#kipwrite

[ikiprian]

Ghost Kitchen (brought to you by criminal entrepreneur, Red Hood)

Danny’s got the easiest job in Gotham.

He works as a fry cook at a shoddily-run, independent burger joint. Hardly anyone comes in, despite prices being criminally low, and portions insanely large, and while the manager looks like the average tough-as-nails ex-con, he lets Danny mess around in the kitchen whenever the place is empty. (Which is often. This place has to be the city’s hidden gem or something!)

Mr. Manager’s the only one ever there with Danny, except for sometimes when his buddies come over to smoke and play cards. Danny would find it shady, except part of his job is not to ask questions. Literally, he was told during the interview.

(It was a weird interview. Why would they need to hire someone who’s been in a gunfight before? Like, he has, but Gotham’s idea of “hirable qualities” is so bizarre.)

So instead he whips up some killer burgers with the frozen ingredients, and basks in the praise as the guys tell him he shouldn’t have, he does too much for this joint, ain’t that friendly!

Now, Danny’s a chef on the newer side. As a teen he’d preferred the look of Nasty Burger over anything with Michelin stars, and he only really took up cooking after Jazz moved out for college. But just like ecto-exposure used to turn the groceries sentient, Danny’s low-level ecto signature imbues all his food with something historically haunted Gothamites just love! And Danny’s never been one to half-ass a job when it makes people happy.

With fresher produce, real meat, Danny’s sure he can take his dishes to the next level. It takes a couple months of badgering, but his manager finally agrees to contact the mysterious store owner, who keeps the place going, despite profits Danny knows have to be in the red.

Danny spends the morning prepping. He pours his heart into his food, eager to impress. The big boss will be here soon, and he wants to prove that despite the dangerous location, this place has real potential!

It isn’t until the Red Hood shows up that Danny realizes he’s been working for a money laundering scheme.

[ikiprian]

“Ew,” the guy next to Tim cringes. He takes a whole step back from the street, even. “Oh, bad vibes. Don’t like.”

Even though the crossing indicator changes from “WAIT” to “WALK,” everyone nods, or groans, but seems to agree. As one they turn, heading back the way they came.

Those across the street see them, then look at the guy. They must see something Tim doesn’t, because they turn right around, too.

The indicator switches from “WALK” to a countdown, and the crossing stays clear.

“Um?” Tim starts.

Tam’s too busy going along with it, grabbing Tim’s arm and pulling him away. “Let’s go, this way.”

“What? Tam, why’re we going? The building’s, like, right there.” He gestures across the street, to emphasize the right there-ness of it. The Gotham in him says, “Don’t ask, just go,” but the detective in him insists he find out why. He needs an explanation.

“Can’t cross that,” she says, which is not an explanation. “We’ll have to go around the block instead. Walk fast, the meeting’s still in five.”

The man, who’s arbitrarily decided for an entire crowd of late Gothamites that foot traffic needed redirection, doesn’t seem to be getting himself outta the way of whatever he called. He stands there, lingering on the curb. His light eyes dart around the air like he’s looking for something. Or maybe like he’s seeing something.

Out of his mouth bleeds a trail of mist.

Tim’s own eyes narrow. “Tam?” he urges, feet planted.

Tam hesitates, then sighs.

“Right. You were out in San Fran the last two weeks. Listen, this dude,” she jerks her head in the direction of Volunteer Traffic Officer, “has been around a while. Maybe a few months, mostly sticks to the Narrows. His rep only started picking up a little ago, though. He’s got some crazy instincts. When he nopes out of a public space, it does everyone well to follow, now will you come on?”

Tim glances back. The guy doesn’t look like much, but Tim knows how looks can be deceiving. How does his power work? What kinds of threats does he pick up? What threat is he picking up now, at a random intersection, at one in the afternoon?

Tam’s voice drops to a pointed hiss. “If you wanna stick around and find out, that’s fine by me. But you should at least change suits first.”

Right. Right, okay. He’ll address the fact that there’s an open secret of a precognitive meta just wandering downtown Gotham later, he’ll address the fact that it’s already so normalized that nobody bothered to tell him when it’s safe. For now, he had to get Tam Fox, civilian, and Tim Drake, Wayne Foundation employee, out of the way.

And Traffic Officer, while he’s at it.

“Hey! You coming?” Tim offers. “You should split, too.”

“Uh,” says the guy. He looks less and less sure of his call every second, a hand coming up to tug at overgrown, black locks. “Yeah, maybe. It’s just… weird. I’ve never seen so many—”

Before he can explain what many he’s seeing, the manhole in the intersection explodes.

Tam shrieks, noise and force and light. Tim culs over her to shield her best he can with his (upsettingly minimal) bulk, shattered bits of asphalt and debris spraying against his back.

When Tim snaps his eyes back open, falling into a defensive stance, Traffic Officer is still there. He stands straight, looking oddly untouched for someone who was decidedly closer to the blast. There’s no dirt on his white shirt. He doesn’t even seem to have flinched.

A familiar, gravelly chuckle echoes through the dust.

“Hello, boy,” says the voice.

“Killer Croc,” says Tim.

“Oh, Jeez, what the hell,” says the guy.

Killer Croc’s hulking form ripples and looms. Fresh sewer water shines his scales. Behind three hundred pounds of lizard skin, from the sewer he’d just crawled out of, emerge the usual cast of goons.

Croc grins. “Ain’tcha know? You’ve got a price on your head. Don’t worry—” odd thing to say, after the literal most worrying sentence ever— “I’ll be eating the competition. All you have to do… is get me everything I want.”

Then Croc lunges, and things start to move very, very fast.

Ghosts Tell Me

~

Ghosts gather near the place where something bad is going to happen,

Danny with his ghost sense tends to notice before anyone else and tends to react outwardly before the danger even happens, gaining a reputation of seeing the future,

Ghosts also tell Danny things, causing Danny to know more about situations and the people around him, it comes of as suspicious.

~

Danny pulling away a snack from his coworker: "Careful your allergic to these ingredients!"

Coworker: "How the hell...I've never mentioned that to anyone."

~

Danny on a phone call with his friends while doing his nightly walks in Gotham: "Yeah so apparently the second Robin who is now Red Hood has very personal beef with the clown here cuz he got killed by him after being sold out by his bio mom, which really sucks for the poor guy."

Oracle who has been keeping an Eye on Danny cuz he's very suspicious from an outsiders pov: "Hey B, I think we have a problem."

~

Danny notices that the ghost in Gotham tends to gather where something bad is going to happen, the more they are the worse the situation will be: *glowing smoke leaves from his mouth* "Yikes! Very bad vibes here, nope!"

Gothamites who at this point recognize him and know the drill and quickly pack up their things to leave:

~

Just an Idea

[ikiprian]

Mr. Fenton is a competent teacher. Almost too competent.

If Mr. Daniel Fenton had any more than a BS (with a minor in education), Tim would’ve flagged his profile as a potential Rogue. That’s the way of most charismatic academics, at least in Gotham. (Got a PhD? Instant watchlist.) Instead, he’s Gotham Academy’s newest celebrity, as a young, passionate, out-of-towner substitute while the chemistry teacher’s on maternity leave.

Tim gets the hype. Fenton seems to genuinely love teaching, and is invested in the welfare of the student body. He hands out bananas during exam week, hosts a “study habits seminar” each month to coach effective learning strategies, and the third time Tim falls asleep in his class, he even pulls Tim aside to ask if he’s doing okay. With all the late work he accepts and the protein bars he sneaks Tim, he’s every teen vigilante’s dream teacher. He could’ve been Tim’s favorite.

In fact, Mr. Fenton was Tim’s favorite. Up until Tim walks into Mr. Fenton’s chemistry classroom for a forgotten textbook, an hour after the final bell.

On the board where tallied scores for today’s review game had been kept, “THE CHEMISTRY BEHIND DR. CRANE’S FEAR GAS: ANXIOGENICS, NERI’S, & YOU,” is now scrawled. A detailed diagram of the human endocrine system projects in front of a small crowd of adoring and attentive students.

Fenton is wrist-deep in the skull cavity of an anatomical model. A short tug, and out pops the brain.

It’s plastic. It’s fake.

Tim identifies the nearest emergency exit.

Fenton turns to the door, and in the dark classroom with the projector illuminating half his face, his eyes almost seem to flash red. “What’s up, Tim?” he asks. His friendly grin is too big for his face. “I didn’t know you wanted to join the Just Science League!”

[OR: Danny’s a science teacher at Tim’s school. Gotham’s a pretty wild place, even for someone who grew up a superhero in a ghost-infested town, so he takes it upon himself to start a club teaching kids how to manage themselves in the event of a crisis. These Gothamites are pretty hardy, but a little extra training never hurt anybody! And he suspects one of his students might be a teen vigilante, like he’d been, back in the day. As a senior super, it's Danny’s duty look out for him! Surely, this is the subtlest and most appropriate way to give the kid pointers.]

[Tim immediately assumes supervillain.]

[ikiprian]

Tim swears Phantom could’ve been a Titan. Maybe he should be, at this point. They have enough in common to justify it.

“Jeez,” Phantom groans. Abruptly, he drops the levitation and hits the roof without sound. He stretches out on his back like a cat, sore muscles straining in a way Red Robin deeply relates to. “Fighting the living sucks. At least with ghosts I can swing as hard as I need. Already dead means they get back up! But mortals? Way too squishy.”

Red Robin huffs in agreement. “Yeah,” he says. After a moment’s consideration, he lies down, too.“It’s a hundred times harder than people realize. Batman’s always going on about perfect control in training. About how to have it, you gotta be twice as skilled as the other guy. Even without your super-strength, I worry sometimes.”

“How do you do it?” Phantom asks. In a move only achievable to those without bones, or perhaps Dick Grayson, he twists himself over. Gloved hands cup his cheeks. His legs kick back and forth, like they’re gossiping at a slumber party. “I mean. You said you train, so obviously there’s the physical ‘how.’ But how do you keep your emotions nonlethal? How do you keep yourself in check, make sure you’re pulling back?”

“I mean,” says Red Robin. “Murder is illegal, so.”

Phantom sighs. “Yeah. Maybe it’s easier for you.”

… Hm. Maybe Red Robin should redo Phantom’s risk assessment.

Before he can raise too high an eyebrow (though even moving that muscle smarts, ow), Phantom elaborates.

“Ecto-based entities have trouble with their emotions,” he explains. “It’s easy to get lost in an Obsession, or a big feeling like grief. The rest of the world… it bleeds away. Helps to have another emotional anchor to keep it at bay. I use fear.”

“Fear?” Red Robin glanced over.

“Sometimes sheer stubbornness,” Phantom admits. “But a lot of it is fear.”

With a considering frown, he drops his head atop his arms. Exhaustion, regret, reluctance play out on his face. For someone the Bats know next to nothing about, Phantom’s body language is an open book.

“I saw, like, an alternate future version of myself once where I become evil and try to take over the world? So now I gotta be good to keep that from happening. The fear of that future keeps the pressure on me. Makes me focus up. Y’know?”

Tim sits up. “Seriously?”

Phantom nods. “Uh-huh. Kinda bizarre, I know—”

“What the hell,” says Tim. Three consecutive days together and a concussion must loosen his lips, because holy shit, no way. “Dude! Me too!”

“Huh? Seriously?” says Phantom.

“Yeah! I totally saw myself turn evil. Like, Batman but with guns. Guns Batman. I had to fight him and everything. He tried to kill my friends and erase my memory to make sure I couldn’t un-invent him by going back to change the past?”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Oh my god, me too!”

happy wips wednesday!

[ikiprian]

Clone’s Best Friend

“Cute dog!” the girl says. “What breed is he?”

“Uh,” blinks Kon. "Are you asking what breed Superdog is?"

“Uh, duh?”

Well. She’ll have to forgive him his stunned expression, ‘cause he doesn’t usually run into other dog walkers on this path. This is, of course, because “path” is used in the loosest sense, the one that connotates direction and not tread ground, and the “walk” bit is entirely inapplicable, with all of them currently flying one thousand feet above sea level.

“Cujo’s a rescue,” she continues, swinging her feet in the sky, “so we don’t know for sure, but my sister thinks part husky, part shar pei. Half-and-half, like me!”

Cujo is also, apparently, half green and half glowing. He wiggles happily in a play-bow. It’s very cute, except for the way he’s the size of a small house.

Krypto’s tough, though. He barks and chases his new friend through cloud cover. Gamely, Cujo flees. They frolic in the chilly condensation, occasionally poking a head out before diving back in, like a fox in a snowdrift.

Neither of them see anything surprising about this. It’s all good fun. And, well. Krypto’s always been a good judge of character.

Kon turns back to the girl and gives her a megawatt smile.

“He’s Kryptonian. Like me. But he looks like a white lab!”

[ikiprian]

Clark is taking Kon and Jon out for a classic, super-style bonding flight. Just a quick jaunt around the US and back!

They don’t get far. Somewhere in Illinois airpace, they run across another family.

The three (a hulking man, a snarky teenage boy, and a cackling youngest girl, each a grayscale blur in the blue, blue sky) throw neon-lit beams of energy at one another, quips and insults flying almost as fast as they do. It looks like training. It looks like fun!

The boy of them looks like a younger version of the man. Exactly like, even. Clark is familiar with clones.

The youngest, a girl, looks like both of them, but not quite. Perhaps she will, age sharpening her childish features, but it’s hard to say. More likely, she’s the man’s daughter.

Interested, Clark introduces himself to Dan. He seems to be a hero in his own right, even if Superman’s yet to see him in action. And it’s not often Clark sees a family so like his own!

[ikiprian]

Barbara Gordon's Coding & Computer Cram School is a popular YouTube series. Tucker Foley is a star student.

Barbara Gordon's Cram School posts free online courses for both coding and computer engineering. Think Crash Course in terms of entertainment, but college lecture in terms of depth. Hundreds of thousands of viewers flock to it— students who missed a class, people looking to add new skills to a resume, even simple hobbyists. It’s a project Barbara’s proud of.

Sometimes, when she wants to relax, she’ll even hop in the comments and spend an afternoon troubleshooting a viewer’s project with them.

User “Fryer-Tuck” has especially interesting ones. Barbara finds herself seeking out his comments, checking in on whatever this crazy kid is making next. An app for collecting GPS pings and assembling them on a map in real-time, an algorithm that connects geographic points to predict something’s movement taking a hundred other variables into account, simplified versions of incredibly complex homemade programs so they can run on incredibly limited CPU’s.

(Barbara wants to buy the kid a PC. It seems he’s got natural talent, but he keeps making reference to a PDA. Talk about 90’s! This guy’s hardware probably predates his birth.)

She chats with him more and more, switching to less public PM threads, and eventually, he opens up. His latest project, though, is not something Barbara has personal experience with.

FT: so if you found, hypothetically, a mysterious glowing substance that affects tech in weird and wacky ways that could totally have potential but might be vaguely sentient/otherworldly…. what would you do and how would you experiment with it. safely, of course. and hypothetically

BG: I’d make sure all my tests were in disposable devices and quarantined programs to keep it from infecting my important stuff. Dare I ask… how weird and wacky is it?

FT: uhhh. theoretically, a person composed of this substance once used it to enter a video game. like physical body, into the computer, onto the screen? moving around and talking and fighting enemies within the game?

FT: its been experimented with before, but not on any tech with a brain. just basic shields and blasters and stuff, its an energy source. also was put in a car once

FT: i wanna see how it affects software, yk? bc i already know it can. mess around and see how far i can push it

BG: […]

FT: … barbara?

BG: Sorry, thinking. Would you mind sharing more details? You said “blasters?”

Honestly. Kid genius with access to some truly wacky materials and even wackier weapons, she needs to start a file on him before he full sends to either hero or villain.

[OR: Tucker is a self-taught hacker, but if he were to credit a teacher, he'd name Barbara Gordon's Coding & Computer Cram School! He's even caught the attention of Dr. Gordon herself. She's full of sage advice, and with how she preaches the value of a good VPN, he's sure she's not pro-government. Maybe she'll help him as he studies the many applications of ecto-tech!]

[ikiprian]

Damian's not quite sure what to make of this green, floating dog.

Gotham’s always bred a strange flavor of urban fauna. Damian himself has met, in his time living here: a two-headed pigeon, a bipedal rat which could open doors, and Killer Croc. (Jones’ birth certificate might say Florida, but everyone agrees he’s as good as Gotham-born, the way he chews metal and monologues.) But never before has Damian seen a puppy that glows, let alone phases through the lid of the dumpster it had been scavenging in.

The front of its tag has a logo for Axiom Labs, a company that was bought out some years ago by VladCo. The back has the name “CUJO” in permanent marker, and no phone number.

Well, it isn’t Damian’s fault if someone failed to chip their animal. If nobody comes to claim it, he’s sure Father will agree to a meta companion for Titus. 

[ikiprian]

Tim Drake’s got a history with cloning. So does Vlad Masters.

Tim is past his “cloning-deceased-best-friends-in-the-basement” phase. Really, he is. But back when he wasn’t, he’d had all sorts of research compiled, on every type of cloning tech ever recorded.

One company, VladCo, had negotiated itself an amount of Cadmus’ exclusive resources to study the interactions between cloned tissue and recently-discovered ectoplasm. The quasi-sentient abilities of ectoplasm, in theory, might help fill a host body with a real soul.

The contract Tim had dug up is frankly insane. VladCo is in no way beholden to share the results of its study, nor does it need to return any of the equipment, and VladCo’s relationship with Cadmus is under a strictly worded gag order. Nobody in their right mind would’ve signed it. Cadmus did, and aside from a few million dollars, Vlad Masters got his machines gratis.

And now, a couple years after the contract was signed, fulfilled, and buried away, VladCo has done a grand total of nothing with it.

The guy’s rich. And a genius. There’s no way all that tech’s been left to collect dust in storage with how aggressively it was acquired. Masters was going to do something with it, and it was going to be revolutionary. (Tim had actually planned to steal into VladCo for notes, before the thing with the Brain, and Cassie finding out, and the intervention that followed… yeah. He’s over it.)

It’s suspicious as all get out. Eventually, though, the whole Masters deal took a back burner to a crisis (followed by a crisis… followed by a crisis).

But now with Kon and Bart back, and a few less things on his plate, Tim thinks the responsible thing to do is finally head a classic Team investigation to Master’s Manor, Wisconsin.

[ikiprian]

The DC Universe is unstable. Danny goes to investigate.

All realities are connected to and accessible from the Infinite Realms Hub through natural portals. These portals dot the surface of random planets within each universe— some are familiar, like alternate versions of Earth, some are wholly unique, like… Well, like nothing else. When Danny’s got downtime, he loves to explore them. Frostbite appreciates his efforts to expand the Infini-Map.

One universe, though, and all its affiliated pluralities has got its ecto-connection on the fritz. (And there are. So many pluralities. The timeline wraps back on itself, it’s duplicated a thousand times over, it keeps crossing over what should be parallels and resets every couple decades or so…) Something is definitely wrong.

Danny goes in as the Infinite Realm’s self-assigned plumber to see what’s what. It’ll be fun!

He pops out the other side screaming, dragging his half-melted body out a Lazarus Pit.

[ikiprian]

wip wednesday: damian inherits bruce’s adoption issues au! (wip: one-shot) (1k/3k)

“Damian,” Bruce starts, gently. “How many cats do you have?”

Damian sniffs. Captain Alfred shifts unhappily in his arms, so he readjusts his one-armed hold. “Don’t be foolish, Father. Alfred is known to be the only cat here.”

Behind his back, he used his free hand to signal Return to Base to Silly Alfred. Unfortunately, direct scrutiny limits Damian’s movement and confuses the hand sign. Double unfortunately, Silly Alfred is a master of charisma, not obedience. He continues to bat at the coiled door stopper as if he’s not about to compromise his entire squad.

“That’s a sentence with one too many clauses,” Jason pokes.

“This concerns you, how, Todd?” Damian snaps. “You don’t even live here!”

“Ooh, and there’s a sentence with a few too many claws-es!” Jason’s smirk stretches wide, almost into a proper smile. Clearly, he is enjoying the idea of Damian getting caught. Does he not understand what is at stake?

“Bruce?” comes a tired voice. Tim, the fool, stumbles into the room, apparently done with his weekend-long casework bender. “The computer’s running some numbers— can you make sure nobody touches the program ‘til I wake up?”

In his arms is Friendly Alfred. Hungry Alfred trots after his heels.

Bruce, for all his mastery of deceit and the fine-tuned control of expression that entails, freezes.

[ikiprian]

oh hey when did this happen!! thanks gang, army of alfreds snip be upon ye!

The bowl on the floor is empty.

Inexcusable. If the owner were going to be murdered, he should have gotten an autofeeder first.

While Batman is distracted looking for evidence, Damian quietly stalks through the apartment to the kitchen. The pantry is easy to identify, and the bag of dry food has a scoop already within it. 

He inwardly scoffs at the lack of airtight container. The former resident may have gotten high-end kibble, but didn’t he know how it stales? Didn’t he know how it molds? He continues to find nothing but shortcomings from this man.

Damian fills the creature’s dish anyway, mixes in a little water to ensure proper hydration. The instant the food sifts into the bowl, the cat is sprinting from its laundry fortress and winding its way around Damian’s ankles, meowing piteously.

“Careful now. Hush,” Damian murmurs. If he’s careful, Batman won’t hear him and know he’s taken an unauthorized break. “Hush. I’m helping you. Don’t trip me, or you’ll be eating it off the ground.” 

A smile pushes at his stiff Business Robin expression, as the rest of his concentration goes to keeping his balance. 

Soon as the bowl hits the carpet, the cat is upon it. Its forepaws spread comically, one on either side of its supper, furiously kneading. 

This moment must be preserved. Damian does the rational thing and takes a little video.

omg cute!!! says Grayson, followed by a dozen heart-themed emojis.

It’s the correct response.

[ikiprian]

Donate eSims for Gaza!

Howdy! I'm Kip Ikiprian (they/them) and I like superheroes! You can find me on my main @bandanabiel but I'm not gonna lie, that's all reblog central, baby. This blog is for organizing my writing and brainrot!

Tag Guide:

"#kipwrite" — prompts & published pieces

"#kipthought" — HC's, vibes, & vague ideas

"#kipsnip" — sneak peeks of WIPs

"#kiptalk" — just chattin'

"#kipanswer" — asks & answers

Current WIPS:

Ride or Die AU (Batman) (Jason Todd & Tim Drake) (???) (3k/15k)

Army of Alfreds (Batman) (Damian Wayne & Alfred the Cat) (one-shot) (2k/4k)

Misunderstood Mentor AU (DPxDC) (Tim Drake & Danny Fenton) (one-shot) (1.1k/5k)

Ask about my WIPs for free snippets! Let's be friends!

[kawaiikenna]

I just imagine the two of them screaming and fanning themselves before clasping hands and jumping up and down like some fucking white girls at a sleepover bs. Hilarious. XD Like they’re just screaming over how they’re so similar and Jason’s just in the background being all ‘wtf?????’ as RR and Phantom are just like ‘shut up, no way! Omg, no way me too!!!!’

Tim swears Phantom could’ve been a Titan. Maybe he should be, at this point. They have enough in common to justify it.

“Jeez,” Phantom groans. Abruptly, he drops the levitation and hits the roof without sound. He stretches out on his back like a cat, sore muscles straining in a way Red Robin deeply relates to. “Fighting the living sucks. At least with ghosts I can swing as hard as I need. Already dead means they get back up! But mortals? Way too squishy.”

Red Robin huffs in agreement. “Yeah,” he says. After a moment’s consideration, he lies down, too.“It’s a hundred times harder than people realize. Batman’s always going on about perfect control in training. About how to have it, you gotta be twice as skilled as the other guy. Even without your super-strength, I worry sometimes.”

“How do you do it?” Phantom asks. In a move only achievable to those without bones, or perhaps Dick Grayson, he twists himself over. Gloved hands cup his cheeks. His legs kick back and forth, like they’re gossiping at a slumber party. “I mean. You said you train, so obviously there’s the physical ‘how.’ But how do you keep your emotions nonlethal? How do you keep yourself in check, make sure you’re pulling back?”

“I mean,” says Red Robin. “Murder is illegal, so.”

Phantom sighs. “Yeah. Maybe it’s easier for you.”

… Hm. Maybe Red Robin should redo Phantom’s risk assessment.

Before he can raise too high an eyebrow (though even moving that muscle smarts, ow), Phantom elaborates.

“Ecto-based entities have trouble with their emotions,” he explains. “It’s easy to get lost in an Obsession, or a big feeling like grief. The rest of the world… it bleeds away. Helps to have another emotional anchor to keep it at bay. I use fear.”

“Fear?” Red Robin glanced over.

“Sometimes sheer stubbornness,” Phantom admits. “But a lot of it is fear.”

With a considering frown, he drops his head atop his arms. Exhaustion, regret, reluctance play out on his face. For someone the Bats know next to nothing about, Phantom’s body language is an open book.

“I saw, like, an alternate future version of myself once where I become evil and try to take over the world? So now I gotta be good to keep that from happening. The fear of that future keeps the pressure on me. Makes me focus up. Y’know?”

Tim sits up. “Seriously?”

Phantom nods. “Uh-huh. Kinda bizarre, I know—”

“What the hell,” says Tim. Three consecutive days together and a concussion must loosen his lips, because holy shit, no way. “Dude! Me too!”

“Huh? Seriously?” says Phantom.

“Yeah! I totally saw myself turn evil. Like, Batman but with guns. Guns Batman. I had to fight him and everything. He tried to kill my friends and erase my memory to make sure I couldn’t un-invent him by going back to change the past?”

“Oh my god.”

“What?”

“Oh my god, me too!”

happy wips wednesday!

[ikiprian]

The Red Hood runs a series of perfectly legitimate businesses.

It’s Criminal Enterprise 101: If you don’t want the op busted come the first tax season, you better be keeping that cash clean. Ergo, money laundering.

There’s a collection of small Alley businesses who’d happily take a bribe, or whose loyalty Jason had won through years of going up to bat. They wouldn’t mind fudging their numbers. Unfortunately, the idea of a good family sinking for him burns like bathroom hooch.

Instead he sets up his own quick series of shops and restaurants, selling stupid things for stupider prices. He hires folks with reputations that say they can either take a hit or don’t care that they can’t. Smart enough to improv when the cops come knocking, but not enough for ambition. The right kind of greedy. The minimal amount of nosy.

He ends up finding Danny.

Technically the hiring process is handled by his lieutenants, but Jason would argue semantics. As the biggest fish in the Red Hood pond, he can take as much credit as he wants.

‘Course, he doesn’t meet the guy until a few months after he’d been hired. And the only reason he does is because the restaurant he’s cheffing at— a redecorated burger franchise whose Gotham location failed after a couple drive-bys— has requested additional funds.

In emails he’s CC’d in, his finance guy messages back, “Why?”

A reasonable question. Jason would like to know, himself.

Burger manager responds, “Quality ingredients.”

… Huh.

Finance says, “Why would you need better ingredients?”

Burger says, “Our cook’s pretty talented. He says fresh ground meat could take us next level.”

In a second email, almost as if he’d forgotten, Burger adds, “Samples so far taste great. And it’d turn us a real profit!”

That is… not what a money-laundering crime front is for.

Jason wonders if his lieutenants need a more clearly-defined list of ideal candidate qualities. Namely, one that differentiates “manageable ambition” and “oddly directed ambition.” Maybe also one that defines “smart.”

The thread continues almost all day, with burger guy insisting they gotta try it to believe it and finance guy growing a headache. (No clue what this legendary fry cook has achieved to get someone Jason knows is a hard-ass to vouch so hard. Maybe this is the result of a few too many decades of concussions? Or maybe the cook’s sneaking uppers in the seasoning.)

But hell, he’s been meaning to show some face. He’ll have to go when store hours are over, because it’s senseless to make a front only to openly affiliate it with his nightlife. But going to meet the underlings is good for the brand. Keeps ‘em in line. Before patrol, he’ll pop in for a bite.

No way the food’s as good as they claim.

Ghost Kitchen (brought to you by criminal entrepreneur, Red Hood)

Danny’s got the easiest job in Gotham.

He works as a fry cook at a shoddily-run, independent burger joint. Hardly anyone comes in, despite prices being criminally low, and portions insanely large, and while the manager looks like the average tough-as-nails ex-con, he lets Danny mess around in the kitchen whenever the place is empty. (Which is often. This place has to be the city’s hidden gem or something!)

Mr. Manager’s the only one ever there with Danny, except for sometimes when his buddies come over to smoke and play cards. Danny would find it shady, except part of his job is not to ask questions. Literally, he was told during the interview.

(It was a weird interview. Why would they need to hire someone who’s been in a gunfight before? Like, he has, but Gotham’s idea of “hirable qualities” is so bizarre.)

So instead he whips up some killer burgers with the frozen ingredients, and basks in the praise as the guys tell him he shouldn’t have, he does too much for this joint, ain’t that friendly!

Now, Danny’s a chef on the newer side. As a teen he’d preferred the look of Nasty Burger over anything with Michelin stars, and he only really took up cooking after Jazz moved out for college. But just like ecto-exposure used to turn the groceries sentient, Danny’s low-level ecto signature imbues all his food with something historically haunted Gothamites just love! And Danny’s never been one to half-ass a job when it makes people happy.

With fresher produce, real meat, Danny’s sure he can take his dishes to the next level. It takes a couple months of badgering, but his manager finally agrees to contact the mysterious store owner, who keeps the place going, despite profits Danny knows have to be in the red.

Danny spends the morning prepping. He pours his heart into his food, eager to impress. The big boss will be here soon, and he wants to prove that despite the dangerous location, this place has real potential!

It isn’t until the Red Hood shows up that Danny realizes he’s been working for a money laundering scheme.

[ikiprian]

Oh shit, this is tight as hell. Jack would be such a chaotic teacher, so enthusiastic and supportive. Hold on, now hear me out:

The whole Fenton family moves to Gotham. 

At first it was going to be just Jazz, pursuing a doctorate at Gotham University. With Gotham’s recently-confirmed high levels of ambient ectoplasm, and the high rate of supers (both hero and villain), it’s the perfect place for her to do research! 

(Her thesis investigates something like the relationship between long term ecto-exposure and deviant behavior, specifically criminal and anti-criminal.)

Now, Jazz ends up good friends with the local librarian. The library’s her favorite study spot, and she and Barbara have a lot in common! Almost too much in common, actually. Odd hours, combat experience, increased signs of stress during Batman Inc. sightings, even those across the country… Jazz wonders if Babs knows anything about looking out for reckless superheroes. Or superheroing, herself?

And then Danny decides he’d like to tag along, too. He and Jazz hadn’t spent much time together after growing up and graduating college, and that’s a damn shame. If there’s an emergency in Amity, Red Huntress can handle it. Besides, since the treaty, the ghosts haven’t been hostile. Phantom hasn’t fought anyone outside of ghost-typical social combat since high school. Teacher shortage means he can work anywhere! After excelling as an overqualified substitute at various Gotham public schools, he lands a swanky spot on recommendation as a long-term sub at Gotham Academy.

His brightest, most chronically exhausted senior has a lot of concerning signs. Tim is clearly above Honors-level chemistry, but he dumbs himself down in class discussions. He calls out sick a lot, always with a believable excuse, but always after a major supervillain move. He doesn’t do anything that tip Danny off as a mandated reporter, but like recognizes like.

Then Jack and Maddie, the Drs. Fenton, receive a call from an old pal at Gotham U. At this point, they’re famous for discovering an entire parallel dimension of ecto-entities, and as advocates for ecto-entity, metahuman, and nonhuman sentient rights. And, of course, as the developers of Team Phantom’s tech, back in the day. She’d like for them to come down as guest lecturers for her undergrads. Ultimately, they like it so much they apply to teach a course in the next cycle.

(Maddie makes frequent appearances as a teacher for the campus self-defense club. She is adored and feared.)

They end up with a curious freshman in their class. Stephanie Brown is bright and clearly interested in their work, popping into office hours and asking all sorts of questions. They can’t help but feel, though, like she’s keeping tabs on them. It’s hard not to feel that way when they find a listening device hidden in their office. Ah, but who can blame young Stephie! Too many passionate Gotham University professors go crazy during their tenure. They don't know how she's connected, exactly, but of course the local supers would want to check them out! They leave the bug be.

(Ellie pops in to visit. While poking her head into random buildings-- literally-- she ends up sticking her nose right into a safehouse.)

(Black Bat gives her a hesitant wave. Ellie waves back.)

(She goes back to Danny and Jazz’s, and politely says nothing.)

Mr. Fenton is a competent teacher. Almost too competent.

If Mr. Daniel Fenton had any more than a BS (with a minor in education), Tim would’ve flagged his profile as a potential Rogue. That’s the way of most charismatic academics, at least in Gotham. (Got a PhD? Instant watchlist.) Instead, he’s Gotham Academy’s newest celebrity, as a young, passionate, out-of-towner substitute while the chemistry teacher’s on maternity leave.

Tim gets the hype. Fenton seems to genuinely love teaching, and is invested in the welfare of the student body. He hands out bananas during exam week, hosts a “study habits seminar” each month to coach effective learning strategies, and the third time Tim falls asleep in his class, he even pulls Tim aside to ask if he’s doing okay. With all the late work he accepts and the protein bars he sneaks Tim, he’s every teen vigilante’s dream teacher. He could’ve been Tim’s favorite.

In fact, Mr. Fenton was Tim’s favorite. Up until Tim walks into Mr. Fenton’s chemistry classroom for a forgotten textbook, an hour after the final bell.

On the board where tallied scores for today’s review game had been kept, “THE CHEMISTRY BEHIND DR. CRANE’S FEAR GAS: ANXIOGENICS, NERI’S, & YOU,” is now scrawled. A detailed diagram of the human endocrine system projects in front of a small crowd of adoring and attentive students.

Fenton is wrist-deep in the skull cavity of an anatomical model. A short tug, and out pops the brain.

It’s plastic. It’s fake.

Tim identifies the nearest emergency exit.

Fenton turns to the door, and in the dark classroom with the projector illuminating half his face, his eyes almost seem to flash red. “What’s up, Tim?” he asks. His friendly grin is too big for his face. “I didn’t know you wanted to join the Just Science League!”

[OR: Danny’s a science teacher at Tim’s school. Gotham’s a pretty wild place, even for someone who grew up a superhero in a ghost-infested town, so he takes it upon himself to start a club teaching kids how to manage themselves in the event of a crisis. These Gothamites are pretty hardy, but a little extra training never hurt anybody! And he suspects one of his students might be a teen vigilante, like he’d been, back in the day. As a senior super, it's Danny’s duty look out for him! Surely, this is the subtlest and most appropriate way to give the kid pointers.]

[Tim immediately assumes supervillain.]