Bruce, bleeding out, grunts: I’m fine.
Hal: Oh, you’re fine? That’s good. I’ll put that on your tombstone. “He said he was fine. He was wrong.”
Villain! 🧟♂️🦇 #sculptober day 31
Look who’s here!
(Somebody seriously called me Beetlejuice. The nerve)
All I know is that you all really fucking hate that guy.
Goin as Harley Quinn for Halloween! Also she vapes this is canon now
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3jKWwhM
DC Kink Meme Prompt: Villian of your choice has Bats and all his kids at their mercy and they offer Bruce a terrible choice: pick one of his children to stay behind and get raped by the villain and their henchmen and the rest can go free. If he refuses to choose, or takes too long choosing, the villain will just kill and rape them all.
Words: 550, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
- Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types
- Rating: Mature
- Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
- Categories: Gen
- Characters: Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Joker (DCU), Unspecified Batgirls, Minor Characters
- Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
- Additional Tags: Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Moral Dilemmas, Choices, No Smut, Angst, Protective Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd Feels, Self-Sacrifice, Threats of Violence, Threats of Gang Rape, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3jKWwhM
He doesn’t usually do anything during Halloween. But, if you managed to talk him into it, he might actually venture to the surface to go out and enjoy the festivities. He’d have a particular soft spot for giving out candy to trick-or-treaters, especially when they compliment his “cool costume.”
Hunting down assholes who like to smash jack-o-lanterns for fun and giving them a little “scare.” All in the name of Halloween, of course. While she doesn’t really like jack-o-lanterns in-general, she loathes people who waste the effort put into making them even more.
Oh, he is such a ham when it comes to Halloween. He loves to make “escape room” type mazes, where he can spring all sorts of spooky traps on the hapless fools who wander in. Whoever makes it through wins a prize! All while you two watch the action unfold from the safety of his surveillance room. It’s fun!
A character, who was raised under horrible circumstances and forced to be a murderer, learning to fight against those impulses through years of hard work and becomes a hero who was not defined by who his parents were or how he were raised will always be a far more interesting and compelling take than the character ultimately become the “villain” they were raised to be
AN: Or, HOLY SHIT I’M SO STOKED FOR BATTINSON OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD–
Ahem. Potential early encounter/identity confirmation/whatever with Batman and Scarecrow. Title from Nirvana’s ‘Something In The Way’ (sound familiar?). Happy Halloween. Bruce is still new (obviously), and, as in Year One, is a bit of a ‘lucky amateur’.
* * *
Bruce ignores everything Alfred has ever told him about ladies, their bedrooms, and being a gentleman when he slides open the bedroom window on the third-floor apartment.
It’s a mid-grade one; not in the middle of Crime Alley, but nowhere near the Diamond District. The elevator works, and the neighbors are quiet, but the security cameras don’t move and the motion lights are broken.
He’s not sure if he hopes Jonathan Crane is the Scarecrow killer or not. On one hand, that would be this case finished. On the other hand, Kitty Richardson had been so sure her boyfriend would never do such a thing. She’ll be devastated. Bruce will have to live with that.
But then again, he wants this case finished. He wants to catch this lunatic, whoever he-or she, he supposes-may be. The bodies are random; some homeless, some not, suggesting these are crimes of opportunity. But their faces…
Some of them have…harmed themselves, in some way. But all of them share the same expression of frozen terror. Their last moments were horrifying, and Bruce cannot let this continue.
The bedroom is sparse; a bed, two nightstands, and a bookshelf filled with worn spines ranging from Stephen King to Agatha Christie. Further investigation turns up a modest closet with shoes and clothes and a jewelry box. The bathroom is similarly uninteresting, the only really personal touches being a little dish with a man’s cufflinks in it.
A noise in another room catches his attention and he moves silently into the hall. The lights are out in the living room, but not the kitchen, and he can just see a small shape reflected in the television screen. Richardson is home.
She wasn’t supposed to be home.
Bruce is not about to waste this opportunity.
She’s sitting on the counter, legs swinging a little, and clearly waiting for the electric kettle to finish. Richardson looks a little like a doll; bird boned and thin, with big, shiny brown eyes and red lips. She’s short, too, five feet at best.
Yes, she looks very much like a doll.
“What are you doing here?” She jumps off the counter, hand going for the acrylic knife block near the kettle. “How did you get in?”
“Where is Crane.”
“At work.” She scowls, but then the kettle chimes that it’s done and just like that, the scowl is gone. “Tea?”
“Tea.” Crane is likely at work; there’s only one mug on the counter. “Most people don’t offer me tea.”
“I’m British, Batman. We’re all trained to offer tea, in case the Queen comes by.” Her tone is serious but those shiny, shiny eyes are laughing at him. “Tea or no?”
“No.” His internal Alfred tsks disapprovingly. “Thank you.”
“Suit yourself.” Hot water goes into the mug and Bruce catches a hint of Earl Grey. “It’s not so bad that you’re here, really. I found something you might want to see.”
He steps out of the doorway. Richardson sets the stove timer, muttering about always forgetting she’s made tea, and goes into the darkened living room to turn on the lights.
The living room has four bookshelves, floor-to-ceiling ones on the north wall. The television takes up a wall of its own, and there’s two end tables near the couch. It takes Bruce a few seconds to pinpoint what seems off to him, but then it hits; no pictures. Not even a graduation photograph.
“I wasn’t looking, you know,” Richardson’s saying as she drags a small step stool out from between the bookshelves. “Not for anything silly. I was looking for my tea, which I’d left somewhere, when I saw a book I didn’t remember us having, and when I went to pull it out…where is…oh!”
Bruce doesn’t see what book she has, and it doesn’t really matter; the second-left shelf clicks and opens, leading into an unlit room. Richardson hops off the stool and goes inside, still chattering away.
“You wouldn’t believe what I found in here…come in, come in, it’s fine…Jonathan always thinks he can hide things from me. He never learns. But look! Look at this.” The lights are not on, and there is no apparent switch. But she’s gone straight to a table and picked up…a gift. A polka-dot wrapped gift with a bright red bow on top. “I don’t want anything for my birthday this year, I said. I don’t care, I said. And he does this to me! One of these days, I’ll really have to kill him for not listening.” Those red lips curve up in a bright smile. “Think I should open it?”
“Where. Is. Crane.”
“I told you, he’s at work.” She hops up on the table, swings her legs again, and suddenly leans over. The room is flooded with light. “He’ll be home soon.”
It’s a small room, a little bigger than his closet at home. The table in the middle has beakers and a handful of petri dishes on it, and there’s a small fridge on the far side. But what Bruce is interested in is the chair in the corner. It’s big, and there’s straps and handcuffs on it, and he can see bloodstains from here. There’s a little rolling cart next to it with empty bottles and what look like surgical instruments-are, that’s a scalpel, he can see it from this angle-on it.
Richardson’s fiddling with the bow, lower lip between her teeth.
“I can’t imagine what it would be…” She gives the box a shake. “You don’t suppose he really did have John Lee’s head taxidermied for me, do you?” She looks at him anxiously. “I was mostly joking when I said that…”
John Lee had been identified via fingerprints, as his head had been missing. The bloodwork had confirmed the presence of what the GCPD has been referring to as Fear Toxin.
“This isn’t a game,” he growls. “Tell me where he is.”
“What would I even do with a head? Men.”
“I’m not. Asking. Again.”
She shrugs, gives the box another shake.
“I’m not joking.”
“Neither am I,” a voice rasps in his ear. Bruce whirls just as the lights go out. The living room lights are out now, too, but he can just make out the spindly form of Jonathan Crane, who has his arm out like a pointing, judgemental statue.
It’s too late; the gas, white, bitter and thick, coats his tongue and throat and nostrils and stings his eyes. He coughs, trying to get it out (hoping to get it out) and Scarecrow laughs.
The shadows in the living room grow and crawl towards him, moaning and crying.
Not real. They’re not real.
“Who d’you think he is?” Richardson’s voice is distorted, simultaneously right in his ear and miles underwater.
“Let’s find out.”
He kicks out at what is either a clawing, crying shadow or Scarecrow. It staggers back, cursing, and there’s a sudden, sharp pain in his knee. One of the shadows flings itself at him, wraps its arms around his waist.
“WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I DIED?”
“I.” Can’t be real, it can’t be real… “I’m sorry.”
“WHERE WERE YOU!”
The tall shadow comes at him again. Bruce elbows the hanger-on away and–window. The window. If he can get outside, the shadows won’t follow him.
“YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO COME!”
“MY SON DIED BECAUSE YOU WEREN’T THERE!”
Glass knicks his face and clings to the suit, but the cold night air does wonders. He sticks the landing on the fire escape, but then he makes the mistake of looking up.
The shadows are following, climbing over each other in an attempt to get to him first. He can’t let them get to him. He’s not sure why, exactly, but he can’t let them get to him.
A car is speeding towards the apartment. If he can get on that, he’ll be safe, they can’t catch the car.
“WHY DIDN’T YOU COME?”
They’re starting to fall. One of them just misses the fire escape and hits the pavement with a sickening splat!, but it gets back up almost immediately.
The car’s close enough. It has to be. He won’t be so lucky again.
“Where are you, Batman?”
Fast finished doodle of Tim hallucinating under one of Posison Ivy’s flowers, with that he desires more than anything, but won’t ever get to have; Jason.
Two photos, because with the golden hue, it’s impossible to take a good one. 😅
A happy DC Halloween 🎃
Okay, anon I see that the creativity jumped out. Thanks for the idea.
he genuinely loses his MIND if u wear thigh highs he thinks they’re so cute so hot so sexy… he gets so grabby with u tho
Hgnn, why does it kinda look like Jervis is disguised as Scarecrow asdfghjkl. I
do not like it.