#they are all from gotham and they all had these assemblies every year sometimes more than that plus bruce tells them again every other day | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ajokeformur-ray · 4 years

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I want a dog. I have wanted a dog for years since my childhood dog passed away. So I was wondering... what if Arthur surprised me with a puppy one day?? How do you think he’d react to having a loving little critter around all the time?? To learn how to care for it and train it (by me probably lmao)? How would he feel when it shows him all the love and affection he deserves???🥺🥺🥺

Geeeeeeeeeeeen ~ 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰😭😭😭🥺🥺🥺🥺😊😊😊😊 I love you I love you I love you and this is such a sweet thing to get to write for you omggggg ~ I hope that you enjoy this, darling!!!!!💗💗💗💗

I CAN’T DECIDE WHICH GIF IS CUUUUUUUTERRR OMGGGG BABIESSSS 😭🥺 I wanna smother both in kisses asdfghjkl; THE STRUGGLE IS REAL skskksksks 💕💕💕💕💕💕

Word count: 2, 086

Normally were you not concerned when Arthur was gone all day. He had a job, after all, and you knew that Hoyt was less than accommodating when it came to Arthur’s oddly timed gigs. You were sure that it was no mistake that Arthur worked later and longer hours than his co-workers, though of course was he paid the same rate as they were. It was more work for less money. The more you thought about Arthur’s job and the way that he was treated, the angrier you became; he was good at his job, you had seen him professionally perform as Carnival multiple times, and sometimes you even got to see him practice his act in front of you, with the soft orange glow of the street lights illuminating the rapidly darkening sky. The horizon was poisoned with grey high rise buildings, neglected apartment complexes and other ugly buildings, but Carnival, as he danced in front of the still open window, made it look ethereal.

Stardust was in his very veins, you were sure, as was music in his soul and love in his heart, and Arthur was one of the most beautiful creatures you had ever had the pleasure of seeing. He was more than his life, he deserved so much more, but though he struggled so deeply that not even Arthur was fully aware of the full extent of the damage inflicted upon him, most especially by the person who was supposed to love him the most out of anyone in the world, it was never in vain. How could it be, when he had you, his Gen, his one and only person who understood him and so did he consider himself to have the world.

You considered yourself to have everything you had ever needed or wanted in Arthur, too, and as your thoughts turned to him, as often did they, you became aware of the fact that he was late.

Arthur was never late.

Always would he find a way to let you know that he was going to be home at a different time, whether he begged Hoyt to let him phone you from Hoyt’s office or whether he used his last $0.28 to phone you from the pay phone near the subway, Arthur always communicated clearly with you as best as he could. Though you did your best to not overthink, you couldn’t help it. Gotham was a dangerous city, it preyed on those who had not yet mastered the art of apathy, of living one’s own life passively. Dead were the souls of the citizens of Gotham, their bodies zombified under the mental strain of an increased living cost, though the hourly wage remained the same, of rising debt, and even of the city itself; a cruel, relentless mistress who took more than what she was given and gave nothing back. To live in Gotham was to die decades before your time in a spiritual sense, even if your body lived to an average age.

You hated it when Arthur was late home. It always filled you with fear and anxiety, and just at the point when you were debating whether you should phone Hoyt at his office, there was that beautiful sound of a slightly bent key being jiggled as it was inserted into a rusting, ancient lock. You could hear Arthur softly giggling to himself under his breath and it made you smile from where you were stood in the kitchen making dinner for the both of you; so thin were the walls of the apartment complex.

“No, no - shush, you silly thing. Are you sure you’re not a worm? So wriggly,” You could hear Arthur still trying to vain to stifle his giggles and you wondered who he was talking to you. Not you, surely? You were always greeted in a similar fashion to the way the gentlemen in those old home films which Arthur so loved to watch greeted their wives. It was just something that Arthur loved to do, admire did he all those gentleman in the films. “Gen’s gonna love you, I - no, shush...”

Curiosity may have killed the cat but satisfaction had brought it back and as you rounded the corner, you saw Arthur stood by the door, struggling to carry his usual brown paper pharmacy bag in one hand, the handle dangled between two fingers. He struggled to carry the bag because both arms were focused on the small wriggling lump under his well loved and much worn mustard yellow hoodie. Arthur heard your footsteps and looked up expectantly. When he saw you, he beamed. Momentarily were you stunned but his voice quickly brought you back down to earth, so grounding was your love. “Gen!” You smiled, of course you did, like there was a red string of fate tied between your mouth and Arthur’s did his smile always cause the same gesture on your own face, and the same was equally true in the reverse. “Come here, angel, I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? For me? Artie, I - “

Arthur’s eyes sharpened as he quickly grabbed whatever was wriggling underneath his hoodie and you realised that you needed to be quick - Arthur’s surprise wouldn’t remain hidden for too long. You stepped forward and Arthur smiled in silent approval; so intuitive were you. It was one of the things he so loved about you, your beautiful mind and all the ways in which it worked. He had known that you would understand him, even now when you had no idea what was happening, though your mind was beginning to assemble puzzle pieces which you hardly dared to believe.

“Hold your arms out and close your eyes, darling.”

You did what Arthur had uncharacteristically but confidently asked of you without thought, without hesitation and without question, so deeply and so completely did you trust him, and there was some shuffling, some more gentle murmuring, and then a weight was placed in your arms. There was a small yip, a hot tongue and you felt... fur?! Instantly did thoughts of your childhood dog fill your mind and you bit down hard on your bottom lip as those puzzle pieces slammed into you like a brick. No. No way were you living this moment. You had wanted a dog for so long and you knew not how Arthur had acquired you one, but it only made you love him more.

“You can - you can look.” Arthur sounded nervous, but you both knew that he had no reason to be.

Your eyes shot open and your knees almost gave out. Had it not been for the way Arthur quickly wound an arm around your waist, perhaps sensing that you needed some extra support right now, you were sure that they would have. There was a puppy in your arms. Their fur was a bit messy, presumably from being stashed under Arthur’s cosy hoodie for who knows how long, and they were cold from the wind outside (now you understood why Arthur had stashed the dog in his hoodie), but the puppy was perfect.

You somehow managed to both coo at the puppy and speak Arthur’s name at the same time, and you ducked your head so that you could nuzzle your face into the puppy’s midsection, taking a few seconds to discreetly wipe your eyes and to just breathe in the scent of the fur and of the moment. The arm around your waist tightened and you were pulled forward into Arthur’s chest. It was a loose hug, though it was also warm and loving as kisses were rained down upon the crown of your head, a Queen were you. Aware was Arthur of the puppy, which accounted for the loose hold he had on you, and you knew in that moment that it wasn’t just this puppy who had found a forever home...

So had you.

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

In the hours and days which followed, your serotonin remained at an all time high. Every time you thought that you would turn around to find that the puppy you could hear even across the worn and threadbare carpet was just an intense daydream, you would be teary all over again upon discovering once more that it was real, so in love were you with the small creature. It turned out that Arthur had been taking on extra shifts and longer hours, rationing his daily cigarette intake and skipping meals for months, all to save up to buy you a puppy from Gotham’s only rescue shelter. You were rightly angry when you found out that he had been denying himself his only real vice and his basic physical needs for you, but that anger had come from a place of deep love and you had made sure to cook dinner for the both of you with extra butter for Arthur, just to help him along the way in regaining any weight that he had lost. So malnourished already was he and concerned were you for his physical health, though of course did you attend as best as you could to his mental health, too.

You had to teach Arthur how to take care of the puppy but together did the two of you come to learn that the puppy was extremely affectionate. Rather than preferring one of you over the other, the sweet puppy preferred you both equally and it loved nothing more than to curl up on your lap or on Arthur’s but to stretch out so that their head rested on the other’s lap. It prompted the two of you to cuddle even closer together, and sometimes your legs were thrown over Arthur’s lap, and the puppy laid on the top of your legs. As yet, the puppy hadn’t laid directly on Arthur, it had only reached out for him or been stroked by him, but you knew that it was only a matter of time. The love which radiated off of Arthur was impossible to resist once one stopped to listen to it, to feel what he so willfully gave out to the world, though none of it had he received back in kind before he had met you.

On one such night as this, a week after Arthur had come home, a thought occurred to you and the words were half out of your mouth even before you had fully decided to speak it. “Artie, did I ever thank you for surprising me?”

Arthur paused, his pursed lips frozen around his cigarette. As he inhaled deeply, his hand moving to brush away the falling ash which dusted his lap, he shook his head and guilt overcame you, but as he exhaled, tilting his head upwards to avoid getting smoke anywhere near you or the puppy, he said, “You didn’t need to. You say thank you every time you look at our dog. Your tears, your smile... you always thank me, Gen.”

Ohhh, help you, there it was. Every time you thought that you couldn’t love Arthur any more than you already did, he said or did something which made you fall down the rabbit hole all over again. Just at that point, as your eyes met Arthur’s, the puppy jumped up from your lap and stretched languidly, one of its paws coming to rest on Arthur’s arm. Arthur’s green eyes fell upon the puppy and he leaned forward to stub out his half consumed cigarette in the pink ashtray which was on the coffee table. As he leaned back, the puppy wriggled into his lap and Arthur gasped sharply, sitting still. “Gen, what - “

Arthur sounded truly shocked and it broke your heart to know that he believed himself to be unworthy even of a dog’s love. You smiled sadly as you reached forward to scritch the puppy behind the ears and you leaned further forward to press a tender, lingering kiss to Arthur’s weathered cheek. His skin sunk under the touch of your lips and you kissed him again and again and again in that same spot, until he was giggling underneath your reverent touch. “Our dog loves you, Artie... and so do I.”

It was your simplest, deepest truth and you knew that you would be speaking it for the rest of your life, as would Arthur. The love which existed between the two of you would withstand the test of time, written were you into the very fabric of the universe.

AF/J @impulsiveclown @astheworlddturns @fluffedstar @jokersqueenofchaos @germansarechill @tsukiakarinobara @lynnesm @sagyunaro @docsportello @flowerglitterwoman @ben-solos-writing-avenger @jokers-doll @jokerslilhyena @arthurjokersgirl @antonija89 @lilliryth @hotpacino @obsessedandthirsty @call-me-harley-quinn @anais-angel

#daincrediblegg #requests closed #arthur fleck #arthur fleck imagine #joker #joker imagine #joker 2019 #joker 2019 imagine

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cetaceans-pls · 4 years

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Fandom: Batman - All Media Types Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne

What are two good men meant to do when faced with an epidemic within a pandemic?

Bruce and Dick take to the steppes and ride across Inner Mongolia, bringing justice, mare's milk, and help in their wake.

Or, how Bruce and Dick try to show mutual care and respect in spite of: terrible communication skills; a global health crisis; a regional health crisis; tetchy horses; eyebrow gel; and coal-mining, set in endless, glorious Inner Mongolia.

I have never not been a horse girl, and that’s the extent of my justification for writing this. Pls enjoy, and if you hit me up with a good prompt I might once again end up with 15 tabs wide open in my quest to figure out what a cool Mongolian lady might be named ;9

Usually, Bruce is happy to delegate external work to external workers. He’s a one-man force for justice, full of vim and spite, but he’s also stuffed to the brim with barely-healed bones and a chronic shortage of sleep. Staking a claim to Gotham is so important exactly because it’s the only claim he can actually defend, and so he does it whole-heartedly. That’s the purpose of the Justice League, after all. It’s only by the grace of some god that he isn’t a meta-human, or he’d have the whole world under his sharp purview.

Bruce has toppled his fair share of terrible dictators, and looking at them is a little like looking in a mirror sometimes, so if there is a God maybe she’s got the right of it.

The thing with all the superpowers that make up the League is that while it’s brilliant in times of intergalactic or even international trouble, when a pandemic’s up and about, the Flash being able to run through every city on Earth in under a minute means that he’s potentially the world’s most super spreader, and Superman evacuating buildings needs to make damn sure he sanitises between rescues. Wonder Woman’s all lasso nowadays, because happily divine products are extremely anti-viral, but right now the things that make the strong strong also make them oddly, sharply weak.

They’re living in interesting times, all right.

So when a call comes through that there’s been a horrifying spike in pneumonia-like symptoms in children in Inner Mongolia, everyone's a little… stressed. Flyers are already up and about delivering things that need delivering, anyone with anything approaching healing powers have been dispatched to hotspots, and Bruce is pretty sure the last time he had a full night’s sleep was sometime in January. Here lies yet another problem with an uncertain cause, one that can’t be defeated with a punch or a meeting, and they’re already strung out to capacity.

When needs must, Bruce tries to rise to the occasion. He’s had pneumonia dozens of times before, he speaks Mandarin and Mongolian, and he’s the only one who has and knows how to run a one-man research lab in the middle of a field mission. He’s been trialling a bunch of vaccines on himself too, and he’s still up and kicking, so obviously he’s the best choice.

There’s the opposite of sound agreement during the League conference call.

“You tried how many what-nows?” somebody’s shouting, but Bruce hopes they know him well enough by now to know that when they’re on the BatZoom he blocks all their videos.

“Vaccines. Who else would I try them on? A sample size of one isn’t encouraging, but barring reinfection I do seem to have produced the antibodies, so obviously I am the best choice.”

There’s more raucous shouting that he ignores, but he doesn’t hang up because he knows that everyone on this call also likely had their last full night’s sleep in January.

“Hang on, B, we’re not letting you go into the wilds of Inner Mongolia to identify a new, potentially lethal disease by yourself.” That’s Clark, because he’s the only one who can be cajoling and gently condescending all at once. “I’ll admit the numbers are alarming, but the WHO are going to look into it-”

“Superman, if any organisation could manage the current health crisis, you wouldn’t be up to your shoulders in parts assembling ventilators in Brazil. This is just a courtesy call, not a debate. I’ll be departing ASAP with my equipment once I finish collating the health data.”

They all start arguing again, all at once, and they all make valid points. Bruce doesn’t actually know what he is and isn’t immune to at this point, and if it’s something new then that’s even more of an issue. By virtue of his relative uselessness, though, Bruce is the one in the best position to run recon for an extended period, as well as the one most likely to be able to self-quarantine without leaving thousands to die by his absence. Gotham’s in a good place, because the Bat coming after irresponsible citizens and lawmakers alike and Bruce Wayne coming after unfair labour practices are about 5000 times more effective than the federal government, so he can step up. He should step up.

He will step up.

So it’s a no-brainer.

All the voices shut out all of a sudden, which means one of the administrators has put everyone on mute. He didn’t do it, and Clark would likely sooner eat a bright red Super boot than be that rude to people, which leaves them only with the worrisome woman.

“All right, Batman, we’ll respect your wishes. I have informed Nightwing of your plans, as he’s requested that I share your more exotic missions with him. I’m sure he would love to discuss the situation with you.” Lord, her smug smile is excruciatingly evident in her tone.

Bruce mutes his own mic to groan long and loud and hard, and tries to will away the near-Pavlovian headache that tends to manifest when he finds himself saddled with one of his children for an awful case.

He unmutes his mic.

“Noted. Thank you for your concern, Wonder Woman. Batman over and out.”

If Dick has to travel up from Bludhaven, there’s a chance Bruce can be off and away before he gets here. That’s fine; a quick getaway is a skill he’s honed over a great many years. He just needs the time-lapse of the distribution of the illness to finish getting mapped against urban areas in the computer, and he can go-

The lights suddenly dim, down to the faint yellow that indicates that the main power and generators 2 through to 5 have been cut off, with just 6 up to keep the computer and general equipment working.

Generator 6 is not linked to the hangar doors, though, so there’s….that.

The desire to scream is almost overwhelming. He knows Diana keeps in contact with more people than his soft human mind can even comprehend, but to even recruit Alfred to her devilish ways…

Bruce groans again, and irritatedly starts packing the equipment he’ll need as he waits for the arrival of (one of) his prodigal son(s).

The lights come back on to full just as Dick launches himself over the handrail and down a 30-foot drop, because dramatics, if not genes, run in this entire damn family. He’s not even dressed as Nightwing, just as a devastating young man. This many years on, Bruce’s heart still stutters in that instant before Dick hits the ground, because what if this is the time he doesn’t stick the landing?

The Graysons’ terrible death sure did hit them both differently.

“Hey, B,” and it’s just Dick whole and complete, smiling brightly.

“Where’s your mask?” Bruce asks brusquely.

Dick looks startled, before he looks down at his jeans and sweatshirt. “I was going for a more casual look?”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “Not that mask.”

The implication lands, and Dick rolls his eyes like a late echo. “Already off and away in Alfred’s washer, ‘course. Not like I took the crowded way over, anyways. Roads are empty as all hell, and rooftops even emptier. But Bruce, don’t try to irritate me to distraction.” Dick wags his finger at him.

It’s a little sweet, because Dick clearly had been distracted before he’d pulled himself back into focus.

“What’s this I hear from Wonder Woman that you’re running off to Mongolia to try and miracle-cure a mystery sickness?”

Bruce is already hauling up the last rucksack he needs for the trip, though he doesn’t bother to pull up the cowl. “Likely exactly what Diana told you. She was wrong about my needing you or your support, though. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Bruce brushes by him and heads towards the fully-loaded BatWing, banking on being enough of an unpleasant son-of-a-bitch that Dick sighs and gives up on him and goes home where an at least marginally better known disease is running rampant. It’s a technique that’s worked before, enough to have Dick rage at him and storm off and avoid him, and it’s unpleasant every time, but needs just really must sometimes.

The thing about Dick, though, specifically Dick more so than every other person Bruce has had the pleasure and displeasure to have ever met, is his unbelievable knack of having an endless capacity to forgive Bruce without taking any of his shit.

So Dick will be upset and he might leave, but he always finds it within himself to come back, and when he does, he always lets Bruce know all the places where he failed, and inadvertently explains all the ways Bruce could be just a little bit better. He will forgive and it damn well seems like he even forgets all these little injustices, and it’s maddening.

The concept of endangering one of the world’s best men on a dodgy medical mission out in the steppes? A goddamn laughable concept. Bruce would be delighted to bear a spot of wrath when he comes back instead.

Sometimes, though, the full arc of Dick’s mood after being brushed off goes from anger to acceptance so quickly that Bruce doesn’t get enough time to go off and do the damn-fool thing he’s about to do. Sometimes, like tonight, Bruce sweeps past Dick dramatically, and gets pulled up short by Dick grabbing the back of his cape and tugging.

He comes to a not-very-graceful halt, choked a little around the neck, and looks over his shoulder at Dick with tremendous affront. “Dick, what are you doing?”

Dick just smiles sharply, clearly out through the other side of the angry cycle. “I’m ignoring you being a complete asshole out of some misguided sense of heroism, B, and I’m letting you know that I know you’re trying to get me so annoyed I just leave you. Alfred’s got me full-up with good cheer, and I’m in a good mood, so you’re just shit out of luck.” His voice softens, goes a little sad and round in the edges. “Let me help, Bruce. None of us want you out there alone. You would never let any of us take a case like this alone, so just give in. Okay?”

Bruce knows there are ways out of this. Dick in his infinite trustingness would not expect a sedative dart to the neck, and Bruce could always fall back on his standard operating procedure from years long past and nuke this tentative moment by doubling down on how he doesn’t need anyone and how he doesn’t answer to Dick, who is still little more than a child. There’re a dozen ways Bruce could disentangle himself from this, and they both know this.

Dick still chooses to trust and believe, the way he inevitably always does, and Bruce is short on 3 months’ worth of sleep. All he wants is to take care of the people he needs to take care of.

Plus, vaccine trial #8 is giving him the sweats, and he feels uncharacteristically desperate to just… relent.

“Get your stuff and get in the Wing. I’m not waiting.”

Of course Dick takes so much longer than is reasonable to grab gear from his room, and of course Bruce sits in the Wing with the engine idling, like all beleaguered parents waiting in their vehicles worldwide.

With a final hurrah from Alfred who appears with enough packed food to have them camping in luxury for a week, they are finally, finally off.

Air traffic’s the quietest it’s been in decades. There’s something surreal about not needing to push the Wing to her upper height limits to stay invisible, instead cruising along like some, ah, passenger plane. They see geese, which is the highlight of their trip, before they finally go up and up and up to evade any hot nonsense Eastern Europe or Russia may be in the mood to throw at them.

At least, that’s Dick’s explanation of their trajectory, after Bruce wakes up from a drugged-scone-induced nap (courtesy of the enormously traitorous Alfred) just in time for them to discuss where to land. Still groggy but decidedly better rested than he was 6 hours ago, Bruce licks the cottonmouth out and intrepidly takes a sip of what he’s hoping isn’t knock-out tea as he looks at the map Dick’s pulled up on the windscreen.

Poison pastry or no, Bruce accepts that the reason why he’d actually stayed asleep is because his eldest is by far the best, most trustworthy driver in the family. It’s been so long since he’s been in a situation where Dick drove that he had forgotten that absolute fact.

“The most cases registered of an unconfirmed respiratory illness is in the capital, but accounting for population density, the pandemic, and the usual rates of pneumonia, it’s not where we need to focus on.” Bruce pulls up a map of the region, and the capital of Inner Mongolia lights up in glowing orange, ‘Hohhot’ written in Papyrus because Tim cannot be trusted with software updates.

At least it’s not Wing-dings.

“We should split up,” Bruce continues after glaring a touch too long at the hideous writing. “You try to get a read on how things are in the hospitals in Hohhot, and I’ll head out into the steppes to touch base with the more rural communities.”

He doesn’t sound excited with the plan, because he already knows he’s not getting away with it.

Dick doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to agree and defer, laughing instead as he starts plotting the course for a landing on a patch of grassland exactly like any other patch of grassland a ways’ way away from the bright city lights. “Yep, B, I definitely broke 15 different traffic laws to get to the Manor in time to stop you from going solo, just to let you ride off into the desert like the lone ranger.” There’s a gentle beep to warn them of some military surveillance equipment in their vicinity, and Dick smoothly drops the Wing into a pretty banked turn that takes them away with a gentleness that wouldn’t have turned even the most hungover tummy. “I took a look at your maps while you were out, and I figure if this thing’s worse for kids and we don’t know where to start, we should just go be pretend doctors and make a circuit of all the little community schools.”

“That’s a good idea.”

That has Dick turning in the pilot’s seat to look at Bruce, clearly shocked. “Wait, what were you planning on doing?”

“Break into the peoples’ homes at night and take samples from as many children I could get. If I get caught, I would be in costume, and therefore very likely to be mistaken as a nightmare, or potentially a demon.”

There’s peace and quiet for a few moments, and then Dick’s laughing again. It’s an insulting delight.

“Bruce!” Dick pleads, struggling for breath. “ Please say psyche. You cannot have seriously been planning to give every kid in Inner Mongolia nightmares while you steal blood from them!”

Time was short, and what Bruce had was the Batman costume and the general ability to be misconstrued as a demonic entity at first glance. “I would have needed more than just blood samples, to be thorough.”

The ground spreads out endlessly below them, the sky endlessly above. The grass is blown gently out of the way as the Wing drops into a perfect vertical landing, which is amazing considering Dick is actively wheezing at this point. “Wait till Alfie hears that this was your great plan.” The landing gear hits ground, and they have now made contact with gorgeous, gorgeous Inner Mongolia. “Seems pretty, uhm, intense even for you, B.”

Neither of them move to get up and get out; they’re both just slumped in the admittedly comfortable pilot seats of the Wing, looking out at the rolling hills and more stars than Gotham’s ever, ever seen.

“It’s been an intense time.”

Dick’s laughter softens, peters out as they just keep on sitting and looking out. The swaying grass and endless blank horizon is hugely different to the chaos and stale fear that’s blanketed Gotham and much of the world the past few months, and it’s such a helpless pleasure to not need to think about all of that, right now.

Eventually, Dick gets up and squeezes Bruce’s shoulder. “We’re still hours away from sunrise, B. C’mon, let’s get some sleep, we can start fresh and early.”

Bruce touches the hand on his shoulder, doesn’t dislodge it and doesn’t squeeze it. Just a touch on a touch. “You go first. I’ll be along in a minute.”

Dick relents and wishes him a good night. Bruce just sits there and stares and stares and stares.

Bruce is woken up by the smell of fresh coffee, and it’s a gentler wake-up call than an emergency klaxon or Alfred running down the steps shouting “Master Bruce!” on the 4 occasions they have prevented the apocalypse since February. It’s as disorientating as a slap to his face, and he blinks to a still starry sky as Dick comes up from behind him bearing gifts.

The thermos breathes out steam like a caffeinated dragon, and Bruce is also bestowed with a breakfast sandwich. Double-egg, buttered English muffin, and it’s a touch of classic Alfred magic that it tastes and feels this good after 12 hours and a blitz in the Wing’s ‘microwave’ that’s really a radiation vent for the nuclear engine.

He makes a happy little sound, and it’s echoed by Dick with his bowl of cereal and milk, matching mug of coffee wedged between folded calf and thigh. “Alfred packed like 8 types of cereal, and there’re like boxes and boxes of all sorts of food.” With his unencumbered leg, Dick prods Bruce’s arm with a socked foot. “Have you been up to no good again? This is classic stress cooking Alfred.”

It really is. Bruce knows with the force of religious fervour that if he digs around, he will find white chocolate and raspberry cookies. “It’s been a busy time with the League.” And the world. “I told him he didn’t need to worry.”

Dick snorts as he gulps down the disgusting dregs of cereal milk. “He worries when you worry and you’re always worrying so he’s always worried. It’s a cycle of whole-ass adults not knowing how to tell each other when you’re freaking out.” Dick prods his side again. “It’s sweet, but you also seriously need to keep him and us more updated, y’know.” The prodding escalates. “You can’t keep doing these things to yourself by yourself, B.”

Bruce catches an ankle, squeezes it lightly, and puts it aside. “It’s my job.”

Dick, when he snorts, can get awfully loud exclusively because when he decides to be undignified he goes extremely all out. Bruce’s ears might be ringing , and Dick doesn’t even look apologetic. “You don’t have a job, B, you’re a billionaire bachelor man. Everything you do in your life is an extracurricular activity. Batmanning, the Justice League, picking up orphans left and right, none of it’s your responsibility.” The long leg retracts, Dick now curled up like a half-measure spider, sipping his coffee like he hasn’t said anything insane at all. “So, y’know, just take it easy, let the rest of us carry our own weight.”

It’s madness. Bruce has been shot and been less shocked. Bruce has been proposed to by aliens on intergalactic missions and been less taken aback. “Dick, what do you mean , it isn’t my responsibility?” It’s been nothing less than an absolute honour, a literal privilege, to have been able to raise Dick, to give his children a home. Can one’s reason for living really be called an extra-curricular activity?

It’s the whole curricular, surely.

An alert pings! on the dashboard, and Dick doesn’t bother with a response for a point he feels he’s made plenty clear. “That’s our queue, big guy. The school by here opens in 3 hours, and it serves the entire district so we need to get there early if we want to get our cover story straight.”

“There’s a herdsman I made arrangements with already, 2 miles out form here. He’ll have horses ready for us.” Bruce polishes off the last of his breakfast and coffee, and neatly puts aside what Dick thinks he should and shouldn’t do for a more thorough look-over later. “How’s your Mongolian?”

“Horrible, I’m sure no Damian,” Dick says cheerfully. “But my Mandarin’s not too bad. You wanna be the local guide and I can be the cool doctor from a big city?”

It’s as good an idea as any; Bruce hadn’t exactly been worried about cover stories with his night terror plans. He gets to his feet, and tries to avoid brushing crumbs to the floor. “We’re going to need actual disguises.”

In a terrifying show of skill and disdain for normal human conduct, Dick just vaults over the back of his chair, cereal bowl in one hand and empty mug in the crook of an elbow. “I’ve heard the stories, B. Time to whip out the beard-wig?”

Walking like a much more reasonable person towards the kit he’d brought with him, Bruce rolls his eyes. “Beards prevent the correct application of a face mask, Dick.” He presses a button, and a 57-piece sfx makeup collection tailored for (literally) every occasion pops out of a locked chest. “And it’s culturally uncommon to have full beards here, so I’ll just make do.”

Dick doesn’t need much of a disguise; he’s a little ambiguous-looking at the best of times, and the force of his personality is such that generally people’s impression of him are just soft floppy hair and a killer smile.

Bruce, meanwhile, would need a full face of prosthetics just to stay under the radar. What he has is fake tan and eyebrow gel and dark brown contact lenses, but he’s done more with less, so.

At least by the time they reach the herder’s campsite and are welcomed by a smiling man built so strong and compactly that even with his affected stoop Bruce towers over him, Dick’s gotten used enough to the patched-together look to stop bursting into laughter every time Bruce turns to look at him.

Gantulga bullies them into his home for some tea when they arrive, provides a wonderful opportunity for Bruce to relearn the sounds he’s forgotten in his Mongolian, and cheerfully accepts that Bruce is an oddball guide originally from a nomadic tribe close to the Mongolian-Russian border, who found himself here of all places because he fell in love with a woman from Hohhot.

“It’s the same for me,” the man had said, grinning widely when his wife lightly smacks his shoulder. “And the land here knows no borders. Thank you for coming to look after our children.”

Dick is left out of the loop, because a shared language is a terribly powerful bond against present and conceptual oppressors, and Bruce tells Gantulga with as much seriousness as he can that, “It is my job to take care of you.”

They leave just a little past dawn on two horses, with two more carrying their equipment, and Gantulga waves them off with well wishes for both them and his horses before he returns to his herd and his work and his family. As the testy gelding picks a gait that means the wooden saddle will eventually physically castrate him, Bruce sets their course for the little wooden school building set close to the blossom of summer tents of nomadic herders, and thinks about the duty of care he imposes on himself.

In the fresh air, with his son whipping about on a stallion that has taken a liking to a kindred spirit, Bruce figures that for all his usual angst, protecting people that need protecting isn’t a burden that will ever get heavy enough to put down.

They ride.

Arriving at the school unannounced would ordinarily be a big problem, but these are unusual times. With some official-looking documents printed on the Wing and Dick’s ability to charm absolutely anything breathing, the stressed-out headmaster gives them his blessing to collect samples from all the children. The reach of a global pandemic has struggled to get out this far away from dense cities, but whatever’s in the air right now is doing a number on his kids and it’s clear the man needs a nap and a solution.

They can’t exactly provide him with either right now, but part of the reason the horses’ saddles are so heavy is because Bruce has brought along all the equipment and medication that he thought even had a chance of helping. Dropping cutting-edge miniaturised air filters in Inner Mongolia is a big risk given a government that’s infamous for loathing external intervention, but the equipment is designed to look cheap as all hell and break down irretrievably if a remote kill switch is tripped, so Batman’s covered his bases as best he can.

Even if he couldn’t, it wouldn’t exactly be the first or even the hundredth time he goes against the wishes of the authorities. If push came to shove and tomorrow he had to do a fly-by in a helicopter dropping nebulizers for 100,000 people, then that’s what he would do.

He’s startled out of his thoughts by Dick gently tapping him on the back. “C’mon, B, let’s get the kit set up. Kids are gonna be coming in soon, you don’t want to scare ‘em with your brooding.”

The little classroom doesn’t have an electrical outlet, and has no furniture that suits anybody over 5’5, but Dick still looks like he belongs in his neatly-pressed white coat and nitrile gloves. The plan is simple: get as many samples as possible. Dick’s already looking picture-perfect as a doctor literally anybody would trust, energetic and dependable.

Bruce is prepping the ‘gift bags’ full of therapeutic medication, bits of tech, and hyper-nutritious candy, ready to be given out to every patient. “Even fully dressed up I have never managed to scare a child, so I’m not worried,” he says, drawing wonky teddy bears and butterflies on the plastic wrapping with a BatSharpie. Honestly, Dick’s plan is genius. When he had been determined to go in as nightmare fuel, he had just planned to leave the care boxes at the front door with some official-looking stamp from the government and hope that people wouldn’t throw it away. Instead all the children who come to them get to go away with chocolate ration bars that only barely can’t resuscitate the dead and air filtration systems that NASA would fight bears for.

The testing equipment they left on the ship, because while it isn’t hard to look under-funded and hard-done-by when all you have on you is some cotton swabs and bits of tack, the PCR machine running on solar power would stand out significantly more. Dick’s disinfecting the ever-loving hell out of the chairs and tables when he hears Bruce’s response, and he’s quick to flash a smile. “It’s your BDE, I guess. It’s kinda amazing that it was switched on so strong even when I first saw you.”

Unwilling to admit that he has no idea what in the hell a BDE is, Bruce does a furtive Google search while pretending to go through the school registration list. It’s a strange revelation.

“What does the size of a dick have to do with anything?” He’s trying to sound normal while he wonders if he’d done anything inappropriate that night at the circus to deserve this.

“Close, B, but not quite. I meant Big Dad Energy.” In the distance, the sound of horses’ hooves comes closer and closer, heralding the arrival of the children. It’s almost time to start, and Dick takes a seat by his stash of needles. “It’s weird to think ‘bout it now, but I know that when kids see Batman they see somebody who’ll take care of them no matter what.”

There’s a slam! as the front door to the little wooden schoolhouse swings open, and the excited chatter of children filters through. Dick, however, is not done dealing body blows to the state of Bruce’s head, even if he sounds absent-minded as he does it. “I think I saw it too, that first time, even out of uniform. Funny, huh?”

The door to the classroom is pulled open by the harried headmaster while a gaggle of children stare curiously at them, and Bruce goes straight to one knee to address them at face level about what’ll be happening today. He doesn’t get to ask what’s so funny about Dick saying the single most inhumanly complimentary thing Bruce has ever heard, nor does he get to ask if Dick still sees the same thing now.

It’s yet another thing to ponder over later; for now, he just tells the children that he is Bat-Erdene (of course), and that he will help the doctor help them.

Getting stuck with a needle and losing a bit of blood is a novel experience for many of the kids, so Bruce lets them hold his hand while Dick does quick, neat work, and takes special care to wince or go ‘Ow!’ dramatically whenever a child squeezes him hard.

It ends up with the children (and Dick) laughing at him, and telling him kindly that Bat(-Erdene) is not a strong man but that’s all right because he gives them treats.

By the time they’re herded outside to have lunch along with the kids, they have 25 samples, and Dick has no less than 3 kids sitting on his lap as they draw horses and people in the dirt, babbling at each other in mutually-unintelligible languages through thin barriers of surgical masks.

Going by just temperature, nobody here has a fever, but half the kids complained furtively to Bat-Erdene that they cough a lot a lot in the early mornings, and their parents worry because something unpleasant is spreading across the world and what if it has spread to them?

It’s a lot to think about, but the absence of any signs of infection is… encouraging. Somewhat. There’s a lot that he can do if it’s an environmental hazard, after all.

For example,

“Doctor! That’s dangerous!”

Dick has the gall to just wink at him as he walks around on his hands, a horde of children screaming and laughing as they hang on to his fluttering legs. In the near distance, the loud, tired sigh of the headmaster is a feeling that Bruce can very deeply relate to.

The headmaster and five separate sets of parents offer them dinner and lodging for the night, and they beg off all of them with the excuse that they needed to ride hard to get to the next little school which is over a day’s riding away. They nevertheless are sent on their way with bottles and bottles of mare’s milk and a gentle lecture on how to brush down their horses properly, the whole school wishing them a safe journey as they disappear into the endless rolling hills that lie between them and their next destination.

Once they’re far away enough that a quick scan reveals them to be sufficiently isolated in the twilight, Bruce and Dick abruptly drop the mannerisms and postures that marked the Doctor and Bat-Erdene, with Dick unbuttoning the high collar of his jacket and Bruce coming out of his slouch. Camp is another hour’s ride away, where the BatWing will be waiting and the horses can be settled down for the night. So far, so successful, and Bruce is willing to admit to himself if to no one else that having company for this mission has made it actually, genuinely pleasant.

Dick breaks the silence first when he whistles at the moon rising from the open horizon, massive and solitary and quietly terrifying. “You don’t get a view like that in Gotham, do you?”

It is, indeed, a hell of a sight. With grasslands stretching out every which way, there’s nothing for the human eye to use for scale and context. It’s just this giant glowing thing that could be a mile or an eternity away, rising like a lamp under the blanket of night.

At the crest of a gentle hill they draw to a stop to let the sight sink in, two men and their four horses and this one mission. Dick looks over at Bruce, all aglow with a healthy tan developed after an afternoon’s worth of running after children while shouting in cheerful broken Mongolian, and he looks more like the embodiment of hope than any superhuman Bruce has ever met. “I’m glad you let me talk you into taking me along, B.”

The words are the wrong way around! Bruce is the one who’s glad that on the worst day of Dick’s life, he looked at Bruce and saw someone worth believing in! That just yesterday he looked into the depths of Bruce’s obstinacy and still decided to help!

Those words are old and awkward and heavy, though, so Bruce just slumps in his astonishingly uncomfortable saddle and tries not to smile too obviously. “There’s no one I’d rather have with me here, Dick,” he says quietly.

And then, less quietly because this is urgent and an ever-present danger for every parent with more than one child, “Don’t tell the others.”

Dick rolls his eyes, and nudges his horse into a quick trot. “I know, B, can’t let your favorite find out you just said that.”

He’s off, rolling into a hard full-out gallop as the pack horses clatter and bang after him with their lighter saddle bags, a wild thing into the moonlight, leaving Bruce to ponder over yet another mystery: who the hell is meant to be his favourite, and though he fundamentally does not have one, why would Dick assume it wasn’t him?

The mystery respiratory sickness had better be easier to uncover than whatever has Dick feeling like this, because Bruce is only one man and he’s not even a good one.

By the fourth school they get to, tales of their exploits have spread ahead of them on the wings of traveling herdsmen. This school’s in a proper town, with half a dozen summer gers dotting the grasslands just past the little road that has a grocery store and the one post office. There’s even a bit of a welcoming committee, kids on horseback racing out to meet them the minute they come within view.

Dick and their pack horses are pretty happy with the attention, breaking into little races, sprinting off this way and that while Bruce’s decidedly more stand-offish horse ignores all the cheer to keep stolidly plodding towards town. He spots yet more people on horseback, adults this time in bright dress, and rides up to meet them and introduce himself as the ‘local guide’.

Some of the faces even look familiar, which means that even with them both going at maximum speed, a bunch of people casually outraced them to get here and apparently organised this warm, warm welcome.

There’s a fearsome woman who stands on the ground but somehow manages to look about three times as imposing as the men on their horses around her, and at first sight Bruce’s brain registers matriarch as loudly as a scream in the ear. He’s willing to put money on ‘headmistress’, given the look of awe and trepidation of the younger horsemen around her, and makes haste to greet her.

Her name is Narantsetseg, tall and proud as the sunflower she’s named after, enduring like the fields and fields of the stuff that they’ve ridden through to get here, and she tells him that while he and the Doctor are greatly welcomed to their little town, they would need to do a little more than just test the children.

Bruce doesn’t let the unease show on his face, but he does move back slightly to maintain a sightline on Dick, who’s glancing over with false casualness. Is she connected to the government in some way, and she knows that they’ve been falsifying their credentials? Luckily, looking gruff and unmoved is his specialty as far as expressions go, and he just asks her to explain.

At an imperious wave of her hand the wall of horses part, and there is a line of red-cheeked young women in all their finery. As one, they all surreptitiously sneak a glance at Dick who is a juggling three water bottles while going at a fast trot, much to the delight of the children.

“We have heard that the Doctor is single, and in need of a wife,” Narantsetseg tells him. “You won’t find better women anywhere else, and none harder working.”

Somebody in the back pipes up, and his face is vaguely familiar to Bruce. “The Doctor doesn’t speak Mongolian, but he’s good with children! Askaa took a needle and he didn’t even cry afterwards!”

There’s a lot of impressed murmuring, and Bruce is left to wonder how badly dear Askaa usually takes to getting jabs, and how his father got to this town so quickly.

“I cannot speak for the Doctor,” he tells them, trying to barter for peace. “He’s from the city; I don’t know what he wants in his women. You know how these city-types are.”

Askaa’s father will not be stopped, though, and Bruce wants to smack him. “He also helped fix the engine of my truck, along with you, Bat-Erdene. His doctor hands got dirty, and he didn’t even mind! And he’s strong .” The man is really hitting his stride, and sounds alarmingly starry-eyed. “He lifted two of my sheep without blinking.”

The impressed murmuring gets louder, and while Bruce agrees with the sentiment (Dick is, indeed, a very good boy), he’s less fond of how much attention they’re getting. “I would be happy to translate for all of you, but he is on his doctoring mission and he can’t stay around for long-”

He’s cut off by a sharp scream that has him spinning around and dropping into a ready crouch, just in time to see a girl get unseated when her horse startles at a rabbit leaping out of its burrow. It’s not a long way to the ground, and Bruce already sees her righting herself to take the fall well, but that’s not what happens.

What happens is: Dick leaps off his stallion onto her horse in the blink of an eye, holding on to the bucking horse by thigh strength alone as he pivots in the saddle till he’s sticking out at a right angle, catching the girl by her waist in a brilliant show of skill and instinctive heroism.

The timing is wild; the chatter amongst the adults is at a fever-pitch, with some outright cheering and applauding, and Bruce is pretty sure that any hope of keeping a low profile here is now extremely low.

Narantsetseg steps towards Bruce, and a hush falls over the assembled adults. She touches him on the arm, expression serious and serene. “Bat-Erdene,” she calls him.

“Yes?” he answers helplessly.

“Let the Doctor know that I am a widow, and that I would be happy to welcome him into my home.”

And that is that on that.

The days progress in much the same chaotic, fond way; sometimes the distance they have to cross takes days by horse, and they can’t just use the Wing to zip around the whole time because the horses tend to spook if they had to fly for more than just a couple of hours. Fortunately, between the fresh air, ceaseless good company, and the frighteningly invigorating experience of being on a semi-wild horse that on a whim can and will try to kill you, time out in the steppes gives them plenty of opportunities to work out what they know so far.

Over 200 samples taken from a huge transect stretching from just outside of Hohhot to the actual literal godforsaken Gobi desert, and the picture’s become somewhat clearer. Two weeks in and they find that the bulk of the worst cases are focused in the Ordos desert, over a hundred miles away from where they first touched down. By this point both Dick and Bruce have ridden the most they ever have in their lives, their thighs might well have been cast from steel, and the sensation of a non-aching groin is a distant, distant dream.

Dick can literally snipe a rabbit from horseback with his stallion going at full gallop; he swears that he can do it while standing on the saddle, and for one crazed moment Bruce was extremely tempted to let Dick try. Common sense that sounds like Alfred stays his stupid tongue, but there’s plenty to be impressed with by the way Dick is on a horse and on a mission.

It doesn’t really remind Bruce of days long gone when it was just him and Alfred and the first Robin, because Dick isn’t a child anymore, has just grown better and better with time and it drives home again and again that whatever Bruce’s doubts about everything he has ever done in his entire life, Dick did become a spectacular adult and Bruce got the pleasure of being there and seeing it happen.

They’re riding towards the Wing now, with the last batch of another 15 samples from the last schoolhouse in Bruce’s saddlebag and another dozen bottles of mare’s milk clickety-clacketing on Black Thunder, their small pack horse who has never met a man he would not bite. His name is courtesy of the first time the small black horse had bitten Bruce’s knee, going for it so hard that Bruce’s pained cursing had thundered across the plains. Black Thunder is a blight on what would otherwise have been a very pleasant series of rides, and is the only one they have officially named because Bruce’s horse responds to ‘horse’, Dick’s responds to ‘baby’, and their other pack horse would sweetly come trotting up to them at ‘the nice one’.

Bruce is maneuvering closer to Dick to share the latest update on the air composition breakdown from all 200 odd filters, but he has to hold the data pad high up in the air when Black Thunder comes by for fear of losing yet another piece of him to the cursed thing. Fortunately, instead of almost-murder the terrible beast appears to just want some head scratches from Dick this time.

“B, if you keep scowling at him of course lil B’s gonna feel antagonised,” Dick tells him jovially as he leans down to pet the demon.

If Bruce had tried a similar move he would have lost all his fingers and maybe even a few toes, but he’s got too much dignity to do more than be a bit huffy about it. “I know a crazed villain when I see one, Dick,” is all he will say on that , thank you very much. “As I was saying, the sickness is pretty constrained to just the Ordos. Your bacterial and viral cultures didn’t yield any results, so I cross-referenced the early instances of respiratory distress against any recent human activity in the area; a new supermassive coal mine opened up just before the first cases started cropping up, and it’s our most likely culprit.”

Dick lets go of Black Thunder despite the sad little whinny, and pulls out a notepad from his breast pocket. His police training means that no amount of technology Bruce throws at him can stop Dick from writing down his thoughts, but fortunately Dick’s handwriting and concept of ‘helpful notes’ are literally illegible and indecipherable to anyone except for him, so it doesn’t leave much of a paper trail. The bigger question is how he manages to write at all while horseback-riding, but Bruce is a man who's learned how to accept miracles at face value.

“This area’s rich as hell in coal, what makes you think this specific mine’s the problem?” The fwip-fwip-fwip of pages on a spiral-bound notebook match the pace of his horse’s trot. “The filters haven’t logged a dangerously high level of carbon monoxide or coal waste products, and there’s been no record of increased smog.” He winces. “And B, you know I’m not exactly a Tim-level lab tech. Maybe you can re-do the cultures to double-check.”

“I would stake my life on the work you’ve done,” Bruce says sharply, as he’s found himself more and more wont to do every time Dick says anything that even slightly indicates that he regards himself as lacking in some wildly incorrect way. “Also, Oracle did some digging into this new company. It’s half a dozen shell companies away from Lex Corp, so it’s questionable that they’re actually mining coal, and even more questionable that they’re doing it with a care for the people living here.”

Aerosolised mystery kryptonite is clogging the air, potentially, and Bruce is so thankful that his general predisposition for lone-working and paranoia meant that it isn’t Superman or Kara who came zooming by to help in the area. He already wants to slap a mask on Dick and tell him to breathe less, and Dick’s absolutely built to last through worse things. They would need to do more testing to know for sure, but the air filters they’ve been handing out like candy are designed to extract any particulate matter so there’s hope yet that the things will help.

Pick up of the equipments' just become a lot more important though, if they have hundreds of traps out catching idle Kryptonite. Maybe this will be the perfect occasion for a ghoulish Bat to just burst into and out of gers, hmm.

In the distance, the shielding rolls off of the Wing because they’ve breached her perimeter and been recognised as themselves, glinting in the sunset as night overtakes day with startling quickness out here in the desert. In what has become tradition by now, Dick takes the last couple hundred yards at a dead gallop, Baby becoming a blur of glossy brown, and Bruce compels Horse to run after him, because at this point in their adventure few things ring as fundamentally true in the head as the sheer exhilarating joy of being a man on a horse with all six legs off the ground.

It’s a time for thoughts to rapidly arrange themselves, and by the time they come up to a halt right by the ship, Dick’s got his notebook tucked away and a look of sublime thoughtfulness on his face. “What’s the relationship like between Wayne Enterprise and the Chinese government, B?”

Bruce dismounts as soon as Horse comes to a halt, because he’ll never stop feeling faintly apologetic for being so heavy a man on so small a beast, and he’s just left to look up at Dick with the moon at his back. “You know I’ve always had a problem with authoritarian figures,” Bruce says with a bitchy little grin. The steppes encourage a type of wildness in him that’s very different to the stoops and cornices of Gotham; he feels a lot more teeth than shadow here.

Dick’s at home here in the grasslands the way he’s at home on the trapeze and at the Manor and at Bludhaven PD, along with the dozen little niches he’s sprouted roots in and made better. Dick’s always been all teeth, and it’s only usually a smile. “What do you say, up for a bit of breaking and entering, Mister Bat-Erdene?”

Bruce is already heading for the open loading bay, excited to get the sand out of his hair and cold cream on his thighs and Batman on him. “Thought you’d never ask, Doctor.”

The thigh guards barely fit now on Bruce, and the fabric stretching across Nightwing’s legs are pulled so taut over new muscle that it looks even more, ah, provocative than usual.

Bruce tries to convince Dick to wear Bruce’s larger under armour instead, but Dick ignores him as he takes a dozen pictures of his new-and-improved legs to share on the family group chat.

They leave the horses at their campsite, and over the duration of the flight to the facility, Bruce forcibly ignores no less than 15 pictures from both Jason and Damian doing squats with increasingly heavy weights in an effort to not be shown up.

Everyone comes together and admits that Cass probably takes it, when there’s a short video of her having Alfred on one shoulder and Steph on the other going down and coming back up without breaking into even the littlest bit of sweat.

It’s a weird but exceedingly pleasant reminder of the home to look forward to once they wrap up here, and it takes more will than it should’ve to not just send a bunch of missiles screaming into the accursed mine run by the accursed men. Instead, they land well before the perimeter alarms, and run over the plan.

“We’re going to verify what it is they’re mining, and then reconvene and plan our next step.” This is exclusively a recon mission, despite his personal feelings. Bruce doesn’t have the jurisdiction to wreck merry hell here, and if there is some important mineral vein down there, even if they shut down this mine they would just have to deal with another one. He can’t even just buy up all the land, because losing land to foreign entities isn’t the Done thing in these parts, and Bruce just has to unfortunately admit that his hands are extremely tied here.

Dick doesn’t seem so eager to go along with the plan. “If we just leave it as is, what’s going to stop them from ramping up production and taking out more kids, B? No, I say we just shut things down right here, right now.”

All teeth.

Bruce tries not to lose his stupid temper, but it’s hard going. “If we blow up the mine now, what stops them from coming back? What stops them from bringing in mercenaries and weapons and making the area a war zone to protect whatever it is they’re mining?” He scowls, but tries to keep his voice even. “Not doing anything means short-term losses and long-term gains. You need to listen to me, Nightwing.”

It’s not a popular opinion. Dick has got a scowl that looks out of place on his face, a snarl to the edge of a lip. “No, B, you need to listen to me . With everything else that’s going on in the world right now, no one’s got any resources to spare to check this place out. The only thing capping production is going to be Luthor’s goodwill, and there’s nothing good about that.”

They glare at each other, on the cusp of a fight, before Nightwing exhales and holds both hands up in a plea for some calm. “Look, I know I’m not exactly the genius strategist type or like, even in the top half of most-skilled-Bat-associates, but I’ve got a plan and can you just listen to it before you shoot me down and insult me?”

The kryptonite’s gone to Dick’s brain, that’s the only explanation. “There’s no ‘top half’, Nightwing,” Bruce says, voice rougher than he means it to be but it’s been gnawing at the back of his brain for weeks and weeks now that Dick somehow thinks he’s lesser. “You’re not less smart, you’re not less capable, you’re not less skilled; you are the one I trust the most.” It’s just tonnes of trust in Dick for all things, ranging from driving the BatWing responsibly to being the final word on decisions that need making while Bruce is indisposed.

Dick just smiles, but he doesn’t look particularly happy. “You say all these things to make a man feel good ‘bout himself, B, but if you trust me so much why the hell won’t you listen to what I have to say?”

Ah.

It comes with unpleasant clarity, squatting in a rock outcropping with the shadow of the mining facility looming in the distance, that if Dick has doubts in himself, how much of a hand did Bruce have in putting them there and letting the rot propagate?

He swallows, and chokes back that sense of perpetual righteousness that comes part and parcel with the cowl. It's one thing to be a controlling asshole in the League when he's the only unpowered human in a room of well-meaning dumbasses who could destroy the world if they woke up in a Mood one morning.

It’s another to be a controlling asshole to his son, who is twice the man he’ll ever be, whose primary character trait is a fundamental goodness that would put Superman to shame.

Dick’s not perfect, but he is damn, damn good, and Bruce won’t lose out to just listen.

He’s been doing a lot of that as Bat-Erdene and neither he nor the children of Inner Mongolia have been led astray, so out in the prairie maybe he can afford to put his money where his mouth is and more aggressively demonstrate how much he believes in Dick.

So Bruce leans back a little, makes an effort to lower his hackles, and breathes deeply.

“I’m sorry,” he says and he means it for many, many things. “I’m listening.”

The plan is chaotic and flashy and buck-fucking-wild, which Bruce has come to realise is quite the done thing with a mission with Dick at the helm. Nightwing can go undercover with the best of them, but given an endless arsenal of makeshift weapons, Bruce would go for a needle, Jason would go for a hammer, and Dick would set fire to the barrel of firecrackers and laugh in the aftermath.

This is that. Late on a mid-pandemic night, the mine is empty of all but the barest security team on the surface. Sneaking past them and down the shaft into where the green veins glow like a ghastly dream isn’t particularly difficult, nor is planting the special bomb charges they’ve cobbled together from BatWing parts. This deep underground his communicator struggles to keep a line to Dick who’s working in the main office, but an emergency would be accompanied by dramatic explosions so things are going to plan, probably.

He sets up the 4th charge at the east side of the mineshaft, and starts making his way back up. He would feel a lot better about this if they had more charges, or just more resources in general, but on a shoestring budget Dick sure knows how to make a little plan look like a big one.

They’ve taken out as much from the energy cell of the Wing that they can while still having enough juice to get them home, and when life only gives you four radioactive bombs, you make do. They’re lucky to have caught on Luthor so quick; the mine’s still new enough and small enough to make a two-man operation feasible, but if they hadn’t caught wind of this when they did…

It doesn’t bear thinking about, so he puts it aside and scales the steep sides of the mine. With the black earth all around he’s more spectral than usual, so thoroughly a shadow that he even gets the drop on Dick when he climbs into the office, face smudged with dirt.

“Jesus, B, you look 175% more wraith-like than usual,” Dick says, hands flying across the keyboard. Trying to leave a fake digital trail of corporate espionage and malpractice stretching over several months over the course of a night is a steep ask, but it’s the same with the bombs and Bruce’s darkened eyebrows and ambiguous twang.

They only need the look of the thing to hold out just enough.

“I’ve planted the charges. Ready when you are.”

With a dramatic flourish Dick signs off on the final incriminating e-mail, and sends it off with a dramatic slam of the enter key. “All the guards have been sent off, and there's nobody here except for you and me. Give it to me straight, big guy; on a scale of 1 to 10, how likely is this gonna work out for us?”

Bruce pulls out the remote detonator he’d cobbled together using a spare burner phone and the gate key fob for the Manor, and hands it to Dick to do the honours. “Wherever we land on the scale, we can work with it.” It’s like the idea of a doctor-y masquerade; sometimes being out and loud is the best way to stay hidden, and it’s somehow a new lesson for this old Bat. “It’s a crazy plan, but it’s a good one.”

Dick beams at him, and even in the full Nightwing get-out, it’s easy to tell he’s genuinely pleased. “Then let’s go go go before we let this place blow baby, blow!”

Sometimes Dick opens his mouth and what comes out is a ghost of a leer, a popped collar, and gelled-back hair, a Cool Guy caricature who’s so earnest he goes from Cool to Uncool and then right back to Cool just by sheer force of personality.

Bruce can’t help snorting in slight amusement; by a deep pit in the ground, who’ll judge him?

They get back to the Wing, get the engines running nice and warm, and from a perch high up in the air, they watch things go ka-boom!

An explosive(!) story spreads at a speed significantly greater than one plane, two men, and four horses, and by the time they’ve done their final round of checks and have arrived at Gantulga’s ger to return his horses, even the herdsman is keen to let them in on the news.

At this point they’ve turned down dinner every single time they’ve been offered it, so when Gantulga insists that he wants to celebrate their safe return with some roast lamb and arkhi , the alcoholic version of thin, clear liquid cheese, they can't and don't want to say no. They sit around the fireplace, the air filter humming happily in the background as they all tuck into a spectacular dinner, while the man shares the news.

“I’m sure you have already heard, but a big coal mine in Muu-us exploded a few days ago. Natural gas accumulation, apparently, but my friend who lives there said the new mine was built on land it shouldn’t have been built on, so…” Gantulga shrugs, as though the outcome is obvious. Maybe it is. Mongolian spirits couldn’t be fans of Luthor if he was pumping out particles that were killing their children, after all.

Bruce nods politely, knocking back the liquor and telling himself that he enjoys the taste of powerful rancid yoghurt. “We were already heading back here, but we heard about it. Did anyone get hurt?”

Gantulga shakes his head. “No, no locals were hurt. Apparently the company in charge of it was a big foreign one, and the government found radiation there so now there’s a big international fight because the foreigners were secretly mining for things they shouldn't have.” The man cackles as he grabs a piece of lamb, peruses it and finds it to be of above-average quality, and drops it in his wife’s plate. “Good riddance to them. We have enough problems without outsiders interfering, eh, Bat-Erdene?”

“We certainly do have a lot of problems, but now at least there’s one less,” Bruce concedes diplomatically.

Most of the way through the meal, little Idree coughs a little, and as one all four adults turn to look at the toddler in alarm. Gantulga’s wife gently rubs her back, frowning lightly. “She has been a lot better since you and the Doctor came to see her,” Zayaa says, then looks a little surprised when Dick asks for Idree in pretty good Mongolian.

While Dick looks over the girl, listening to her breathing with the stethoscope that has had pride of place around his neck these past few weeks, Gantulga looks at Bruce with some surprise. “The Doctor speaks our language now?”

Dick tells Zayaa in atrocious grammar but a passable accent that the girl appears to have just choked on a little chunk of vegetable, calming down the tiny toddler with hands that have looked after many a younger brother and Mongolian child.

Gantulga grins at Bruce, smacks him heartily on the back. “Looks like the Doctor has learned the right words!”

Bruce doesn’t get a chance to reply, because Dick has turned and is beaming a million-watt smile directly into Gantulga’s face. “Of course,” Dick says, looking as at home in this warm, warm ger in the plains as he does in his police officer's uniform, as he does in a tux at the Manor, as he does leaping off a building to apprehend a bad man. He reaches over, and smacks Bruce even harder on the back. “I had a good, good teacher.”

And that, well beyond the alcohol and the company and the wellness of thousands of children and the thorn they’ve shoved right into Lex’s side, is what goes straight to Bruce’s head, and he goes bright bright red much to the absolute delight of absolutely everyone.

Dick raises his glass of arkhi, a shit-eating grin on his face. “To good health and Bat-Erdene!”

Bruce can’t have that, so he raises his glass and says with resolute calmness,

“To good health and better children.”

And that’s that on that, thank you very much.

---

T/N: I think a lot about what it’s like for Dick to grow up and gradually feel outclassed by increasingly outlandishly overpowered younger siblings and father figure, missing how the world runs less on existential angst and violence, and more on the willingness to be kind in the face of a lot of unkindness.

#nightwing #batman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #inner mongolia #god trying to figure out a viable solution to a conflict i created was so hard #saved by a fuckin breakfast mcmuffin #how many times did i mention dick's laugh or smile #u ain't discreet i say to myself #next up is batman vs something supernatural #fists up bruce wayne picks a fight with a cryptid and will NOT be stopped #hope everyone is taking care of themselves in these dank days!!#whale writing

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praphit · 4 years

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BAMFs of 2019

Here's last year’s CHAMP -

THANOS

(Thanos: ”WTF did you just say?” #Mood)

Let's see if he made it back.

But, first, let’s take a look at some honorable mentions, as well as some people who were trying too hard:

Rey -

Of course she is a total BAMF. So, why isn't she on this list? 3 REASONS: 1) She looks like a racist ex that I once dated. How can someone who decided to date you (a black man) be racist? Did y'all see the movie "Get Out"? You didn't know that the story was based off one of my relationships did you? So, yeah, she ain't ever gettin on this list.

2) The force is cheating - their I said it.

3) This last movie sucked. This rap she did didn't help her cause.

ALSO - there’s this - her rapping. I repeat, she ain’t ever getting on this list.

Nic Cage - cuz he's Nic bleepin Cage

Cardi B - cuz she’s Cardi bleepin B

Hooded Justice - if only he had been in more episodes. A black man disguising himself in a hood, as well as white, to fight evil in his neighborhood, that the police force (of which he is a part of) refuses to stop. Hell yeah! I love "Watchmen".

Lupita! - her brilliantly scary performance in "Us" is def BAMF material.

The Rock - honestly, The Rock is so awesome, and has been for so long, that he needs to be extra awesome to make it.

Trying too Hard. Please STOP:

Batwoman -

I like Ruby, but she's like an elf. She's an elf model. It's not bad to be an elf model, but... If a villain in Gotham, let's say "Bane"

has me cornered, and Batwoman shows up to "rescue me", Imma start praying. He'd swing her around by that red hair of hers until her head pops off.

Rambo - He’s like 80! C’mon, Sly. Please STOP.

Dark Phoenix - a movie about her temper tantrum

Joker -

- not with all of that awkward dancing he was doing

NOW, finally, the top Bad Ass Muthas of 2019!

12) Greta -

Say what you will about climate change, but you can't deny her passion and dedication, and how inspiring it is (unless you're Prez Trump or Fox News) to see and hear a kid like her do her thing. I admit that her winning the honor of "Person of the Year" is too much. But, we all wish our kids would be this dedicated to what they believe is positive change. Plus, she has a kickass soundtrack. Gets me hyped every time!

11) Dave Chappelle

Back in the day, comedians used to be brought on stage, tasked with the difficult job of making a room full of different types of people laugh. Now, it's not just about the job of jokes, but you have to do so without offending anyone, and with clean living. When did we start holding a comedian's behavior to a higher standard than we do elected officials? Dave saw this, and kept doing what made him popular anyway. In a world where most comedians are running scared from difficult topics, Dave plunges right in. BAD ASS.

10) Linda Hamilton -

Old as bleep! We have what's-her-face here,

who is kinda badass herself, but despite being a badass cyborg (or whatever the hell she is), she still felt the need to ask for help from Linda bleepin Hamilton. LH traded her Hospice bingo card in for some guns and went to town on some machines! It'd be like if your home was being surrounded by aliens, and despite you having some fire power in your home and 911 at your disposal, everyone's first thought is to call grandma. That'd have to be one BAMF of a granny!

9) Masvidal -

Allow me to describe this brotha to y'all who might not know.

Some guy was talkin smack to Masvidal, and that guy got kneed in the face by Masvidal (fastest knock out in UFC history = 5 secs). Some guy was arrogant enough to say he was the baddest mofo around, and Masvidal scheduled a fight with this dude for a literal baddest mofo around belt. Plus, that same night of the fight, when he was talking to the media after he had won, he started mocking Conor McGregor, talkin bout Conor don't want none of this. He was talking trash, publicly, about Conor, while people were feeding him pizza. BADASS!

If there is ever a fork in the road, and on one side you see The Rock, Jason Statham, and Will Smith chasing after you, and the other you have Masvidal sitting down, eating a slice of pizza, you had better take your chances with the three action heroes over this BAMF.

8) Nunes -

If you don't know who she is, I wouldn't be surprised. The UFC botched her marketing before and after she fought and beat (badly) Ronda Rousey - yeah, RONDA ROUSEY; remember her? Nunes pretty much ended her career.

The UFC was so certain that Ronda was going to win, and so shocked when she lost, that they missed an opp to get behind a fighter who is better than Ronda (though mad respect for Ronda), and is currently holding TWO belts (first woman to do so). ALSO, she's the first openly gay UFC champ in history. She's so sweet too! - well, unless you're locked in the octagon with her, then she turns into a werewolf.

7) MANDO

I don't know about you, but all of this talk of teamwork from comic book movies can be a bit tiresome. The Avengers, The Justice League, The X-Men. Everybody wants to form a band. What happened to solo acts? What happened to lone rangers? People may say "There's no I in TEAM." Yeah, that's the prob! What about I?! Sometimes, you're Justin Timberlake, and the rest of the group is simply holding you back. That's Mando. He's Disney's updated (non-racist, unless you’re talkin drones) Lone Ranger. He doesn't need teamwork (maybe a weekly cameo, and a baby tag-along, but that's it!). He has beaten up gangs of robots, burnt people up, taken people out Jason Voorhees style, cut people in half, blown people up, blown off heads, BUT because it's Disney, we haven't seen any of that good stuff. He'd be higher on this list if they gave my man an R-rating.

6) Capt Marvel -

Captain Marvel is definitely the most powerful person on this list. She is probably also the fiercest person on this list. In Endgame, when she saw her black daddy (Nick Fury) on the screen, talkin bout Thanos snapped him away, and then something snapped inside of her, and she said "I'm going to go kill that mofo." The Avengers accompanied her, but I don't think she would have needed their help. She didn't really need their help in the final showdown with Thanos. He threw her aside, but you know she was coming back, until Tony got in her way. She is so fiery that it wouldn't surprise me if in her sequel, she goes back in time in order to rematch Thanos by herself, to prove her dominance. The reason that she's not higher on the list is because she's so damned destructive. She's just like The Hulk in the fact that she shows up to destroy everything. Now, she's a lot more focused than The Hulk, but she's so powerful that she does more damage. And she doesn't have much of a personality (so far), so it's hard to gauge her badassery of attitude, you know?? Like, if you're a villain, and you get in the way of a gorilla, that gorilla will destroy you in a very spectacularly badass way, but... it's a gorilla, you know??

I’M NOT CALLING HER A GORILLA. Don’t go snitching on me to her.

I just don’t know if she’s a hero or simply has anger management issues. Is she badass or too powerful not to do badass things?

Either way, RESPECT... or she'll come for that ass.

TIME FOR A BREAK -

Let’s break from all of this badassery with some cuteness

Look how cute it is - I CAN’T TAKE IT!

Ok, back to action.

5) Iron Man -

Look, Iron-Man started this shit! Who knows what would have become of the MCU had Robert Downey Jr. blew it. Tony Stark assembled the team (granted, he was partly the reason for the break-up), he gave us Spider-Man (with that suit) (he also gave us Ultron, but let's not get bogged down with details), he held his own against Thanos in "Infinity War",

Dr. Strange thought HIM worthy of saving, and no way time travel would have worked in "Endgame" without him. Plus, in the very end, he out-smarted Thanos, and countered Thanos' one-liner ("I am inevitable.") with his own ("And I... [five minutes later - I swear that's what it felt like] am Iron-Man.").

Paid the ultimate sacrifice. Hell yeah, he's on this list. I felt kinda bad for his wife. After IM3, she was barely around. And when Tony died, she was barely comforted... cuz nobody knew her. Oh, well.. she be aiight.

4) Thanos -

This dude saw his demise coming, and still went straight ahead towards the foes who cut his head off. BADASS! He was exceptionally crafty in playing The Avengers and blowing up their base. Then, he was just sitting around waiting for the main Avengers (Capt, Iron, and Fat Thor). He wanted to gloat a bit first. BADASS! And had Gamora not betrayed him, and had given him the gaunlet, he would have beaten The Avengers AGAIN!

He even died with a cool pose (he took a knee and got his "Thinking Man" on). BADASS!

3) Arya Stark -

This young lady scared the bleep out of me. She has my fear AND respect. I was actually scared for whomever her current target was... I was like "Run, fool! She gonna get ya! Damn, Arya, you didn't have to do them like that!"

Now, I know I talked about Ruby Rose being a ridiculous choice for Batwoman, but if Arya Stark left on a voyage to Gotham and became Batwoman, I'd buy that. I can see her killing Bane very slowly. This woman is a frickin psychopath, and I love it. She's fearless! She also went up against the top cheese of the white walkers. Y'all remember that badass move she had at the end!

YES! I only wish she had said something cool when she took him out, like... "You've been Starked." No, that's terrible, but something like that. I wish she was the one sitting on the throne, but they... you know... did what they did.

2) Capt America -

I think that it's fair to say that Capt America was the rock of The Avengers After the snap, he was the only one to keep his shit together; he actually worked to help others keep their shit together.

Meanwhile, Widow is crying in the dark every night while having a PB sandwich and bourbon dinner. And she just gave up on her hair.

Thor became an alcoholic.

And you could say Hulk was ok, but... was he?

I mean, that ain't right. This is avoidance behavior if I've ever seen it.

But, Capt kept it together. Then, that fight with Thanos at the end was one of, if not THE best one on one fight of the series. Using both Thor weapons, meaning he was both badass on a fighting level and a righteousness level - which ain't easy to accomplish. And when he straped tight his shield in that trailer, and gritted his teeth - hell yeah!

Chills. Capt to Thanos: You motha bleeper"

1) John Wick -

Three movies with no time in-between to shower, sleep, take a piss, brush his teeth, NOTHING! His life for the last few years (it seems like) has been running, lurking, hiding, beating ass.. and beating ass some more. Lord knows what this dude's kill count is up to. His nickname is "Baba Yaga" Have y'all seen what the actual Baba Yaga looks like?

Terrifying. And yet, not as terrifying as John Wick when he's angry at you.

The amount of endurance and focus that has gone into this long stint of murdering (only fueled by rage and a few shots of bourbon from time to time) is uncanny.

In JW3 he makes a guy eat a book (imagine what must be done to a person's jaw for that to happen), he gets shot, stabbed, hit my two cars (seconds within each other)... Nah, y'all ain't hear me! TWO CARS! The people in the cars were trying to kill him! He fought two super ninjas - like IP Man caliber, he beat up an army of soldiers, crawled through a desert, got shot by a friend who betrayed him, fell off of a building (bouncing around a few times before hitting the pavement), and was somehow still good to schedule a fourth movie after all of that - which I assume will pickup right there.

He doesn't have any superpowers (though you wouldn't know), but his tenacity is to be envied, and outdoes everyone else's on this list.

BAMF!!!

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foxofthedesert · 5 years

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Arrow FF | Dinah x Laurel | A Christmas Miracle

A Christmas Miracle, Part 1 - The Pursuit (Click to read on AO3)

Winter has arrived in earnest to Star City, a little late to the party but right on time for the main event. The holidays are right around the corner. Literally. Christmas Eve is already fading into history along with the setting sun.

After a benign autumn, meteorologists had predicted this season would be Northern California cold at worst, which is to say mild compared to the rest of the country with temperatures hovering between the high forties and fifties. Up til now, they'd been spot on with their forecasts. Unfortunately their crystal balls ran out of juice yesterday while today a never ending assembly line of huge gray clouds rolls is currently lazily by, announcing more of the same dreary, wintry weather. If Dinah didn't know better, she'd think it was about to snow. In Coastal California.

Teeth chattering, she tugs her coat tighter around her shoulders to ward off the chill of an uncommonly cold afternoon. This is exactly the kind of shitty weather she thought she left behind when Central City was firmly in her rear view mirror. California was supposed to be sunny and warm, or so said the movies. Well, from where Dinah stands they were lying because she is a bundled up in several layers, a thick coat and scarf atop a sweater and tee with mittens on her hands and woolly socks on her feet, just like she always used to in Missouri.

Dammit. And I just had to wear jeans. Oh well, at least my boots are keeping my toes from freezing.

Cursing the weather and her own foolish choice to be out it in when she doesn't have to be, Dinah curls her shoulders in, stuffs her hands into her coat pockets, and soldiers on. She is on mission right now and has no time to feel sorry for herself.

The sidewalks of the Triangle are bustling with activity in spite of the cold and the waxing evening hour. Shoppers flitting about care little for the rules of polite etiquette in their single-minded pursuit of last minute gifts for their friends and loved ones. Others are meandering aimlessly about, stopping every now and then to gawk at the intrepid shops that bothered to put up decorations or lights or both. Others still have their heads down like Dinah, trying to blend in with the crowd and filter through on their way home or to their jobs. That Dinah's motive for laying low is far less innocuous is beside the point.

Earlier this afternoon she got a surprise call from the District Attorney's office informing her of a prosecutorial change for a current case. Not just any current case, either, but one involving a corrupt, insanely powerful chemical manufacturer based in Gotham which had spread its disease into Star City while the government was occupied preventing one disaster after another. For the better part of a month, Dinah has been grinding through evidence and conducting interview after interview with the one and only Laurel Lance. Since the beginning Laurel has been her partner in overseeing the Ace Chemical case and they were really just hitting their stride on it when the rug got pulled out from underneath her feet. Finally after months of tedious police work and highly stressful court appearances, the CEO and a bevy of her criminally corrupt lapdogs all guilty as sin of dumping toxic waste in the Triangle right on the outskirts of a school zone were fixing to go to jail. Dinah had thought Laurel would want to see it through seeing as she put as many grueling hours in than Dinah has, if not more, ensuring all the I's were dotted and ever T was crossed. With one call from A.D.A Martinez, Dinah was dispelled of that notion and it caught her completely off guard.

The case being pawned off to the longest tenured A.D.A. would not have sat so wrong with Dinah if it hadn't seemed to be as intensely personal to Laurel as it is to her. Normally Laurel Lance acted the prototype of a picture perfect D.A.: a bulldog who is always in control in the courtroom, professional to a fault in the office, and able to politic with the best of them. This case was different, though, even more so than when Laurel went to bat for Oliver while he was still stuck in Slabside. She was burning the midnight oil like never before and spent more hours with Dinah at SCPD going over investigative and arrest reports over and over again until they both had just about memorized them to the letter. Also Laurel's intensity levels were constantly through the roof, and that was saying something considering she is, in every avenue of her life, perpetually cut throat and high strung. Laurel often chastises her staff for no good reason, such as failure to include one minor detail in a relatively inconsequential report due for filing, which is par for the course for a hothead with a combative streak as wide as the Space Needle is tall. But she never did so publicly until working this case. Only last week when one of her paralegals forgot to pass on an innocuous enough message from a DAI, she berated him in front of half the office so badly the poor kid burst into tears, so traumatized that he fled work early and missed the entire next day as well. Once the outrage ebbed, Laurel actually confessed to Dinah that she felt intense guilt over her treatment of that employee.

Laurel Lance. Formerly of Black Siren notoriety. Felt guilty for hurting an underling's feelings. That alone told Dinah how important this case was to Laurel. That she went on to say that this was the first case she'd worked on since assuming Earth-Prime Laurel's life that she categorically refused to lose. Once she went on a bender working on the case, refusing any and all attempts by her employees to get her to go home. Finally after thirty-six hours they called in the cavalry.

"All those people that soulless, greedy bitch made sick deserve justice," Laurel had told Dinah upon being confronted about her obsessive, incredibly unhealthy behavior. "And I'm gonna get it for them. If that means I don't sleep until I get a guilty verdict, then so be it."

If Dinah hadn't put her foot down, she's pretty sure Laurel would have made good on that promise. As it was, she had to all but drag Laurel out of the Court House into the parking garage and then deposit the District Attorney in her shiny new Lexus with perhaps a little less gentleness than was called for.

The point of all this is that Dinah is worried – a lot – about Laurel shrugging off a responsibility she has been obsessing about so religiously over the past two months. Worried that something is wrong or worse, that Laurel has at last fallen off the reformation wagon. Dinah sort of hates herself for jumping to such a cynical conclusion, but there it is. Sometimes those old feelings of bitter acrimony crop up and taint the progress she has made with her former enemy.

Enemy. There's a word Dinah hasn't associated with Laurel in almost two years. Since they teamed up with Felicity to free Oliver from Slabside, she and Laurel have made such significant strides that she would consider Laurel her closest female friend. Which is still sort of shocking when she actually sits down and thinks about where they came from to arrive at what she would categorize as as intimate a friendship as she is capable of forming. No one could have predicted the turn their relationship would take thanks to Felicity's meddling, least of all Dinah, who had once believed the aptly utilized designation of frenemies would be the best she could ever attain with the woman who killed the man she loved. Yet here she is, wading through a sea of people on the streets in ass-clenching cold just to make sure Laurel is alright when she could be at home bundled up on the couch in her favorite blanket sipping on hot cocoa. And it's Christmas Eve for Christ's sake! That alone speaks volumes about how much she actually cares for Laurel.

What's even more amazing is that there is not a shred of doubt in her heart of mind that Laurel feels the same for her. Of course, there is some cause to call that into question, or at least to redefine what care means from Laurel's end. Of late, Dinah has been getting these weird vibes from Laurel, who has started looking at her and even treating her differently than she used to before they tackled this case together. Ordinarily that would be a bothersome development. Except the change is not in a negative direction. If anything, Laurel has been noticeably more attentive and considerate, which when combined with those vibes produce strange feelings and urges in Dinah she has yet to figure out the meaning behind. And that's not to mention what she is supposed to do about this sudden spike of awkward, nervous, excited energy that buzzes between them whenever they are in the same room together. There is a word for it, she is sure, though right now she is not prepared to break out her dictionary so that she can officially print the term on a label to slap upon the deeply complicated relationship she shares with Laurel Lance.

That said, not yet being ready to face what her subconscious has been screaming at her is going on but her conscious has been deliberately and stubbornly annoying does not preclude Dinah from springing into action whenever Laurel starts acting wonky. Such as today when she dropped a case they were both so passionate about for no reason this morning and then inexplicably cut out of work after lunch without so much as an explanation to her immediate subordinate beyond a clipped response, "Worry less about what I'm doing with my afternoon and more about closing this case. Your future here depends on it."

Since getting the call from A.D.A. Martinez, Dinah has been unable to shake a feeling in her gut that something is going on. Something she should be concerned about. So she did what she does best. Pulled rank at the precinct and decided to indulge her nosy side. Leaning upon all she has learned as a vigilante and as a cop, she stalked Laurel on the traffic cams to the street she is currently plodding down, having covered six blocks already, only to lose sight of her at the intersection of Weisinger and Papp. There is only one significant place of interest Dinah can think of at that location, and she cannot for the life of her figure out what Laurel would be doing there. Her gut feeling tells her to follow through, though, so she complies without further complaint other than some more grumbling about the weather.

Upon rounding the corner, Dinah spots the homeless shelter, the city's second largest, and trudges down the sidewalk towards the entrance. Foot traffic here has dwindled down to a negligible amount. Only the inhabitants of the shelter and what few individuals are willing to brave being seen among such a lowly, somewhat dangerous element. Such as Laurel. For whatever reason…

Once perpendicular from the shelter, Dinah quickly cuts across the street when the street traffic gives her a pause. She gives no thought to the fact she, a police captain, has just blatantly broken the law. Jaywalking isn't the first misdemeanor she's committed today and probably won't be the last. Now on the correct side of the street, she picks around the exterior of the shelter until she finds a bedraggled older man perched on a cinder block just inside the alleyway on the east side of the building. Prepared for just this opportunity, she pulls out her badge and then the stock photo of Laurel she'd snatched off her desk.

"Calm down," she says to the startled man warily eyeing her badge – former military judging by his close cropped hair, rigid posture, and army surplus jacket. "I'm not here to arrest you. Or anyone else. What's your name?"

He exhales, fiddling with an exotic, expensive looking watch on his wrist that seems off beyond it being worn by someone without means to purchase it. A second later he offers her a shaky nod, then responds, "Name's Marv."

"Nice to meet you, Marv. I'm Dinah." Dinah's eyes are again drawn to the strange watch, only to have it quickly hidden under a well worn jacket sleeve. For a split second she considers pressing about how a homeless vet came by such an extravagant piece of a bling, only to change her mind in favor of an expedient end to her mission to find out what the hell Laurel is doing here. Now that proper introductions are made, she doesn't feel bad about thrusting the photo of Laurel in his face. "Have you, by chance, seen this woman this afternoon?"

"Yep. That's Dinah. Been here every day this week. First time before eight, though."

Brows searching for her hairline, Dinah almost comments on the name Laurel gave out before she remembers that it actually is Laurel's name. Dinah Laurel Lance. Whose mother's maiden name was Dinah Drake. The synchronicity of those facts alone are enough to keep Dinah awake at night. When factoring in all that conspired to throw them into a collision course trajectory, which they somehow survived only to be caught up in a mutual orbit, she can't help but feel there is some unknown force at work. Call it fate, kismet, destiny or any other whimsical designation, something out there clearly wants her and Laurel close to each other, and Dinah isn't sure how she feels about that. Well, that's a lie. She knows how she feels, just doesn't want to admit it – even to herself.

"What's she doing coming here every night?" she asks around the lump in her throat that often forms when thinking about Laurel. When the man she's questioning shoots her a dryly outraged glare, she quickly amends herself. "Not that I'm judging. Just curious."

Marv accepts her apology with a shrug of his broad shoulders. "No sweat. I was a little skeptical too when she started comin' to help the staff and residents – ya know, pitchin' in where she can. Cookin' and cleanin' and all that domestic shit. Done some electrical repair work that needed doin'. Good at it, too. Also did most of the decorating for Christmas. Real talented gal."

Dinah's eyebrows shoot up into her hair line. Laurel Lance cooking and cleaning and fixing stuff and...decorating for Christmas? She fights the urge to pinch herself to make sure she isn't dreaming.

Marv laughs at her expression. "Don't blame ya lookin' that way. When she pulled up in that fancy car and came stridin' through the doors in that expensive suit, I figured she was some politician out for a photo op or somethin'. Only never was no cameras or reporters around and she outworked everybody the four hours she was here. And the next time she showed up, she dressed down for the occasion. To fit in better, ya know? Worn out tee, ripped jeans, nose ring, hair braided up nice and tight. Got down in the trenches without a single complaint. Nothin' like the high class bitch that strutted her fancy ass into a world she don't belong in. Nah. Figured out right quick she belonged alright. Just hides it real good out there." He indicates toward the wider world by a tip of the chin. "Good heart in that one, too. She don't know I know, but she's helped more'n a few us land jobs that start up after the Holidays. Like Jordie and Lew. I, uh, I'm one of 'em, too. Asked the guy who hired me why he did it. Wouldn't say anything except a pretty lady who has a way with words convinced him to give me a chance, that he wouldn't regret it. I knew who it was just like that." He snaps his fingers to accentuate the point.

Dinah hardly knows what to say to what she's heard. Never has she been given a less Laurel-like description, and yet she can sense beyond all doubt that she is being told the truth. The paradox being presented to her is confusing as all hell, and it only incites her curiosity into irresistible fascination. Another layer of the Laurel onion is being peeled away right before her very eyes and she is a captive audience spellbound at the unraveling.

"Wow. Uh...I have to say that surprises me," she says after a brief moment of speechlessness. "That doesn't sound like the Lau -" she stops herself short of giving out Laurel's name out of respect for her privacy, "Dinah I know."

"Guess that means you don't know her like you thought," Marv says, eyeing her wryly. "You showed up looking for her, though, which means she's awful important to you. What're you her girl or somethin'?"

"No!"

The denial comes a little too quickly and too defensively and too disingenuous underneath the abrasiveness for Dinah's liking. Her poor reaction only serves as an additional reminder that she is all too aware of her feelings for Laurel and is in that stage where she just can't accept them. Their ugly past is the main obstacle, and that should be enough, right? There is enough baggage between them to fill up the terminal in the O'Hare Airport claim center.

And then there is the fact that Dinah is pretty sure Laurel is straight. She has caught Laurel checking a few ladies out here and there, but chalked those smoldering glances up to either zealous admiration or incendiary envy. Most of the ogling Dinah has caught Laurel doing has been directed toward one particularly unavailable man who just so happens to be married to her closest friend on this earth and who treats her like shit most of the time – the latter of which seems aligned with Laurel's history of being attracted to men who treat her like shit, which is another subject Dinah would rather not dwell on to keep her blood pressure in check. Not that Dinah can use any of this evidence as definitive proof that Laurel is, in fact, straight seeing as the same could be said of her.

In so far as her friends-slash-teammates know, she has only dated men when that is not quite the truth. In college she had several experimental hook ups with hot coeds from other sororities, one of whom was a steady girlfriend for nearly a year whose name was Lynne. It was Lynne who helped Dinah sort through the mess of her emerging identity to figure out she was actually bisexual and not simply going through a phase. Since then she has primarily dated men since that is her preference, but she has slept with a few women in between boyfriends, the most recent a one night stand in Hub City right before Oliver Queen interrupted her misguided quest for vengeance. That said, Laurel has been the first she's thought of the way she did Lynne, and even then the comparison is lacking. What she feels for Laurel rivals how she felt about Vince when he stopped being her undercover partner and became her lover. And that frightens Dinah so badly that every time the thought crosses her mind she panics and quickly stuffs down all of those complicated feelings Laurel provokes.

Sucking in a breath through her teeth, she lets it out slowly to compose herself before giving a more rational response. "I mean...I know her, yes. We work together. We're also friends. Of a sort. I just..." she trails off into a sigh. "Look, it's complicated. And not that it's any of your business but I was worried about her. She took off from work early, which she never does, and then abandoned a case really important us both. Seeing as she has a penchant for self-destruction, here I am."

After a contemplative hum, Marv nods to himself. "So she is some sort of bigwig politician."

"How do you figure that?"

Marv chuckles drolly. "Ain't hard to figure out. To be workin' with a police captain – got that from your badge by the way – she has to either be a cop or someone real important. And she ain't no cop. Heard her let loose some salty language about some of y'all. Don't leave much else possible. Lawyer, I'm guessin'. No, wait." He snaps his fingers again, eyes alighting. "Now I know why I though she looked so damn familiar. She's the D.A. ain't she? What's her name? Laura? Laurel! That's it. Laurel Lance. Well. I'll be damned."

The expression of utter amazement upon Marv's face is mirrored in Dinah's. "You and me both buddy," she says, taking a pause to process all she's learned. That Laurel has been volunteering at a homeless shelter for the past two weeks. That while still her sassy self, the Laurel that threaded in so seamlessly into the upper echelons of Star City society just as fluidly accommodated to the acclaim-repellent, elbow-grease-required strata of the most humble of the most humble that the mass production and low human value culture of America can produce. Laurel has also made another and even more drastic transformation in shedding the cold, calculating, vicious skin of Black Siren only to casually adopt the fully functional, productive citizen persona of the woman so beloved by so many a statue was built in her honor as if it were no big deal at all. All taken together, her series of adaptations is in Dinah's estimation an accomplishment of which few aside from the most elite social chameleons can boast.

All of that begs the question: who is the real Laurel Lance? And that is a question to which Dinah has no answer except to say she is dying to find out. Laurel is a jigsaw puzzle with a million jumbled up, radically disparate pieces spilled out before her as if to taunt that part of her brain that craves a challenge. Solving the unsolvable was one of many reasons she decided to become a cop after serving her enlistment in the Marine Corps, and there aren't many she's encountered that have her more vexed – and more invested – than Laurel.

As much as she would love to say that was the only reason she's out here in the tit-freezing cold talking to a complete stranger, her heart is not absent of engagement in the mystery of Laurel, either. Something about Laurel has tugged at Dinah's heartstrings for a long time now, since far earlier than their detente to aid Felicity's quest to exact vengeance upon the Dragon and the subsequent cooperation to free Oliver from prison. Maybe it was watching a shell-shocked daughter silently grieve when Quentin died while maintaining a facade of strength in support of a sister she didn't even know. Or maybe it was watching her, with Quentin's devoted fatherly guidance, slowly but surely step out of the inky blackness she inhabited out into the light of a nascent dawn and prove one day, one act, one speech at a time that there really was a fleshly, beating heart in her chest capable of great warmth that courses with red blood that bleeds like every one else upon the infliction of a wound. Or maybe, just maybe, it was getting to know the woman behind the innumerable masks and finding her to be as infinitely interesting, and surprisingly funny and charming on top of that, as the projections she offers up to the world to protect a heart that is far more fragile than she could ever bear to admit. Whatever the cause, there is no denying that Laurel has – probably without even trying – slipped past Dinah's own inner defenses and taken up residence in a place precious few have ever occupied.

"So, is she still here?" Dinah asks after deciding she best not think too much longer about this lest she become unnerved and tuck tail to run for the hills. Which is distinct possibility as scary as these unfurling feelings for Laurel are.

As if ignorant of her internal turmoil, Marv nods sharply, then indicates back toward the building with his head. "Yep. You'll find her inside. In the kitchen probably. Or out serving. Dinner ran over 'cause she got here a little late. All she did, wasn't right to start without her. Worth the wait though. Prime eatin' in there."

"Glad to hear it." Dinah means that in more than one way, though she declines commenting along those lines out of curiosity as to why Marv here is out in the cold with her instead inside and warm tucking into some dessert or something. "By the way, why aren't you inside? Gotta be better than freezing your ass off out here, especially if the food is as good as you said it was."

In response, Marv grins as he gives his belly a satisfied rub. "Already been through the line. I'm stuffed, and it can get loud in there, so I came out for some peace and quiet. Besides, it's a nice evenin'. I'm from New York, ya know. This cold reminds me of home."

"Missouri here by way of St. Louis." Select few outside of Team Arrow know that about Dinah, and that prompts her to wonder why she feels so comfortable sharing it with a total stranger. There is just something about Marv that she can't quite put her finger on. Something familiar. Hmm. "Gotta say, I don't miss the winters down there and they're a far cry from what y'all get in New York," she then adds as she studies the older gentlemen, noting his features remind her a bit of her grandfather, which satisfies that pique of curiosity for the time being.

"Yeah," says Marv, one corner of his lips quirking up just like Laurel's do – a ridiculous comparison that comes out of left field and is swiftly dismissed by Dinah. "But it ain't Christmas less it's cold, you've been fed like a prince, and you're with family. Guess two outta three ain't too bad for a washed up old vet."

Dinah's heart goes out to Marv. She knows the loneliness of having no roots left to speak of worth contacting this time of year. An only child of two only children, her mother's death the year she enlisted signaled the end of any familial obligations. So she cut clean after her discharge, moved to Central and never looked back. Thankfully she has since discovered a new family in Star City, one she did not inherit but chose of her own volition. Also known as the best kind of family.

"Not bad at all. I don't have any family left either. Gotta take what you can get around the holidays, right? Also, you're not all washed up. You figured my rank out with a single glance at my shield."

"My eyes still work. It's the rest of me that don't. And no offense, Cap, but that question you asked me earlier can apply to you, too. What the hell're you doin' standin' out here in the cold yappin' with an old geezer like me? Didn't you come here for a reason?"

Brow raised at his cheek, Dinah nonetheless shifts nervously from side to side. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did. Just..."

"Not what you expected to find, eh?" Marv interjects, rich green eyes twinkling in amusement. "Looks like your girl's got some surprises up her thousand buck sleeves."

"That she does. And I told you, she's not my girl."

Marv chuckles amiably at the denial that rings hollow to them both despite it being the truth. Laurel may not be her girl, but Dinah is increasingly becoming aware of the fact that she wants her to be.

"Yea, sure," he says. "Keep tellin' yourself that, Cap, maybe some day you'll convince yourself." Abruptly he shifts on his cinder block throne, clears his throat, and just like that Dinah knows the conversation is about to be over. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to enjoy a few minutes of that peace and quiet I came out here to get before I go back in and rejoin the rabble."

Dinah holds her hands up in surrender, recognizing the dismissal not as a suggestion but as the command that it is. "Alright. Message received." Unwilling to depart just yet for the fondness for this man she has so swiftly developed, she hesitates for a second as her analytic brain sifts through various potential scenarios in which they might meet again. For a variety of reason, not the least of which is statistical probability, most of them aren't good. "Listen," she says after the silence stretches out too long, causing Marv to arch a brow impatiently. "Stay out of trouble, you hear? I don't wanna see you in my station for any reason. Got it?"

Her reply is a mock salute and an equally sardonic, "Sure, boss. No need to worry, though. I don't got any plans to get locked up until at least the New Year. But I'll be sure to target your precinct if I change my mind just for the repeat pleasure of your company."

Recognizing the joke at her expense, Dinah rolls her eyes and quips, "In that case I'll keep the cell warm I reserve for unrepentant smart asses," before swirling to beat a hasty retreat. Back at the alley entry, she veers in the wrong direction only to be course corrected by Marv's consequent shout of, "Hey, Cap? That's the wrong way to the door, ya know." Dinah does know. She was just too damn nervous and uncertain all of a sudden to go through with confronting Laurel about her unexpected injection of the Christmas Spirit. Apparently being called out for her cowardice by a down-on-his-luck vet is the cure for that malady. Straightening her shoulders, she nods her appreciation at a man who in such a small span of time made such a large impression upon her.

"My bad," she calls back. "Thanks!"

She can see Marv's cheesy, smug grin even in the low light afforded by the street lamps and the single outside fixture attached to the outer wall of the shelter. And she certainly has no problem hearing his reply.

"You're welcome! Now, stop lyin' to yourself, march inside there and do what you gotta do to get your girl and make this a Christmas to remember."

To her astonishment and a degree of elation she has not experience since she in High School, Dinah does not bother to correct him this time. In light of all the revelations she experienced tonight about herself and Laurel, along with Marv's timely encouragement just now, clarity descends upon her with an intensity that cannot be denied. For far too long she has been too terrified – albeit for oh-so-many very good reasons – to directly confront the undeniable reality that she is falling in love with Laurel. And instead of inciting a panic that will derail the astounding progress she has made in the process of a single conversation with a man with whom she has only just become acquainted, instead of making her want to run away as fast as her legs will carry her, it does the exact opposite.

Against all rational explanation, and wildly contrary to how she felt on seconds ago, all Dinah wants to do right now is run straight to Laurel. So that's precisely what she does.

#dctv #fanfic #arrow fanfic #arrow #dinah drake #laurel lance #dinah x laurel #laurel x dinah #aka Dinahmite!#or:#dinahsiren #christmas #i may or may not throw together cover art for this #probably not tho cause I'd have to hurry and I am not good with manips #see my post history for proof

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sassycassie-s-writing · 6 years

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Supermarket Flirting

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC, BatFam - Jason Todd/Red Hood

Rating: PG

Original Idea: IDK, I just LOVE single parent AUs every so often.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) IDK I just feel like Jason would name his kid after one of the most positive influences in his life. @welovegroot @batboys-and-other-messes

^^^^^

Pursing my lips, I peered at the supermarket shelves. Just a weekly hunt for the peanut butter brand I liked that always ended up hiding behind the other brands because American supermarkets were always a mess.

Something grabbed my leg.

My first instinct was to literally shake it off—but I had the good sense to look down first.

A little black-haired kid was clinging to my leg wearing a green shirt with a turtle on it and jeans.

I gave the child a surprised look. “Hey there, little one,” I said. “What’s going on? Where’s your parents?”

The kid didn’t even look up at me. Just continued holding onto my leg.

“Someone didn’t teach their kid Stranger Danger,” I muttered under my breath. The kid didn’t even hear me.

“Alfie?! Alfie! Where are you?!” a half-panicked voice asked. I turned, following the source of the noise.

A man came careening around the corner of the aisle, eyes wide.

He was tall with black hair and blue eyes. He was ridiculously muscular, wearing a red hoodie over a white T-shirt and jeans with Converse.

When he caught sight of the black mop of hair clinging to my leg, he sighed in relief. “There you are, Alfie! Don’t scare me like that bud, you hear?” he breathed, coming over to me.

He froze when he saw my face. Then shook his head and smiled at me. “Sorry about him,” he apologized, peeling the child off my leg. The kid made grabby hands for me.

“It’s alright,” I said.

“Mama!” Alfie protested.

“That’s not your mama, buddy,” the man told the child. He looked back at me. “But I see why he came to you. You have a similar look to his mom.” He held Alfie on one hip with one arm and stuck the other one out. “I’m Jason.”

I shook his hand and gave him my name in return. “So, is he your son or your nephew?”

“What makes you think he’s not my neighbor’s kid or a cousin?”

I smirked. “You have the same hair and eyes—plus he’s got your mouth. Resemblance like that is most likely familial.”

Jason scrunched his nose to chuckle. “He’s my son,” he answered.

“You have a handsome kid. Takes after his father, clearly. Is his mom here? Is that why he hugged my leg?”

Jason grew awkward and uncomfortable. I opened my mouth to correct myself—to tell him it was none of my business and not to answer—but he cut me off. “She’s not around. Never has been. I don’t mind though. He’s not too hard to take care of and I have a big family willing to help out when I can’t take care of him for a couple hours.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I just said, “Huh,” and tilted up onto my tiptoes to reach for the peanut butter, finally noticing the brand I was looking for on a higher shelf.

“Here, let me,” Jason offered, extending an arm. He snatched a jar and handed it to me. I took it from him and set it in my basket, thanking Jason for getting it for me.

“I shouldn’t have asked about his mom, I’m sorry. I just thought maybe she was here and he came to find her.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He gave me a crooked smile.

Alfie reached out for me again, still pouting and looking like he wanted me to hold him. He reached one arm out. I did too, setting my finger in his little hand. “How old are you, Alfie?” I asked, not even making my tone higher-pitched.

He turned his head into his dad’s shoulder, still holding my hand. He mumbled something I couldn’t hear.

Jason translated when I tilted my head in confusion. “He’s almost three.”

I grinned. “Aw!” I said. “Well it was nice to meet you both, but, uh, I should probably get back to shopping. I, uh—”

“Yeah. Sorry. Alfie, bud, will you let go of the nice lady’s hand please?” Jason prompted his son.

The little boy shook his head, mumbling something louder that sounded vaguely like, “Looks like Mama.” I smiled again.

Jason sighed and gave me another crooked smile. “Well then. I guess I just have to follow you around the store so this little cutie can keep holding your finger,” he remarked. I giggled slightly and bit my lower lip.

“That’s okay. I’m not in any particular rush,” I said.

Jason hung close to me down the aisle and around the corner to the next one—where a nice old lady saw us.

“Aw! What a sweet little family. You two have a very handsome son,” she complimented.

I opened my mouth to correct her, but Jason headed me off. “Thank you, ma’am,” he replied with a slight duck of the head. He smiled at her and then looked at me and bounced an eyebrow—signaling me to just roll with it. So I did. “How about I trade you, honey?” Jason asked. “I’ll carry the basket and you carry Alfie?”

I blanked so I wordlessly accepted Alfie into my arms while Jason slid my basket off my arm.

“Have a nice day, ma’am,” Jason said to the woman. She grinned and we walked in separate directions.

Once we were out of earshot, I gave Jason a look. “What was that about?”

He shrugged. “Eh. Just better to let some old people believe what they want to believe—especially when they go out of their way to say something kind. There’s so much hatred and darkness in the world—especially in Gotham—that it’s good to just let kindness grow where it can.”

I nodded thoughtfully as Alfie rested his head on my shoulder. “That’s a good point. Okay then.”

“Plus Alfie likes you and that’s rare so I figured I’d just go along with it,” he added as we reached a semi-full cart that was completely unattended. “This is mine. I left it when I lost Alfie.”

The almost-three-year-old nuzzled his face into my shoulder. “Stay?” he asked me quietly.

“Of course,” I said quietly. Jason didn’t appear to hear us.

“Hey, buddy, wanna sit in the cart again?” Jason asked.

His son shook his head fervently. “Uh-uh. Stay.”

Jason gave me a look with a question in it. Is that okay?

I grinned and nodded. It’s fine.

He set my basket in his cart and he and I went back to searching the aisles for our groceries. Occasionally I would try to give Alfie back to his dad but he always clenched his tiny hands into fists in my shirt and refused to let me go. Though he would walk next to me as long as he could have a handful of my pant leg in his grip or hold my hand, but he wasn’t really tall enough for the latter.

While we grocery shopped, Jason and I chatted. Got to know each other. He worked as a librarian but liked to take odd shifts at his friend’s garage whenever there was a novelty motorcycle in need of repair.

I found out he had three brothers and a sister—all of whom except one brother were adopted—and he was the second-oldest. I learned he didn’t always get along with them very well, but they were trying to move past old arguments, “What with squirt around and all,” he said with a grin, ruffling Alfie’s hair. Alfie giggled.

At the very back of the store, after we’d gone through all the aisles and assembled our groceries—mine didn’t even fill my little basket—Jason rubbed at the back of his neck. “Hey, so, um…” He trailed off. “Could I, maybe, ask for your number? Any girl Alfie likes and isn’t afraid of is a girl worth getting to know better.”

I smiled. “Uh yeah. Yeah that’d be fine.”

He looked more bashful than I would have ever expected from a guy like him. All through the store he was Mr. Confidence and Charisma.

But the somewhat embarrassed, awkward guy was charming.

Jason pulled his phone out and handed it to me. I put my name and number in it, picking an emoji to put next to my name, the way I did with most of my good friends in my phone’s contacts. I ended up picking the Vulcan salute.

“So, I guess I’ll, uh, see you around?” Jason asked after I handed him back his phone, scooping up his son, who pouted and made grabby hands towards me. I smiled at the kid, and then his father.

“See you around, Jason,” I promised. “Don’t forget to call me.” I swept my basket out of his cart and headed for the front of the store.

My phone buzzed in my jacket pocket.

An unfamiliar number, with a Gotham City area code.

Normally I wouldn’t have answered, but I had a feeling I knew who it was.

“‘Yello?” I greeted.

“Hey. It’s Jason,” a now-familiar voice greeted. “I was wondering if maybe you might want to go to dinner sometime.”

I smiled. “I’d like that.”

There was a pause and an exhale of excited relief. “G-great! I’ll call you when I can get a babysitter.”

“I look forward to your call,” I said, grinning from ear-to-ear.

“Me too.”

#Supermarket Flirting #Jason Todd #Jason Todd Imagine #Jason Todd FanFiction #Red Hood #Red Hood Imagine #Red Hood FanFiction #DC #DC Imagine #DC FanFiction #BatFam #BatFam Imagine #BatFam FanFiction

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smashpages · 6 years

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The 2018 Joe Shuster Award Nominations

The nominations for the 2018 Joe Shuster Awards have been announced this week. Commonly nickednamed “The Shusters”, they are Canada’s national comic book awards that honours and raises the awareness of Canadians that create, self-publish and sell comic books, digital comics and graphic novels.

The award winners will be chosen by a jury vote to ensure every nominee is given adequate consideration.

The ceremony will take place at the Montreal Comic Con July 6-8, 2018 at the Palais des congrès, Montreal, QC.

And the nominees are:

Webcomics Creator / Créateur de Bandes Dessinées Web

BOUMERIES – BOUM

MENAGE A 3 – GISELE LAGACE, DAVID LUMSDON (adult content)

SUBNORMALITY – WINSTON ROWNTREE

BUN TOONS – TY TEMPLETON

STRANGEBEARD – KELLY TINDALL

TRUE PATRIOT PRESENTS #2-6 – VARIOUS

RAGMOP – ROB WALTON

Writer / Scénariste

ED BRISSON – IRON FIST 1-7, 73, BULLSEYE 1-3, CABLE 150, OLD MAN LOGAN 25-29 (MARVEL COMICS)

MEREDITH FINCH – ROSE 1-6 (IMAGE COMICS), CATWOMAN: ELECTION NIGHT 1(DC COMICS)

JEFF LEMIRE – DEATH OF X 3-4, EXTRAORDINARY X-MEN 16-20, IVX 1-6, MOON KNIGHT 8-14, OLD MAN LOGAN 13-24, THANOS 1-12 (MARVEL COMICS), BLOODSHOT REBORN 0, BLOODSHOT SALVATION 1-4, BLOODSHOT USA 4(VALIANT COMICS), BLACK HAMMER 7-13, GIANT-SIZED ANNUAL 1, SHERLOCK FRANKENSTEIN AND THE LEGION OF EVIL 1-3 (DARK HORSE COMICS), DESCENDER 18-25 (IMAGE COMICS), HAWKMAN FOUND 1 (DC COMICS)

CHIP ZDARSKY – DR. STRANGE 1.MU, PETER PARKER – THE SPECTACULAR SPIDER-MAN 1-5, STAR-LORD 1-6, ANNUAL 1 (MARVEL COMICS) HARLEY QUINN 25TH ANNIVERSARY SPECIAL (DC COMICS)

JIM ZUB – AVENGERS 1.MU, SECRET EMPIRE UNITED 1, THUNDERBOLTS 7-12, UNCANNY AVENGERS 25-28, ZOMBIES ASSEMBLE 1-3, 0, ZOMBIES ASSEMBLE 2 1-2 (w/Yusako Komiyama) (MARVEL COMICS), GLITTERBOMB: THE FAME GAME 1-4, WAYWARD 21-25 (IMAGE COMICS), DUNGEONS & DRAGONS: FROST GIANT’S FURY 3-5 (IDW) FREELANCE 1-4 (w/Andrew Wheeler) (CHAPTERHOUSE)

Cover Artist / Dessinateur Couvertures

MICHAEL CHO – DC Comics, Marvel Comics

MIKE DEL MUNDO – Marvel Comics

DALE KEOWN – Marvel Comics, DC Comics

MIKAEL – Dargaud

DJIBRIL MORISSETTE-PHAN – Chapterhouse, Image Comics

JULIE ROCHELEAU – Casterman

FIONA STAPLES – Image Comics

Artist / Dessinateur

MIKE DEL MUNDO – THE AVENGERS 1-6, 9-11, MIGHTY THOR 700 (MARVEL COMICS)

DAVID FINCH – BATMAN 16-20, 24 (DC COMICS)

STUART IMMONEN – AMAZING SPIDER-MAN 25-31, 789, MARVEL LEGACY 1 (MARVEL COMICS), EMPRESS 7 (ICON/MARVEL COMICS)

RAMON PEREZ – JANE (ARCHAIA), NOVA 1-5, 7, GENERATIONS: MILES MORALES SPIDER-MAN, PETER PARKER SPIDER-MAN 1 (MARVEL COMICS)

JULIE ROCHELEAU – BETTY BOOB (CASTERMAN)

FIONA STAPLES – SAGA 42-48 (IMAGE COMICS)

Cartoonist / Auteur

MICHEL FALARDEAU – L’ESPRIT DU CAMP (STUDIO LOUNAK)

RON KASMAN – THE TOWER OF COMIC BOOK FREAKS (CALIBER COMICS)

JEFF LEMIRE – ROUGHNECK (GALLERY 13), ROYAL CITY 1-8 (IMAGE COMICS)

LORNA MAPA – DURAN DURAN, IMELDA MARCOS AND ME (CONUNDRUM PRESS)

JOE OLLMANN – THE ABOMINABLE MR. SEABROOK (DRAWN+QUARTERLY)

STEVE SKROCE – MAESTROS 1-3 (IMAGE COMICS)

JILLIAN TAMAKI – BOUNDLESS (DRAWN+QUARTERLY)

FRANCOIS VIGNEAULT – TITAN (POW POW)

ANNE VILLENEUVE – UNE LONGUE CANICULE (MECANIQUE GENERALE)

Gene Day Award (Self-Publishers) / Prix Gene Day (Auto-éditeurs)

Named after the late Howard Eugene Day (1951-1982), this award honours Canadian comic book creators or creative teams who self-published their work but did not have the books distributed by a third party such as Diamond Comic Distributors, Inc. The nominees were selected from individual publications submitted for review before the deadline of May 13th, 2017.

This year the award will be split into two categories:

Single Creator/Creative Team:

GLADIASAURS, BEAVER DAMN 1 – A. SHAY HAHN (C)

FEAST OF FIELDS – MOR: PART 1 – SEAN KAREMAKER (C)

DEAD CHARLIE T.3: LES AMAZONES DE VENUS – THIERRY LABROSSE (C)

WHERE IS ZORG?, WRESTLEMON – JEFF MARTIN (C)

HEROES OF HOMEROOM C – ANTHONY RUTTGAIZER (W) w/ Carlos Granda (A)

FIR VALLEY – JASON TURNER (C)

MARIE AND THE WORRYWART, MAGICAL BEATDOWN VOL.2 – JENN WOODALL (C)

(C)=Cartoonist, (A)=Artist, (W)=Writer

Anthology Format:

HOGTOWN HORROR – BOOK DESIGN AND LAYOUT BY TIM LAI (HOGTOWN COMICS)

MOONSHOT: THE INDIGENOUS COMICS COLLECTION VOL. 2 – EDITED BY HOPE NICHOLSON (AH COMICS)

RAID.ONE – EDITED BY ROB COUGHLER AND RAMON PEREZ (RAID STUDIO)

READ MORE COMICS 3 – DAVID CRAIG, JAMES SPENCER AND ROBB MIRSKY (READMORECOMIX.COM)

YONGE AT HEART – EDITED BY STEVE ANDREWS, AARON FELDMAN, ALLISON O’TOOLE (TORONTO COMICS)

Harry Kremer Award (Retailers) / Prix Harry Kremer (Détaillants)

Named after the Harry Kremer, the original owner of Now & Then Books (in Kitchener, Ontario). The CCBCAA maintains a list of active comic book stores across the country and a database of recommendations, referrals and secret shopper reports.

ALPHA COMICS – CALGARY, ALBERTA

COMIC READERS – REGINA, SASKATCHEWAN

DOWNTOWN COMICS – ST. JOHN’S, NEWFOUNDLAND

GOTHAM CENTRAL – MISSISSAUGA, ONTARIO

LIBRAIRIE Z – MONTREAL, QUEBEC

TAZMANIAN COMICS – VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA

TITAN GAMING AND COLLECTIBLES – WHITEHORSE, YUKON

The Dragon Award (Comics for Kids) / Le Prix Dragon (Bandes Dessinées pour Enfants)

This award recognizes the works which capture the attention and fascination of young readers, and help to create a passion for life-long reading. Works considered for this award are comic books and graphic novels by Canadian creators that are targeted at readers 14 and under. Nominees for this award are selected by a team of educators led by Jennifer Haines, MA, B.Ed., who is also the proprietor of Guelph, Ontario’s The Dragon comic book shop.

Nominees List Pending

The T.M. Maple Award / Prix T.M. Maple

The T.M. Maple Award will go to someone (living or deceased) selected from the Canadian comics community for achievements made outside of the creative and retail categories who have had a positive impact on the community.

2018 Recipient: MARK ASKWITH (1956-)

Producer, writer, interviewer (and sometime-publisher/editor), and a familiar name in the fields of science fiction and comics.

Canadian Comic Book Creator Hall of Fame / Temple de la renommée Créateur Canadien de Bandes Dessinées

SID BARRON (1917-2006)

JACQUES GOLDSTYN aka BORIS (1958-)

DAVID BOSWELL (1953-)

TOM GRUMMETT (1959-)

2018 sponsors include:

The Dragon

All New Comics

The Comic Legends Legal Defense Fund (CLLDF)

Montreal Comic Con

About The Joe Shuster Awards

Established in 2004, The Joe Shuster Awards are Canada’s national award recognizing outstanding achievement in the creation of comic books, graphic novels and webcomics. The awards are named after pioneering Toronto-born artist Joe Shuster who, along with writer Jerry Siegel, created the iconic super-powered hero, Superman. The name is used with the approval of the Estate of Joe Shuster – Michael Catron, Estate Agent.

#comic books #Smash Pages #the joe shuster awards

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buttercupbi · 7 years

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Nygmobblepot Oneshot

for @umbrella-riddles @woss-y and @blot-s

au, set in late s4: sofia has taken over gotham and is hosting a masquerade ball for its criminal elite. however, some powerful people in the city want her dead, and, at least for now, they are all allies. along with some others, ed and oswald have reluctantly teamed up to help take her down, and have managed to sneak inside the ballroom.

Fingers struck the piano keys, and the waltz began. Couples rose from their tables, twirling in time with the music, and soon the room was a whirl of brightly coloured dresses and suits. Everyone’s eyes were on their partners; only two men were looking elsewhere. Unnoticed, Oswald Cobblepot and Edward Nygma danced among the crowd. They only stood out because they blended in, something that was usually impossible for either of them. They were both wearing plain black tuxedos, and shoes polished to a mirror shine. Oswald had given up his hair dye and let his hair go back to it’s natural blond, and Ed had forgone his glasses in favour of contacts. Oswald’s upper face was covered by a grey and white bird’s mask, and Ed had donned a brilliant orange one that looked like a fox. They were simple disguises, but they worked. They hadn’t gotten a single suspicious look all evening, apart from the ones they gave each other.

Edward was leading the waltz, almost dragging Oswald around the dance floor. His eyes were constantly on the crowd, whether to keep himself focused on the plan or to avoid having to meet Oswald’s gaze, neither man knew. Oswald was staring down hard at his shoes, as if he was trying to pin his feet to the ground with his eyes. For once, both men were thinking the same thing:

“Why the hell did I agree to this?”

It had been Lee’s idea, and it was quite ingenious really. Sofia would never suspect all who opposed her to work together, so that is exactly what they must do. At first, it seemed next to impossible. There were too many years of hatred and mistrust between them all, too many wounds that would never quite heal. But quickly everyone realised that the phrase, “The enemy of my enemy is my friend”, really applied. They all wanted to rule the city, but none of them would get anywhere close if Sofia was around. So, in the face of rule under Sofia Falcone, or a few weeks of working with people that might kill you given the opportunity… most people choose the latter. It was Gotham, after all. Lee had brought them all together and felt more than a little smug about it, so she quickly declared herself leader. A few eyebrows were raised, but nothing was said. The plan she came up with was simple but effective. Sneak into the ball and make it explode; nothing deadly, just enough to make an impact. She decided to send in just two from their group, as most of the work could be accomplished outside the ballroom. After some deliberation, she sent in the most unlikely pair. The two men she knew that Sofia would never suspect to work together.

Through her reasearch into Oswald, Sofia came across the name Edward Nygma, and the pair’s brief period of bliss. However, brief is the key word. From her perspective, things just went downhill for them, and went downhill quickly. The bigger half of their relationship seemed to consist of betrayal and murder and pain, so she quickly assumed that’s all there was left.

But love is a strange thing, that doesn’t really care how you want to feel, or what you should be feeling. It just stays there, a constant in your life. It always is, until one day, it is not. Neither man had reached that day yet, although both thought the day has come and gone.

There should be nothing left to say between them. And yet, there was. There was still a lump in Oswald’s throat that formed whenever he looked into Ed’s eyes, and Ed still had an instinct to reach out and comfort Oswald when he looked distressed. Oswald still knew that Ed took his tea lukewarm with just a drop of milk and three sugars, and Ed could tell if Oswald was about to snap before anyone else even noticed he was angry. Sofia didn’t know this, of course. She assumed that she was safe. Her security could easily take down Oswald if he arrived at the ball uninvited, and he would die here, alone, as she thought no one would be insane enough to help him. Pity she had never met Edward Nygma.

The plan was simple: sneak into the ball, blend in, mingle a little, dance. Drink champagne without a drop ever making it to your throat, and eat canapés only from plates that they’d seen other people eat from. Drop tiny nanite explosives in every potted plant, expensive vase and crack in the wall. Mingle some more. Actually drink some champagne, just for the nerves, Lee. Dance again. Avoid each other’s eyes.

And so far, the plan was working. Lucius Fox, with a little pleading from Bruce and a little threatening from Barbara, had hacked into the mansion’s security cameras. He had complete control over where they were looking, and was manoeuvring them away from Ed and Oswald every time they decided to plant an explosive. Jim and Harvey, having finally made up, assembled a team of trustworthy cops in order to get all of the innocents away from the bombs. Tabitha and Barbara tackled the security. A smile, a wink and bedroom eyes from one of them would distract a guard long enough to let the other subdue them and cart them away. Then they were replaced with one of Jim and Harvey’s team. Bruce and Selina were there, looking every bit the cute teen couple. Their job was to distract Sofia when she turned up, and to generally keep an eye on Edward and Oswald, to make sure they didn’t cause a scene. Lee, along with Alfred and Lucius, ran the control room. She had sent one of her patients from the Narrows to Sofia’s orphanage weeks before, and they had managed to get in contact with Martine. They gave him a note from Oswald, and that was all it took to convince him to find and steal Sofia’s schedule for the ball. Everything was running smoothly. The only variables were Ed and Oswald.

“You stood on my foot.”

Those were the first words Oswald had spoken to him all night. Ed sighed and muttered where Oswald could shove his foot, prompting a swift kick to his left ankle, and a muffled snicker from Lee in his earpiece. Ed scowled and muted himself from Lee, continuing to drag Oswald around the dance floor. His footwork didn’t improve, and they narrowly avoided another couple, and bumped into several waiters. At this, Oswald spoke up again.

“Do you even know how to dance?”

Despite himself, Ed blushed scarlet.

“It’s not my fault that I’m not a world champion at the waltz, Oswald” he replied, sounding far less annoyed than he wanted to, “Not all of us were taught bloody ballroom dancing as a child, you know.”

Oswald pursed his lips tight, remembering the time he had shown Ed his old family photo albums.

“Maybe not, but most civilised people can move their feet in a square pattern, Ed”, he whispered, aware of the prying eyes and ears.

Ed’s grip suddenly tightened around his waist, and he pulled him close, so that his lips were resting just at Oswald’s ear. He deftly reached up, and muted Oswald on Lee’s side too.

“Well, Oswald,” he began, “I thought you’d know better than anyone just how uncivilised I can get.”

No sooner than Ed had finished his sentence that Oswald felt the sharp pinch of a knife against his stomach. He kept the panic out of his movements and voice, but his laboured breathing gave him away.

“Oh, I know Ed. But I also know that you’d have to keep me this close to stab me without anyone noticing; the blood would definetly leak onto your new suit. And you so hate washing.”

Ed grinned and spun Oswald around, glad to finally be getting a reaction out of him. He hated being ignored.

“You’re right. The dance floor is perhaps not the best place for this. Maybe later,” he relented, closing the knife and slipping it into his pocket. Then he winked at Oswald.

Your move.

Oswald hid a smile at this offer of a cat and mouse game. It reminded him of breakfasts in the mansion, where he and Ed would sometimes act out interrogations that Oswald would be having later that day. Stolen money, an attack on his staff, GCPD drama, betrayal. The last one was Oswald’s favourite to act out, as the person who betrayed him was always some underling that was nothing but a name on the payroll to him. He could do whatever he wanted to them with not even the slightest hint of remorse. Oswald never would have dreamed that the man who pretended to betray him every breakfast, the man he trusted so completely, would one day betray in real life, just by not showing up for dinner.

Oswald immediately shoved these thoughts to the back of his mind and tried to get back to the task at hand. They had to be adults about this. And Oswald was trying, he really was trying, but it was so hard to keep a level head when Ed was pressed this close to him. He hadn’t loosed his grip since issuing that threat and Oswald couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he didn’t want to. He tried to calm his breathing, but every inhalation just pressed his chest even closer against Ed’s, and he could feel his heart in his throat. Every time Ed exhaled, his breath tickled at Oswald’s ear, and it took everything Oswald had not to react to it. He knew that if he looked into Edward’s eyes he would surely explode. With every stumbling movement it seemed that the gap between them grew smaller, and it soon it would become so small that he would have to rest his head against Ed’s shoulder. He shivered at the thought. Oswald needed a distraction, and fast. Thankfully, Ed lead him to bump against the buffet table again, and an idea jolted him back to his senses.

“Let me teach you how to dance”, he muttered, finally meeting Ed’s eyes. They were round with surprise, and he could see the question in them before it came out of his mouth.

“What’s in it for me?”, he whispered back, lightly running his fingers along Oswald’s neck. The discomfort he was causing his former friend clearly amused him.

Oswald pursed his lips and tried to stay calm as the pinkness in his cheeks threatened to give him away. He took a deep breath and replied in an even voice,

“Learning a valuable skill, for a start.”

The corner of Ed’s mouth twitched upward despite himself. It was such a tempting offer. But what would saying yes mean for them?

“For a start, huh?”, he mused, spinning Oswald around again, grinning at the frustration in his eyes. “What’s the finish?”

Oswald couldn’t help rolling his eyes at Ed’s latest attempt to confuse him. It was annoying at first, and now it was just amusing. He thought that he had him right in the palm of his hand. Oswald tried to keep the fondness out of his gaze and just shook his head at the other man.

Two can play at that game.

“Wait and see, Eddie”, he smiled.

Oswald took control of the dance, leading Ed around the floor in the proper movement, much to the relief of the waiters and nearby couples. Ed was too shocked to react, and so, allowed it to happen, simply trying to keep up with Oswald’s pace. He seemed to be in his element, almost gliding around the floor like a swan on the water. His bad leg offered up no hinderence, and he waltzed around the dance floor with a true smile on his face that threatened to split Ed in two. Ed tried to focus on something, anything else, but the ballroom just melted away, leaving him and Oswald alone.

It was terrifying. He felt like a fish out of water, finally failing at something that Oswald excelled at, and god it made him feel small. Anxiety started crushing him, choking him, as he stumbled over his own feet yet again. Oswald immediately picked up on this; and squeezed Ed’s arm tight.

“Focus on me”, he murmured, slowing down their pace, “Breathe in, and out, and know that everything is ok. I’m here, I’ll always be here.”

Despite himself, Ed followed Oswald’s instructions, and took a deep breath. He instantly felt better, but turned red at this reminder of how just well Oswald knew him.

“Thank you, Oswald”, he replied, letting his friend’s name leave his lips without malice for the first time in a long time.

“You’re welcome, Edward”, he said, and just like that, his name was no longer an insult.

The pair both breathed out a sigh of relief. A river had been crossed, now all they could do was move onto the next one.

“Follow my lead”, Oswald commanded, and took off once more, leading Ed, this time with more care, behind him.

“Make a box with your feet, in a pattern of eights. You’re good with patterns, you know them. You can do this.”

Ed swallowed loudly, and tried to keep the anxiety out of his voice as he spoke.

“My father would have killed me on the spot for this.”

Before Oswald could respond, Ed took charge of the dance again, repeating the pattern in his head until his feet got the picture and danced along. Oswald had many questions clogging up his mind, but rightfully decided that this was not the time or place to ask them. He simply sank into the dance, his feet barely touching the floor as he fell into step with Ed. The other man had picked it up pretty quickly, and Oswald couldn’t stop himself from smiling as it quickly became clear that they were dancing better than anyone else there. That was when he decided to let go. Let his worries, his pain, and sorrow go. Right here, right now he was living. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore; Oswald allowed Ed take him anywhere he pleased on this dance floor. He went right, Oswald went right. He sped up, Oswald sped up with him. They became one with the song, with the dance, and with each other. They continued like that until they had to separate, though Oswald was sad to be away from Ed’s warmth. When the song ended the chatter of the other couples filled their ears, and the ballroom rematerialised. He couldn’t help but smile at Ed, and Ed smiled back at him, filled with joy. They stood like that for a few moments, simply being together, until the crackle of Lee’s voice in their earpieces broke the spell. Oswald unmuted himself and sighed quietly, motioning for Ed to do the same. Lee’s voice filled his ear, panicking and broken. Ed’s face drained, and he stared at Oswald with a flicker of fear in his eyes.

Bruce and Selina were gone.

And Sofia was coming.

#gotham #edward nygma #oswald cobblepot #nygmobblepot #gotham fanfiction #ed and oswald #nygmobblepot art #nygmobblepot fanfiction #the penguin #the riddler

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ciathyzareposts · 5 years

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Batman Returns – World’s Greatest Thumb-Twiddler (Lost!)

Written by Joe Pranevich

Who’s the dark knight detective that’s a hit with all the chicks? Batman! Your darned right. Welcome back to Batman Returns! Last week, I completed the first day by discovering (and stealing) an innocuous awards ceremony tape from the mayor’s office. We spent the day exploring and dealing with thugs from a circus gang, but did not spy either Penguin or Catwoman. Thus far, the game feels a bit thin with empty areas and not a lot that to explore thanks to the verbless interface. That said, the graphics are quite good and I’m enjoying bits of Danny Elfman in the soundtrack– his Batman theme is one of the musical highpoints of my childhood and adds so much to this game.

And yet, you might sense that something is off. As Alex Romanov noted in the comments to my last post, I made a critical mistake that I did not discover until the end of this session. Things didn’t go well for the Caped Crusader. Rather than whitewash it, I will narrate what happened and you can see for yourself how I spent the next four hours of play time. I am not sure whether I was completely doomed after the first day’s mistake or if there was some way that I could have recovered, but either way this is a “Lost!” post. I will try again from the start next week.

I thought he looked like the guy from Twins.

Day 2

Batman began his second day like the first one: sitting at his bat-desk and listening to the nightly news. The top story of the night is that Oswald Cobblepot, a deformed man with a penguin-like appearance, saved the mayor’s son from a kidnap attempt by the circus gang. We know (because we’re not idiots) that the Penguin orchestrated the whole scenario, but the gullible population swallows it and sees him as a hero. Perhaps Batman’s vigilante activities have primed them to accept another bird-themed hero..

I wish we had been present for this scene instead of being told about it on the news. In the movie, the circus gang attacks the mayor and his family at a tree lighting ceremony and escape through a manhole, only to have the Penguin emerge from the same (in his rubber duckie boat!) and return the child to his father. Neither Bruce Wayne nor his alter-ego are present for this scene in the film either, but we lose a lot by having it summarized by a talking head. Still, I cannot fault the game for trying to tell this story strictly from Batman’s point of view, especially as they are highlighting the detective aspect of his character.

The bat-computer is updated immediately with Penguin as a “person to watch”.

Racing to the batmobile, I find no new locations have opened up. I check Gotham Plaza, downtown, and the mayor’s office over again, but other than a few sporadic battles with the circus gang, I observe nothing new. I even search everything twice just to be sure. As far as I can tell, other than the news report at the beginning of the night, the second day has no additional content.

In the film, Penguin’s arrival on the scene is followed by a brief quest to find out his real identity. Penguin is taken to the hall of records where he searches for evidence of his name and his lost family. We later learn that Penguin used his time with the records to assemble lists of the Gotham elite’s firstborn children to abduct. The game skips this part and reveals his name immediately. Unless it comes up later, this is a lost opportunity because Batman spying on Penguin could have been a neat adventure game sequence.

Having found absolutely nothing to do, I retire for the evening and prepare for day three. I hope I am not coming off as down on the game already, but slowly mousing over rooms get boring after a while.

Day 3

Unlike the previous two, the third night does not even have a news update. There are general news stories about the decline of education standards and the increase in crime, but nothing pertinent to our case. I head to the batmobile for another evening of searching around. As before, there are no new areas to explore on our map.

I discover a clue in the mayor’s office: a stack of “party pictures” left on his desk. I scan them using my bat-scanner and return to the batcave. I do not know if there is a penalty if I had taken them instead of scanning them, but I’d rather not risk it. We cannot look at the pictures directly. Instead, we insert them into the evidence computer for processing. It reveals that they are photos from that mayor’s son’s first birthday party. There is also an option to extrapolate further, but the computer does not have enough evidence for additional conclusions. This is twice that Batman has gone to the mayor’s office and stolen something completely innocuous. We have yet to discover an actual clue.

World’s Greatest Stalker

I return to the streets to see if anything changed. Unsurprisingly, nothing did despite searching every room again. No matter how nice the graphics are, there are only so many times you can watch the same animations before you go a little nuts. The manual claims that you can fast-forward by clicking the right mouse immediately after selecting an action with you left, but I never got this to work.

There are only nine days in the game and we’ve spent three of them doing nothing. When does the plot start?

Now, I suppose.

Day 4

The fourth day starts with a news alert! The citizens of the city are sick and tired of gangs of circus performers roaming the city. They want a mayoral recall election and they want it now. Not coincidentally, Oswald Cobblepot is now the leading opposition candidate thanks to the city seeing him as the hero that they need. We know from the movie that this is all being orchestrated by Max Shreck as part of his plot to get a sympathetic mayor in office so that he can siphon electricity from the city, but the game doesn’t make that connection yet. The movie also shows Penguin eating raw fish and assaulting his supporters, but Mr. Shreck’s excellent stage-management of Cobblepot’s reputation somehow causes these incidents to be forgotten. The news even has the gall to complain that “Batman has disappeared” during these attacks; how many times have I run around the city beating up clowns in the last four days?

I explore the city again and find the standard array of empty rooms and meaningless combats. This time, I spy a feather on the mayor’s desk and pocket it. When I take that back to the evidence computer, I have my first real clue of the game! The computer identifies the feather as being from an Emperor Penguin, possibly one of penguins from an exhibit at the Old Zoo. The computer further believes that the feather is intended as a threat or a calling card, to tell the mayor that the Penguin is after him. Could the pictures from the previous night be a similar threat? What if they were taken by Penguin’s gang to show the mayor how closely he and his family are being watched?

Going to the zoo, zoo, zoo… how about you, you, you…

The best thing about this evidence is that I have a new location on the Batmobile’s map: the Old Zoo, in the southwest corner. I discover it deserted but ready for exploration. I’m not sure either from the game or the movie whether the zoo is still in operation or whether the remaining animals, including a large flock of penguins, were just left to starve on their own. I don’t think that Penguin could hide inside of an active zoo, but I also find it hard to believe that they would have left all of the animals behind in a closed one. Maybe I should blame Tum Burton for loving the idea of an abandoned zoo without considering the logistics of it.

A cave for polar bears?

The penguin exhibit!

The zoo is not a huge place and we can’t explore it very deeply. All we have is an overhead view where Batman is perched on a tree, plus views of the outside of “Arctic World” and a cave. We cannot go into “Arctic World”, although we can at least zoom in to the entrance of the cave. That’s where we discover our second piece of evidence of the night: an old circus poster. I scan that and return to the batcave.

The poster is for a circus that disbanded five years ago. The computer further deduces that the circus performers are the same ones that are terrorizing the city. That suggests that the thugs are connected to the zoo and, by extension, the Penguin! Holy moley! The movie makes this explicit much earlier, but I like the way the game is telling this story exclusively from Batman’s perspective.

Before concluding my most successful night yet, I take one more spin around all of the locations to see if I find anything new. I do not, but at least I feel better that the plot is starting up.

How did you get my Skype?

Day 5

I am more than halfway through the game! I considered ending the post here, but there isn’t quite enough content yet. The plot thickens immediately as the Penguin sends Batman a video message directly to the batcave. He wants Batman to know that he has a tape of evidence against the mayor that he will release soon. Once the people discover how corrupt their leader is, they will surely pick Penguin as his replacement. He claims that he is telling us this because he wants to “play fair”, but there is likely another reason. In the film, he’s trying to draw Batman out so that he can be discredited. I’m not sure if the game has the narrative ability to present that well.

Now that I consider it, the craziest part of the game is that you could possibly go from a petition to a recall election in less than a week. Just printing ballots and arranging polling stations would take more than that. Real world gears turn much more slowly, plus Penguin could be just as easily recalled if he won the election. In the film, the timeframe is less explicit but still condensed, starting from the tree-lighting and ending sometime before Christmas; four weeks at most.

Jinkies! Another clue!

I run through my well-practiced tour of every room in the city and find two new clues in the mayor’s office: a photo on a side-table and remodeling plans on his desk. I take them back to the batcave for further consideration.

Who is Byron Orton?

Thanks to our evidence computer, we learn that the photo is of the mayor and Byron Orton. “Who is Bryron Orton?” you might ask? The biographical computer reveals that he is the publisher of the Gotham Gazette and a tabloid called The Tell All. It appears that the mayor is courting him in an effort to improve his standing among the press and to get some positive coverage before the snap election. Mr. Orton appears to be an original creation for this game with no comic book or movie tie-ins, nor does he appear in any of the drafts of the script that I have located. I think– but I am not sure– that Byron’s image is actually Don Landon, a video editor on Batman Returns and a long-time engineer for Park Place Productions. This guess is based on a grainy photo in the manual for NHL Hockey (1992) for the Sega Genesis, so I apologize if I have made a mistake. This is as good a time as any to tell you that Batman’s citizen database has been gradually updated as the game progresses. Catwoman appears for the first time now, for example, plus Penguin’s entry has been updated to talk about the extortion threat. I don’t check them all every day to see what else might be different.

The plans are of a defense-oriented remodel of someplace, but neither we nor the mayor seems to be sure of where. The mayor’s notes suggest that he believes Max Shreck is up to something, but he doesn’t know what. The computer helpfully tells us that a ventilation duct is the weak point in the design, a detail that I am positive will come in handy later.

Dark Knights of the Round Table?

More importantly, discovering the plans opens up Shreck’s office on the map! It’s just across from Gotham Plaza; we can enter it through one of the rooftop screens that I had already found, but not until we knew that the location was important. That gives me a bit of hope that some of these empty rooms will be less empty before the end of the game.

Searching the room carefully, I discover a hidden compartment beneath the globe on the right hand side. I have to use the lockpick, but inside is a memo which I scan for further analysis. While in his office, I get attacked by more circus people, although I am not certain whether that is a programming flaw or further indication that Shreck and Penguin are in cahoots. Back in the batcave, we learn that Shreck’s was hunting to Penguin to use his men to inflame the crime wave. Doing so will undercut the mayor’s reputation, ensuring Penguin’s eventual win. Good thing this sort of thing never happens in real life!

Catwoman attacks!

Heading back out to the city, I am attacked by Catwoman outside of Shreck’s department store. She has no difficulty with any of the weapons that I have on hand, but she eventually leaves. Did she win? Did I win? I have no idea. My computer crashed immediately afterwards and I lost all “Day 5” progress, but she did not appear when I replayed the sequence. My guess is that she is a random encounter, but I’m not sure how to defeat her if I can’t find her.

Who is Dennis Barvel?

While digging around in the computer, I notice an alert that wasn’t there before: Dennis Barvel is listed as a “Person to Watch” and plans to strike at the jewelry store, one of the downtown locations, tonight. The database tells me that he is also known as “Dominic Best”, an armed robbery specialist that likes to target banks and jewelry stores. He just got out of a four-year prison sentence and is looking to strike again. He appears to be a game-exclusive and not in either comics or the film. I head to the location and wait all night (by pushing the “next hour” button), but he never shows up. We know that the original game was to feature some non-movie content, but that the studio nixed that idea much to Bill Kunkel’s consternation. Were Barvel and Orton plot threads that were excised but not removed completely? Is it coincidence that they both show up on day five, or would I have found more if I had searched the database every night? Alternatively, am I just doing something wrong and missed an important cutscene? I have no idea.

Thanks for reminding me!

Day 6

I start the next day without having solved the mystery of Penguin’s extortion tape. He’s even kind enough to video-call me again to remind me that I need to track him down. Thanks, Penguin! He reveals that his real motivation is to expose me, making himself the hero and Batman the freak. The nightly news reveals that there is renewed violence in Gotham Plaza, obviously part of the plot that Shreck and Penguin cooked up the previous day. While not connected to the main plot, I notice that Barvel is no longer listed in the computer. I missed whatever was supposed to happen with him, if anything.

At Gotham Plaza, I enter the fight of my gaming life. Batman has to face enemy after enemy. Eventually, even the Penguin shows up. He blocks everything I throw at him with an umbrella, although I do get him to talk to me after a well-timed bolo hits him. (Or maybe the timing is a coincidence; I am not sure.)

The Penguin is surprisingly effective with his trick umbrella for both attack and defense.

The “conversation” is a brief cutscene: Batman accuses Penguin of coming downtown to admire his villainous handiwork, but Penguin replies that as a mayoral candidate he’s only touring the scene of a major riot. Being down here tonight, fighting me, is apparently good for his image!

Smacking around some bats. You know.

Eventually, Penguin flees the scene– I am uncertain whether I won or lost the fight. He is immediately replaced by Catwoman. I don’t know if this is the fight that I was supposed to have with her on the previous day or related to the riot. If I land a couple of hits on her, we get a brief dialog scene from the movie where Catwoman acts indignant that Batman would hit a woman, before laying it on him with both barrels. She’s probably making some point here about early 90s feminism, but I’m too busy being beaten up by a woman wearing a latex catsuit to understand.

And it’s not okay to hit cats either.

This whole marathon feels like a final boss. Even after Catwoman leaves, I am hounded by circus performer after circus performer. Eventually, I have to run away because I am out of weapons and taking too much damage. When I return after a recharge, I fight only one or two more battles in the plaza. Nothing special happens after I do and I search the rest of the city to find absolutely nothing. I search everything multiple times because I know that I have to find the clues that will lead me to Penguin’s videotape. Still, I come up short.

Reluctantly, I flip over to day seven and the game ends immediately. Penguin’s tape is released, showing the mayor embezzling funds from the city. This scandal ends the mayor’s political career and rockets Penguin (and Max Shreck) into a position of power in the city. The election is done. Batman is disgraced. Game over.

Yeah, I know. He reminded me twice!

But recall elections here are pretty quick and easy to arrange.

You have failed this city. Green Arrow could have solved this case.

Do I have to play again?

There is a small part of me that wants to stop here with a “Lost!” post. I think we’ve seen much of what the game has to offer in terms of interactions and combat. I cannot bring myself to give up just yet, so my plan is to replay from scratch and see if I can find things that I missed. If I make it through a second time with nothing to show for it, expect a “Request for Assistance” but I have a fishy feeling that I know what I did wrong.

Even absent a “Request for Assistance”, advice is appreciated on the Penguin and Catwoman combats. I don’t have a strategy for those except putting the game on “Fierce” and setting my DOS emulator to fast-forward because the fights take ages and get nowhere. Is there an object or a combination of objects that I should be using to win those fights?

Time played: 4 hr 10 min Total time: 6 hr 00 min

source http://reposts.ciathyza.com/batman-returns-worlds-greatest-thumb-twiddler-lost/

#retro games #dos games #retro #crpg #adventure #amiga #oldcomputers #8bit #16bit #blog #repost

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