with his baby brother without fearing punishment. Now, he was the fucking Ghost King running from the US government.

Danny brought his legs up to his chest and cried for the first time in a long time.

____

Batman entered the Watch Tower’s meeting room in his usual cool, collected manner. Clark would’ve fallen for Bruce’s feigned nonchalance if it weren't for his super hearing. As it was, Bruce’s heartbeat had been fluctuating from his normal speed to heart-stopping fast.

“Oi, Batsy, this better be important. I was in the middle of a game of poker.”

Bruce ignored Constantine and set up his presentation. He looked at everyone in the room and turned on the PowerPoint.

Clark almost threw up when he saw the dismembered body of a five-year-old glowing girl oozing some type of green blood. Batman showed more and more pictures before stopping on a slide that read in big, bold letters: The Anti-Ecto Act Laws.

To say it would be a long day was an understatement.

____

John Constantine had seen a lot of fucked up shit in his lifetime; hell, he’d done a lot of those fucked up shit, but what he was seeing today made him want to crawl into the House of Mysteries and forget he even existed by drowning himself in alcohol.

Batman had not pulled the punches. He showed slide after slide of dismembered body parts, cruel experiments, and cages full of ghosts from the bloody Infinite Realms! How had the fucking US government gotten ahold of such powerful beings? Even the weakest blob ghost was stronger than the average ghost.

Batman’s following words made John want to curse his very existence, “They’re also hunting the ruler of the Infinite Realms.”

Every magic user in the room cursed out loud. John took out a cigarette, uncaring who it pissed off that he was smoking in the Watch Tower. News like this warranted a little rule-breaking.  

Batman kept talking and brainstorming with the colorful brigade about how they would repeal the laws the stupid Americans had, in all their wisdom, deemed a good idea to write. John swore Lex being president had been the worst thing to happen to the country. Yeah, they got him out, but only after he had done a substantial amount of damage.

John took his last drag and asked, “So, Bats, why has the new King of the Infinite Realm looked toward you for help instead of one of us magic users?”

That’s what got to John; Bats was notorious for trying to avoid magic and anything that didn’t fit his logic. Why would a powerful being like that go to Batman instead of John or Captain Marvel?

“He was running from the government when he ended up in Gotham. He noticed that Red Hood was also considered an ecto-being and warned me about it. I decided to help immediately after the laws were brought to my attention.”

John squinted at Batman.

It seemed to make sense, but there was something else, something more. John could feel it deep in his guts. And his guts had never steered him wrong (whether he listened or not was another thing.)

They spent the rest of the day going over logistics and strategies.

Wonder Woman wanted to go straight to the GIW’s HQ and destroy it; she got vetoed. The destruction could cause a backlash from the general public and make them fear ghosts. Only Amity Parkers were aware of the spirits and had mixed feelings about them.

It was decided that Lois Lane and Clark Kent would bring attention to the laws and write about them in such a way that they were a danger to the Meta-Human Protection Laws.

Not a bad idea, to be honest.

“And you’re sure the King is all right with his kind being exposed to the world,” John couldn’t help but ask.

It was one thing for them to exist in legends and superstitions and another completely different thing for there to be concrete evidence of the existence of things that go bump in the night.

“He is,” Batman answered in his gravelly voice. Jesus, it made John think the man smoked but didn’t want to admit it.

“All right, if you say so.”

The meeting was adjourned, and John was happy to leave when he heard Batman, “Constantine, Superman, Wonder Woman, there’s something else I’d like to talk to you about.”

Great, he got singled out.

“Make it quick, Bats; I want to research and see if I can’t find anything on our mystery king.”

Batman waited until they were alone before talking.

“I am telling you this in confidence; it doesn’t leave this room, and you don’t tell anyone else.”

Batman glared at them, and Constantine felt he would have more shit added to his plate.

John sighed, “What now, Bats? What could possibly have to say that already didn’t fuck up my worldview?”

“The Ghost King is my biological son I didn’t know existed.”

John waited for Batman to scream out ‘psych’ because the man had to be pulling their legs.

Batman stared at them with a somber look in his eyes.

“For fuck’s sake, Bats, it’s called a fucking condom!”

____

Agent K and Agent O had isolated the ghost child’s ectosignature to somewhere in New Jersey. It had been hard.

The Fentons were great inventors and since they decided to betray the human race, they had used their inventions to hide the abomination.

But they were closing in. Soon, they would have the Ghost King and the Ghost Zone would be no more.

Wow, writing Constantine's POV was hard cuz I don't know British Slang that well, lol. Surprise, the GIW is close.

@spectralstardustandphantomnights @avelnfear @idfk-man10 @blackroserelina @candeartist422 @luer-mirin @mur-ururu @insufferablecrab @skulld3mort-1fan @meira-3919 @aethernorwood @mimilikey @marshmelloe @latheevening226 @ahyesanerd @lexdamo @chrysanthemum9484 @spooky-fm