#also rainbowfoxes is right

[captainlordauditor]

Your ocs intrigue me. Who's Flying Fox and Peregrine? Who's the Robin making the identity-compromising tiktok? How old is Bruce there and why is he still Batman? Who's Peregrine's 2 superhero families? Who's the childless lesbian aunt? Who's Eleanor and Theo & what's their backstory? I demand answers

Half of these are like barely ocs lmao @rainbowfoxes and I just..........looked at all the universes and adaptations and went “okay how many of these can we shove into main continuity” and then “how many can we extrapolate off of that” so elseworlds kids + ocs + C L O N E C H I L D R E N

So Bruce, in addition to Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, and Damian, also has Athanasia, Terry, Matt, and Helena

Dick has (in order of birth) Mari, Eleanor, Henry, Jake, Bryce, John, and Nzinga Elainna

Jason has (in order of acquisition) Penny, Sasha(Scarlet), Lian, Theo, Caden(Vessel), Clara(Cloud 9), Hui-Cheol(Devour), Hyacinth(DNA), Balla(Babe in Arms.....for now), and Reiser(Doomed) (the gen outlaw kids), Henry, Danny, and Nestra, and Alisdair

Tim has Antigone, Aviv, and Martha (triplets) and then Alexandra, Cindy, and Alisdair

Cass has Sybil, Lori, and Delphine

Not strictly Batfam but Harley has Lucy, Lori(sort of), Thorn, Hazel, Rose and May

Steph has at least Carrie Kelley, who’s the kid she gave up just before No Mans Land, and we’re not sure what other kids she has yet

Flying Fox is Terry McGinnis, shoved into main continuity by way of Knightfall giving Amanda Waller an “oh shit” moment.

The Robin making the identity-compromising tiktok is Henry, who’s one of the older grandkids, a clone of Dick that Jason picks up. He becomes Robin kind of on the edge of when Bruce retires I haven’t actually worked out the timeline on if he’s Bruce’s last Robin or Cass’s first but he’s right around there

Peregrine is a speedster who’s also a Wayne. Someone decided to try and clone the core 4 of Young Justice and used Tim’s DNA as a stabilizer. 

The childless lesbian aunt is Cass, I actually miscounted on that post she just has 3 clones (listed above)

Eleanor is Catalina Flores’ daughter. Main continuity Catalina plans to use Eleanor as leverage but ends up giving birth in prison and Eleanor gets adopted by like. The most ordinary family ever. The Court of Owls later finds out about her existence and tries to get her since she’s also Dick’s daughter and Dick ends up finding out and getting custody after her adopted parents die.

However, on Earth 3 she’s raised by Catalina, who is a hero due to alignment flip, and becomes the third Tarantula.

Theo is a shitpost that got out of hand.

Henry, Delphine, Lori and Alisdair are all clone babies that are specifically inspired by weird characterization in adaptations - Titans 2018, Shadow of the Batgirl, the Birds of Prey Movie and Batman the Animated series in order

#e427 #asks #answers #Anonymous #dendarii.orig #dendarii.txt #13th #July #2020 #July 13th 2020

[captainlordauditor]

300x3 - 201/202 ish??

Ya’ll know the deal - 3 bursts of 300 words per week. @klaineharmony posted the rules here. Also shoutout to @rainbowfoxes for joining this week! Yay for more people :D

 This one is a weird one, because I wrote 243 words on Tuesday, and then today/yesterday (Wednesday) I wrote another 940 for a total of 1183, which is my longest yet, so yaaaay me! So I’ll call this 201 and 201.5, I guess?This is a continuation of 103, so it’s Newsies and set about 18 and a half years after the strike. 

I don’t think this one gets any linguistic notes! The dogs here are whippets, but that doesn’t matter too much storywise. Brief mention of animal abuse; not something that happens in the story, just something that’s considered when Race is running through possibilities of things that could’ve happened.

Race knew Katherine had grown up in a mansion in Brooklyn, one with five parlors and ten bedrooms. Spot had been born in a two room tenement housing a dozen people, and Race had lived in one room spaces all his life, or else barracks style with twenty to fifty others. To them, this apartment with five rooms total for three people was the height of luxury, and a mansion the height of capitalist decadence. Five rooms, Race had come to think, was exactly the right amount of space for him, Spot, and his dogs, especially if they ever had more kids.

Standing here, with his pistol in his hands and an unknown danger in his home, Race suddenly felt a spike of longing for the one room tenements of their youth. If his house were a mansion, he might not have even known anyone was here.

Race tried to think, his heart pounding in his ears. Whoever it was who had broken in almost certainly wasn’t a random burglar. Most of the thieves in this part of the city worked for Spot, and knew what would happen if they betrayed him. Malka, Yocheved and Esther were quiet, too. Someone just looking for a place to rob would have been unprepared for the dogs, but this intruder had either shot them, drugged them, or bribed them. Malka in particular was susceptible to bribery by food for good behavior, especially as she’d gotten older.

Quiet dogs - God, he hoped they were only quiet - meant preparation. Preparation meant they knew who it was they were robbing. Preparation meant they weren’t looking for random valuables. Preparation meant they knew what they wanted, and were probably more dangerous.

Race shifted quietly, sliding his feet back into the entryway as silently as he could across the wood floor, sticking close to the wall opposite the door back into the hall, where the floor was more settled. The cane stand hadn’t moved while he was in kitchen. It still held Spot’s five canes of various weights and woods, for how much damage and what kind of pain he wanted to cause when he was here. He slid over to the office door and reached for it, then stopped. If the intruder was in there, they’d know he was coming through that door. Race tried the door to the bedroom, instead; it opened easily. Race put his hand back on his pistol and gently kicked the door further open.

Someone had been in here. There was a coat tossed neatly on the bed, not one Race recognized. It was a mens’ coat, dull brown wool, patched and worn. The dresser had been open and spilling socks when he’d left that morning. Now it was neatly closed. The curtains were open, but the windows were still closed. Whoever it was couldn’t have left that way, anyway; the fire escape was on the other side of the apartment.

There was a door here into the office. It was concealed on the other side by a painting of Jack’s. It was kept unlocked. Best guess, the intruder was here for information. They’d want to get into the office for that. There wasn’t much, here; they preferred to keep records somewhere less obviously connected to them. But Race had been negligent in the past few months without Spot to keep him neat, and the rent records had been kept here since they’d moved in, for all their buildings. Those were innocent enough, after all.

Race opened the door to the office and raised his pistol to shoot.

It was exactly as he’d left it that morning. 

The desk was still in the stage of semiorganized chaos he swore he’d fix before he went up to see Spot again on Thursday. The filing cabinet had the top drawer closed, the middle one open and the bottom one half open. The fountain pen was in its stand, and there were three pencils scattered across the desk in the same positions they’d been in when he’d left. A glance in the mirror above the desk opposite the doorway he stood in told him he was alone.

Why would someone go to the trouble of breaking in, go into the kitchen and the bedroom, but leave the office as it was? Unless…

Race entered, crossed to the wall and laid his pistol on the shelf beside him within easy reach. He took down the other painting in the room (a family portrait - it was useful to have an artist as a brother) and set it beside him, then spun open the safe. 

Inside was an ancient yellow cigar box. Race had had the box for twenty three years, and really shouldn’t have continued using it. The corners were flaking, losing their paint, and the lid didn’t attach any more. It had sentimental value, though. He wasn’t giving up the first thing he’d ever stolen. He opened it carefully and leafed through the papers and photos inside.

Everything was still there.

He put it back, closed the safe, and picked up his pistol.

The intruder had been in the bedroom and the kitchen. They’d left no signs of their presence in the office. He would have heard them in the bathroom from the kitchen. That left the living room.

With the doors opened and most of the rooms cleared, he crossed the entry and kitchen easily and quietly, and threw open the door to the living room. What he saw filled him with a mix of confusion and rage.

Esther and Malka were lying across the rug, both of them wagging their tails, Esther with a loose mouthed doggy grin, and Malka with her head tiredly on her paws. They lay on each side of the armchair. The mirror above the fireplace hid the face of the person seated in it behind a newspaper. There was only one person who sat in that armchair, and he wouldn’t be home for another four and a half years.

“Get out of his chair right now.” His tone told the intruder about the pistol aimed at their back.

The newspaper lowered slowly. “You know,” said a voice from the chair, “these is a lot harder to read without you around.” In the mirror grey eyes met brown. Eyes set in a face Race had only seen once a week since August.

Race lowered his pistol half in shock, half in relief. “Spot?” he said the only thing that came to mind. “What the hell is you doing here?”

Spot leaned over one arm of his chair and twisted to look at his lover. “I got released early.”

“Four and a half years early?”

Spot sighed. “Merry Christmas?”

Race let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. His shoulders sagged. “Mouse?” he called. “You can come out now. Everything’s alright.” Then, in a lower voice; “Fucking shit, Spot, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve come up and brought you back-”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“Surprise - Spot, I thought someone had broken in!” Race uncocked his pistol and holstered it. 

#300x3 #sprace #dendarii.orig #dendarii.txt #12th #September #2019 #September 12th 2019 #fic writing #neu