#but in the same way as those knockoff superhero costumes

[droewyn]

RedSpidey plot bunny, free to a good home

Because I'm not confident enough in my BatFam to write them, but this lives in my head rent-free, and I'd love to read it.

Peter Parker / Tim Drake crossover by way of the multiverse.

"Lost objects" soulmate AU. In this AU, anything that you lose winds up in the possession of your soulmate. You can't game the system by throwing things away on purpose; it has to actually be lost.

Six months after the events of No Way Home, Peter Parker is going through the motions. "Peter Parker" himself barely exists anymore; he's faked his own credentials -- not particularly difficult after the Blip -- but those carefully forged ID papers are really all that's left of him. Peter Parker is the nonentity who delivers photos to Jameson. He's the bane of his landlord's existence. The rest of the time, he's Spider-Man.

Peter Three said that he'd eventually stopped pulling his punches. Peter One has stopped ducking them. Oh, he dodges the flung busses, the vaporizing energy rays, and the mutagen grenades. He's not suicidal. Not... not really. He takes the big threats seriously; the city can't afford for him not to. But the street-level thugs and muggers really can't do too much to hurt him, even if they're armed. He'll heal. He always heals. And while they last, those cuts and bruises (and occasional gunshot wounds) remind him that he's real, that he's not just a ghost, haunting New York, possessing his own superhero identity. The pain is a reminder that he's not dead. Which is important. Probably.

He's long since stopped wondering about his soulmate. He still keeps the random objects that he finds, storing them safely in a shoebox under his bed, but it's mostly out of habit. Whoever keeps misplacing the coffeeshop punch-cards, the occasional roll of film, the weird-looking charging cables and bits of disassembled tech, and that one really tacky, bat-shaped throwing star that probably came from the same mall kiosk that sold knockoff Lord of the Rings swords... whoever that person is, they are better off far, far away from Peter. From Spider-Man.

It's been a particularly bad night. He's bruised. He's bloody. He hasn't bothered to look at the camera's memory yet, but he's pretty sure that there won't be anything usable on it. His third eviction notice has been taped to his door, and the contents of his refrigerator should be classified as a bioweapon. He's just. So tired. He barely manages to peel the mask off before flopping into bed, the fabric still clutched between his fingers.

And when he wakes up again, he's in a bedroom larger than his entire apartment, in a bed softer than a cloud (and quite possibly also larger than his entire apartment), and the only thing more astonishing than the thread count of the sheets he's tangled in is the sleeping face of the pretty, black-haired boy roughly his own age, whose nose is eight inches from his own.

Blue eyes blink open, going from sleepy to alert in an instant. The boy's feet kick out, and ow, did they have to connect with the kidney that was still recovering from the stab wound? He finds himself literally booted out of bed, blinking dazedly at a ceiling that doesn't have any water damage at all, and it's only his Peter T... spider sense that gets him to move in time to avoid the staff that slams into the carpet where his head had just been.

Who the hell sleeps with a weapon within reach? A quick thwip, and a practiced jerk of his wrist, and the staff sticks harmlessly to the wall. (It's not a double-standard, okay? Just because he's been sleeping in his costume more often than not lately doesn't make it intentional, just... efficient.)

The black-haired boy also enjoys efficiency. He's firing question after question at Peter, even as he chases him around the room. Who is he working for? What does he want? How did he get inside the bedroom? Something about the main character of Persona 5? Peter's not sure about that one. They're all excellent questions, and ones he'd also like to know the answers to. But he can hear other heartbeats nearby, other voices, running footsteps. He's about to be outnumbered. He also just woke up, hasn't had a chance to pee yet, and his mouth tastes disgusting.

He goes out the window and keeps going, until he gets to a city that definitely isn't New York, and he's managed to lose all of the weirdly competent rich people.

It doesn't take him long to realize that he's in another universe. He's also pretty sure this one isn't his fault; he's stayed as far away from Dr. Strange as he has everyone else from his former life, and he hasn't had any big villains in a while. Not that it really matters; he's back to square one again, only this time, all he has is the suit on his back, a phone that won't connect to anything, and a handful of spare web fluid cartridges tucked into his pocket.

He needs to find a way home. He needs to figure out what happened, and how and why, and fix it. Doesn't he? He doesn't exist here, and okay, he barely existed back home, but that's where he's meant to be. Isn't it? Where every familiar landmark is a bad memory, and "I Believe Mysterio" shirts are commonplace. Where he's just as likely to be cursed at as thanked, and no matter what he does, nothing ever seems to get any better. Not for him, or for anyone else.

He's hungry. He's more alone than he's ever been in his life. He finds a place to squat for the night, and falls into an uneasy sleep.

He wakes up in the black-haired boy's bed again.

[olderthannetfic]

Re: Black people with electricity powers being "stereotypical", I can explain that one. DC's first black superhero, Black Lightning, was, well, a black man who had electricity powers. Before anyone gets upset in the notes, please remember that it was 1977. The name was progressive by the standards of the time. He had the option to use a costume that hid all of his skin, since he made his own superhero outfit, but he refused it, instead choosing to show his skin and proclaim that he was black in his superhero name. People who were against "political correctness", "liberal madness", "forced activism" and other culture war buzzwords were not pleased at DC having him at the time. His comic was retired due to poor sales, then revived in the 1990's, where it had substantially more success. He was a popular character not just with black people, but with kids who liked that the series focused on storylines addressing issues that were in the news, making it more timely and realistic than many comics.

Three things happened subsequently. Firstly, owing to his popularity, Marvel Comics created their own black, electricity using superhero, and then used that concept for a few other knockoffs to fill out team rosters/crowd scenes. Secondly, due to legal issues regarding licensing (who created him and if he was entirely the IP of DC were in dispute for a long time), DC instead made other black, electricity-wielding superheroes for Superfriends and crossover comics between titles. Thirdly, comic publishers outside of the big two started making black men with electricity powers as lead superheroes. (Usually with edgier backstories, because the 1990's was rife with those for superheroes.)

The logic that this means that black superheroes having electricity powers = racist stereotyping is, however, ridiculous. This trope has never been a frequent or constant thing in media, for one thing. None of Marvel's knockoffs lasted into the late 90's, most indie comics knockoffs sold poorly and were retired fairly quickly, and other than the Superfriends cartoon, no characters of this description were in animation until the early 00's. Furthermore, not only is this a relatively unknown trope, but there isn't anything actually racially related about it other than "this person is black, cis, male, and uses electricity". The vast majority of these characters also don't get their powers the same way - Black Lightning made tech to give him his powers, Static from Static Shock was in an accident involving gas that gave people superpowers, Black Hammer has a magic hammer, etc. In order for the trope to be racist it would have to have more to it than what it currently does.

Basically the commenter might as well have been going, "Uh, Black Lightning and his knockoffs had electricity, that means you can't use that for black people anymore." which is really dumb when you remember how many superheroes with identical powersets exist without anyone ever going, "Uh, Superman flies and has super-strength, that means you can't use that for white people anymore."

Gee I wonder what the thing is that makes Black Lightning and Superman different. Hmm. What could it be? /s

--

[myopinionisimportant]

I was curious if Lore Forge had done anything more with Meanwhile playtesting, and they have! It looks like they've put up the full rulebook a while back, and have added Captain Cosmic and Sky-Scraper to the lineup, as well as doing full conversions of a bunch of the Tactics characters! Including both Legacies and the rest of the Freedom Five!

I should perhaps print them out and do some actual playtesting, at least enough to learn the basics of the game. And it could be fun to try!

[loopy777]

whats your thoughts on Venom, the green goblin and doctor octopus, the three characters who are generally held up as spidermans archenemies? which one do you think has the best potential as spidermans definite enemy if they were written perfectly, and which series do you think had the best portrayal of each of them respectively?

If I had to crown THE Spider-Man Archnemesis, I would have to give it to Green Goblin. Doc Ock is the oldest, and the first to both defeat Spider-Man and make him consider quitting, but ultimately Norman has taken more from Spidey, gotten more personal in their conflict, and created more of a legacy for the mythos. Sorry, Otto.

That said, I don’t really like designating a single archnemesis for Spidey because Norman hasn’t completely dominated the field. Ock runs the Sinister Six, Spidey’s big Villain Team and one of the best Villain Teams in all of superhero comics. (And let’s face it, the Legion of Doom is bigger only because DC characters got more media exposure for a long time and Superman’s villains are so good that Lex Luthor, Brainiac, and Bizarro lift up the likes of Solomon Grundy and Cheetah when they’re all on a team together.) Venom has the whole Evil Knockoff thing going and a unique and terrifying ‘stalker’ gimmick that puts him in a special class, not to mention how he directly overpowers or counters all Spidey’s abilities.

And, honestly, the whole ‘Goblin’ gimmick is kind of arbitrary and has nothing to do with spiders. Clowns and bats don’t have a direct relation, but at least they’re opposites in terms of color and purpose, so Batman and Joker kind of seem like twisted rivals. Goblins and spiders are only linked in that they’re both kind of Halloweeny, but Spider-Man has little to do with Halloween or spooky stuff, anyway. But I better cut this line of thought off before I start explaining how Spider-Man shouldn’t be Spider-Man at all and him being Frog-Man would make just as much sense and then we wouldn’t have to deal with pictures of icky spiders in all Spider-Man media.

But yeah, Norman Osborne is still indisputably a cut above the others.

Ock is really just a typical mad scientist with a robot-arm gimmick that allows him to directly fight with Spider-man. He’s well-written and constructed, granted, and I love how his arrogance contrasts with Peter’s humility, how they’re such opposites in terms of empathy, and how different their paths become after science-based accidents that granted them unusual powers. Bendis’s “Ultimate Spider-Man” comics nicely honed in on this theme, and I also appreciate how both Stan Lee’s prose story in the unrelated “Ultimate Spider-Man” short story collection (...it’s a title Marvel loves to reuse for some reason) and John Byrne’s attempted origin revision linked the irradiated spider to the explosion that created Ock. All great villains should be dark reflections of their heroes, but while Ock has gotten some great stories that make him a top-tier villain, he still offers little storytelling potential beyond his mad scientist archetype. Now, I know what comics-readers are thinking at this point: Yes, I did read the original “Superior Spider-Man” run and I think there’s some real potential there, but honestly I feel like it was under-served by Dan Slott’s pacing and foibles. And I haven’t seen an adaptation of it yet that I think really fulfills the possibilities. But the idea is great, so maybe Otto will get his chance to level up his rivalry with Spider-Man.

Venom’s problem is that he’s a little too focused on his revenge on Spider-Man. The stories where he stalks Spidey, wandering into Peter’s life to fold laundry with Aunt May, popping up to have a surprise tussle with Spidey just to throw him off-balance, etc- Those are great and make Venom seem super-scary, especially since Spidey can’t beat Venom in a fight without some kind of edge or gimmick. But all Venom wants is revenge on Spidey, so after he’s failed a few times to get it, what do you do with the character? He’s not scary if he keeps failing. The original idea was to have the symbiote pass on from Eddie Brock and take on other hosts, and that might have opened the door for some new kinds of stories. I know this was eventually implemented 20 years later, with the original Scorpion getting to be Venom for a while, and symbiotes becoming a whole Thing with a bunch in various colors, but I didn’t read any of those stories and they don’t seem to have left much impression on the general Spider-Man fandom. Ultimately, it was chosen to ‘redeem’ Eddie Brock and make Venom into an “anti-hero” (for a definition of the term that means “protagonist who kills people but doesn’t have to worry about that whole ‘consistently laid low by their fatal flaw’ thing”) which did sell a bunch of comics in the 90′s and set up some tension-filled team-ups with Spidey. Nice idea, if implemented in a really shaggy way, but -- again -- what do you do after that? Venom/Eddie isn’t really a compelling lead who you can keep telling stories about. (Yes, I saw the Venom movie. It has like two minutes of amusing material and two hours of boring dreck, and none of it is memorable.) And making him evil again runs into the same problem as having left him evil in the first place. Venom was a good idea whose time came and went, and perhaps someone will find a way to make him fresh again. But until then, I think he gets by more on his visuals than anything.

The Green Goblin, in contrast, has a lot going for him in terms of storytelling potential. He’s a mad scientist, a wanna-be crime boss, a dark shadow of his civilian identity looking for revenge and/or illicit thrills, and personally has that ongoing personal hatred/rivalry for Spider-Man. That offers a whole bunch of storytelling paths, all of which have been taken and proven fruitful over the years. And that’s without getting into how Norman Osborne is the father of Peter’s best friend Harry, a flawed father figure to Peter in his own right, a ruthless millionaire industrialist before Lex Luthor gave it a try, and another dark reflection of the paths Peter could have taken in both aspects of his life. Even when Norman is dead, his legacy continued to be felt for 20-odd years with how Harry fell from grace. You can even link Norman to his spin-off the Hobgoblin; just Norman’s equipment getting passed on created another enduring villain. And, again, that’s without even looking at Norman’s murder of the one-time romantic lead Gwen Stacy being the event that ended the Silver Age of comics. Norman Osborne is just plain a truly great, versatile villainous character who has managed, despite being almost 60 years old, to still maintain an “Oh, no!” impact among Spidey fans when he shows up. Sure, there have been bad stories about him, and some over-exposure at times, but that hasn’t diminished his impact or ongoing potential.

As for portrayals, I’m overall a fan of the 90′s animated series and their takes. That show really petered out after a few seasons, but it introduced Ock with a bang and got a lot of mileage out of him. Venom got to do the whole scary stalker thing, and then the show put him on a shelf until his ‘redeeming’ death to avoid over-exposure, so that worked out fairly well. And while it’s odd how Kingpin and Hobgoblin took over most of the Green Goblin’s role in Spider-Man’s stories, what we did get of Norman was good, and the performance that went into the Green Goblin really sold the weird psychology of the character. Those three villains definitely got a chance to shine in this series, even if Green Goblin was under-used.

I also think the Sam Raimi movies overall did a good job. Green Goblin was perfect- aside from the costume. Willem Dafoe utterly nailed every aspect of the character, right down to the body language, and the movie did a good job condensing his rivalry with Spider-Man into a single movie. As for Doctor Octopus, I’m of two minds about how he got a sympathetic backstory and characterization. On the one hand, it made him a more compelling character and Alfred Molina danced nicely between the human side and the villainous side. On the other hand, though, Ock has classically never really been sympathetic; he’s an utter monster in behavior, and the insertions of bullying in his backstory have never changed that. Venom is the only one I think didn’t really get a chance in these movies; I like this version of Eddie Brock (really!), but he barely got an opportunity to be Venom and you can tell no aspect of the character really inspired the storytellers.

Spectacular Spider-Man, naturally, did a good job. I think this version of Green Goblin is the best of them all; I even got my DVD set signed by Steve Blum! Ock was also done well, getting to be the Master Planner as well as leader of the Sinister Six, although I don’t think I quite buy the timidity they gave the character before the accident. Similarly, I didn’t buy Eddie’s fall from grace as Peter’s best friend; one episode he’s upset because Peter’s blowing him off for hanging out, and the next episode he’s nearly killing Mary Jane just to mess with Peter. You might as well just start with Eddie being a monster, like the Raimi movie did.

I also think Bendis’s Ultimate comics did well by all three characters. I’m not really a fan of Goblin-Hulk, but Norman’s impact was fully in effect (even if we had yet another toothless homage to Gwen Stacey’s death with Mary Jane getting thrown off a bridge and surviving), and they fit him well into the Super-Soldier Arms Race aspect of the setting. Ock got some really great use, including an arc of character development and ‘redemption’ that still managed to allow him to be an arrogant monster to the end. Venom was under-used, but this might be the best ever interpretation of Eddie Brock and obviously inspired the Raimi version, and I love the origin of the symbiote here and how it tied to Peter’s father. My only complaint is that after that first great story, Bendis didn’t seem to quite know what to do with Venom; the video game and its comic adaptation seemed to be setting him up for more, but that didn’t come to anything.

So, those are my thoughts. As a Spider-Man fan, I think I’m spoiled for choice in picking an achnemesis. Despite the little flaws that keep Ock and Venom from topping the Green Goblin, they’re still heavy-hitters as comic book villains and could run the game in the rogues gallery of most other superheroes. But Spidey has one of the best sets of villains in the business, so that’s not surprising.

[27dragons]

Square: S2 - Image: Cap Costume Title: We are Captain America Warning: None Rating: G Pairing: None Characters: Tony, Steve, an assortment of others Tags: Protective Avengers, Avengers Family, Civil War What Civil War?, I am Spartacus Summary: Thunderbolt Ross has come to arrest Captain America. Boy, is he in for a surprise. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19139674 Word Count: 775 Posted for @tonystarkbingo

Some guys, if you gave them a megaphone or a bullhorn, went a little crazy with the power. Tony honestly wouldn’t have guessed that “Thunderbolt” Ross counted among them, though. He’d always thought Ross had a finer appreciation for power than simply being really loud.

Tony eyed the security feeds, where Ross was pacing back and forth and yelling into his bullhorn. The security feed was blessedly silent, but it didn’t really matter; Ross’ demands changed only superficially from repetition to repetition, calling on Captain America to surrender, or for the other residents to throw him out.

Tony tugged uneasily on his too-large shirt. “This isn’t going to work.”

“Have a little faith, Tony, would you?” Steve stepped back and eyed Tony critically. “Stand up straight,” he chided. “Have a little respect for the uniform.”

Tony snorted. “Which do you want me to have? Respect, or faith?”

“Is it too much to ask for both?”

“Yes.” Tony yanked the cowl down over his head -- not even the real Captain America cowl, but a cheap costume shop knockoff. “How do I look?”

Steve snapped his heels together and saluted sharply, effect somewhat spoiled by the way he was fighting a smirk. “You look like Captain America,” he said.

Tony picked up the plastic shield. Crappy costume or not, having Steve look on so proudly was oddly bolstering. “Right. Let’s go do this.”

[’ware the readmore! or keep reading on ao3!]

He made his way through the building, through the main lobby, and out onto the broad front lawn. Ross finally stopped yelling into his bullhorn as he walked across the space, and the crowd of press that had gathered practically held their collective breath.

Tony stopped while he was still maybe twenty feet from Ross and, knowing Steve was watching, struck a truly corny pose, shield in front of him and fist raised high. “I am Captain America!” he announced.

Ross scowled at him. “What are you playing at, Stark?”

“I’m not playing,” Tony said, standing up straight again. Steve was probably watching on the security feed, still, so Tony made sure to square his shoulders and straighten his spine. “I am Captain America.”

Behind him, he heard the door open, footsteps approaching. “I am Captain America,” Sam Wilson said from Tony’s left. His Captain America costume actually looked good on him, damn it.

“What kind of crackpot scheme is this?” Ross demanded.

Scott Lang materialized (well, un-shrank really quickly but the effect was the same) at Tony’s right. He was wearing an even crappier Captain America costume than Tony’s, and it had been horribly distorted by being stretched over Scott’s quantum-manipulation gear. “I am Captain America!” he said. He sounded ridiculously happy about it.

Ross was turning red, and even from this distance, Tony could see that vein in his forehead was starting to stand out. “I’ll have the lot of you arrested!” he threatened. “Even you, Stark! Don’t think I--” He broke off, staring past Tony in something like horror.

“I am Captain America,” called Pepper’s voice. Tony had helped her pick out the blue and white power suit that she was wearing in lieu of a crappy costume, accented with red Louboutins on her feet and diamond-crusted SSR-wing barrettes for her hair.

“I am Captain America.” And that was Natasha Romanov.

“I am Captain America.” Thor. Maria Hill.

“I am--” Wanda Maximoff. Rhodey. Hope Pym.

“--Captain--” Stephen Strange. Helen Cho. Bruce Banner. Bucky Barnes.

“--America!” Phil Coulson. Clint Barton. Peter Parker. Nick Fury. Sharon Carter.

Dozens of others. Everyone they’d been able to round up on such short notice, nearly the entire population of the compound -- superheroes and scientists, medics and mechanics, friends and family -- filled the lawn between Ross and the building, each proclaiming, “I am Captain America!”

Each and every one of them had been duly deputized by Steve Rogers himself, so that none of them were lying. They were Captain America.

“Arrest us, then,” Tony said, nonchalantly brushing a bit of lint off his costume sleeve. “If you dare.”

Tony had seen villains sprawled unconscious at his feet, locked behind bars, exploded into fragments, even sobbing with remorse. None of those victories had ever felt as sweet as watching Thunderbolt Ross nearly implode with rage, stomping in rage like a four-year-old throwing a tantrum and throwing his megaphone on the ground in disgust, and then drive away.

“He’ll be back,” Coulson said, coming up between Tony and Scott. Coulson’s costume was a near-perfect replica of one of Steve’s World War II uniforms. Because of course it was.

“Yeah,” Tony said, watching the dust of Ross’ car dwindle into the distance. “But Captain America will be ready for him.”

[spidergwenstefani]

Holy Dimensional Gateway, Batman! | 2/?

chapter 2 of this.

tw: a bad guy gets stabbed a little bit, and shot. Also some angsty-ish discussion of superhero sidekicks at the end but idk if that’s really a trigger

rated: T

The klaxon is still blaring, red lights flashing and a swarm of SHIELD scientists scrambling to assess the damage done to their base. Tony, for his part, is doing an astounding job of staring blankly at the newly rearranged portal and moving out of exactly nobody’s way.

“So,” he says, glancing sideways at Steve. “Was it just me, or did the portal kind of fold in on itself when Barnes dove through it?”

“It did,” Steve says, his jaw set in the patriotic way that it does when he dissociates from reality. Behind him, one of the scientists gently unpins a shriveled vine from the wall, letting the arrow clatter to the floor.

“So,” Tony says, slowly. It’s not that he’s still processing what’s happened, it’s just that he’d prefer to delay saying it out loud for as long as possible. “Barnes, um. He might not be in the same place as Barton. Right?”

“Right.” The unflinching void of space has nothing on the empty expression Steve’s wearing right now.

“Maybe he’s, um. Not even in the same time. And. And, the portal rearranged itself again after he went through, so…” Steve hasn’t blinked for a while, and Tony’s starting to get a little nervous about the state of his remaining teammate as well.

“So.”

“So, well. So, fuck.”

“Fuck,” Steve echoes.

>>==========>

>>==========>

>>==========>

“I want you to know,” Bucky shouts over the roaring wind, “If any pictures of this get back to my universe, I will actually shoot you.”

Superman just laughs, continuing his scientifically impossible flight towards their undisclosed location. He has his arms hooked under Bucky’s armpits, and while Superman seems to be tiring not a bit, Bucky’s having a hell of a time not sliding out of his grip. He’s self-aware enough to know what an idiot he looks like. He feels like a toddler trying to splash his way through a kiddy pool with nothing but those dumb arm floaties on. If Clint were here, he’d probably make another stupid comparison to that one Angry Cat or whatever. Bucky considers, for all of two seconds, telling him about it once they find him.

“Not to throw a wrench in your plans or anything, but I’m kind of indestructible.”

“Nothing’s indestructible, buddy,” Bucky says, trying to pull himself up just a little, but really only managing to kick around like a petulant child. “And for a guy that claims to be, you’re kind of slow.”

“Well,” Superman says, his voice still pleasant and cheery, “if I was flying at full speed, your brain might actually liquify.” His grip suddenly becomes a hell of a lot tighter, and Bucky feels very much like a puppy that’s been grabbed by the scruff of the neck. “Also, I don’t entirely trust you. I certainly don’t trust you enough to just drop you off at a friend’s door without spending a little time getting to know you first.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, because Superman has a grip of steel and it actually kind of hurts. “Lunch date?”

There’s a sudden flash from the ground below, and Superman stops short as an ear-splitting boom makes its way to them.

“There’s a great diner in Star City.”

“You’re buying,” Bucky says. Or, tries to say, because suddenly Superman is barreling down through the clouds and it’s all Bucky can do not to pass out.

He’s never seen Star City on a normal day, but he assumes there’s usually less general carnage and debris. Shards of shrapnel litter the section of highway Superman touches down on, and a lot of the piles of junk are still smoking from the recent explosion.

“How nice of you to join us,” someone says with a sinister sneer, and Bucky turns to find himself directly in the middle of a stand-off.

On one side of the highway, there’s a guy in a blue and orange body suit, the eyes of his mask and the sword strapped to his back pinging something familiar in Bucky’s head. He’s got some kind of tricked out semi-automatic in his hands and seems ready to shoot right through Bucky to get to the other guy.

The other guy, who’s got a bow and arrow, drawn and ready.

It’s not Clint. Bucky knows in an instant it’s not Clint. This guy is wearing green, a hood and domino mask helping to obscure his face. Even past the costume, his stance is different. When Clint draws his bow, he’s a study in serenity. Bucky knows for a fact his bow of preference has got a draw weight of two hundred and fifty pounds, but the strain doesn’t show. When Clint’s got a target in his sights, he might as well be made of stone. Nothing can touch him when he’s got an arrow at the ready, and the set of his shoulders says he knows it.

This guy? This guy looks almost feral, like a tiger ready to pounce. He’s on the attack and defense all at once, and maybe his form matches Clint’s in any technical measurement, but where Hawkeye is all tranquility, all patient tension, this guy is carefully channeled rage.

Superman is gone.

Bucky was so caught up in taking in the scene that he almost didn’t realize the big blue guy dropped down in the middle of the standoff and disappeared before anyone could blink. He catches sight of a blue blur on the edges of the battlefield, pulling back any civilians that haven’t already made a run for it, dousing fires that are spreading dangerously close to abandoned vehicles. Bucky wishes Superman could’ve at least pointed out the bad guy before fucking right off, because now he’s stuck between bizarro-world versions of Hawkeye and Deadpool with no background information whatsoever.

“Look, Robocop. Either make a move or get out of the way,” Robin Hood says, and Bucky hopes he hasn’t ended up in a universe where Tony Stark is blond and has even worse facial hair.

“Even a fancy arm like that won’t do much to stop a bullet,” Not-Deadpool says, which makes Bucky’s mouth quirk up just a bit.

“I’m trying,” he says, raising his arms slowly in a hopefully multiversal gesture, “to figure out exactly whose side I should be on here.” Nobody relaxes, but Robin Hood at least makes a short sort of snort.

“Well, I am Green Arrow, Hero and Protector of Star City. If you can’t pick between that and ‘Deathstroke the Terminator,’ I’m not sure I want you on my side anyway.”

Bucky turns to Deathstroke then, doing his best not to expose any weak points to either of them. “Deathstroke” is no “Deadpool,” but he figures it’s close enough to stake a guess on.

“You got a counterpoint, Wilson?”

Deathstroke doesn’t falter, doesn’t fumble with his gun or relax his stance, but the last name catches him by surprise, and Bucky only needs a split second of hesitation to draw his weapon. The bullet goes clean through Deathstroke’s shoulder, hitting at the same time as an arrow latches onto his gun, blowing the thing to pieces with the force of a small grenade.

Whatever knockoff brand Deadpool this guy is, not knowing when to quit seems to be Wade Wilson’s universal constant. He draws his sword, charging at Bucky with a speed that’s definitely enhanced. Bucky blocks the blow with his left arm, and the clashing metals send a supernatural clang through the air like a shock wave.

“What-” Deathstroke starts to say, and Bucky goes straight for the Ka-Bar on his belt. He aims a stab at Deathstroke’s side, but whatever’s in the guy’s body armor makes the blade glance off harmlessly. Deathstroke tries again with the sword, aiming a slash at Bucky’s thigh that he just barely dodges.

“Well,” Bucky hears Green Arrow shout from the sidelines, “I’m not gonna lie. I’m a little turned on right now.”

“There’s room for a third,” Bucky says through gritted teeth, ducking as Deathstroke gets a solid swing. His blade sings as it cuts through the air, and Bucky doesn’t want to know what kind of vibranium clusterfuck of an alloy the thing is made of. He drops lower, trying to knock Deathstroke off his feet by sweeping his legs, but he just sidesteps like telegraphing his movements is ever a thing Bucky’s been accused of.

Three arrows go whistling past Bucky’s head in rapid succession, but only one manages to nick Deathstroke’s shoulder, more of a papercut than anything else. It’s not for lack of trying. Green Arrow’s aim is true, but Deathstroke seems to dodge the arrows before they’re even loosed.

“Nice try, Emerald Archer,” Deathstroke sneers, and his next swing actually scrapes against Bucky’s arm before glancing off, the reverb sounding like some hellish version of nails on a chalkboard. “I know where those arrows will be before you do.”

Huh. That changes things. Bucky was thinking telepathy, but if this guy is just using some limited form of precognition, that’s something Bucky can work with.

“What about this knife?” Bucky says, just to draw Deathstroke’s attention back to him. He leads with the Ka-Bar in his right hand, swinging for the face. Deathstroke dodges easily, and if Bucky had to pick a counter move, he’d go for a sucker punch. He ducks before Deathstroke can even finish drawing back his fist, activating the retractable knife in his left arm and slicing at Deathstroke’s thigh. The body armor is lighter in his legs, and the knife cuts deep. Deathstroke lets out a shout, stumbling back. His rhythm is thrown enough for Green Arrow to let loose another explosive arrow, and the impact sends Bucky skidding back on the asphalt.

Deathstroke is gone when the smoke clears, which is a shame because Bucky was just getting into having a worthy opponent. He hears Green Arrow swear behind him, like that’s the end of that, and Bucky hasn’t taken half a step toward the vacant side of the highway before Superman is suddenly blocking his path. He’s radiating ‘disappointed mom’ in waves and the fact that his feet aren’t touching the ground does nothing to tone down the intimidation as he towers over Bucky.

“Well,” he says, squinting down at Bucky and pressing his lips into a flat line. “I’d be interested in knowing how someone from another universe knows the identity of one of our world’s deadliest mercenaries.”

He should probably be shitting his pants right now. Bucky’s getting the sense that Superman isn’t quite human, and beyond faster-than-light speed and a seemingly unlimited amount of strength, he’s still not sure what Superman meant when he called himself “indestructible”. Unfortunately, his intimidation technique seems more based on scolding than actual threats, and Bucky Barnes had to face down Captain America’s “disappointed in you” talk back when he was a teenager.

“There’s a Wade Wilson in my universe too,” he says, not even trying to act nervous. “The codename and the costume aren’t exactly the same, but I only needed him to let his guard down for a second.”

“Well, good work,” Green Arrow chimes in, and Bucky turns to see him counting the arrows left in his quiver. Apparently being escorted by Superman is enough of a character reference in this universe, because Green Arrow’s bow is strapped to his back instead of held at the ready. “Slade Wilson doesn’t let his guard down for almost anything.”

“Huh. That makes a couple more differences between him and the guy I know.”

“I’d like to hear more about the differences in your universe,” Superman says, a note of suspicion still in his voice. “I believe we had plans for lunch?”

“Cheeseburgers are on me,” Green Arrow says.

>>==========>

>>==========>

>>==========>

Batman, it turns out, is a lot more friendly when you’re on the same side.

Well, friendly is relative, but Clint thinks the provided Advil and glass of water have to count for something. He perches on the ledge next to Batman’s ominously gigantic supercomputer and wonders what it says about his life that the Venn diagram of people who have tied him up for interrogation and people who he considers his closest allies has a lot of overlap.

“Start talking,” Batman orders, his eerily pointed gloves clacking against the keyboard. “I want to know exactly how much our universes match up.” He pauses, turning towards him, and Clint gets the sense that he’s being scanned through the opaque eyeholes of the mask. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Oliver Queen, would it?”

“Nope,” Clint says, rubbing absentmindedly at his still sore wrist. “Try Barton, Clinton Francis.”

One quick search later and the computer yields no matches, which puts Clint more at ease than Batman. It’s nice to know there’s not another one of himself running around in this dreary universe, but Batman doesn’t seem quite satisfied.

“You don’t know who I am, but you aren’t phased by the cape and the mask,” he rumbles. Batman’s toned down the demon voice to a low growl, but he’s still got a hoarseness that could rival Wolverine. “You’ve seen plenty of our kind before. Who are the heroes of your universe?”

“Well,” Clint says, weighing his options for all of two seconds. Batman still gives him some major heebie-jeebies, and rattling off intel on his teammates might not be the best tactical move, but he needs to earn some trust here, not to mention his Earth has dealt with way worse threats than some guy in a bat suit that spends his nights beating up old-timey gangsters. “That’s kind of a loaded question.”

Batman leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. Clint gets the sense that there’s one raised eyebrow behind his cowl.

“You mean you don’t have good guys? Sworn protectors of the common people?”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Clint huffs, because it kinda seems like the guy that lives in a Doctor Doom lair and dresses like a vampire on super serum is accusing his world of too much moral ambiguity. “There’s all the Avengers, obviously. Iron Man, Captain America, Thor, Black Widow. Our roster isn’t really set in stone, you know? And there’s the Young Avengers, the Defenders, the Guardians, the X-Men, the Fantastic Four, A-Force, the Howling Commandos, New Warriors, the Thunderbolts, uh, sometimes. Alpha Flight, if we’re counting Canada. Then there’s-”

“That’s enough,” Batman says, which is probably good because Clint hasn’t even gotten to the spin-offs yet. “No Justice League, then?” Clint snorts.

“That’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“The Avengers?” Batman says flatly. “The Defenders?”

“Well it’s not the Vengeance Guild, is it? It’s not the Group of People Who Defend Things.” There’s a muscle twitching in Batman’s jaw, and Clint remembers a little belatedly that he’s not exactly a welcome guest. “So, um. No overlap, I’m guessing?”

“Not with the names you gave,” Batman says. He pauses, and his next words come out more cautious. “You’ve never met Superman, then? Or Wonder Woman?”

Clint tries really, really hard not to smile, because what is with this universe and names? Something must show on his face, though, because Batman sighs wearily.

“‘Captain America’ and ‘Iron Man’ aren’t better.”

“Yeah, I bet Superman’s name is a holdover from the World War II propaganda machine, and Wonder Woman is just a big fan of Black Sabbath.”

“You haven’t given me your name,” Batman says, more gravel edging into his voice. “What is it, Purple Arrow?”

“That’s just lazy,” Clint says, hopping down from his perch so he can puff out his chest properly. “No, you’re in the presence of Clint Barton, AKA Hawkeye. The world’s greatest marksman. The people’s avenger. The greatest sharpshooter known to man. The-”

“The public knows your identity?”

Clint deflates a little, because he was really just getting warmed up. Batman’s not the most expressive of people, but Clint’s spent enough time around super spies to notice the genuine surprise under his growl.

“Sure.” He gives Batman a one-shouldered shrug. “The public knows the identities of a lot of heroes. Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Bruce Banner… I guess Spider-Man keeps his a secret. I’ve got absolutely no clue who that kid is.”

“You aren’t worried about what villains might do?”

“Not really,” Clint shrugs again. “Secret identities are hard to maintain, and it’s not like I can’t handle myself if a villain shows up in my apartment.”

“What about your family? What if they go after them?” Batman sounds almost accusatory, like he’s been looking for something evil about Clint through the whole conversation and just found it. Clint kind of flails for a moment, and it takes a second for him to realize why the question is so odd to him.

“I don’t- The Avengers are my family. Or, the closest thing I’ve got. If someone tries going after any one of them, well. It wouldn’t work out too well. I’m pretty much as weak as the links get on that team.”

Batman steeples his fingers together like he’s a villain in a Bond movie. The wash of cold blue light from his giant computer screen doesn’t help soften the image. Clint tries not to fidget under his stare, feeling a little like a bug pinned up on a wall.

A moment passes, maybe two, and suddenly something in Batman’s posture shifts. He doesn’t relax exactly, but Clint gets the sense that a judgment has been passed. Something’s been decided.

“It’s almost dawn,” Batman says, and suddenly his voice sounds a hell of a lot more like a normal human being. “You should eat, and rest. We’ll get you back home as soon as we can.”

>>==========>

As it turns out, Batman’s enormous hell cavern is just the basement to a sprawling, gilded mansion.

Batman doesn’t say anything on the way up, and they both pretend not to notice when Clint almost passes out as the elevator shoots upwards. The mansion is still dark, still ominous as fuck, but the shadows thrown around Batman aren’t as terrifying when he’s surrounded by polished hardwood and plush carpets.

Batman leaves Clint in an expansive kitchen without a word, so Clint prays that at least the coffee in this universe is the same, and sets to figuring out the entirely too complex machine on the marble countertop. It’s a mess of buttons and light up touch displays, and Clint’s headache is coming back full force.

“Jarvis?” He calls, just in case. “Friday? Any fancy computer butlers around that can tell me how to work this thing?”

“Tragically, no.” Clint nearly jumps out of his skin at the very human voice, whirling around to see a man standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Uh, Batman?” He’s not the right build, but that’s something that a well-built suit can always remedy. The voice, though. That accent is all wrong.

“Wrong again, I’m afraid.” The man reaches out, and Clint gets about halfway through figuring out how to weaponize a Keurig cup before he realizes the guy is just turning on the light switch. Light floods the kitchen, rudely reminding Clint of his recent head trauma, and he nearly laughs because it hadn’t even occurred to him that Batman’s house would have light switches.

The man crosses the room to the coffee machine as Clint continues to blink the black spots out of his eyes. The machine gurgles to life, and Clint has to keep himself from hugging what he’s now realized is a much older man.

“Hi,” he says when he notices the room has lapsed into silence. “I’m Clint.”

“Alfred Pennyworth,” the man says, starting to pull cups and plates down from the cabinets. “Master Bruce will return shortly, and then I’m afraid you’ll have to meet the rest of the Waynes as well.” He offers Clint a smile over his shoulder. “I hope waffles are acceptable.”

Clint opens his mouth to say that yes, waffles are acceptable, in any universe, probably, but he’s cut off by another person entering the kitchen.

“Spare him the grand tour, Alfred. Our friend here needs food and then rest. Possibly with medical attention in between.”

The man is dressed in a robe and house shoes, like some kind of millionaire heir from the fifties. With the dark, slicked-back hair and classically handsome face, all he’s missing is the cigarette and three future centerfolds hanging off his arms.

“Um,” Clint says. “Batman?” If he asks every guy roaming the mansion halls, eventually he’ll get it right. Right?

“You can call me Bruce. Bruce Wayne.” He’s almost effortlessly charming, all dazzling smiles and sweeping gestures, but Clint didn’t spend the better half of his life among criminals and spies not to notice the way Bruce pauses for a split second to scan his face, checking for a reaction at the name.

“Nice place you’ve got, Bruce,” Clint says. The coffee machine beeps and Alfred hands him a freshly steaming mug. “Excellent butler. Basement could use some work, though.” He blows on his mug, watching the steam swirl outwards. Just the smell of coffee is already easing his headache. “Is it just the two of you?”

Alfred gives an amused sort of hum as he sets about making breakfast. Bruce’s mouth quirks into a smile. “Well-”

“I missed this,” another voice announces, because apparently dramatic entrances are a necessity for living in a mansion. Clint makes a mental note to go easier on Tony next time he requires fanfare for walking into a room. “Good coffee, Alfred’s breakfast.” The newcomer is dazzling in an entirely different way than Bruce, and Clint takes an uncomfortably hot gulp of coffee to hide his blush when bright blue eyes meet his. “Bruce picking up strays.”

“This is Clint,” Bruce explains, settling down at the kitchen island and opening a newspaper. Clint’s not sure if the paper was on the countertop, or if it just came with the outfit. It doesn’t matter, because startlingly attractive mini-Bruce is now offering Clint a hand to shake.

“Dick,” he says, and it’s not the bluntest offer Clint’s ever gotten, but it’s up there.

“Yeah,” Clint says. “What?”

“My name is Dick Grayson,” Dick Grayson says, his friendly expression turning a little concerned. “How hard did he hit you?”

“Who?”

“Bruce. You took a hit, right? Are you okay?” There’s a lot of concern there now. Concerned is a good look for Dick Grayson. He’s got the same blue eyes and jet black hair as Bruce, but Bruce doesn’t make them look nearly as pretty. Maybe if he grew his hair out more. Dick Grayson’s has the kind of hair made for shampoo commercials. It looks almost as soft as Bucky’s does.

Clint realizes with a start that he’s still clasping Dick’s hand, and drops it awkwardly.

“Sorry,” he says, and then clears his throat and tries again. “Sorry. I’m- maybe about to pass out.”

>>==========>

>>==========>

>>==========>

“It’s too early in the morning for cheeseburgers,” Bucky says, glaring down at the diner menu. He’s glad Clint doesn’t have to hear him say it, although if getting in an argument over In-N-Out as breakfast food is the trade-off for knowing Clint is safe, he’d take the heat in an instant.

“In your universe, maybe,” Green Arrow says. He’s still in costume, as is Superman, and their waitress seems to be having a hard time dealing with that. She has to use both hands to steady her coffee pot while Superman beams at her. “What, you have somewhere better to be?”

“Yes, actually,” Bucky growls. Superman seems to be stalling on his promise to take Bucky to his ‘friend.’ Stopping a firefight on the highway is one thing, but Bucky’s pretty sure “cheeseburger breakfast” isn’t a solid excuse in any universe.

“Bucky’s looking for a friend of his,” Superman explains. “A guy that got pulled through a wormhole by some sentient vines.”

“Ah,” Green Arrow says, sipping his coffee contemplatively. He gives their waitress an appreciative wink as she moves on to the next table. “Bats.”

“And associates,” Superman says, and Bucky wonders if glaring at them harder will make his vigilante acquaintances any more coherent. Instead, Green Arrow just knocks their shoulders together.

“Aw, look. He’s pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” Bucky says, but his voice sounds pissy even to him. He grits his teeth as Green Arrow knocks their shoulders together again. “I’d just like to find my teammate as quickly as possible, and I don’t see how cheeseburgers will accomplish this.”

“If your teammate is half as good in a fight as you are, I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Bucky says. He’s seen Clint MacGyver a semi-functional bow and arrow out of paperclips and pocket lint when faced with the alternative of actually paying attention in a debrief. He’s pretty sure Clint would find a way to survive in the vacuum of space with just the clothes on his back if he had to. It still doesn’t change the nerves that have been buzzing in his stomach ever since he watched Clint tumble into the black void. “I’d still prefer it if I could see him for myself.”

“Two’s a couple,” Superman says. Bucky blinks, feeling the color rise in his cheeks.

“What?”

“Two’s a couple, not a team. How many more ‘teammates’ do you have?”

Oh.

“Two on the other side of the portal. More could get called in, I guess.”

“But just you went through after him?”

“It was a tactical decision,” Bucky snaps. He’s not sure why he feels so defensive. He’d probably be asking the same questions if the roles were reversed, and not nearly as politely.

“I think it was a good call,” Green Arrow interrupts, not even being subtle about defusing the situation. “You got me out of a pickle, anyways.”

“I’ve faced worse than Deathstroke in my sleep,” Bucky says, still more aggressive than he should be towards his gracious interdimensional hosts. Green Arrow opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by a loud tap on the diner window.

There’s a girl standing outside, knocking impatiently on the glass. She has loose blonde hair and an outfit that looks like the skimpy Halloween store version of Superman’s onesie. Bucky would peg her for a fangirl, but Superman just raises an eyebrow at her through the glass.

“Kara?” he says, at a normal volume.

“You aren’t busy, are you?” The fact that there’s an external wall between her and Superman doesn’t seem to be bothering Kara at all. Bucky can just make out her voice through the glass, but the way Green Arrow is rolling his eyes tells Bucky he’s not in the enhanced hearing club. “There’s trouble on Stryker’s Island.”

“Luthor?” Superman asks. Kara shakes her head.

“Not exactly. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Wait,” Bucky says, because he’s not wasting any more time on his mission. Especially not alone with Green Arrow. “What about finding Clint?” Superman looks apologetic, and Bucky’s stomach drops.

“I can take him,” Green Arrow says, and if the stakes were any lower, Bucky would just resign himself to a couple more hours sitting right here in the diner. “I’ll call in the gang. I haven’t been to Gotham in a while.”

“Great!” Superman says, clapping his hands together like that settles it. Bucky buries his face in his hands.

“We can take the Arrowcar!” Green Arrow says, and Bucky spreads his fingers apart enough to glare at Superman.

“I want you to know that you’ve made an interdimensional enemy today.”

>>==========>

>>==========>

>>==========>

Clint wakes up in a bed.

It’s a very comfy bed, and he almost considers rolling over and going right back to sleep. Something’s nagging at the back of his brain, though, telling him there are things that need doing and the bed must be left to do them.

He cracks his eyes open, wincing at the sunlight streaming through the blinds. There’s a girl sitting on the end of his bed, crouched like a cat. Or a gargoyle.

“Hi,” Clint croaks. His voice sounds like sandpaper, and he wonders how long he’s been out. She tilts her head, short black hair falling in front of her eyes. She doesn’t seem to blink quite enough for a normal human being, and Clint squirms a little under her gaze. Is she a ghost? Batman seems like the kind of guy who would live in a haunted mansion.

“You haven’t missed waffles yet,” she says finally, and Clint’s stomach growls as if on command. There’s something a little odd about the way the girl speaks. It’s not an accent Clint’s ever heard. He’s actually not sure if it’s an accent at all. Clint realizes that whoever brought him to the bed didn’t take out his aids. His ears feel a little gummy from sleeping with them in, but he’ll be damned if he takes his aids out when there are undead spirits on the loose.

The girl gets up, apparently done with the conversation, and heads for the door. Clint allows himself a groan as he rolls out of bed. His head is pounding, but there’s an unfinished cup of coffee in the kitchen with his name on it, and a minor concussion has never come between him and his caffeine before.

The girl drifts through the halls, not bothering to check if Clint is following or not. She probably hears him plodding along behind her, anyway. The place is about as creaky as an old haunted mansion should be, and each squeaky floorboard Clint steps on makes her silent glide all the more impressive. Either that, or it just further supports his hypothesis that she’s actually a phantom.

The mansion is kind of enormous, even now that morning light is creeping through the blinds and banishing whatever lurks in the shadows. Clint never quite got the difference between old money and new. To him, a big fancy house was a big fancy house, nevermind what Tony or Kate said. Now, though, stepping across carpet that seems like it belongs in a museum and eyeing floor-to-ceiling portraits that might actually predate the fall of Rome, Clint thinks he’s starting to get it. Bruce’s mansion feels like a different world, made for the dinner parties of elite secret societies, and full of rooms where men in tuxedos puff cigars in wealthy silence. This is not the lodgings of an ex-carnie thief with a shaky grasp on the timeline of the Roman Empire.

“When do we get to the family crypt?” Clint asks, because if the basement of the manor is just a neverending cavern, he shudders to imagine where Batman’s ancestors have been laid to rest. The phantom doesn’t answer. She doesn’t even turn around. “Are you going to kill me? Where are we going?” Still no answer. They pass another gilded frame, and Clint almost reaches out to run his hands over the placard before thinking better of it. That’s how you turn your peaceful ghost guide into a poltergeist. Clint wishes the carpet was dustier so he could check if she’s leaving footprints.

Ghost or not, their final destination turns out to be the kitchen. Clint can smell waffles and bacon from the other end of the hallway, and he hears voices as they get closer.

Bruce and Dick are still seated, chatting amiably as Alfred works the waffle iron. Clint’s coffee is gone, but Alfred places a fresh mug in front of him as soon as he settles down at the kitchen island. He nods his thanks, taking a sip as Bruce turns to him.

“Feeling better?”

Clint hums an affirmative. It’s not the first time he’s blacked out mid-conversation, and it sure as fuck won’t be the last.

“How long was I out?”

“Only a couple hours,” Dick says. “Alfred decided to turn breakfast into brunch so you wouldn’t miss out.”

“Thanks,” Clint says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “It’s been a long night.” Dick nods, offering Clint a look of sympathy.

“That’s sort of how we operate.”

As if on cue, a teenage boy looking approximately like death stumbles into the kitchen, shuffling immediately towards the coffee machine. Dick blinks at him, like this is a surprise, although both Alfred and Bruce pointedly continue on with their mornings.

“Why are you here?” Dick asks, and the kid spends about a minute stabbing his finger ineffectually at the coffee machine’s touch display before he mumbles out an answer.

“‘M’not,” he says, but only once Alfred has come to his aid and gotten the machine going again. “I’m at Travis Lee’s house. Working on a class project.”

“Oh really?” Dick’s voice is all amusement.

“As far as any commercial phone tracking software can tell,” the kid says, like that’s a normal sentence people can string together while looking like a sleep-deprived zombie. He finally cracks his eyes open long enough to acknowledge Clint’s presence. “Who are you?”

“Clint,” Clint says. He doubts the guy is in any state to handle the full story right now. “Are you guys all… cousins?” He can’t really work the age differences out in his head, but the kid has the same black hair and blue eyes as Bruce and Dick. Bruce and Dick, who both chuckle at the question like it’s a ridiculous idea.

“You should take that as a compliment, Tim,” Dick says, and Tim ignores him in favor of inhaling the scent of coffee wafting from his new cup. “No,” he turns to Clint then, still looking entertained by the concept. “We’re definitely not related.”

“Oh,” Clint says, because that doesn’t sound right. He wonders if everyone in this universe just looks vaguely similar. He tries to remember if any of the gangsters were blond. Is he just a freak of nature here? Should he dye his hair to fit the noir color scheme?

“When’s Steph coming down?” Tim asks. He’s downed half his mug of coffee and looks marginally more alive.

“Steph’s here?” Dick asks, and Clint has to wonder what life must be like living in a house so big you can miss your own family members. Or, whatever these guys are. Tim shrugs.

“Alfred’s making waffles, so I figured. He only does that when Steph’s here.”

“Alfred can make waffles for lots of reasons. He could be making them because I’m here.” There’s a note of hurt in Dick’s voice.

“Nah,” Tim says.

“These are waffles for Steph,” Ghost girl confirms. She’s perched on the counter next to Alfred, sneaking pieces of food every time his back is turned. Tim aims a nod of acknowledgment at her.

“Cass gets it. Steph is his new favorite child, right Alfred?”

“The identity of my favorite child is between me and Miss Stephanie,” Alfred says, and if this isn’t sibling banter, Clint’s really not sure what the fuck is happening.

“I knew it!” someone shouts from the doorway, and Clint turns to watch dramatic entrance number four make her way into the kitchen. Steph is considerably brighter-eyed and bushier-tailed than her non-siblings, and Clint notes with relief that she is very blonde.

“Batman,” Clint stage whispers as Alfred starts to serve breakfast. “Why are there so many children in your house?” Cass follows Alfred dutifully, her arms stacked high with plates that she has no qualms stealing from. Clint carefully relieves her of an untouched stack of waffles.

“Careful,” Bruce answers, winking conspiratorially. “These children could beat you in a fight on your best day.” Clint snorts.

“Doubtful.” Something about Bruce’s words catches in Clint’s head. “Wait,” He says as a thought clicks into place. “Do these children fight crime?” Bruce blinks at him.

“We’re not children,” Steph says defensively. Clint rolls his eyes.

“Uh huh. I’m sure you’re all of legal drinking age. You want more syrup for your waffles?” he pushes the syrup towards her plate. Steph glares at him but picks up the bottle anyways.

“I do want more syrup for my waffles, but that doesn’t mean you have a valid point.”

“They’re skilled fighters, and they understand the risks of the job,” Bruce says, staring at Clint. There’s a heavy finality to his words, like that should be the end of the conversation.

“They’re children.”

“They’re still in the room,” Tim adds, stealing a bite of Steph’s waffles. Cass is staring at Clint in her solemn, unblinking way, so he turns to her instead.

“Okay, you understand the risks, then. Sure. What are the risks?”

“Death,” Cass says simply, which, yeah.

“We all face risks, Clint,” Bruce says. “What do you do with the younger people that want to follow in your footsteps? Turn them away? Ground them? Kids are stubborn. You can’t talk them down from something unless they let you. They’ll always fight their own battles. You might as well give them the tools to win.”

“Nobody wins in a war that children have to fight,” Clint says, and he’s outnumbered here but something about the condescension in Bruce’s voice has set his blood boiling. “You risk a lot worse than just death.”

“The world’s falling apart,” Tim chimes in again. “Kids live in it too. Why should adults be the only ones allowed to save it?”

“Because kids are who we’re saving it for,” Clint says, and he knows it’s a losing battle. “Knowing the risks is nothing next to experiencing them.”

“There are no younger sidekicks in your universe?” Batman asks. “No protégés? No trainees?”

“Not ones that are children. Or, not if I have anything to say about it.”

“Not a single one?”

“There was one, sure,” Clint spits out. Bruce waves his hand, like his point is proven. End of discussion, but Clint’s not going to leave it at that. “I said was. Bucky Barnes, heroic teen sidekick to Captain America himself. They fought side by side through World War II. Led us to victory and everything.”

“And I’m sure the death of one soldier didn’t outweigh the people he saved.”

“Oh, I never said he died.” There’s an uncomfortable hush falling over the room, but Clint plows right through it. “He was blown up, kidnapped, tortured, mind-controlled. Forced to kill for the side he always fought against. They stripped him down to nothing, kept him on ice in between missions so he couldn’t rebuild his humanity in the downtime. He spent seventy years as a puppet. He was a trained dog they sicced on anyone they wanted. We only got him back when they made the mistake of sending him to kill Captain America himself. If there’s one hill Steve Rogers will die on, it’s that no single person should have to be sacrificed for the good of everyone else.” There’s actually a lot of hills Steve Rogers will die on. Clint could name a whole mountain range after Steve Rogers’ opinions, but Bruce doesn’t need to know that. “If kids fight so often in this universe, I’m sure they die often, too. You’re telling me there’s not a single one you would save if you could? You can’t think of one kid who you would’ve turned away if you knew what their fate would be?”

Clint can feel it when he strikes a nerve, the air in the kitchen turning like a flash freeze. Tim suddenly looks wide awake, and Bruce’s jaw is set. Dick looks like he’s forgotten how to breathe. Clint feels his words hanging heavy in the air, and suddenly the waffles don’t seem worth finishing.

“I’m, uh. I’m going to get some air.”

[bethhxrmon]

All the odd ones 😘

Oooof of course you would do this. Soooo it’s super long so I’m probably gonna put a read more thingy so it’s not obnoxious.

1.What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about?

Annie’s actual name is Annika, but Annie’s super short and so is Ann which is sometimes used. Although, once he finally meets her, Tony Stark calls her Pikachu because of her powers and his need to make pop culture references.

3. How tall is your OC?

Since Annie’s faceclaim is Auli’i Cravalho and she’s 5′3, that makes Annie 5′3. Kind of short, but not as short as me so she’s a lucky gal.

5. What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night?

When there isn’t rehearsal to be done, Annie wears lots of hoodies, sweatshirts, and the occasional cardigan with a t-shirt under it and some jeans with either her brown or black combat boots. When she is rehearsing, just swap out the jeans with her assortment of leggings because she likes the stretchiness. Hence why the original White Swan costume involves silver leggings (silver because Harper’s extra and likes the theme). But for formal events, Annie goes with her favorite black and white polka-dot dress that cuts off just above the knee with flats. She also has a floor-length dark blue dress with silver flowers sewn in, but that was for a dance she never got the chance to go to.

7. Does your OC have any markings, such as a birthmark or a scar?

Considering she’s a superhero and has a death wish??? Annie has scars all over the place. Though they’re mainly on her legs from bumping into buildings wrong. Also, she has a deep scar on her thigh from a certain part in I wanna say chapter 12 but who knows, I sure don’t!

9. What does your OC’s bedroom look like?  His/her living area?

Since Annie is a superhero trying to hide from her parents, her bedroom is her living space. She has a full-sized bed against one wall, all of them are a light blue color. Right next to the left side of the bed, which has a fuckton of blankets and a couple stuffed animals, is a large desk with her desktop computer and a spinny chair. Right next to that is her window (it’s plot convenience, but ya know what? fight me how else can she get out undetected???). She has a built in closet and it has all her hoodies and cardigans and also her Heather Macnamara costume from her freshman year’s Halloween party.

11. What is your OC’s relationship with his/her mother?

Annie absolutely loves her mom. She’s always wanted Annie to do what was best for her. Whether it’s dancing or acting or writing, her mom’s the supportive one without a doubt. And while Annie knows she makes her share of mistakes, she’s able to let it slide because at the end of the day, Annie’s not dumb. She knows whether or not what someone did was selfish or not. And more often than not, her mom doesn’t have selfish intents.

13. How many siblings does your OC and what is his/her relationship with them?

Annie has no siblings, but if she did, they would definitely know that she was a superhero and the whole plot of her story would be bribing them to keep their mouths shut.

15. What was your OC’s childhood like?

I answered this one here! 

17. What is your OC’s imagination like? 

Annie has a seriously great imagination. She kind of has to in order to be decent at acting. It’s super easy for her to think of a scenario or person and put herself right into the middle of it. Also, it makes her think of all the possibilities and that gets in her way because she overthinks some aspects of her life too much.

19. What does your OC think of children- either in general or about having them?

Considering Annie’s only sixteen right now, she doesn’t want to have kids. Even in the future, she isn’t sure how practical having a kid is given some parts of her past that are kinda spoilery and she doesn’t wanna pass on her powers on accident. But she does enjoy talking to little kids. She thinks they’re funny.

21. Who are your OC’s closest relatives?

Annie rarely sees her extended family, so her closest relatives are her parents. Though she currently feels like her dad can go suck it. Which is fair, he sucks.

23. Who are the people your OC surrounds him/herself with?

Before the fanfic, Annie was basically a knockoff Cady Heron and tried getting in with the popular crowd. But currently she surrounds herself with Harper, the fashion design genius, and her two favorite nerds Ned and Peter who are actually the sweetest people she knows.

25. If your OC has a soulmate, who is it?

Everyone’s favorite Spider-Dude, Peter Parker for sure. It works great, they’re both superheroes. That’s not all, but I don’t wanna spoil stuff.

27. What are some things your OC admires about his/her soulmate?

Okay, if it’s physical, Annie is always going off about Peter’s eyes. Like, if she wants to get a real conversation done, she has to look at something that isn’t his eyes. And can you blame her? Those puppy dog eyes could work on anyone! She also really likes his hair, it just looks so soft. But if it’s not physical, Annie can’t get over how genuinely sweet Peter is. He just gives so many people so many chances and is literally one of the kindest and smartest people she’s ever met. And she does think he’s pretty funny too, which is always a plus for sure.

29. What is your OC’s level of education?

At the start of the fic, Annie’s a sophomore in high school, and at the end she’ll be a junior. Do with that what you will

31. What is your OC’s opinion of school?  What kind of student was s/he?

Annie likes school for the purpose of learning about different stuff. Even if she won’t use it, she doesn’t mind the random trivia. She’s always handing things in late, but she’s normally on the teacher’s good side so they tend to just let it slide because if she’s good at conversing then she must be a responsible student and working hard, right?

33. What subjects interested your OC?

Annie’s a huge theatre kid so she likes anything to deal with acting. English, history, and psychology are probably her favorite. The only subject she can’t get is physics, but she’s pretty solid in almost everything else.

35. How is your OC working towards his/her dream job and/or achieved his/her current profession?

Theatre classes and trying to participate in the school plays and musicals is how she tries. Also, I’m only saying this because it’s not a serious spoiler with how things are going to go, Annie definitely gets into Julliard for acting. Just saying.

37. What is your OC’s biggest dream?

Annie would KILL to be Christing Daae in The Phantom of the Opera, it’s the ultimate dream come true.

39. How does your OC handle anger?

Poorly. Annie loses control over her powers when she’s extremely angry and what happens as a consequence, she can’t control.

41. What is your OC’s greatest fear?

Annie is terrified that her powers will scare away everyone she’s ever cared about.

43. What kind of sense of humor does your OC have?

Being the regular Gen-Z kid she is, Annie has a pretty dark sense of humor, but she also likes puns and creating silly nicknames for people.

45. What are some things that annoy your OC?

Being told acting’s not a viable career, that she’s dumb, and that she’s a bad person (she can say it but will fight anyone else who says it).

47. How easily does your OC forgive?

It genuinely depends on what it is and how often the person’s screwed her over. If it’s the first time and Annie likes the person, she’s quick to forgive, but observant. If it’s a repeated deal, it wears on her and she has no qualms about messing with them.

49. If your OC experienced trauma, what was it?

I see you, trying to find out about the Fuckening™. That’s not gonna happen. You gotta read the fic to find out about all that, my dude.

51. What are some of your OC’s morals?

Don’t betray friends, don’t go down without a fight, if you know something and it’s potentially harmful then you gotta say something, and don’t leave people behind.

53. What is the health of your OC?

Physically? Annie’s pretty good except for sleep deprivation. Mentally??? Wellllllllp she may or may not have manicdepressionandanorexiai’mnotsureyet.

55. What are your OC’s thoughts on death?

Totally okay option for her, but definitely not allowed for her friends and loved ones.

57. What are some of your OC’s weaknesses?

Annie’s very critical of herself, sometimes overly competitive, she doesn’t always know when to stop, very impulsive and will do something stupid if she thinks it’s right for .5 seconds.

59. What does your OC think of him/herself?

Annie either thinks she’s the best person ever or she totally hates herself, no in between.

61. What is the general impression your OC gives other people?

Annie comes off with a bit of a resting bitch face. So she looks a little intimidating, but she’s also short so how intimidating is that really?

63. How does your OC display love?

Annie pays attention to little things and tries to do small things. Like if someone likes a certain type of tea, she’ll make it for them. Or she’ll compliment them while teasing them at the same time. That’s how anyone would ever know that she’s absolutely smitten.

65. What is your OC’s favorite drink?

Coffee, it lets her get away with sleep deprivation. Although her all-time favorite is a peppermint mocha. She would kill for it year-round.

67. What is your OC’s favorite sweet?

Annie loves anything that’s sour apple flavored. Not only because it matches her Hogwarts house and green’s her favorite color, but because the tartness is just so satisfying.

69. What is your OC’s favorite kind of weather?

Rainy, it reminds her of Seattle.

71. What is your OC’s favorite movie and/or TV show?

Annie absolutely loves all the Harry Potter movies and will proudly display her knowledge of it at any time. She is a huge fan, but she also loves movie musicals to death. Except for the 1961 West Side Story  movie. It uses brownface.

73. What is your OC’s favorite form of entertainment?

Dancing around an empty room like an idiot to music. Either by herself or with someone close to her.

75. What is your OC’s favorite scent?

Rain mixed with fresh baked goods. It reminds her of the market and she would kill to go back.

77. What is your OC’s favorite sound?

Definitely the ukulele. It reminds her of some really good times.

79. What is your OC’s favorite kind of ice cream?

Green tea flavored. Ever had it? It’s so good and I recommend it hardcore!

81. Okay one thing you know about Annie that’ll never make an appearance in the story but is important to who she is as a person - whether it’s a little detail of something she experienced or a belief she has.

Alright, Annie definitely has or had a Captain America themed fidget cube that she keeps in her hoodie pocket because she used to play with the loose thread on the sleeve part and ended up constantly making thumbholes that Harper would have to fix. They got tired of it and gave her the fidget cube.

[aion-rsa]

Arrow’s Lexa Doig Explains What Makes Talia al Ghul A True Badass

Considering Oliver Queen’s previous encounters with Ra’s al Ghul and Nyssa, it was probably only a matter of time before his other daughter, Talia, entered the “Arrow” picture.

RELATED: Arrow’s Talia al Ghul Won’t Be a Nyssa Knockoff

A lethal assassin in her own right, in DC Comics’ lore, Talia has been an ally, a lover and an enemy to Batman. As there is no Batman in the Arrowvrse, this Talia instead finds herself involved with Green arrow. This season, it’s been revealed that she was the one who rescued Oliver from Ishmael Gregor and then proceeded to push him into fulfilling his destiny. Talia has trained Oliver, but she’s also an al Ghul. Can she be trusted? Does the apple fall far from the psychotic family tree?

Doig recently spoke with CBR about making Talia a badass, mentoring Oliver, her possible connections to Prometheus and the inevitable showdown with Nyssa.

CBR: Obviously, “Arrow’s” writers didn’t simply want to recycle what had been done with Ra’s al Ghul or Nyssa. How is Talia different than her father and half-sister?

Lexa Doig: It’s hard to say. This is my interpretation of it: Talia left the League of Assassins and forged her own way in the world, and her way is more in the real world as opposed to influencing events from the periphery. She may have a more direct hand, yet she’s very Talia al Ghul in that mentality of, “Why do it myself when I can get someone else to do it for me?” She is still someone who is a bit of a chess master. That would be my interpretation. All of my stuff has been with Stephen Amell, and it’s all been the flashback training. There hasn’t really been a reference for me of how she operates outside of that context.

In Talia’s first appearance, she disposed of Oliver’s assailants and rescued him. What did you enjoy about what that said about Talia?

The funny thing that I enjoyed about that introduction, from a completely technical perspective, is that it was one shot. That was the only thing I did the entire episode, but what a cool entrance. What it said was how badass the character is, taking out all those guys without batting an eyelash, and just stepping in with this mysterious, “Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.”

Genre fans know you from “Jason X,” “Andromeda,” “Stargate SG-1,” and “Continuum.” What’s it been like joining the DC Universe?

It’s been so much fun. My ultimate goal – and I really want this, so I am putting it out in the universe – is I want Talia to have a Funko Pop! character. In my mind, I will have arrived if I can bring home a Funko Pop! character, a little figurine, and show it to my kids and say, “See. Mommy is cool.”

What did you make of Talia’s costume? Did it help you get into character?

What I love about the costume is how badass it makes me look. What made me laugh about the costume is the logistics of being in a superhero costume. They don’t tell you the quirks. For example, the quiver that goes in the back is often like a cone that your cat wears when he comes home from the vet. You’re not aware of it, you go to walk through a doorway, you slam your quiver into the side and you get stuck. Or the hood, when it’s up. My hood has to have a certain thickness. It’s made out of leather, so it stands up and looks nice, but then you have no peripheral vision and you can’t hear anything.

Then, there are these amazing side harnesses they have for me and they squeak a bit when I walk. The thing that I found funny about my very first day on set was walking around and looking so incredibly badass, but sounding like [makes squeaking noises]. As I walk, I’m bumping into things. I can’t hear what anybody says. I can’t see anything. It was just funny. Those are the hilarious things you discover about playing a badass, and how awkward it is. I have such respect for everyone on the show who has to wear these incredible costumes and stand there, looking badass and fighting and doing all the cool stuff. You have to overcome this hurdle of [squeaking sounds] and catching your cape on the back of your quiver.

When she arrives, Oliver was a lost soul. What does Talia see in him?

I think she saw potential. Oliver is somebody who is savage. He’s incredibly adept at what he wants to accomplish, but is a little directionless. He is on the side of good in those circumstances. It’s a bit murky and gray in the question of how he’s going to accomplish his goals, though. I don’t think that moral gray area is a difficult place for Talia to inhabit. She’s quite comfortable living there herself. What she saw in Oliver is the fact that he’s an incredible killer, and he’s doing it for the right reasons. She’s trying to point him in the right direction of what he really wants to accomplish.

Do you consider Talia a hero, wanting to make the city a better place out of the goodness of her heart? Does Oliver serve her agenda?

He sort of serves her agenda. I used to play Dungeons & Dragons when I was younger, and Talia strikes me as someone who is neutral in that it’s a balance, but maybe adding into that a little bit on the chaotic evil side. She has things she wants to accomplish, and she’s going to accomplish them by any means necessary. If it turns out to have positive ramifications and be a good thing, then “Yay” for everybody. If it doesn’t, it sucks to be anybody but her.

She’s described as “an elite warrior.” Where do you feel she ranks among the other League of Assassin members and Oliver?

Right up there. After a certain point, when you’re that good, it’s a matter of substance. Anybody can accomplish the things they need to accomplish. It’s just a matter of how they go about doing it. When you compare all the various superheroes and supervillains – and you have these wonderful theoretical discussions of who would win between Nyssa and Talia – it largely ends up being a draw. Or, when you get two really good hockey teams playing against each other, sometimes it just goes your way, and sometimes it doesn’t. I think they’re all elite.

Audiences have only gotten a taste of what Talia is capable of. Are we going to see more of her fighting prowess?

A little bit. I had a really great stunt double. I didn’t do a ton of it. You do see a little bit of it, but not a ton. The storyline really isn’t about how badass she is. It’s more about Talia helping Oliver find himself and find the Hood. Again, what seperates Talia from Nyssa and Ra’s is her ability to operate in the real world, the not-so-secret world. As accomplished as she is as a fighter, some of Talia’s strengths may lie in her intellect and her ability to read or manipulate a situation and play the long game. She’s someone who knows things and has the patience to play the long game.

So far, the series has only scratched the surface between Talia and Oliver. What can you tease about how that relationship unfolds?

She does what she set out to do. She very rarely doesn’t succeed at what she wants to accomplish. At this point, what she wants to accomplish is to help Oliver make peace with the savage side of himself and find a way to partition that into a place where he feels very comfortable with his alter-ego, whether the alter-ego is Arrow or Oliver Queen. That’s for him to decide, but it’s for whatever part of him that needs to exist in the real, above-ground, legit world versus the one that exists in the shadows. I do believe she actually accomplishes her goals.

Will viewers eventually get to see Talia in present day?

I don’t know. I will plead the fifth. I will say that Oliver seems to think that some of her interactions from the past may leave echoes in the present day. I can’t tell you whether it’s correct or not, but he does have that theory.

Fans have speculated that Talia shares ties with Prometheus. Have you come across those presumptions? What are your thoughts on that possibility?

I have no idea who Prometheus is. I only ever work with Stephen because of the nature of the flashbacks. It’s funny, because even on the call sheets, when you are shooting scenes that have Prometheus in them, he’s not technically listed on the call sheet. The character is listed, but no performer or actor is listed as Prometheus. Even I, who works on the show, have no idea who Prometheus is. So, if Talia has connections to Prometheus, I don’t know about it.

Katrina Law has told me she would love for Nyssa and Talia to square off. How would you like to see their dynamic play out?

I would love that. Here’s my problem. My instinct is to always go for funny and comedy. It doesn’t always play well in the comic book world, because everything is always very high stakes, which is also fun. I think it would be hilarious if the two of them didn’t get along, but in a very modern-day, sibling kind of way. Maybe they butt heads, but it’s over somebody taking too much time in the bathroom. That would be hilarious, although the fight scene would look pretty badass. It would be a killer fight sequence. I’m also a family sap at heart, so I’d also love to see Talia and Nyssa fighting on the same side – and arguing with each other at the same time.

The post Arrow’s Lexa Doig Explains What Makes Talia al Ghul A True Badass appeared first on CBR.com.

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