This yours?
[DP x DC fic]
[Love at first... murder? - part 12]
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Part 1
Ao3
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Somewhere else, in a seemingly abandoned building on the outskirts of the city, a figure shrouded in darkness and wearing a dark cloak plots.
In front of them is a whiteboard. It’s covered in pictures, sticky notes, and illegible texts. Some of the notes thrown about that are legible are ‘fight…’, ‘draw blood.’, and ‘DEATH!!!’.
There’s a crude stick figure drawn in the corner of the board, it’s impaled. Other small doodles can also be found all around the board.
Most of the information and pictures are connected by red strings, like you see in movies.
In the middle is a picture of 2 people sitting on a motorcycle, the arms of the person sitting in the back are around the waist of the person sitting in the front. The picture has some arrows pointing towards it and the people in the picture are very obviously circled.
Though the face of the person driving the motorcycle is obscured by their helmet, the other person seems to be heavily blushing and grinning broadly.
“Yes… yes! That’s it! I know what to do…” They seem to be speaking to themselves.
Quickly, the person scribbles down a barely legible ‘sacrifice!!‘.
They start cackling.
“Mwuahaha!”
It’s an evil laugh they’ve been working on for quite a while now, and they’re pretty proud of it.
However, the effect is slightly ruined when a fly enters their mouth, cutting off their cackling with choking as they gasp for air, grasping at their throat.
A few good thumps against their chest, with some coughing out their lungs, helps them dislodge the fly from their throat and they spit it out on the ground. They take a few deep breaths before straightening up again.
“Curse you” the person exclaims, angrily waving their fist at the fly as it flies away.
---
Bruce’s face gives off nothing as he stares at the streets down below. He’s dressed as Batman, crouched at the edge of a building with Damian by his side as Robin. Spoiler, Black Bat, Nightwing, and Red Robin are further back on the rooftop.
They watch in silence as another group of the Joker’s goons passes by. They’ve been all over the city, wandering around, not doing anything obviously illegal.
They don’t stay in one place and they don’t seem to have much of a purpose. No attacks… No stealing… No smuggling or transport of goods… No, instead they’re inspecting every single inch of the city.
They don’t seem to have any weapons on them. All they’re carrying on them are some flashlights. While most don’t give anything away with their body language or expressions, some seem to give off a bit of anxious energy.
Spoiler claimed she even saw some of them climb down into the sewers earlier and then climbing out again sometime later somewhere else, but this time ‘dejected and stinky’.
One thing seems clear to the Bats.
They’re searching for something… or someone.
“This basically confirms that not even the Joker’s henchmen know where he is. He’s missing.”
“I’m not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing”
“Good… thing?”
“It’s… something. That’s for sure.”
“We don’t know if he’s really missing. For all we know it could be a trap. What if the Joker is hiding, pretending to be missing to have us bring our guard down? Besides, how could he be missing? He’s the Joker. No one’s just gonna kidnap him”
“For all we know he could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere”
“I highly doubt that”
“Everyone, focus” Bruce speaks up, having them draw their attention to him.
“It’s unclear whether the Joker is simply hiding away or missing. Instead of focusing on the why, we need to focus on the where. Missing or not, we need to find him and get him back to Arkham. Oracle, have you managed to find out anything from the footage yet?”
“Nope, still nothing. All the files from the moment he enters Crime Alley are wiped and any attempt at recovering them only brings back corrupted files.”
“We need Red Hood. Where is he?” Bruce asks.
“He still has his phone on silent and he has removed the trackers and cams. We haven’t placed any new ones on him yet”
“Let’s visit him on his turf then. And keep an eye out for anything suspicious in the meantime. Oracle, try recovering the missing files. If that doesn’t work, go back to the breakout footage. Perhaps he left some kind of clues about his plans or whereabouts behind there.” Bruce states.
“Roger that.”
---
Red Hood has his arms by his sides as he gazes down upon the street below from the rooftop of a random apartment building in Crime Alley.
He’s lucky to have avoided the Bats so far. But he doubts his luck will last for long.
Red Hood stiffens as he suddenly feels something clamp down on his arm. As a reflex, his other hand has already drawn his gun.
He slowly raises the arm he felt something clamp down on and looks at it, only to make eye contact with a girl with black hair and blue eyes who has sunk her teeth into his arm and is now hanging off of it.
The teeth are sharp, as the girl seems to have some small fangs. They’ve gone through his jacket and sunken into his skin.
It doesn’t really hurt all that badly though, probably hasn’t even drawn much blood, and that’s one of the only reasons Jason hasn’t flung the kid off of him yet. Another reason is the fact that it’s a kid.
They both stare at each other for several seconds.
As Jason takes her appearance in, he notices that she seems rather familiar. In fact, she looks like a more feminine version of Danny, or if Danny had a twin.
The person hanging off of his arm looks younger than Danny though, probably a teenager around 13 or 14, if he had to make a guess.
Slowly, he puts his gun away and takes out his phone with his other hand, watching the random girl’s eyes follow his movements. He raises it level with her face and snaps a picture, quickly sending it to Danny and ignoring the girl’s curious gaze while she’s still hanging onto his arm by her fucking teeth.
---
Meanwhile, Danny checks his phone to see Red Hood sent him a message. He opens it and is greeted by a picture of Ellie in human form biting down on Red Hood’s arm with the caption ‘this yours???’
---
Taglist:
@i-always-say-yea @uraniumwizard @why-must-i-be-like-this @griffinthing
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Just to minimize my chances of being genuinely misunderstood OR deliberately misinterpreted, and crucified for something I don't think, How Dare You Say We Piss on the Poor website etc...I'm gonna say this right up top. I absolutely understand why people don't like Thessaly as a character, if anyone does completely unironically stan her as some kind of feminist hero who Did Nothing Wrong uwu, I personally see it as a bit of a red flag. I don't like terfs real or fictional. In a vacuum, I could even completely sympathize and agree with the people who want her cut.
HOWEVER.
It's really something to me to see people clamoring for her to be cut, because she carries and expressed an ugly indefensible prejudice (transphobia) in words towards (1) person. Meanwhile Hob fucking Gadling enacted one of the most violent forms of antiblack racism I can even think of against thousands no, millions of people, the ripple effects of which still affect billions more today. Just a little light idk, profiting off the fucking slave trade and had to be told by someone else that it was bad...and he's a fan favorite.
People are saying Thessally being Dream's love interest reflects badly on him or is somehow endorsement by the narrative (?!?!?!?!?!? Didn't she (SPOILER ALERT AS IF IT MATTERS BY NOW) help participate in his extended assisted suicide? She's not painted as a great person to me just another character what are y'all SMOKING whatever fine. It's fine this is fine.) But shipping Dream with Mr. Former Slaver is not only not verboten or frowned on widely in the fandom but its THEE most popular pairing by far. So...why the difference?
Like where are the same fans who are saying Thessaly shouldn't just be more clearly shown to be wrong, she shouldn't even be in the show at all when it comes to Hobert's crimes??? Yes, transphobia is indefensible. Isn't racism?
And I hear the cries of "it's fiction!!!" Already rallying (if anyone who needs to hear this even sees it lol) to which I say:
HORSESHIT. I KNOW you don't, deep down, really agree because if you did, why get upset about Thessaly being included??? Why does what she said to one person matter if it's Just Fiction You Guyze. Fictional characters are allowed to do bad things and fiction isn't reality sweaty....except when you only apply that standard to fictional racists you like and simp for, but fictional transphobes you don't are SO HARMFUL they shouldn't even be portrayed in fiction.
Like. Give me a big fat BREAK. This looks like bullshit, no? I'm sorry, but I'd love for someone to try and give any other explanation besides one personally offended you or hit home for you, and the other doesn't.
And if that bothers you or you feel like it says something negative about you...idk what you want me to say??? You can't control how other people perceive you and that's how people outside this majority-of-the-fandom bubble see it. You don't need to respond, I just wish and genuinely hope this gives you a moment to think about why fans who ARE bothered by both (and not just paying lip service to being bothered by the one but railing against the other) are so frustrated with people saying everyone is welcome but in practice only bending over backwards for the comfort and emotions of themselves, and people they can easily relate to.
You don't have to like Thessaly (I don't. I find her an interesting antagonist, I don't stan her. And frankly that's not the point of her character) but you'll pardon me for feeling more than a bit cynical and side eying people's motivations for what seems a...pretty obvious double standard, on what fictional crimes related to real world issues matter to y'all, and which clearly don't. Either actually bring the same energy to the table for fictional people who committed atrocities, even if against a group you're not part of and thus don't feel the need to empathize with, or just carry on, but accept that you don't have the SLIGHTEST room to talk about cutting characters who do immoral things. And you also need to accept that you look like a hypocrite when you do.
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There’s a flier someone’s left on the bus. Something shaming a—company logo he doesn’t recognize, as he shoves it aside to grab the last seat in the back that usually means he and Gem don’t have to sit next to anyone else—for “desecration of the Carrows Life”. Alright; with a logo and a slogan like that, it’s either a religious nut job or one of the people real mad at the Church about the demons.
Yeah, sure. He’s exhausted. Impulse can’t really bring himself to care about neon-yellow fliers in the dead of night on the bus.
Just another hour and practically every single stop down the line, and he’ll be home. He’s glad there’s a late-night bus down here; enough people come and go from these streets at two am that they make some poor bus driver do the route.
Next to him, Gem grumbles as she removes her makeup. “Impulse, why do I keep getting the waterproof kind?”
“Hard to dance and still look good if it doesn’t stand up to sweat,” Impulse says, settling into his seat as the bus starts moving again. “Don’t see why that should make it that much harder to remove, unless you’re sweating acetone these days, but they don’t pay me to know how your makeup works.”
“No, they pay you to be your stupid big protective butt. You absolutely know how my makeup works,” Gem says.
“You could wait until we aren’t on a moving bus to take it off?” Impulse offers.
“Nah. I need something to do so I don’t fall asleep, and I’m not opening my other bag until we’re both safely at home.”
“Yeah, fair,” Impulse says, not glancing at it for too long. Gem had a good night tonight. Sometimes, he’s jealous of the nights she has; the amount people are willing to throw at her sometimes is insane. Most of the time, though, he’s just glad he’s paid a regular salary to stand in the corner and occasionally show people exactly why he’s so big if they act up.
(Someone’s got to do it.)
The doors open. The unmistakeable smell of someone on way, way too much weed wafts through the doors. Impulse sighs. There’s a reason they sit in the back.
“What are the odds we get lucky and get home early?” Gem says. “My knee hurts.”
Impulse looks at her sharply. “You didn’t say anything during the show.”
Gem laughs. “Relax, relax. Not that bad. Nothing a bit of icyhot won’t solve, or one of your little…” She wiggles her fingers.
“You need to tell me these things before you dance on them, Gem,” Impulse says. “One of these days, I won’t be able to fix it! Then what are you gonna do about your knee, huh?”
“Uhuh. And the bruise on your face…?”
“He was drunk,” Impulse says. “It’s barely a scratch. Or, uh, well, it’s a bruise, but…”
“If I were any good at healing,” Gem says.
“I’ll ice it!” Impulse says, putting his hands up. “Besides, I don’t need my face to do my job. Might make guys respect me more?”
The bus stops. A few more people get on. There’s a bit of shouting from a drunk guy, and it makes Impulse look up on instinct, both his and Gem’s awareness hovering around their bag. Gem has a nasty curse on it if anyone but her tries to grab it, but these days…
The drunkard isn’t looking their way. He settles down again. Impulse doesn’t.
“One day, one of us will get a car, and we’ll just drive,” Impulse mutters.
“And pay for parking?” Gem asks.
“Well, it’s the thought that counts,” Impulse says.
The bus stops. Impulse looks up at the sign, just to make sure they aren’t near their stop. They aren’t. He almost looks down.
There’s a feeling in his gut. He doesn’t ignore gut feelings after as long as he’s been doing what he does. He puts a hand in his jacket. He doesn’t actually carry a gun; people think he does, but he’s fairly effective at threatening without it, and if all else fails, he does have a thick vest he’d bought with his own money after the only time he’d been shot. It had taken all of his savings, but it had been worth it.
He curls his fingers instead around the lucky charm Gem had given him after they’d become roommates and tries to focus on the feeling. There's something scraping nearby. A horrible scraping, like talons against brick, or maybe more like death clawing against soil.
The bus starts moving again. The drunks stay drunk. The fellow exhausted club and bar workers stay exhausted. The guy who’s high out of his mind doesn’t even blink.
A woman who had gotten on the bus, though, approaches them. Gem stiffens. Impulse is hyper-aware of the bag full of the night’s tips that Gem has with her.
“Hello. Sorry for interrupting,” the woman says. She’s tall. She has long, light brown hair that she hasn’t tied back. She’s wearing a long overcoat. It looks second-hand, but not properly so, like it’s being worn by someone who doesn’t quite know how to fit into second-hand clothes, or perhaps doesn’t quite know how not to fit.
There's bruises on her face, too. A split lip and a black eye and a bit of blood on the collar of her shirt.
"You look lost," Impulse says without thinking. The woman blinks.
"Oh! Yes, I suppose you could say that," she says. "That's..."
Impulse slowly takes his hand out of his jacket. Her voice is even more lost, somehow. Impeccably put-together. Very hard to read. But Impulse, he has to read people for a living, and this is a woman who is lost.
"I was just here because you two look the most aware and fit on the bus," she says.
"Oh, I'm not all that fit," Gem lies to the woman's face. "I mean, just look at me! I'm delicate!"
Impulse has seen Gem's abs. She's not delicate, she just puts on a show of being—still not delicate, actually, but the kind of not-delicate men like, not the kind of not-delicate she actually is. It's a fine line.
The woman raises an eyebrow. "Okay," she says. "I'm just—there are demons. Not far. I got away from them, but they might be following you."
"They're following you?" says Gem.
"Shhh," says the woman.
"Fine," Impulse says. "They're following you. Why? And why did you get on the bus?"
The woman is silent for a moment. "I don't think they'll catch up to us," she says. "I don't—I don't have another place to go back to, right now. I'm a bit... I don't mean to put anyone in danger. You two are the most fit looking people on here, is all. If danger did happen..."
Impulse feels something in him crack. He looks at Gem. It wouldn't be the first time the two of them have helped someone down on their luck off the streets. Of course, it's not entirely out of the goodness of their hearts, all the time, but, well, Impulse is still Impulse and Gem puts up with it and this world doesn't work if people don't help each other, Impulse has always said.
Gem shrugs and nods.
"Sit down. You can get off at our stop. My name's Gem, by the way."
The woman, slowly, sits down in a seat across from them.
"Impulse," Impulse says.
The woman opens her mouth. The woman closes it. "You can call me Griba," she says, finally.
Impulse quirks an eyebrow. "I can call you?"
"Hey, that sounds like—wasn't there someone with a name like that on the news recently?" Gem says.
The woman grimaces. "You could say that," she says.
Gem and Impulse look at each other. They look back at the woman. "Fine then. Keep your secrets," Gem says imperiously, and her tone works, because it makes—Griba, Impulse supposes, until she wants to give them her real name—laugh.
"At least until we find out if the demons get me," she says agreeably.
The bus stops again. They all tense. One person gets off and no one gets on. The bus starts moving again.
"One of these days," Impulse mutters.
"You've got to finish the sentence," Gem says. "Don't leave me hanging like that!"
"Is this an ongoing thing?" Griba says, and they continue onwards together.
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Thinking thoughts about Ambrosius’s decision to try to kill Nimona… while this choice is certainly not a good one, it does make a sad sort of sense. He doesn’t know Nimona, not really. He’s faced off with her, sure, but his main impression of her is of a terrifying monster intent on killing. He doesn’t know her as a person, has never even properly met her. (Nobody truly knows her, but Ballister knows her best, at least, and seems to be one of the only people in the kingdom who understands that she’s more than a mindless weapon.) From Ambrosius’s perspective, though, there seems to be every reason to kill her.
This choice is doubly reinforced by his sense of loyalty and the desire to prove himself. Loyalty is an important theme in the story, and Ambrosius’s loyalties lie chiefly with Ballister, the person he seems to care about most, and the director, the closest he ever had to a parental figure. He also has an intense desire to prove himself to both of them - to prove that he really does care about Ballister and wants to protect him, and to prove that he’s capable of being a good knight and defending his kingdom.
Ambrosius is… rather insecure. He has very low self-esteem, and has always seen himself as lesser compared to Ballister, not as worthy as him or as good at jousting, even going so far as to bitterly tell Ballister he was always “better, without hardly even seeming to try.” And it’s possible that Ambrosius feels indebted to the director - who knows what might have happened to him if he hadn’t been taken in by the institution, and he owes his status as king’s champion to her. (Not that that’s a good thing, of course, but even so - she did still skyrocket him to victory and fame.)
At this point in time Ambrosius is still the director’s puppet. From an outside perspective it’s obvious that her intentions are nefarious, but when you’ve been manipulated by someone for most of your life, maybe even as long as you can remember, you… don’t necessarily know that. Ambrosius is still deeply under her influence, to the point that he still desperately craves her validation and approval even when she deliberately hurts him. She’s explicitly ordered him to kill Nimona, so that’s what he has to do so he doesn’t fail in her eyes.
There’s a sad irony in the parallels between Ambrosius and Nimona and the cycle they unintentionally perpetuate - two people raised as weapons in cruel institutions, used against their will to hurt people they cared about, now trying to kill one another. He might not know her backstory, but he can certainly see how she’s being used as a weapon now. And in the moment when he lifts his sword and attempts the killing blow, he too is a weapon. Does he see himself in her, perhaps? Does he subconsciously recognize that they’re the same in that regard? Is his firm belief that she’s dangerous born from the way he sees himself?
When he tries to kill her, is he trying to kill part of himself?
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