#superman playing cards

[groovy-lady]

YAAAAAAYS MY COLORFUL SUPERMAN PLAYING CARDS ARE HERE!!!!!!!!

[puppetmaster13u]

Imagine a world where Batman and his family never joined the Justice League but like, both Wonder Woman and Superman know him.

They mention him idly sometimes and even despite not being there (that they know of) he's become the League's cryptid. No one knows who this hero is- Gotham sticks to itself, it's a shithole but it's their shithole- or where they are or anything??

Eventually rumors start going around between the heroes. Is the bat some sort of eldritch being? They overheard the big 2 say something about shadows and undead revival?? Their secret boyfriend? They heard them talk about kids???

It comes to a slight head when during a mind-controlled Superman rampage he gets tackled by a black blur and the next time they see him he's fine?? No mind control??? What?????

"Oh, Bats was passing by and is exasperated about me getting mind controlled again."

Supes that doesn't explain as much as you think it does-

[headcanonthings]

Clark: Man, they look like a real handful. How do you deal with them?

Bruce: *looking at Jason screaming, Damian trying to set a sleeping Tim on fire, and Dick choking on air*

Bruce: I don’t know either.

[greenolliearrow]

I’m creating a DC heroes pack of playing cards please help me place them

[risingchaos]

Thank you to @littlediscoveredstars for allowing me to talk about how fucking pretty these cards are.

These are all from Theory 11. I have a major love of playing cards and these are my first proper novelty decks. If anybody wants close ups or box designs or some shit feel free to let me know because I have not stopped staring at these since I got them.

[brown-spider]

AU where Noir gets hired to investigate a sudden string of missing property/legal issues that's damaging local businesses in Brooklyn (think Museum mission from Insomniac's Spider-Man 2), and Hobie (Prowler) is his main informant

(^ these versions of the mfs, for visual reference)

Spiderman has a violent encounter with the Prowler and sees Hobie unmasked- then later, Robbie (reporter for the Bugle) manages to drag Peter into taking on a case for his neighborhood, where he's introduced to the man closest to the action: Hobie 🙂

Sidenote, I think it would be Very funny if Peter’s civilian identity is a private eye but everyone knows about The Spider always helping him. Like, "yeah Im a private eye and so is that vigilante guy and yes he for some reason only gives ME his leads but we are totally not the same person"

[emma-d-klutz]

Bruce gets thrown in Arkham and finds it actually rather pleasant in many ways and his rogues are the ones desperately trying to get his sentence overturned because every time they try to break out he grabs them by the scruff and hauls them back inside and they realize if they don’t get him legally released they’ll all be trapped in here for Bruce’s twenty to life, a possibility they never took seriously before fic idea 

[g1rlr0b1n]

But isn't Jon younger than Damian?

Not since Bendis trapped Jon in a volcano for 5 years 😭 (7 in total to find his way back home). The timeline is iffy but according to DC's official website, he is currently 17 years old.

But fret not, for the multiverse is vast and there are actually several versions of Jon and Damian where they are still their original ages before the age up and even some where they are both the same age including DCeased and the Super Sons Movie universe!

[downthetubes]

theory11 Superman Playing Cards look ace

Inspired by the Golden Age of DC Comics, US company theory11 have launched their Superman Playing Cards, offering striking artwork of favourite characters

[omgfangirlland]

I'm going to need all of you to hear me out on what I'm about to spew, but I have yandere!batfam brain rot, and I just came across Yan!girldad!nolan grayson.

HEAR ME OUT!

Putting a page break here cuz idk how long this will be-

So- the usual neglected batsis that as a youngster craved the attention of her fam, but after being brushed away, after being ignored, after being straight up forgotten about, says fuck it, y'all aren't worth my love, I'll use the Wayne money to do as I please.

So she does. She uses the monthly allowance that is on auto pay straight to her card to do arts, to paint her heart away, to draw and play video games, to fund and pay off anything from homeless shelters to medical bills, trying to make a dent into the Wayne fortune both in selfish and non-selfish ways. She's basically a petty tween.

But then she wakes up with powers. She thinks she's a meta- batman doesn't like metas, that's what she thinks, she doesn't know Bruce doesn't want metas in Gotham due to Gotham being ground zero for meta trafficking. Boom, panic.

I think she has powers like flying, super strength, and like immediate healing if not "iron skin" like Superman. So she wakes because she hits the ceiling due to flying while asleep. She panics, falls, maybe breaks something, nobody comes to check on her-

Now, she always has toyed with the idea of leaving, but this? THIS? Breaking point, she packs necessities and the Wayne card and says bye-bye Gotham, good morning... Chicago? NYC? Idk, whichever place Omni man lives in ig.

The batfam, of course, doesn't notice. In this universe, I think even Alfred won't have been paying that much attention to batsis, man's too busy. So what if one day he does his rounds, cleaning, opens a door he hasn't been in a while.

The room is dusty. Dusty beyond hell, and one singular photo of batsis at like a kindergarten graduation makes him drop everything, including his heart. Old man goes feral, absolutely crazy, because where the fuck is this kid, this little baby, that he went and picked up because Bruce couldn't be bothered.

The batfam goes crazy too. In the mean time-

Batsis is, surprisingly, living her best life. Initially, she planned on getting an under the table job- clean a bar, babysit, be the errand girl of some shady drag dealer, etc. But Nolan sees her while she tries to get her powers under control, shakily flying, accidentally blowing to pieces a tree as she leans against it.

Omni-man as he lurks in the shadows: Debbie would love a daughter. I would love a daughter.

Batsis would call it kidnapping, Nolan calls it adopting without extra steps. Debbie takes one look at this shaken kid and immediately goes mama mode while reprimanding Nolan about taking a kid off the streets and not warning her so she could prepare better.

Mark? It takes about 2 hours before he realizes that they can be training buddies and that they have similar taste in some things. That's his baby sister. No arguments, just baby sis. Batsis? Much like a hungry, cold cat, she accepts her fate. It does feel nice to finally have some attention on her.

So she trains with Nolan and Mark, gets great, becomes a reluctant superhero, deliberately ignores Nolan's rants about her becoming such a great warrior, his little girl on the way of becoming the greatest conquror. Gothamite batsis just shrugs it off as just a Thursday.

Back with the batfam, pure chaos. Everyone is in shambles. How could they forget about a whole kid? Their siblings, Bruce's youngest daughter. Guilt is slowly turning into madness, and madness is slowly turning into a need to prove they can be better, that they weren't deliberately overlooking an innocent child because of personal pettiness, they were just distracted but now they'll right their wrongs.

Bonus p1:

Superman finally meeting batsis: What do you mean you're Bruce's kid? 😃 What do you mean you're a meta and instead of coming to uncle Clark you go and get adopted by murderous Omni-man? 🙂 What do you mean you kinda approve of him killing his enemies? 🫠

Batsis just wants Joker to die.

Bonus pt2:

Dick: What do you mean she's calling that other Grayson boy big brother? 😀

Damien: What do you mean I have another sibling? What do you mean she's calling that purple alien bastard her little brother?! I blame you, father.

Bonus pt3:

John Constantine: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GAVE ONE OF BATMAN'S KIDS IMMORTALITY AND MAGICAL POWERS?

The deity/entity batsis has been depicting in her paintings for years: *shrugs* I was bored, my little priestess was sad, she's not anymore 🤷

That's the plot twist, batsis is actually magical, but her powers work the way they do because that's the only way she knows how to fight with them. Magic isn't on her thought as a possibility, even if she was into the occult.

Cue John drinking for 3 days straight before having the courage(or will) to go to the Bat.

[groovy-lady]

YAAAAAYS I NOW HAVE A SUPERMAN PLUSHIE AND STAR TREK PLAYING CARDS!!!

[emacrow]

The baby god.

The world was in panic as Justice League couldn't do anything, a glowing green metorite ball the size of Neptune was heading directly toward Earth.

The green lantern corps couldn't do anything to move the direction of the metorite, Superman couldn't even get near without feeling faint, believing that there was kyptonite on the metorite stopping him.

Not even John could make any deal that involved that metorite at all.

Many city panic, started fighting, crying, and broken down. Many religious groups accept their fate.

Gotham City refused to go out quietly as everyone was throwing a simultaneous party. Even the villains went all out, even Joker didn't cause harm to anyone, much less made a joke at all..

Joker tremblingly held a very old playing joker card that Batman had since their first fight years ago while his eyes, one still black from earlier look to the last live being recorded with Batman's voice speaking on the live, He stayed along side in gotham even when end of the world was here.

Clark Kent stayed with his ma and pa house, lois Lane, holding her hands.

The world stood still as the seemingly the end was close by.

Only for the glowing green metorite was rapidly slowing down, nearly the same length by as the moon even if it was gigantic in comparison.

A gargantuan hands seen to have grasped it, the hands itself were covered in stars and dust as a loudest chirp could be heard around the earth.

Bright bluish green eyes the size of the sun slowly blink with curious, a gigantic toddler the twice size of Jupiter, a chubby face covered in dwarfs star made freckles, a glowing green necklace that held the tiny dwarf pluto, hair the covered Most of the darkness that was the night sky like strains clouds made from the heaven themselves.

A massive deep blue puff escaped the gargantuan being's mouth, raining down all over the earth, where tiny pure crystalized ice was the size of a baby pearl that never melted.

Everyone who was watching the live or was watching outside could see the being clearly.

The metorite threatened to end all life on earth as they knew it was stopped by a god.

The god slowly turned, the bright white hair swaying star dust everywhere in the sky as they were turning to someone and floated away, the joyous young laughter of a toddler echoing on earth.

[greenolliearrow]

Playing card design for superman (K♥️)

Rough sketch to get the idea!

The markers/ pens I’m going to use should be here by next week - just 52 cards to design until then :)

[colossrat]

keranos? like the magic card?

Batman: I ask that when leaving, anyone who agrees with the approach proposed by me and Superman signs the pamphlet next to the door.

And then the heroes come out, whoever thinks it's a good idea to be discussed again at the next meeting signs with their hero name. but Captain Marvel was the first to sign, so he didn't see how the others signed and didn't know if he should use "Captain Marvel".

He has an argument with Solomon inside his own head that lasted a little less than a second, and in the end they come to a consensus that he can sign as one of the many names of the champion of magic. but they were so… simple… billy decided to add some details, a signature worthy of an entity that's zibilions of years old and a store of immense magic.

The other day, while Billy is "saving" some kitchen leftovers in his pocket dimension, Batman arrives and approaches him while holding a paper.

Batman: Captain… What did you put in the signatures?

Marvel: oh? hmm, my name?

Batman: your name... Can you tell me how to pronounce it?

Marvel: oh. Yes? Ahm, its Keranos. sorry, its hard to read?

Batman: no, it's okay. It was what I thought it could be. It's just that I never found these types of letters before, despite the similarity with the current alphabet…

Marvel noticed that he exaggerated a little with the decoration in the signature: yeah… it's a-- rune language that died a long, long, time ago, but I tried to mix it up a little with the letters from the current world so it wouldn't look so strange. The sound of the pronunciation is "keranos", so in our alphabet it could be written with k-e-r-a-n-o-s… Next time I'm going to use the normal alphabet, sorry… I… I didn't think that much when I wrote it.

Batman: of course. Don't worry captain. I can't imagine what it must be like to live in a world where your name can no longer be written the way it should be.

Marvel: its... ok, i like Marvel a lot too.

Batman: So… would you like us to start calling you Keranos?

Marvel: well, if you want, of course, I have no problem. It's one of my oldest names. but you don't have to if it's confusing, you know, me having several names.

Batman: don't worry. It's a pleasure to meet you, Keranos.

Marvel: The pleasure is mine, mister batman sir!!

There are several league members hiding in the hallway near the kitchen, whispering.

Flash: that's so cool! Marvel is so tight with his personal information, but he's letting go, he even gave us one of his names! That means he's finally opening up, right?

Wonder Woman: Indeed. Keranos… This name is familiar to me from the stories my sisters and I told each other. a god of the wrath of storms…

Hal: Just like the magic card???

Superman: I remembered that too. It's literally the definition of the creature, isn't it?

Hal: technically it's only a creature if your devotion is less than seven, anyway. even the way it is written.

Flash: my god, you are two nerds.

If one day they ask Marvel about the magic card, he will be genuinely confused because he didn't know it. billy never had the money to buy these games.

"oh, is there a game card with my name? a god of storms? wow, I'm embarrassed, I didn't know that name had been kept alive by these stories haha"

I was playing with Billy and Marvel's signature, thinking about how they would write differently in each form, and I ended up thinking about this

I don't know if the captain's fandom took keranos from the magic card, but that's what I found when I looked up the name and I thought it was brilliant

[rockspider556]

Batfam Headcanon #1

So Bruce Wayne gets injured—badly enough that he can’t just limp back to the Batcave with Alfred threatening to sedate him whilst yelling about self-care. No, this time the doctors insist he stay at the hospital. Superman and Wonder Woman, thinking they’re his only friends, decide to visit.

When they ask for Bruce’s room number at front desk, the nurse just looks at them and says, “there’s more of you?!”

They exchange deeply confused but mildly concerned glances before heading to the room. Clark, because he’s Clark, peeks inside with his X-ray vision and immediately stops in his tracks.

Diana frowns. “What’s wrong?”

Clark whispers, “There’s, uh… eight people in there.”

Diana’s eyebrows knit together. “Eight? More than Alfred?”

Clark just gestures for her to look, so they walk in—only to be greeted by absolute anarchy.

Bruce is in bed, looking murderously annoyed but utterly incapable of escaping, because there’s a riot happening around him.

Dick is perched on the bed’s edge, grinning as he tries to convince Bruce to eat his horrifically over-baked “Get Well Soon” cookies. (“C’mon, B, they’ve got sentimental value! You can’t taste failure; you can only feel love.”)

Tim and Damian are engaged full-blown war over Uno rules, with Bruce’s lap being used as their playing surface. Damian is glaring daggers while Tim smugly draws a card. (“‘Draw Four’ is illegal there, you demon.” “You’re just bitter because you’re losing, Drake!”)

Jason is standing at the foot of his bed, loudly reading Bruce’s medical chart like it’s a stand-up routine. (“Oh, wow, Bruce. Says here you’re allergic to rest. Oh, and look—‘Patient struggles with a superiority complex and a martyr complex, both incurable.’ Fascinating”)

Steph is perched on the edge of Bruce’s bed, enthusiastically eating his hospital pudding while loudly complaining about how terrible it is. (“Honestly, B, are you sure you can’t get discharged? This food is a human rights violation.”)

Barbara is sitting at the head of Bruce’s bed, her tablet perched on her lap. She’s rewired the hospital TV so it’s running security footage from the Watchtower.

Cass is perched on the arm of Barbara’s chair, alternating between watching the Uno chaos and holding up handmade cards she’s brought for Bruce. Each one has a single-word message, like REST or STOP DYING, in bold marker and glitter. Every time Bruce sighs too loudly, she silently holds up another one that says, DRINK WATER.

Duke is sitting next to Bruce, smiling mildly, scrolling through his phone. He’s the only one looking like he’s got some semblance of peace in his life.

Alfred is standing against the wall, arms folded behind his back, the epitome of British disapproval. He’s wearing his usual long-suffering yet fond expression.

Clark and Diana stand in the doorway, completely frozen.

Diana finally breaks the silence. “He… has children?”

“No,” Clark says slowly, taking in the chaotic scene. “He has a cult.”

In the middle of all this, Bruce catches their stunned expressions and deadpans, “Don’t. Ask.”

Dick waves at them cheerfully. “Oh, hey! You must be Bruce’s work friends!”

Clark and Diana end up staying, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else. By the time they leave, Diana is still trying to understand how Bruce hides an entire army of chaos gremlins under the radar, while Clark is absolutely delighted at the opertunity to mock Mr “I work alone”

Because of course the Dark Knight is actually just an overworked single dad with a very noisy household.

[ofbatsandballads]

kindness you can’t afford

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: injured character, multiple descriptions of blood + wounds

a/n: so this is the very first jason fic I’ve written since I was twelve, so forgive me while I find my jay’s voice now that I’m not a preteen. anyways I humbly offer thee my wares.

divider credit: cafekitsune

Gotham’s a shithole. You hadn’t known that when you first moved here. To be honest, you’d kind of thrown a dart at a map and gone where it landed. Alright, maybe it wasn’t literally a dart throw, more so finding the cheapest metropolitan city because New York was tempting but it would bankrupt you. Mostly you just wanted a place to not exist. And so Gotham’s relatively low rent rates and towering skylines were the pick with little to no research.

Gotham’s a shithole. You know that beyond a shadow of a doubt now. It’s surprising, honestly, how little of Gotham’s chaos makes it outside the city limits. One would think a psychotic killer clown that’s prone to gassing a whole city district or a half-plant poison lady or a guy going around dressed like a bat would make national news. And yet, no. You’d known superheroes existed, of course. Superman was the shining jewel in the crown of the country that is Metropolis. Everyone knows about the extraordinary Wonder Woman. It’s not like hyper skilled people working for the greater good aren’t a thing. But Gotham plays her cards close to her chest.

You've lived here almost two years now and you’ve managed to make it through relatively unscathed. An impressive feat especially since you live in the Bowery. The Bowery itself isn’t so bad, but its neighboring district Park Row, more often known as Crime Alley, is about the worst Gotham has to offer. You’ve heard your fair share of gunshots and sirens, and you’ll never forget the time that Scarecrow released fear toxin in the district and you had to shove every towel and blanket you owned against the cracks by the doors and windows to keep it out. However, you’ve avoided being mugged or assaulted or anything like that so far. And you’ve never encountered the vigilantes that run the night here.

But there’s always time for new and exciting experiences.

The loud thunk that sounds outside your living room window makes you jump and starts your heart pounding. You know you should just ignore it. Crawl off the couch and to the bedroom, lock the door. The lights in the apartment are already off, only the television light illuminating the room, so it would be easy to creep unseen. But you can’t. Something pulls you to the window. Maybe it’s the cat killing curiosity, or maybe it’s your own little voice of self destruction, or maybe it’s something else entirely. All you know is that you have to go look.

So you do. And there, out cold on the fire escape, is a man. A very large man. A very large man in a red helmet. A very large man in a red helmet with dual pistols holstered to his thighs. Red Hood. Red Hood is passed out face up on your fire escape. Huh.

You’d heard of him. It was hard not to. The Bat had the most notoriety by far, but it was Red Hood that truly scared the criminals of Gotham. Batman might break your bones, cripple you even, but you’d leave with your life. No such guarantee existed if you crossed Red Hood. Hurt a few innocent people and you might end up with a bullet or three in your skull. Then there was that thing about heads in a duffel bag and Red Hood running crime for a solid year in Gotham, but he’s better now, apparently. None of this is deterring you from unlocking the window, pushing it up, and stepping out into the cold winter air. Not when you see the blood seeping through his body armor start to drip off the fire escape grate.

He needs help and he can’t stay unconscious in the middle of the city. If whoever injured him didn’t find him, the cops would. He’s just as wanted as the actual rogues of Gotham. You think it’s bullshit, which is why you’re trying to find a way to get him inside the safety of your apartment. He’s huge up close. This is going to be very, very difficult. Your mind flashes suddenly to one of your favorite childhood movies and how the princess pulled the dashing rogue around with her hair. You glance down at the street before heading to your bedroom.

You come back out with sheets bundled up in your arms. You’re not even sure if this harebrained idea will work, but you weave the sheets through the gaps in the grates and around Red Hood’s waist nonetheless. You secure a knot and go back into your apartment with the length of the sheets. Your legs are stronger than your arms, so you brace them against the wall and pull. You can feel his body slowly dragging towards you and you pause to check your progress. He’s slumped against the window now. Good. You loop your arms under his, place your feet back against the wall, and pull hard. Your hard work is rewarded with his body breaching the threshold of your window and landing directly on top of you. The air is knocked clean out of your lungs. He is heavy.

It’s a struggle but you manage to roll out from under him and immediately see the massive red stain contrasting against the white of your fluffy pajama pants. A small puddle of blood is emerging on your floor under his left thigh, and droplets of blood have splattered next to his torso. He’s not in great shape. It suddenly hits you what you’ve done. You dragged an injured vigilante, known for shooting first and asking questions later, into your apartment with no plan on what to do after the fact.

What the fuck did I do?

That’s all you can think as you look down at him. Then something snaps into place inside your rattled mind and you run to your bathroom to grab your first aid kit. You’d bought it and learned the basics after Wayne Enterprises ran televised infomercials about the importance of first aid a couple months back. You’re carefully balancing all the supplies in your arms as you head back out to the living room.

The empty living room. No vigilante in sight. Then your world spins. Everything clatters to the floor as you’re yanked backwards by your waist, pinned to something solid and unable to move.

“Who are you?” A growl sounds behind you, modulated to sound semi-mechanical.

Ah. There he is. You think you should be panicking, absolutely losing your shit even. But your brain is moving in slow motion.

“Someone trying to help you,” you breathe out.

“Doesn’t answer the question.”

The grip around your waist tightens. You want to laugh. As if you could’ve made a run for it in the first place. You tell him your name, and explain that you live alone. There’s no one else here but the two of you and you really do want to help.

“You were passed out on my fire escape. I couldn’t just leave you out there,” you explain cautiously.

The two of you stay like that for a minute longer. Then, a mechanical sigh sounds from behind you and the vice grip on your waist goes slack. You turn to him and see that he’s already halfway to your window.

“Hey! Wait! I can help!” you shout, scrambling after him.

“Don’t need it,” he snaps.

“You were bleeding out on my floor!” you exclaim.

You don’t know why you feel so strongly about this. Maybe because he seemed so…mortal. It’s easy to forget that these guys running around at night are people. They’re strong, tough, and capable, but they’re still human. The fact that he stumbles and has to catch himself on the window frame proves your point.

“Please. I promise I won’t take long. Please just let me help,” you beg.

He turns around and even through that unreadable helmet you can tell he’s sizing you up. You’re sure you must be a sight in your fuzzy white cat pajama pants, old Snoopy t-shirt, and fluffy white socks. Honestly, it’s a bit of a ridiculous tableau. Massive armed man in tactical gear opposite a woman in fluffy pajamas, both bloodstained. But either you seem harmless enough or he’s in exceptionally bad shape, because he just slumps against your wall and gives a barely noticeable nod of his head.

You go into autopilot the second you get his consent. A dining room chair is dragged to the center of your living room and Red Hood drops himself into it, the old wood creaking under the force. You go to assess the damage on his torso first. Light slashes litter his waist, none of them are deep enough for stitches. You grab the rubbing alcohol and cotton balls from the floor where you kneel before warning him that it might sting.

“I got slashed. Think that might’ve hurt a bit more,” he deadpans.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

The torso slashes are light work. It takes all of five minutes to disinfect them and seal them shut with bandages. It’s his thigh that you’re a little more concerned about. There’s enough blood that it’s soaked his tactical pants around where you’re guessing the wound is. You can vaguely make out what appears to be cut fabric, so you’re assuming he was stabbed.

“How deep did the knife go?” you ask.

“Hm. ‘Bout two inches?” he offers.

“Why’d you take it out?” you ask incredulously. Anyone with half a brain knew not to take a knife out of a stab wound.

“No idea. Should’ve just gone runnin’ around the city with a knife wedged in my leg.”

The mask’s modulator does nothing to hide the teasing edge to his voice. Of everything you’d heard about Red Hood, you’d never heard he was such a smartass.

“You know how to do stitches?” he asks.

Great. So he saw the deer-in-headlights look you had while thinking about how to fix his stab wound.

“If you count mending clothing then, uh, sure,” you reply.

The white slits of the helmet stare hard at you before a warped chuckle comes from under it.

“Well, close enough.”

Oh, so he liked to gamble with his health then. Okay. Sure. Great. You could totally do this. Untrained, unlicensed, unsupervised you. You have to stop your hands from shaking as you thread the curved needle. You have to stop yourself from vomiting with anxiety as you push the needle through his skin. He hisses and you immediately feel bad. He’d handled the alcohol without flinching, but the stitches were a different story. You whisper sorry’s with every puncture of his skin you make. Soon enough, his leg is closed up and the whole thing is said and done.

“Okay, should be good to go,” you start, “Well, not good per se, but functional to go.”

A hum and a quick nod of his head are the only response you get before he’s back on his feet. He’s about to climb out your window for the second time tonight when you call out to him again. He turns around and you’d swear he almost seems exasperated.

“Take these with you. You’ll probably need them,” you say as you toss him a water bottle and a small carton of orange juice.

He snatches them easily from the air. But then he just stands there and stares at the drinks in his hands. You think you may have somehow offended him and go to apologize when he speaks.

“Thanks,” he says, mechanical voice catching on the word.

And then he’s gone. Out your window and off into the night. Once you shut and lock the window you feel exhaustion hit you like a freight train. All the adrenaline drains from you and it takes whatever energy you have left to collapse on to your bed and drift off to sleep.

You’ll never know it, but the Red Hood spends the last fifteen minutes of his patrol sipping his orange juice and dutifully watching your apartment window.

You’ll never know it, but Jason Todd lingers across the street to make sure you get home from the grocery store safely, and he scoffs as he sees you feed and pet a stray dog. It’s silly, he thinks.

Don’t you know that now you’ve shown it some kindness, it’ll just keep coming back?