#logical brain: they should wear their cowls

[dork-empress]

Singing In The Dead Of Night Ch 2

Harley and Barman set up a playdate for their wards.

forgive the long post, i'll edit and clean it up when im home. chapter can also be found on my ao3, url in the description.

Harley made it back home, which was actually the manor of some billionaire who only really used the house for tax purposes. Harley had taken it over when Lucy came to live with her, deciding she needed more room, and they quickly changed it to suit their needs.

“Luuuucyyyy, I’m hooooome,” Harley called out to the manor, heading through the living room/gymnasium.

Lucy was balancing on the beam by her hands. “Never heard that one before.” She went into the splits and stayed on one hand.

Harley looked over her form. “Point your toes more...there ya go.” Lucy did as recommended. “I got candy for dinner!” She dumped her stolen lollipops on the table.

“I already ate, Aunt Harley,” she said, “I made extra pasta if you want.” She pointed over to the kitchen, before switching hands and flipping herself over.

“Oh,” Harley said, going over to make a plate, but feeling like ants were crawling in her skin. “You know, you don’t have to call me your aunt when it’s just the two of us,” She said, swirling her fork through the noodles.

Lucy shrugged, “Force of habit. Plus it’s a good idea in general, ya know, in case someone’s secretly listening in or we mess up some other time.”

Harley shrugged her shoulders. “Makes sense,” and it did, but it still kind of hurt. “You can have the lollipops for dessert though. You like cherry?” She tossed her the red candy.

Lucy looked down at the wrapper a second. “Can’t, I’m allergic to the red dye.”

“Oh,” Harley said, silently cursing herself. That was something that mothers should know about their kids, allergies and crap. “Well. Lemon then?”

“Sure!” They traded the lollipops, and Harley sucked on hers between bites of the pasta. Sweet and savory combined, delicious.

Lucy swung her legs as she sat on the beam. “Does...my father have any allergies?”

Harley blinked at her. Did Joker have any allergies? It was hard to say. Even now, Harley didn’t know a lot about the Joker. That’s how he liked it. “Best not to talk about it,” she said instead, “In case of those listening things or whatever.”

Lucy hummed, but didn’t seem satisfied. “Hey,” Harley said, trying to distract her from the ‘dad’ talk, “You wanna go out with me tomorrow?”

Lucy brightened, jumping a bit, “Where are you gonna go?”

“I dunno,” she said, “Go lookin’ for trouble. Let the trouble find me. Punch out a couple people but only if they REALLY deserve it!” And maybe if they only kinda deserved it, Harley thought.

Lucy hummed again, thinking. “I dunno. I think violence often begets further violence, and while it is occasionally necessary, efforts should focus more on the community building and personal improvement area.”

Harley blinked at her. Right, she was a reader, Delia had mentioned that. Not unlike Harley at her age, really, although Harley had focused on psychoanalysis instead of philosophy. “Ah, of course,” she said, “Well, what do you wanna do?”

Lucy thought for a second. “Well, there was this girl I wanted to go inspire to fight her eating disorder.”

“Oh,” Harley said nodding. It was a noble cause, really, but...also seemed really, really boring. “I...sure!” she smiled.

The truth was, when Lucy came out to live with Harley full time, she had really thought they would be a lady dynamic duo, a proper partnership mother/daughter team. But Lucy wasn’t much like Harley. Or, she was but, she was different, a goody two-shoes. Or, a goody tutu. Ha.

More than that, she followed a strange sense of logic that was oddly reminiscent of...Harley didn’t even finish the thought.

“You don’t want to go, do you?” Lucy asked.

“Hmm? Of course I do!” Harley said, “I’d do anything with you sweetheart,” she gave Lucy a wink, then went to the kitchen to hide her facial expression.

She didn’t see that Lucy had followed her until she was directly behind her. “Oh, Jesus!” She said, clutching her heart, “Gotta look out there, sweetie. Almost brained ya!”

“Is Dad like me at all?” she asked, head tilted to the side.

Harley blinked at her. She felt like her bones were shaking inside her skin. “Why would you ask a thing like that?”

Lucy spun a little in place making her tutu swish. “I’ve been reading about him. People think he’s crazy. I mean, he says it. But that’s not what your records say.”

Harley frowned, backing away as though physical distance would get her out of the conversation. “What’re you goin through my records for? What, are you a snoop?”

“They got published after one of your arrests,” Lucy said, “Other people were more interested in the little notes you left in the margins, but--”

“Alright, stop.” Harley said, hand clutching her lollipop stick so tight it might break. “Look, Mr...your father is mean and cruel and manipulative, and nothing like you! He wants to drive other people crazy, and for some people, self included, he succeded. But I grew out of it as best I could and now...you don’t need to worry about him, ok? He ain’t ever gonna know about ya, and he ain’t ever gonna find ya. Got it?”

Lucy hesitated a second and there was something strange in her eyes. Something familiar. “Got it,” she finally said.

Harley lightened, smiling at her. “Why don’t we play a game or somethin? You like Monopoly? I make up my own rules!”

Lucy smiled, “That sounds nice,” she said, all bright again. As they set up the game, Lucy said, “You don’t have to come with me tomorrow, by the way. I can take care of myself.”

“You sure?” Harley asked. Lucy nodded. For the rest of the evening, Harley felt like something was…off.

She slipped the burner phone out of her pocket. She typed, ‘Wanna set up a playdate?’

“She called it a WHAT?!” Damian said, nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Aww,” Tim said, over by the batcave computer, “Little Damian’s got a plaaayydaaate.”

“I will end you, Drake.” Damian snarled, fingers twitching for his sword.

“Enough,” Bruce interrupted the both of them. “Damian, if it helps you can think of it as a mission.”

“I thought I was forbidden from Robin duties for the next two months.” Damian said, arms crossed.

Bruce groaned. “Harley has taken in a ward, her niece Lucy. She has some petty crime charges, but from my recon, she’s not a villain. Harley wants her to spend time with someone her age, and I need someone who will watch over her.”

“Watch out for her, or watch out because of her?” Damian asked, scowling.

“Oooh, good question,” Tim said, still at the computer. “Hey, how come you didn’t set me up with vigilante kids?”

“Because you found them on your own,” Bruce shot back, “Look. Damian, you just have to spend the day with her. Follow her around, help her out as long as it’s not hurting anyone. Don’t let her get killed. Invite Jon if you want.”

“Uggh, Jon’s off world with his Dad,” Damian said.

“Oh right,” Bruce said, massaging his temple. “Why do interdimensional crises have to happen at the worst times?”

“Why is it we need a plural for interdimensional crisis?” Tim asked.

Bruce gave him a side glance to let him know he was coming up on the line that breached from ‘annoying’ to ‘problem Bruce will deal with.’ “Damian…”

“Fine, I’ll do it,” he said, “But I won’t be her friend by you forcing us.”

“Fine.”

They met up with Harley at a neutral location downtown on top of a party goods store. “Hiya Batsy, Hey Bird Boy!”

Despite himself, Damian liked Harley. She was usually of a like mind about which villains did or didn’t deserve to live, but he didn’t tell Batman that. “Harley,” Batman said, “Where’s your niece?”

“Just doin some high-wire practice.” Harley said, “Lucy-goosey!”

From the side of the building, a girl faulted up from where she was hanging on the flagpole. A girl wearing a tutu and white paint. “Nice to meet you, Batman,” Lucy said, “Aunt Harley’s told me….a lot of mixed things.”

“YOU!” Damian said, before he could stop himself, and all three of the others turned to him.

Lucy trotted forward on her tiptoes. “Have we met?” She asked, tilting her head, and looking him up and down.

Damian swallowed. “Uhh….”

“Blackbird!” Lucy said, and swooped him up into a hug, “Oh, I knew you were a Robin, why’d you lie to me?”

“Blackbird, huh?” Batman said, and he couldn’t see, but he knew there was a very pointed eyebrow being raised at him.

Damian, still being swung like a ragdoll by Lucy, tried to gain his balance. “I didn’t...I mean I wasn’t…”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Batman said, “You kids go on, I have something to talk about with Harley.”

“Kids?!” Damian said, offended, especially that he was going to be left out of whatever this conversation was. But in doing so, he left himself vulnerable as Lucy pulled on his cowl to the edge of the building.

“Come on, birdy, whatever color you are. The city awaits!” And she jumped from the roof, grappling on outcroppings to reach the street safely. Damian grumbled, but eventually followed.

Harley looked to Batman, and her face fell. “He’s out there, isn’t he?”

Batman gave one slow nod.

Lucy skipped everywhere. It was very irritating, because it was faster than walking, but slower than running, so hard to keep pace. Also,it was just very perky, which made it hard to sulk.

Lucy claimed she had deliveries to make around town. Something about girls who were bullies in high school and were treating others poorly, but it was only because of the societal pressures that were put on young girls of America and...and thats about where Damian lost interest.

She carried a cartfull of boxes like a damn girlscout, and left them on the girls doors. Damian could have followed in his sleep...except there was something about one of the boxes….

“What’s in that one?” Damian asked as she brought it to the next home.

“Huh?” Lucy said, “Same thing as in all of them, some cookies, a letter, balloons of course and--”

“It’s beeping,” Damian said.

“What?”

Damian didn’t wait any longer, he grabbed the box out of her arms and tossed it as high into the sky as he could, tackling her to the ground. The box then exploded.

Lucy gasped in excitement, clapping her hands together. “Birdy, look at it! It’s fireworks!”

Damian growled, jumping off of her and taking out his sword. “I knew it, I knew you were up to no good.”

Lucy tilted her head. “Whatcha talkin about, Birdy?”

“You--” He pointed to where the box was still smoldering. “You were going to put a BOMB on that girl’s doorstep!”

“I didn’t put that there,” Lucy said, getting up with no care of the sword pointed at her.

“You-” Damian stammered. “What?”

Lucy bent down and picked up a scrap of paper from the ruins. “Change of plans for the evening, Birdy!” Lucy said, “We’re going puzzling!”

She tossed the paper at him and he grabbed it quickly. It read ‘I’ve the tallest of trunks and thickest of stumps, a switch in the breeze, but I’m no tree. What am I?’”

They came quickly to the elephant pasture at the zoo. Damian couldn’t help it, he held out his hand for the elephant. She reached out her trunk and wrapped it around him. He couldn’t help but laugh.

Her baby came forward this time, trotting on new steps. He was already the size of a small horse, but he stole Damian’s heart all the same. He tried to bowl Damian over like a large puppy, and Damian couldn’t help but laugh. “Didn’t know you could laugh, Birdy,” Lucy said, kneeling over a shady patch in the enclosure.

Damian’s scowl returned. “Stop calling me ‘Birdy,’” he said, “You can just say ‘Robin,’ if you want.”

“But aren’t there other Robins?” Lucy said, fiddling with something, “I’d love to call you something unique to you.”

“There’s already a Blackbird, you know.” Damian said, continuing to pet the baby elephant.

“There is?” Lucy asked, “Picking a superhero name is HARD. I’m still trying to get Commedia to stick. You know, like, Commedia del arte? But I’ll end up getting called ‘Tutu girl’ or something if I don’t watch out.”

Damian gently pushed the elephant away, seeing what she was doing. She was hands deep in another box like the one they’d found in her cart. “Careful, it could be another bomb.”

“Fireworks,” Lucy corrected, “and I already diffused it.”

Damian leaned down, looking. She had indeed done so, quite efficiently. “How did you know to do that?”

Lucy smiled, “An uncle of mine taught me. You’ll meet him.” She dug further into the box. “I wouldn’t mind some more fireworks, but I don’t want to scare the elephants.” She pulled out another slip of paper.

“This has all the hallmarks of The Riddler,” Damian said, “We have to be careful. He might have bombs all over the city.”

“Fireworks!” Lucy corrected again, “And, probably. See, we already have the next clue!” She waved the paper and read out “Can you hear me make a sound, only when you are around.”

“Of course you can only hear things when you’re around.” Damian said, frowning.

“But only when someone’s around does it make a...Oh!” Lucy said, jumping to her feet, “An echo! We have to go somewhere there’s an echo!”

Damian sighed, “I have an idea.”

Technically they weren’t IN the Bat cave. They were at a far entrance to it, another end of the cave system. So he wasn’t breaking any rules. “Hey, is that Wayne Manor?” Lucy asked. “I tried to break in there once, but they have some crazy rich person security system.”

“Funny that.” Damian said, trying to seem completely ordinary.

Lucy stood at the edge of the cave and yelled into it. “ECHO!” listening for the echo in return. She skipped into the cave, humming all the way, the sound bouncing off as she went.

“Lucy?” Damian said, following her, “Don’t go too far, there’s all sorts of--” He heard a squeal and rushed forward.

He stopped short, his flashlight falling on Lucy. She waved at him to put it down, squinting. “Look here!” She brushed aside some dirt to find some rusted over metal. “Isn’t it fascinating! This cave system must go on for miles! Maybe people hid treasure there!”

“It’s just the old mining system,” Damian said, truthfully. “It’s all blocked off.”

“That can’t be hard to undo,” Lucy said, intrigued by whatever lay beyond.

Damian grabbed her hand before she could continue. “We have to catch the Riddler. There has to be another package here.”

Lucy sighed, but nodded. She took his arm with the flashlight and swung him around the cave. “Ah! There.”

She took the package and skipped out of the cave. “Careful!” Damian urged. “Come on, just diffuse it.”

“Nope, not these ones.” She tossed the package high in the sky, and Damian saw the fireworks light up.

He felt his phone buzzing, no doubt Tim could hear an explosion out here, not to mention Alfred. They’d come investigating fast enough. He leaped up, grabbing the fallen slip of paper, and grabbed Lucy again to pull her along. He read it quickly and passed it to her as he made his way away. “Even in the city scape, nature comes to take its place.” Lucy read. “It must be the park!”

l,

“No,” Damian said, still pulling her, “I mean, yes, that is the answer to the riddle, but that’s not where we’re going.” He texted the police to inform them of the location of the hidden package so they could diffuse it, and dragged Lucy away.

The original Gotham Ice Cream shop was one of the oldest remaining buildings in Gotham, although was clearly closed for the night.

Damian saw a flash of green from the kitchens and rushed inside, finding none other than the Riddler standing there. “Stand down, Riddler,” Damian said, holding out his sword, “We’ve got you now!”

Riddler snarled, backing into a defensive stance. “Robin! How did you possibly find me?”

Damian smirked, “The beginning of each clue was clearly spelling out your final location. I-C-E. I didn’t need to follow 5 more clues to figure that out.”

Riddler cursed. “Those clues weren’t for you! They were for--!”

Lucy came skipping up to join Damian. “Hi, Uncle Eddy!”

“Lucille!” Riddler said, immediately warming. “I had so many sights around Gotham for you to see, why’d you go skipping to the end?”

Lucy skipped up to him, and Damian was once again left dumbfounded. “My friend Birdy here isn’t much for riddles, I think,” she said, “Although he enjoyed the elephants! And he knew about the mining carts in the caves, I want to explore those later.”

‘Uncle Eddy’ hugged Lucy, and Damian came to his senses, “THIS is your uncle?!”

Lucy shrugged, “I mean, that’s what I call him. I met him when I was visiting Aunt Harley a few years ago.”

“I heard you had moved to Gotham full time,” Riddler said, “I wanted to be sure you saw the sights. But the bat-brats have to ruin everything I suppose.” Riddler glared at him, and he glared right back.

“I don’t-” Damian started, but cut himself off, “You can’t just be leaving BOMBS around the city!”

“Fireworks!” Lucy and Riddler both corrected.

“Whatever! They’re explosive and they’re dangerous!” Damian hated having to be the safety one. It felt wrong.

Riddler rolled his eyes. “He’s just as much a barrel of laughs as the big one.”

“Aw, he’s sweet, really,” Lucy said, coming over to Damian and linking their arms. “Aunt Harley and Batman set us up on our own little playdate.”

“It is NOT!” Damian said, squirming away from her, “It is NOT a playdate.”

“Uncle Eddy, can my friend Birdy have some Ice Cream too?” Lucy asked, ignoring him.

Riddler and Damian glared again. “Fine.” He pushed his own bowl of ice cream towards Damian and went to get his own. “It’s MYSTERY flavor!”

Damian looked at it hesitantly as Lucy sat down to enjoy. Riddler went back to the kitchen. “It’s coconut,” Lucy said, “But Uncle Eddy likes to think it’s a mystery, so I let him.”

Damian frowned at her. “You’re really weird.”

“Thank you!” Lucy said, patting the seat beside her. “Come on, even you had to admit you had fun today.”

Damian thought about the elephants, and skipping around with Lucy, and watching the fireworks at the mouth of the cave, and seeing her all excited about mining carts for some reason. “Fine,” he said, “But it’s NOT a playdate.”

“Alright, alright,” Lucy said, digging into her ice cream. “Just a regular date then.”

“I--” Damian started, his head exploding with so many protests that he ended up just short circuiting. Lucy continued chowing down on ice cream like she didn’t say anything of importance. So, Damian just sat beside her, and ate his own.

#lucy quinzel #damian wayne #batman #harley quinn #dc fanfic

[themandylion]

[fic] With Head, Not Heart

For FREE DAY of JayTim Week 2021, have some backstory for The Robin & the Bat AU.

(AO3)

"Soooo."

"So?" Red Robin didn't glance up from his surveillance as his partner dropped down to sit beside him on the roof.

"So, we should probably talk about the elephant in the room."

"There's no elephant."

"There kinda is. Nightwing seemed pretty pissed with you the other night. Madder than I've ever seen him, even when I told him he should come back and be Robin again."

Geez. Red Robin still couldn't believe this little twerp had the balls to pull something like that. "There's bad blood between us. He doesn't agree with my methods."

"If you mean the killing people thing, I get that. Only you really don't do that anymore? Heck, not sure if you ever did."

Red Robin hunched his shoulders, tried to keep his focus on the apartment they were supposed to be watching. Batkid didn't know everything he did, between Ethiopia and now. He didn't— "Some things can't be forgiven."

"You mean like that time Nightwing freaked out and killed the Joker because he thought the guy had killed Spoiler, only then Batman brought him back because oooh nooo, killing is baaad?"

"Wait, what?"

"It was a thing. Batgirl told me. Plus, me and Spoiler dated for a hot second at one point," Batkid said, waving a hand like he hadn't just broken Red Robin's brain. "Though, honestly, I thought the time he hung up the fingerstripes and ran off to be Deathstroke's apprentice or whatever was way worse."

"How do you even know this stuff?"

"Like I said, Batgirl told me. She thinks it's stupid for you guys to have your heads up your butts about this kind of stuff when you honestly would get a lot out of just talking it out."

"Batgirl doesn't talk."

"She has very expressive eyebrows."

"You can't see her eyebrows."

"We hang outside the mask. Oracle's cool about it. She likes me."

Babs would. Red Robin sighed. "So the golden boy's had a few screw ups. It happens. It's not the same."

"It's totally the same," Batkid insisted, poking him hard in the shoulder. Ow. The kid must be finally building some real muscle, that had actually hurt. "You have your deep angsty death-resurrection-chemical slurry backstory—seriously, Batgirl knows everything—Nightwing has anger-management problems and an inability to maintain a healthy balance in his life… You both have so many unresolved daddy issues. You're practically the same person sometimes, it's stupid to fight."

"I am not taking therapy advice from a child."

"First—I'm fifteen, not a child. Second—just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean what I say isn't valid. Isn't the whole point of my being here, wearing this," he gestured down, hand lingering on the bat on his chest, "to help keep you grounded in the real world? Part of that's making sure you think with your head, not your heart."

Ugh, he hated it when the kid made sense like this. "There's… other stuff, too. Beyond the killing thing and… all of that," he explains. Was he really doing this? He pretty much had to, if he wanted to get the kid off his back. "I'm the reason Batman's dead."

"Wrong."

"You can't declare something wrong just because you don't want to hear it. It's the truth, and Nightwing knows it."

"If Nightwing thinks it's the truth, then that's just a sign of how much therapy he needs, which, spoiler, is a lot."

"I set things up to get Joker out of Arkham, I put him and Batman in the same room together, forced that confrontation and—and Batman didn't make it out." Joker didn't either, but only because everything had gone green as soon as Bruce fell. Jason hadn't really known anything for a long time after that. Until some twerp had asked him to stop.

"By that logic, Nightwing's responsible for Batman's death, because he didn't stop him from bringing back Joker. Heck, by that logic, Batman's responsible for his own death since he's the reason Joker was alive to kill him." Batkid leaned over, knocking Red Robin's knee with his own. "Look, all of us are pretty screwed up in the head—we have to be, to do what we do. Don't go making things worse by blaming yourself for the wrong things."

Under the cowl, Red Robin blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. "Thanks, I guess. Gonna tell Nightwing the same thing?"

"Oh, heck no. I've got my hands full just dealing with your issues, I'm not about to try and tackle his. Besides." Batkid smirked, slow and evil-like. "He's talking to Batgirl."

Shit. "Between you and me, I definitely got the better part of that deal."

"I know, right? Now, about this name thing—"

"You're not calling yourself Batman," Red Robin snapped at him.

"Wow, harsh."

#JayTim #jaytimweek #jaytimweek2021 #The Robin and the Bat #themandylion writes #(Cass is Batgirl and all the Batboys are terrified of her in case that wasn't clear) #(I mean except for Tim because they're bros but Dick and Jason are DEFINITELY terrified)

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Mothman And BUTT-erboy: A Comprehensive Guide

On that fateful day where Bruce Wayne sat thinking of exactly what name would strike fear into the hearts of his enemies, a bat flew into the open window of the study, hence creating the vengeful, dark, mysterious Batman. But, ignoring the fact that Gotham City is every horror cliche put together, what if a moth had flown into the manor that night, attracted to the light (as moths often are)? 

I give you: the mighty mysterious MOTHMAN!

(treat this crack seriously, okay? because i will)

So you’ve got a guy dressed as a moth going around beating up criminals. But then, you ask, what ever shall his little Robin be? Who is Dick Grayson, if not the human reincarnation of a cartwheel dressed like a stoplight?

Well, logic dictates that if one guy is a moth, the other is a butterfly. I present to you: BUTTERBOY!

I’m wonderful at MS paint shut up

But does he keep this up when he and bruce have their little falling out and he goes out on his own? Um, have you met Dick Grayson?

Our little butterboy has become a BUTTERMAN. We have all the classic nightwing arcs but with butterman instead. Think of the headlines. 

“BLUDHAVEN VIGILANTE BUTTERMAN KILLS THE JOKER”

side note: Joker would absolutely love being killed by someone called Butterman Joker, actively dying of internal bleeding: I was gonna have to go some way and it doesn’t get much butter than this

Everyone spells it butt-erman. Dick’s torn between loving it and hating it. Also Dick constantly smells like popcorn. For reasons.

(And yes, I am well aware that “butterman” sounds like a weird sex thing with vague relations to food and bdsm. But if we’re being honest, Nightwing sounds like a stripper name. So it’s not like this is anything new.)

Now Jason. Jason has a modicum of common sense. But he’s also dumb as shit. So he looks at the costume and goes “yea this isn’t happening.” He gets his hand on the costume plans and that’s how we end up with THE FLY.

Yeah I don’t know how flies work. That’s just how it is now.

(another side note: Jason actually looks super badass and hot in this picture i’m sorry for ruining it but like jesus chIST look at the siZe of his aRMS)

Fact: Jason is fully aware of how dumb it looks and sounds. Fact: Jason is a little shit Conclusion: Jason does not care and people are honestly terrified of the Fly because he will beat you up wearing what looks like those fairy wings with the elastic straps that you could put on you and pretend you were a fairy when you were a kid.

Tim would either go back to Butterboy or Fly. Either he’d be Butterboy because he has trash taste in costumes and doesn’t want to replace the Fly. Or he would take on the Fly because he has the creativity of marmalade. Or even worse, he would combine them. I present to you: FLYBOY

Tim genuinely does not realize how stupid it is. This is the guy whose costume includes that stupid cowl. I don’t think he has any fashion sense. Like at all. The only good fashion choice he makes is wearing Kon’s oversized shirts in the morning

Damain would reject both. Damian doesn’t even come to Gotham because he’s so embarrased about the titles that being with the League forever sounds like a better alternative.

Stephanie would think “Butterboy” is the single dumbest thing she’s ever heard.

Kate’s still batwoman. She has better taste and thinks bats are cool.

Babs? She looks at Dick and goes “this has potential.” Which honestly describes their entire relationship. She’s the Butterfly.

Cass is Spider. Like, very Black-Widow esque. Super badass. We Stan.

Duke wants to stick with the yellow but also he has a brain cell. But he’s got massive insecurity issues and wants to be part of the insect theme that the fam’s got going on. So now we have the Wasp.

Anyway, @magneticwoag​ , @yesboopityboop​ , and I came up with this thing and I am honestly quite proud. DC you should definitely hire us we will improve your work by leaps and bounds.

#CRACK #UTTER CRACK I TELL YOU #all the same please enjoy #this took me all morning #And i do not regret it #batman #mothman #bruce wayne #dick grayson #nightwing #robin #butterboy #butterman #jason todd #red hood #the fly #tim drake #red robin #timkon #damian wayne #stephanie brown #spoiler #batgirl #barbara gordon #kate kane #batwoman #batfam #no they're the MOTHFAM #batfam crack #dc

[sohotthateveryonedied]

When Everyone Who Loves me Has Died

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

"Everything is as it should be, yet here I am, still feeling like I’m missing something.”

“Like what?” Tim can’t remember the last time he saw Harley sit still and listen for so long without getting fidgety. Either she's learning self-control, or Tim's life is just really fucking depressing.

“Like...I don’t know.” Tim scratches his thumbnail against some dried paint, unable to feel the chill of the metal through his glove. “Everyone is back, but that doesn’t erase the fact that they were dead. That part still happened, regardless of whether they came back or not. It’s like—like burning a hole in a piece of paper and covering it with tape. It doesn’t heal anything.”

Whoever came up with the concept of mind over matter should be imprisoned for false advertising. Tim has been trying to get his mind over the matter for months now, and the matters are still very much gripping the steering wheel. If anything, his mind gave in and slid into the passenger seat, going along for the ride. Tim is sitting on a billboard platform, Lex Luthor’s ginormous bald self providing a nauseating backdrop as he advertises whatever world domination kick he’s on at the moment. Tim watches the cars go by on the highway, utterly indifferent to the tiny speck of a vigilante watching from above. His cowl is down, but he isn’t worried. It’s unlikely that anyone will be able to spot him up here, civilian or otherwise. Besides, it gets harder and harder to breathe under the weight of the mask these days. He was supposed to be getting better. The days are coming in at longer intervals, which should be a relief. Days when he gets “dark and twisty” as Jason lovingly calls it, which isn’t too far off, Tim supposes. Something inside of him is definitely twisted, coiled into a furl of darkness where there used to be light. God, he needs therapy. He should be getting better. There is no logical reason to be feeling this way. Not anymore. Not when things are finally back where they should be after years of grief. Maybe something has been knocked loose in his brain, keeps him on this brink he can’t seem to sway to either side of. He’s not happy, but he’s not completely sad either. There’s no logic to it, no reason. No closure. Is this how ghosts feel? Like they’re straddling the in-between, stuck feeling like everything they have is just slightly out of reach? “Why the long face, kiddo?”

Tim is up in an instant, fumbling to pull his cowl back over his face. He raises his bo staff at the prowler, only to find Harley standing at the other end of the platform, her arms packed with reusable grocery bags. She’s wearing civilian clothes: a Nightwing tank top and leather pants that look like she doused them in glue and rolled around in a kiddie pool filled with glitter. Tim relaxes. He lowers his staff. “You shouldn’t do that. I could have knocked your head off.” “Nah, I’m too good to be taken down by a twelve-year-old.” “I’m eighteen.” “You sure? ‘Cause I could have sworn you were still in middle school.” “Hilarious.” “Thanks, I’ve been thinkin’ about doing some comedy on the side to pay the bills. Eddie says I’ve got a real knack for it.” Harley sits on the edge of the platform beside the spot where Tim was before. “I asked you a question, by the way.” “Bruce is going to kill me if he finds out I’m hanging out with you.” Fine, so that’s a minor exaggeration. Bruce will always have beef with Harley regardless of how many good deeds she does. Dick’s theory is that Bruce has some lingering bitterness from his and Harley’s rivalry from med school, and he probably isn’t too far off. The rest of the family is far looser when it comes to trusting Harley; Alfred even sent her a Hanukkah gift last year. “You and I both know Brucie is in Metropolis this week.” At Tim’s inquiring look, she explains, “My mom is friends with him on Facebook. So, are you gonna spill or what? ‘Cause I’ve got ice cream here and I swear to god I’ll fill your nostrils with tapioca if it melts.” Tim rolls his eyes. He lets his cowl fall back against his neck and sits beside Harley. “I’m fine.” “And that’s why you’re hanging out here all angsty-like?” “I’m not angsty.” “You’re the angstiest person on this fuckin’ billboard.” Which, fine, that’s probably true. “I don’t need a PHD to tell that something’s eating ya, kid. Which I do, by the way. Got the certificate and everything.” Tim gestures to her grocery bags. “I thought you had somewhere to be.” “What, these ol’ things? Nah. I just have a date with Pam-a-lamb tonight and had to borrow some supplies.” “Borrow?” “The manager there was a dick, anyways. He’s the one who got all snappy when I ate all the free samples, so trust me. He deserved to get his stuff stolen.” “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” “I’ll go back and return the thirty-seven scratch-offs I took if you tell me what’s bothering you.” Tim looks out over the black horizon, the moon barely visible behind the clouds. “It’s nothing.” “Everything is something. Gandhi said that.” “Pretty sure he didn’t.” “What, did you personally know the guy?” She nudges Tim with her elbow. “Well? Spit it out, Timberlake.” Tim lets out a breath. “It’s just...you know when you lose something really important to you? And you miss it, but after a while, when you’ve already accepted that you’ll never see it again, you find it? And you’re happy to have it back, but there’s still...something is missing. Almost like you never found it at all, you know?” “Not really, no.” Tim’s mouth twitches upward. “I’ve spent the past two years in mourning, but now I don’t have to mourn anymore. Everything is perfect again.” Harley arches an eyebrow. “Lemme guess, you don’t know why you still feel like you’re grieving?” Tim nods. “Small fry, that’s not a symptom. That’s normal for someone in your situation.” “No, it isn’t. I should be happy right now. I should—I should be the happiest I’ve ever been. I spent so long trying to make everything right again, and I did it. Conner is back. Bart is back. Bruce is back. Everything is as it should be, yet here I am, still feeling like I’m missing something.” “Like what?” Tim can’t remember the last time he saw Harley sit still and listen for so long without getting fidgety. Either she's learning self-control, or Tim's life is just really fucking depressing. “Like...I don’t know.” Tim scratches his thumbnail against some dried paint, unable to feel the chill of the metal through his glove. “Everyone is back, but that doesn’t erase the fact that they were dead. That part still happened, regardless of whether they came back or not. It’s like—like burning a hole in a piece of paper and covering it with tape. It doesn’t heal anything.” “Well, of course it doesn’t.” Tim looks at her, surprised. Harley’s eyes are serious for once, void of humor. “Having all your folks back doesn’t erase the fact that they were gone. Grief is what makes us human. Still feelin’ bad after everything is fixed just means you’re still working on it.” “That’s it?” Harley’s eyebrows furrow. “What’s it?” “I thought you were going to...I don’t know, crack open some huge revelation and make me realize it’s all in my head or something.” “I mean, it kind of is in your head.” Harley tugs on one pink pigtail. “Grief doesn’t come from your feet, Timantha.” “So...how do I fix it?” Harley shrugs, sitting back and swinging her legs in the air. “Fuck if I know. Go see a therapist or something?” Tim snorts. “I’d rather not.” “What, you got a prior engagement? Too busy for psychoanalysis?” “I can’t exactly go to a normal therapist and explain to them that all of my friends are superheroes and my dad is Batman.” “Hm. Point taken, bird boy.” Harley goes to boop his nose, but Tim swats her away. “Talk to me then. I’m a dandy good listener.” “Thanks, but I’m good.” “I’m serious. Got the license to practice and everything.” “I’m pretty sure psychology licenses expire once you’re imprisoned for terrorism.” “Well, jeez, go and insult me, why don’tcha? And after I offer my help like the good citizen I am.” She stands, picking up her shopping bag. Then she digs around in her pockets and comes out with a small white card. She hands it to Tim. Harley Quinn — hit(wo)man, psychiatrist, bounty hunter, dog walker, mercenary, finder of lost things, life coach. “And that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” she says with a wink. “I’m also considering goin’ into doggie makeovers.” “I don’t know,” Tim says. “I won’t go blabbing your information to Croc or no one, cross my heart. I strictly abide by the doctor/patient confidentiality rules.” A pause. “Most of the time.” Then she looks back at the billboard of Lex, looking for the world like a vengeful Mr. Clean god. “I’m sure he won’t tattle.” “I don’t think the Justice League would think very highly of one of their own getting therapy from an ex-supervillain.” “So? Fuck them, they’re a bunch of crusty old people anyway. Come on, think about it, Timberly. I’ll even give you the friends and family discount so long as you bring doughnuts when you visit. Teen angst makes me hungry.” Tim considers it for a moment, then sighs. “I’m free on Thursday afternoons.” Harley grins. “It’s a date, bird boy.”

#whumptober 2020 #no.19 #grief #tim drake #red robin #robin #idiot duckboy #batman #batfamily #batfam #harley quinn #harleen quinzel #dc comics #fanfiction #fanfic

[letgraysonsheart]

The demon looks down at him expectantly. Its hovering half a meter above the ground, its arms crossover over its chest. A red aura surrounds it, and brown spiked horns are poking out from its black hair.

“Resurrection?” the demon asks, unimpressed. It squints at him again and Bruce has to look away for a second as emotions start welling up inside of him.

The demon moves its legless body, all that’s under its torso is some kind of whirlwind, perhaps a portal? Bruce isn’t sure. Either way, it’s coming towards him.

“Y-yes, my son-” Bruce starts, trying to be humble and calm but his voice still betrays him.

“Ah yes, the second little Robin,” the demon says, shocking Bruce. “Now, don’t look so surprised, we like to keep an eye on you earthlings, especially someone as special as you lot,” the demon smiles, or at least that’s what Bruce thinks the hideous expression is supposed to be. He snaps his mouth shut, doesn't know what to say, how to explain.

“What’s his name again, this boy you want back so badly that you dare summon me?” It’s dark all around them, the only light the red glowing from the demon. Bruce isn’t sure they're even on earth anymore.

“It- it’s Jason. Todd.”

The light starts switching, blinking, the demon in front of him becoming a blur before - before Jason.

His son, his boy, hovering above the ground. Bruce wants to reach out, to hold him -

“This little one? Barely anything besides flesh and bone,” the voice coming out of Jason’s mouth isn’t right. Too dark, too raspy. Jason never sounded like a demon. Bruce is thrown harshly into reality again, remembering that his son is still dead and he’s still dealing with a demon from the underworld.

The demon is reaching out its, Jason’s, arms, studying them with eyes thin as slits. Bruce's heart is yelling for him to run up to it, to feel, to hug Jason, while his brain is screaming at him to stand still. To be logical.

“How much are you willing to offer? To give up?” Not-Jason asks with a body still clad in Jason's torn Robin uniform and fragile arms now crossed over its chest again.

Bruce bites his lip, Clark, Diana, Barry - hell, even Hal, had warned him about contacting a demon. It’s a game you can’t win, they all had said. But hell, Bruce has already lost so much, is there really anything left to lose? 

He needs Jason. The pain, it's too much. He had buried his parents, and now he has buried his son too. It isn’t supposed to be like this. There must have been a glitch in his universe. Fathers aren’t supposed to outlive their children.

“I need an answer, Mr. Wayne,” Demon-Jason says, his expression now tight, eyes smaller - he’s impatient. “How much are you willing to give up?” the demon repeats, moving fast towards him and now pressed up against Bruce’s face. The mirroring of Jason is uncanny. There’s even that little scar above his eyebrow from his first real scuffle with a bad guy. It had freaked Bruce out, while Jason had proudly worn the scar as a trophy.

Now it just makes Bruce feel sick, another reminder that he is the one that caused all of this in the first place. He is responsible for Jason's death, and now he has to make it right.

“Everything,” Bruce states, staring straight into the demon’s eyes. Besides hovering above the ground and the voice, its eyes are the only other thing that is completely different from Jason. Much like the aura, they're glowing red. It looks like something you would see on a sick cat, completely inhuman.

“Everything, you say?” the demon ponders, backing away slightly. The Robin cape flaggers with the movement.

The demon hovers slightly closer to the ground. “Are you sure? There is no backing out of a deal with a demon, you should know that,” it says and the unreadable expression looks so wrong on Jason’s young face.

“Of course I’m sure!” Bruce can’t stop his emotions, “I just want my son back. I’ll do anything, give you whatever you want.” He wants the pain to stop, to hold his boy again - to take back everything that’s happened and start anew.

“The price is high for resurrection. Death will not be easy to persuade, but,” the demon stops its sentence and moves closer to Bruce again, holding one finger in the air. “If you take a blood oath, one which can not be broken, I might be able to.”

“I’ll do it,” Bruce says without hesitation. A dangerous hope is flickering inside of him.

The demon smiles, a wide horrible grin cracking Not-Jason’s face in two.

The demon whispers something in a language Bruce can’t understand, and a big golden dagger materializes in its hand. The demon pushes it into Bruce’s open palm and it feels heavy as his fingers curl around it. It’s almost as big as a small sword, and he can see the edge is sharp.

“Now, go on,” the demon says, still wearing that unsettling smile. “You do this, and you are agreeing to give up anything, everything,” the demon confirms, settling the deal. The dagger starts to glow, this too with a touch of blood red in it.

“As long as I get Jason back,” Bruce confirms. The demon nods its little head, black locks flopping into its face. Jason’s locks.

Bruce lifts the dagger. He hesitates. The demon looks unsure. Not-Jasons face morphs into such a Jason expression, like a little sad puppy, it feels like someone just punched Bruce in the gut.

He pushes the glowing dagger over his palm, drawing blood. It drips on the ground.

Not-Jason reaches out his hand, Bruce notices its fingernails aren't nails at all but claws.

Bruce shakes it, feeling the blood mush between their palms.

The mirror image of Jason disappears, in a blinking bright light much like before.

The demon is back, in all its glory. Bigger than before. The red light so much brighter. Staring down at Bruce now, no hint of Jason left.

“I will have Death resurrect your son, then I will claim our prize; something that is worth a life,” the voice booms and echos in whatever realm they’re in. “Go to the graveyard where you buried him, tomorrow at midnight,” the demon finishes.

The world shifts, swirling in colors and rage.

-

Bruce wakes up on the floor in the warehouse he had deemed safe enough.

The summoning signal is still painted into the ground, but there’s more to it now. An eye, in the middle of it, that wasn’t there before. The candlelights are blown out. The moon is peering down on him through the glass roof.

Bruce goes home.

-

He doesn’t tell anyone what he did, he won’t until he knows it worked. He only has to keep the secret to himself for one more day, that much he can do.

The look Alfred sends him as he passes him on his way out of the cave and up to his bedroom, tells him perhaps Alfred is more aware than Bruce thinks.

-

The next night, he skips out on patrol, turns off the cowl camera and his coms, and goes to the cemetery early.

He sits in front of Jason's grave, tracing the letters with his fingers. Someone has planted more flowers, lilac ones with now drooping heads. It's been dry in Gotham for the last few days. The flowers might have been Dick's doing. Bruce knows the older boy has been visiting even if the two of them haven’t been speaking. Alfred has told him as much, in passing comments when he thinks Bruce isn't really listening.

Exactly as the clock ticks twelve, midnight, a shadow appears. It grows, more and more, a dark abyss in the already murky night, and then - a light.

The demon steps out. A figure laid on its back and floating in the air is beside it. Bruce can see yellow and green and - Jason.

“Is - is that-,” he can’t bring himself to say the words.

The demon grins, showing off razor-sharp teeth and bloody gums. “Yes, that is Jason Todd, or his soul at least.”

“And you will give him to me?” Bruce says, not one to get rid of suspicion, as he raises to stand on his feet.

“Yes, and when I do, I suggest you start digging,” the demon says, and then Bruce is throwing himself against the dirt again. A golden gravel falls onto the ground by his side. It looks a little like the dagger he used to take the oath with, and he grabs it without a second thought.

He looks up as the demon makes a sound. Bruce watches as Jason, his soul, turns into more of a cloud of white light. He pushes the gravel against the earth and is almost afraid to harm the soul as he digs in while the soul sinks into the ground. Into Jason’s grave, towards his body.

He thinks the demon might be helping him, the earth gives away after his movements almost too easily. Still, he feels like it takes too much time to hit the wooden casket where his son is laying.

The last of the earth flies away, confirming his suspicion that the demon had a hand in how easy it was to dig. Demons aren't known for their patience, after all.

His fingers shake as he goes to open the casket, afraid of what he’ll find.

“Do it, if not you want the boy to suffocate in there?” the demon comments, now hovering above his shoulder. Bruce can smell its sickly sweet breath.

Bruce throws the top open, pictures of half-rotting bodies and human bones prone in his mind. What he sees is something entirely different.

Jason.. he looks perfect. Where there were once gruesome scars from the Joker and the explosion, there are now only old healed wounds. Even the autopsy scares have almost faded. His skin looks healthy, a little on the pale side, but his cheeks are rosy and his hair is still jet-black. His eyes are closed though, no sign of being awake, and Bruce feels worry takes its place in his mind.

“He is only asleep. Raising from the dead is energy-consuming,” the demon explains, maybe sensing Bruce’s feelings.

Most important of all, Bruce can see Jason's chest rising and falling. He's breathing. Bruce cradles his son close, finally holding his boy in his arms again. He doesn’t care that the demon sees when a few tears drop down from his chin.

With his precious cargo in hand, he climbs out of the godforsaken grave. It's an awful reminder now, one he plans to get rid of as soon as possible.

Bruce turns to leave, he doesn’t care what the demon has to say now, he has Jason and that’s all that matters.

“I think you’re forgetting about my payment,” the demon’s voice booms, Bruce can feel the vibrations of it in the earth.

Bruce turns back again to look at the demon. Jason is still asleep in his arms with his head rested on Bruce’s chest.

“There is no price as high as a life,” the demon ponders, “Death did not give up Jason’s soul easily. She had taken a liking to it, to how tortured it was.”

Bruce feels dread pool into his stomach, fill its way up to his chest and throat.

“The only thing we could agree on was well - a life for a life.” The demon isn’t hovering anymore, but standing on jean-clad legs on the ground. This new transformation looks almost human, besides the still glowing aura and the red eyes. The horns are still there though, just poking through strands of hair.

If he has to give up his life for Jason’s, then so be it. He goes to put Jason down, pushing his nose into the boy's hair to breath in his scent one last time. He places a kiss to the crown of his son's head.

The demon interrupts him.

“Oh no - no Bruce, it’s not you,” it says.

Bruce feels cold, too cold, all of a sudden. Like someone has frozen his stomach and chest, and made his heart beat fast in an attempt to break out of the ice.

“You’re not young enough, and too aware of this world,” it continues. A figure starts floating towards them, appearing out of the dark. He can’t see who it is and he doesn’t want too because-

He had promised to give anything. Everything. Bruce had promised the demon his everything, just to have Jason back. He had been so desperate, once he had understood there was a real possibility that he would get to hold his youngest again. Bruce understands now, that he's slipped up. Not thought through the consequences, not thought about anything besides Jason at all.

“A life for a life, one son.. for another.”

Bruce, with Jason still in his arms, falls to his knees.

The figure floats up to them and.. it’s Dick.

He’s wearing his Nightwing suit, but his mask is gone. It looks like he’s been in a fight, he has a black eye and a busted lip, and he’s unconscious. His hands are tied behind his back, and his feet tied together. He’s floating above ground beside the demon, head tipped down onto his chest. He’s is still breathing. 

“No - that’s not what I meant!” Bruce says, laying Jason down as careful as he can on the cemetery ground and stepping closer to the demon. He wants to reach out for Dick but the boy hovers just out of reach. It almost looks like he flickers, like an old light about to go out. Bruce furrows his brows, gears turning in his head but he can’t find any explanation, his mind shortcutting because of fear and desperation.

“You said anything and everything,” the demon reminds him.

“Please,” he rasps, his voice raw and emotional, “don’t kill him. Don’t take him from me, I, I need them both. Take me instead,” Bruce is desperate, begging. He never thought of this as a possibility, never in his wildest fantasies.

He just wanted Jason back, and was blinded by his grief.

“I won't kill him,” the demon says, its voice too nonchalant for Bruce’s liking. Yet, he let himself hold onto a glimmer of hope. It's quickly crushed as the demon continues.

“I won’t let you have him either. Death requested him, the only price she could accept. He is special, she says, the way he has held onto the light as he has waded through dark and grimy waters is remarkable. She would love to break him in. While your soul as of right now, is of no value to us.”

A black hole, a portal, is opening behind the demon.

Jason makes a sound behind his back, a sigh, and Bruce’s stomach twists as he reaches out towards Dick. His hands hit thin air, the demon moving too quickly and playing its tricks, dragging Dick out of his reach.

“You should be thankful I don’t murder the boy as an offering, right here in front of you,” the demon snarls as it bats Bruce’s hands away. It pushes Dick further towards the blackness.

“I gave you your son back. A life for a life, a son for a son, one Robin for another. It's a fair price. We could have taken more, as you so foolishly said you would give up everything.”

Bruce stands frozen to the ground as Dick disappears into the blackness. Bruce can’t see him anymore, his blood rushing and his heart beating so loud. His oldest son, gone.

“You should be grateful,” the demon says and Bruce feels everything but. His emotions are fighting inside of him, conflicting and confusing. The demon steps into the portal like he is stepping over a small fence. One foot in and one foot out. Its human form is almost scarier than its demon one.

“We won't be seeing each other again,” it says, so final. The portal starts closing. The demon disappears. 

“No!” Bruce yells and he is moving, running, towards the portal. His arms reaching out. This can’t be it. He won't allow it. The demon - there has to be another way. Another price.

The portal closes before he gets to it. A domino mask falls to the ground in its place. Bruce is on his knees, digging into the dirt and staining his suit even more. He holds the little piece of fabric in his hands, his fingers feeling the soft material contrasting with the hard tech in them.

“Bruce?” a voice behind him.

Jason.

Bruce turns around and it’s Jason, standing there, his Robin suit somehow on even if he was buried in a black suit and tie. He has the boy in his arms before his brain is catching up with his movements, and tears are streaming down his face.

He has given up everything for this. Now he wonders if the price was too high. His mind is a muddled mess of emotions, as his hand placed on Jason’s back curls tightly around the domino left behind.

A life for a life, the demon said.

Bruce feels like he’s paid double. The demon might have given him Jason, might have mended that grief but now.. now there is a whole new piece of Bruce’s soul missing, and where it once was is now filled with even bigger guilt and grief.

“What’s going on, Bruce?” Jason asks, voice muffled by how Bruce is pressing the boy against his chest.

He can’t bring himself to answer. To admit what he has done. Jason will never forgive him if he learns the truth. Jason and Dick might not have been the best of friends, but they had started to become brothers, before. They had shared a somewhat mutual form of respect.

A son for a son.

His grief for his youngest for the grief of his oldest.

As he holds Jason close, he realizes there is no way he will be able to move on from this.

#tw character death #but not the one you think #tw demons #kinda??? #all the angst! #:D #i dont know what this is honestly and were it came from #i hope you enjoy? its might be really fast paced but thats the only pace i know #this might become a longer fic idk we'll see #jason todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #my writing #elie writes #whats my tag for this again asfkjld #jason todd fanfiction #dick grayson fanfiction #batbros #kindaa

[walters-tampon-string]

Leeches

Fandom: Batman

Rating: K+

Warnings: A bit sad in nature and Jervis references drugs, but it is p light and nothing specific.

Characters: Jervis Tetch/Mad Hatter, Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow

Relationship(s): None

Description: They were both just a couple of leeches, weren’t they?

Jervis stared at the man sitting across the table from him curiously, trying to see if he could glean something from the man’s face or eyes. Something that would answer the question bouncing around in his head. He had yet to be successful, but he was going to keep trying. He was sure he could get something soon.

He had been starting for so long that he was actually rather surprised that Jonathan hadn’t snapped at him about it yet. After all, Jonathan, in Jervis’s humble opinion, could be awfully prickly at times. It seemed to him if someone so much as breathed in the taller man’s direction, they were susceptible to a caustic comment or two from Jonathan, should he be in a particularly foul mood at that moment, which seemed to be a lot of the time. So how he was being spared despite the fact that he was, admittedly rather rudely, staring at the other owlishly was beyond him.

He noted the dark bags under the man’s eyes. Perhaps the other man was simply too tired to fight or notice. Then again, those bags seemed to have a permanent residence on Jonathan’s face, as Jervis had never seen them not shading the underneath of Jonathan’s eyes. Maybe the lack of sleep attributed to his nasty temper. Jervis could relate to sleeping problems. Twittering thoughts inside his mind often prevented him from resting. Thoughts of Wonderland, Alice, and people with bat cowls who liked to tear down the happy, magical escape of fantasy and try to enforce the harsh, boring world of sanity. These were the types of thoughts he was plagued with at night.

Even when he could manage to get his brain to quiet down enough for him to get rest, his mind could still plague him. Dreams of snapping Jabberwocks and elusive bats and raining fists. He resisted the urge to shudder. Quite dreadful, indeed!

He highly doubted though that if Jonathan’s mind did plague him, he had the same thoughts and nightmares as Jervis. Jonathan had no imagination. He would never be able to think such unique and dreadful things. However, despite how different their minds probably were, Jervis wondered if he could help.

He had a drug that could be brewed into tea that could put one out like a light. He’d used it quite a few times himself. He could attest to it being quite helpful. He even knew the dose amounts and everything! It might not be healthy, but going without sleep wasn’t healthy either, so he was sure it balanced out somehow.

A part of him considered bringing it up right then and there. It would certainly help bring some conversation to this awfully silent table. But he quickly thought better of it.

He’d tried to help Jonathan bunches of times in the past, and the man always growled and snapped at him, insisting that he was fine. Jervis didn’t think that was the case, but he had enough self-preservation skills within him to know not to push it. Besides, he couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to help himself.

Now, if only the doctors back at Arkham were able to apply that same logic back on him.

Even if Jonathan was open-minded, he still couldn’t envision Jonathan reacting well to the subject of drugs, at least, when Jervis was talking about them. He’d only agreed to do this tea of sorts if he saw Jervis make the tea. And he meant that quite literally too. He had practically breathed down Jervis’s neck as the hatter prepared things, standing incredibly close. Even Jervis, who didn’t take much issue with personal space felt a little uncomfortable then.

Jonathan’s paranoia didn’t stretch just to drinks though. He also adamantly refused to wear a hat anywhere near Jervis, no matter how much Tetch cried and begged.

The lack of trust in him was unfair in Jervis’s mind. Okay, so many <i> one time </i> Jervis had put a mind-control device in one of Jonathan’s hats. First of all, Jonathan wasn’t even under his control for that long. The  Batman had made sure of that. And besides, Jervis had been doing it for Jonathan’s benefit! There was no way the man would’ve tried to see how magical and fantabulous the world of fantasy was unless he had done that!

Besides, he thought he’d been a rather good sport about the whole thing. When Jonathan had fear gassed some of his henchmen, he had decided to let it pass, figuring that was a fair compensation.

But all of this did lead to the question that had been bothering Jervis since the very beginning of this little tea party. If Jonathan didn’t seem to trust him, or hell, even like him, then why was he here? Why did he show up every now and again when Jervis invited him? He was the only rogue to ever do so.

Hell, even Jonathan seemed to wonder the same thing. Every time Jervis said something that even vaguely annoyed him, he would hear the other man grumble, “Why do I even come here?”

Part of him had suspected Jonathan wanted something, but Jonathan had never offered any propositions nor had he ever attacked or threatened Jervis.

Once he had scratched that off his mental checklist, he wondered if perhaps Jonathan enjoyed his company more than he showed and that was why this was happening. But Jervis doubted it. After all, people didn’t tend to like Jervis and Jonathan didn’t tend to like people.

Jervis couldn’t help but wonder though if the friend theory was right though, though perhaps in its most fundamental elements.

Maybe, somewhere, subconsciously, Jonathan did long for human companionship of any kind, and he was willing to put up with someone he found obnoxious, simply because that person was the only one who would allow it.

Maybe Jonathan was simply leeching off of Jervis’s friendliness to get a free meal, free tea, and just a tad bit of social interaction every now and then. It seemed plausible.

The idea of Jonathan leeching off of him was depressing in a way, and Jervis knew that he probably should be angry at the idea, but he wasn’t. After all, he was a leech as well.

He actually had the wherewithal to admit that he was lonely. And even if Jonathan didn’t like his company, he could find himself enjoying Jonathan’s. The man was intelligent and the amount of work that went into his research was compelling.

So maybe they were both leeches, simply putting up with one another for some mutual benefit.

Or maybe all of these theories were wrong and there was a whole different motivation behind it all. Jonathan, like many of the Gotham rogues, was an interesting character, after all. Their motives didn’t tend to be so black and white.

Jervis decided he wasn’t going to think about it anymore. It was much too complicated and he prefered to live in the moment.

So, beaming at Jonathan, who looked at him curiously, he raised a teacup in one hand and said, “You are a mighty interesting character, you know that, Jonathan Crane?”

Jonathan threw him a confused look, scowling, “And where did that come from?”

“Oh, nowhere really. You offer no conversation, so I was simply left to think a few things through in my mind is all,” Jervis tittered, before taking a sip of his tea.

“You know, if you want conversation, you should probably just say so…” Jonathan growled, annoyance creeping into his tone. However, he did surprise Jervis by going on about some crime the Joker and Harley Quinn had done, going over all the logistics of how it affected things for the other rogues and why the two of them failed.

Jervis listened on eagerly, nodding along and smiling. His smile grew even wider with interest when Jonathan began detailing what his next plans were going to be in the coming weeks. Apparently he plotted to target one of Joker and Harley’s holdings while they were down to steal some chemicals.

Yes, Jonathan Crane was an interesting character indeed.

#batman #ashs writing #jervis tetch #mad hatter #jonathan crane #scarecrow #fanfiction

[georgiabread]

i’m not in the swing of things (yet)

summary: Sometimes Dan hates university and sometimes any reason to visit Phil is a good one. 

word count: 2.6k

trigger warnings: a mild panic attack

a/n: dan’s laundromat story probably wasn’t as angsty as this but 

The first thing that hits him when he plods into the laundromat is the smell. God, the smell. It’s artificial lime, pungent socks and sweat all blended into one odor to assault his nostrils. It almost activates his fight-or-flight response. But Wash, Dry, Fold, Repeat is the only laundry place within a 2-mile radius of his university, and the skinny jeans and cowl-neck cardigan he’s wearing are all that’s left clean. So, while the taste buds on his tongue squirm at the soapy smell of detergent, Dan finds a place in line behind some bored 20-year-old and waits. And waits. And ignores the anxious thundercloud roiling in his stomach.

He shifts his basket of filthy clothes with his knee – the handles are burning into his palms, and that bitter fragrance of underwear has become a little too much for his nose. He’ll be standing here for an hour, at most. There’s at least ten people in this queue, and dozens more slouched upon bench chairs as their clothes tumble about in dryers. And they’re all students. Their buzz of conversation is white noise in his ears, making his fingers twitch and his eyes quiver. They’re intimidating as hell, because Dan only moved into his dorm a week ago and he’s barely 19. Yesterday he had his first proper conversation with one of his housemates – his first social interaction on campus.

Meet people, comes the nasal voice of his mother, banging around his brain. University is so much easier when you have someone to share it with.

And, yeah – that’s probably true. But with one glance at the students crammed into this shitty laundromat, Dan can’t spot any potential friends. He doesn’t feel the urge to strike up a pleasant chat. All he feels is the urge to throw up, really.

He’s a bit pissed. This is a laundromat, of all places, and those irritating fingers of anxiety still crawl into his stomach and churn his last meal like butter. The queue shortens, and with every step, Dan’s chest tightens. And then it hits him – he doesn’t even know how to use laundry machines. The ones back home were simple; his mum even taught him how to work the buttons. But these are modern and unfamiliar, and how could he know which setting to choose and where to pour the detergent and how long he’d have to wait and–?

Dan closes his eyes, drags a stumbling breath through his nose, exhales. It’s okay, he tells himself. You might screw up a million times and keep everyone waiting, but it’s okay. (It isn’t).

He can find a poster with instructions or something. He can ignore everyone else in the room, and their piercing eyes that probably aren’t judging him but definitely could be. It’s fine.

Dan takes another slow breath. The laundromat is loud, stirring the butterflies behind his ribcage, but he tries to drown it out. Two people leave the line; he’s getting closer. His heart staggers in his chest. Why is this such a dramatic affair? He’s just washing his clothes. This is normal. This is routine. Dan pulls his eyes across the other students again. They gaze blankly at their phones, flip the pages of a textbook they’re reading, laugh and talk in small groups. They are normal. So why isn’t he?

Suddenly there’s violent movement in the corner of his eye, and a guy with a black parka and a tattoo on his neck is yanking on the door of a dryer and – and taking out someone else’s clothes? Dan’s mouth hangs open as the prat shoves his own things inside, nicking the time for himself without paying, and an innocent person’s clothes are left in a pitiful heap on the floor.

When another creep wanders past and steals a single sock from the pile, Dan decides he’s had enough. He’s not leaving his belongings here like they’re free to browse, and he’s finding it hard to breathe and he has to get out.

Lugging his basket on his hip, Dan slips out of the queue and pretty much bolts from the laundromat, his stomach still a raging storm.

Outside isn’t any better. Manchester University’s ancient brickwork looms above him, a scornful reminder of his prison home for the next three years. Dan blinks, and remembers his first lecture – a room with a thousand pairs of eyes and a droning professor, and the seats at the back, mocking him. Like they knew that’s where he would always be. Far away. Hidden. Alone.

Unwanted tears sting his eyes. He’s waging wars with cotton balls in his throat. Hunched on a stretch of pavement, clutching a laundry basket as blood drains from his knuckles, on the verge of a sudden breakdown…Dan can’t fucking do this.

But he still needs somewhere to wash his clothes.

With an ugly snivel, Dan finds his phone in his back pocket and flicks to his messages.

TO: phill ^.^

i’m coming over to do my laundry

The moment the text is delivered, Dan feels stupid. Then guilt tugs his lips into a deep frown. What kind of adult has to go to his boyfriend’s house to do laundry? The house in question is, like, on the other side of the city. Phil must be having a great afternoon in his apartment, and now Dan’s gonna ruin it with his bucket of dirty washing and his incessant whining about the pressures of public services.

But he can’t think of anything better, so he calls a taxi and watches it trundle over to the laundromat 10 minutes later. The driver throws him a questioning look when Dan hops in, beady eyes stuck to him as if waiting for an explanation to crawl out of Dan’s pile of clothes. It doesn’t.

As the city passes by the window in a blur, Dan lets the guilt set in. He revels in it. Takes satisfaction in the way he abuses himself (You’re such a shitty boyfriend. So annoying. You can’t do the simplest of things without panicking. Everyone else can use a laundromat, you’re just a freak).

The taxi halts outside Phil’s apartment building a while later, and Dan steps out bruised and tattered – emotionally. He hasn’t checked his phone since he last sent that message. He can’t read what Phil has to say, probably disappointed that Dan is so reliant on him despite being in university. God.

Then there’s a fiddly entrance, an empty elevator and he’s facing off with the front door of Phil’s apartment. He wonders if he should walk away. Maybe Phil isn’t at home? Maybe Phil doesn’t want to see him? But logic reminds him of the two weeks they’ve been apart; he sniffles, blinks away stranded tears and knocks gently on the wood.

Phil is waiting with a grin behind the door. “So, you only keep me around for my household appliances, huh?” is the first thing he says, crinkles forming around his eyes.

“Sorry,” Dan says heavily, a pathetic attempt at laughter fizzling out. “It’s just – there was a laundromat. But I couldn’t be there. I can use your washing machine, right?”

Phil shuffles back to let him in, raising his eyebrows. “Uh, no you can’t. Not until my worth is measured by something more.”

Dan’s fingers stiffen around his basket, throat thick. “…Well, I-I can leave if you don’t–” His words fracture.

That’s when Phil catches on, jokey expression fading as he leans in and pecks Dan on the cheek. “I’m only joking, you numpty. Go sit down, I’ll put these on for you.”

Dan protests as Phil steals the washing basket from his hands, and stands defeated in the hall when his boyfriend prances off towards the laundry. “You’re making me feel bad,” he cries after him.

“You don’t need to!”

“Well…I do anyway.”

Dan wipes at the mess around his nose. Wandering towards the lounge, he hides in his hands in his pockets and takes a deep breath. It doesn’t tremble. His anxieties linger on his shoulders, taunting him, but he now that he’s with Phil, some tumble off and land with a smack on the floor. This is more of a home than uni could ever be.

He flops into the creases of Phil’s couch, eyes landing on Final Fantasy paused on the TV. He notes everything sprawled across the coffee table: an empty mug, a crumb-scattered plate, a few uninteresting documents (bills, maybe). And Phil’s York University hoodie crumpled on the corner.

Dan stares at the green piece of fabric. He narrows his eyes. He scrutinizes it. Then he shrugs it on, only because all his jumpers are in the wash, he’s cold and – okay, he hasn’t seen Phil in ages and he misses him and his smell and his everything, so he wears the goddamn hoodie.

“I made you some tea,” Phil says when he returns, nudging a warm mug into Dan’s hands. The washing machine is background noise to quiet affection.

Careful not to spill the drink (a drop of milk and three teaspoons of sugar, just how he likes it) Dan pushes his face in Phil’s shoulder and clings to his shirt with his free hand. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

Phil noses at his hair and hides a kiss amongst the curls, an unspoken you’re welcome. “Also, green looks good on you.”

“That’s a lie.” Dan’s cheeks are dyed pink. “Your clothes just smell nice.”

This is the first time Dan addresses the taboo subject of sharing clothes. He hesitates. His eyes focus on a stray thread, dangling from Phil’s sleeve. He squeezes it between his thumb and forefinger and tears it off. He feels like he’s broken a promise of some sort.

But Phil just giggles, leaning into him despite the zero space left between their bodies. “I guess you’ll have to keep washing yours here so they can pick up my scent.”

“Shut up. I don’t wanna keep bothering you with my laundry, anyway.”

“You’re not a bother.”

“Uh, yeah I am. What kind of adult can’t wash his clothes? And has to drive all the way to his boyfriend’s house to do it as some kind of security blanket?”

“Dan, if you feel more comfortable here, that’s…you know that’s fine. Besides, you pretty much live here.”

Dan knows Phil is staring at him, waiting for a sign that it’s all okay. It’s not, but Dan still meets his eyes, watches them soften ever so slightly. “Whatever you say.”

“Dan, I’m being serious.” And crap, he’s got him worried. “We’re bloody dating, of course I want you around.”

Dan digs his teeth into his bottom lip, glancing away. Phil sighs and tries a different tactic. “Okay, what happened before? You said something about a laundromat…”

“Yeah, um,” – Dan rubs his eyes, scuffs a bit of fringe out of his face – “It was horrific. Someone stole another person’s clothes. And then, like, there were people there and it smelt disgusting and I had to wait an hour in line. I just – didn’t want to be there. And I know it’s fucking stupid, having a panic attack in a laundromat, but–”

“Dan.” Phil’s fingers brush over the back of his hand. “You could’ve called me.”

There’s a shrug. “Yeah. It wasn’t, you know, dramatic or anything. I just had to leave.”

“Well, I’m glad you came here.” Phil presses his lips against his temple. “What about the whole week? Was uni good so far?”

And Dan snorts, even though this probably isn’t something he should laugh at. “Oh my God, Phil. It sucked. I hid in my room the whole time to avoid my housemates, and showed up late to my first lecture so of course I had one thousand fucking people looking at me as I went all the way to the back of the room. And my professors must be in love with piling intense pressure on their students on the first day. Seriously, I’m so fucking stupid. The workload is massive; I’ll never get it done.”

Phil blinks. “What are you talking about? You’re one of the most intelligent people I know.”

“Not when it comes to fucking law.” Dan whines in the back of his throat, throwing his head against the couch. “Already a week in and I’m regretting everything.”

“It’s gonna get better, Dan. Everyone has a tough first week.”

“Do they? I don’t think everyone has a breakdown in the middle of a supermarket when they’re supposed to be buying cheese. Wait – fuck, I wasn’t gonna tell you that.” Dan trails off. He glares at the lukewarm contents of his mug until his eyes water. He grimaces at the aftertaste of his words, wide open and vulnerable.

He can hear the pity in Phil’s breath. Hands reach down to remove the tea and place it on the table before the boy hugs him and shelters him. Dan curls into Phil’s side.

“You should’ve called me,” Phil says. “I don’t care what I’m doing, I just want to be there when you’re sad. I hate it when you’re sad.”

Dan closes his eyes. Fuck, Phil. Then he opens them. “I tried calling my grandma, but she didn’t pick up.”

“Dan. Promise me, if no one else is available, that you’ll call me when you’re feeling shitty.”

“But I always feel guilty. What if you get sick of my problems?”

“Never. You have to promise.”

“I despise you.” Dan burrows into Phil’s chest. His next words he sews into the fibres of Phil’s shirt. “I promise.”

Phil kisses his hair and holds him like he’s porcelain. “Good. And yeah, uni sucks sometimes. I actually burst into tears in Tesco while I was buying tea towels. And during my first lecture, I tripped over trying to find a seat and half my stuff fell down a few rows. Everyone gasped. But it’s mostly really fun and as long as don’t procrastinate and take notes, assignments will be easy.”

“How do you even manage that on your first week? And you know procrastination is a chronic illness for me.”

“You’ll just have to come over to study and I’ll motivate you.”

A small disgruntled sound leaves Dan’s lips. “Why are you so nice to me? Idiot.”

“I prefer to call it supporting and caring for my boyfriend whom I love so much.”

“And the medal for the soppiest lad out there goes to Phil Lester, everybody.”

“I’ll wear it proudly.”

“In that case, I can’t be seen anywhere near you.”

Satisfied with Dan’s return to okay-ness, Phil giggles and seizes his controller. “Mind if we cuddle and I play Final Fantasy?”

“Nope.” Dan pops the p, tugging his sleeves over his hands and wriggling under Phil’s arm. “You suck at battles, though.”

“Hey. Not as hard as your mum sucked last night.”

“What the fuck.”

And Phil begins to shake with laughter, a boisterous thing that puts stars in his eyes and makes Dan feel a bit dizzy. A smile wriggles onto his face when the boy tips towards him, sprinkling I’m sorries through his giggles.

“I hate you,” Dan says.

Phil turns to him, gives him a look. Dan’s gaze trickles down his face until he gives in and touches their lips together, chaste and warm-scented. “But I also love you.”

“See? You can’t fool me, Howell.”

Phil resumes Final Fantasy and entwines their legs on the couch. A grin glued to his face, the tempest of anxiety dribbling away, Dan nestles into the quiet and comfort that is his boyfriend and dozes off to Sending a Dream into the Universe. Somewhere in the apartment, there is an ambience of clothes tumbling about in the washing machine, constant and calm and always there.

phanfics

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #dan and phil #phan fluff #phan angst #2010!dan #university #laundromats #lmao #i feel insecure about this one because other fic writers have posted laundromat fics which are far better but oh well

[indirispeaks]

Titanic Fail Part the Second

!Presented in convo form!  Apologies for the length

Me:  Okay remember that glorious shipwreck of epic proportions that was the animated titanic movie I told you about with the magic anime girls moonbeam tears?

Him: .....yeah...

Me: I love your suble uneasiness in that 'yeah'. Because THERE IS A SEQUEL.

Him: .....I want to get off this planet now.

Me: "Titanic: Elizabeth And Mullet-Face Go To The Lost City Of Atlantis And There Is A Battle With Sharks And Creepy Clown Toys And Mentally Challenged Racist Caricatures Mice, And Also The Dog Has A Gun For Some Reason."  

Him: fuck my life

Me: Also called "In Search of Titanic" But my version is more accurate.  So Elizabeth and Glove Sniffer, (fuck if I remember the guy's name he made zero impression on me the first time)along with the dog -who can talk now- and the reeeeally awkward mice are riding around in a submarine looking for the wreck of the Titanic.  Which is stupid, since the giant pinkie thing put the goddamn ship back together and lugged it to the new york harbor previously. Whales saved all the people! It was happily ever after all around.  

Him: WHAT IS CONTINUITY?

Me: No one on the production team knows what that word means. It is unclear why the talking mice are qualified to make submersible dives.  Maybe it happened between movies while the dog was learning to talk.  Actually come to think of it, every animal in the first movie could talk except the dog and the whales and yet everyone seemed to understand them just fine even without the glitter spooge and it wasn’tt a big deal to ANY of them. I'm not sure why I'm searching for meaning and logic in a film written and produced by alcoholic lemurs but it still bugs me.

Him: Alcoholic lemurs could have written a better story. meth addicted squirrel monkeys though.

Me: No the squirrel monkeys wrote the sequel.  In the snow.  With their own pee. But yeah the dog can talk now and I think his name is Lucky.  Or Fritz. Or Frank.  Steven? He doesn't like being down there because there are sharks.  Water is blue, Stevie-boy. But speaking of sharks, the criminal shark gulag is back, again with the whaler asshole, still after the whales.  There are no whales in this movie.  The giant pink thingie is apparently called Tentaclino, but no one even calls him that and he's not really in the movie either. For that matter, neither is the Titanic.  I don't know what they were actually calling it, because 80 percent of the dialogue in garbled to high hell in some way or another.  

Which I guess is what happens when three different countries work on the same movie in a fourth language none of them actually speak.  They gave up 20 minutes in anyway and just started trying to out-stupid each other.

The new head shark (also with names changing every other scene) gets da boyz to attack the sub and cut it loose because it's yellow.  All submarines are yellow. Also sharks are colorblind IRL but that's the least of this movie's issues.

Him:  Of course it's yellow.

Me: Everyone in the sub is understandably shocked and upset at this development, except for Glove Sniffer who says that everyone should remain calm while the sharks chew through their tether and oxygen tube.  The breach causes implosive decompression and kills them all instantly.  The End.

Him:  That's not what happened is it.

Me: Nupe.

Him: Joy.

Me: What actually happens is Da Boss shark and his dudebros chew the Technodrome loose to the complete and utter indifference of everyone inside it because the animation budget did not have enough money to pay for more frames when the dudebros start playing tether ball with it.  They ask Da Boss shark if they should finish destroying it but he says no, first he has to stop and brush his teeth. Dental hygiene is important, yo!  This calls for a rap number!

OH YEEEEEEEEEEAH THIS ONE'S A MUSICAL!  YAAAAAY!!!

Him: This is a hell dimension.  We are in a hell dimension.

Me: It sets the precedent for the whooole circus though, because NONE of the "songs" in this technicolor nightmare make any sense to anyone who doesn't just happen to be an acid-tripping squirrel monkey.  The most I got out of this one was the opening line of "YO! YO! YO! LOOK AT MY TEETH! HOOGA HOOGA HOOGA SO WHITE AND NEAT!" and the rest of it was sung by a chorus of small clams who'd come back from the dentist with mouths full of Novocaine.  It SOUNDED like they were singing "Oh, you, you!  There's no white meat out of you!  Oh, you, you!  There's wuh walla, walla WOOOO!!" You can look it up on youtube, the comments are full of people taking guesses at the actual lyrics.

Him: ....

Me: After that incomprehensible nonsense, it cuts back to where Elizabeth, Glove Sniffer and co. have been hanging out awaiting their cues for the last five minutes that you just spent listening to cartoon prison-shark rapping.  Literally.  Upside down and motionless.  Elizabeth's long flowing hair is unaffected by gravity. They come back to life just in time to realize they're probably going to drown and are understandably panicked....except for Glove Sniffer, natch, who tells them to stay calm again but then they go unconscious again and merpeople on multicolored My Little Pony steeds (WHY) come to the rescue and save everybody by spraying air bubbles on their heads....

hang on sec

I missed the part where it became possible for the merpeople to open the top hatch without turning the people into ground sausage. I.

Magic glitter spooge.

I guess.

They're unconscious again in any case.  They're also wearing life vests like that's going to help you 7 miles down. I couldn't tell if they were dead or not as they were not sausage, but if they were it would have saved the audience 70 more minutes of this shit.  Actually I think the dogs name was Pete.

Him: I'd suggest rewatching it as a drinking game but I don't think anyone would survive the alcohol poisoning.

Me: Yeeeeeah.  The mersquad lugs their unconscious asses back to the Lost City of Atlantis, populated by more merpeople who are really just different colored normal people walking around in frog feet with artistically placed fish scales.  Pete wakes up halfway there, catches sight of a merwoman and is utterly convinced he's dead and she's taking him to doggy hell.  Doggy.  Hell.  Full throttle Don Bluth. She tells him to stay calm, they're safe now. He doesn't buy it but WHO THE FUCK WOULD.

You might be able to make a drinking game of how many times they actually say some version of "stay calm." They are met at the door by a blue guy whose name we never find out, who tells them that in order to visit the city they have to drink this incredibly suspicious green potion.  Elizabeth questions the wisdom of accepting drinks from people wearing sexy-nurse costumes complete with white cowboy hat emblazoned with a red cross.  Blue guy tells her to stay calm...and then says "GET EVERYTHING READY!!" to the sexy nurse in a tone that is in no way menacing and foreshadowy.

And from this point on, Elizabeth "I can talk to dolphins with my magiccy-farts" becomes the SOLE VOICE OF REASON.  To which the blue guy tells her to shut up and drink it already..  Total dick move. Glove-Sniffer has lost what few brain cells he had (probably from sniffing other things, like wet paint and cat piss), and says that he understands.  Just stay calm, and isn't this potion a pretty color? Can't possibly be a bad thing! CHUGGALUGGALUGALUG.  I'm not kidding he actually says that. Elizabeth questions her own sanity.

Him: .........she's just now questioning that?

Me: Yeah, well. Elizabeth has seen some fucked up shit in her day. Then the blue guy takes them on a tour! They go and meet this jack in the box clown...fish...pokemon thing with a cape and a pimp cane because why the hell not, who says he's the ambassador or something and oh by the way everything in the city can breathe underwater, never go to sleep, everything can talk, and live forever.  Scary Toy sounds like a cross between Marilyn Manson and Fozzie Bear which is creepy as fuck.  I can totally see Jeff Dunham using that voice in his stand up.  Then it gets bizarre.

Him: again, just now?

Me: More bizarre.

Him:  I didn't know it was possible to go downhill from the deepest pit of hell.

Me:  They have a backhoe for digging, and Buffy missed this particular hellmouth.  There's a bunch of toys that live in the ballroom and Creepy Toy goes into this...this...song and dance number...about how all this works..I must have blanked it out after he made this horrifying demon giggle.  He doesn't exactly sing, either, just spouts more Manson-esque lyrics until all hell breaks loose in a sort of what I can only describe as "Techno Rave Fusion Dance Party Music".  The lights go out and colored spotlights start flying around the raving toy mosh pit (there's a mosh pit) and every single word of whatever the serial killer fish clown is trying to say is completely obscured by WUB WUB WUB, WUBBA WUB WUB WUB!! WUB WUB WUB, WUBBA WUB WUB WUB!!  Elizabeth's voice actor can be heard over the soundtrack saying "THIS IS SCARY!!" and she is so right.

Him: ....

Me: He finishes his routine by abruptly telling them surprise! they're not allowed to leave the city and go home for the rest of their immortal, sleepless lives.  Elizabeth is upset.  Guess what Glove Sniffer tells her?

And then they go meet the king, who is a fushia man I think.  He's wearing a long green robe with attached hoodie cowl from which a black hole exudes so you can't see his face.  Could have been tentacles under there for all I know. He's sitting on a throne which I admit was kinda cool, made out of water with fish and seaweed floating/swimming around in it.  Or at least it was cool until it gets up and starts following the king around and there's a fucking face on it that the king proceeds to sit on and then it blows bubbles right up his ass.  It's a sentient bidet.  

Him: sec, finding the vodka.

Me:  He asks how they are adjusting to the "news" that they are now under house arrest til the end of time, and Glove Sniffer says he's glad they were told right away and in such an amusing manner. Whoever was responsible for writing his dialogue has been huffing rubber cement between sentences. Elizabeth looks irritated.  I don't really blame her.  

Then the movie remembers oh yeah, talking animals!  The dog's name might have been Happy.  Still no clue about the mice.  Happy finds a lady dog that lives in Atlantis because why not, and they frolic a bit  She has no speaking lines and it's love at first sight.  She has no name.  Meanwhile the mice are taken to meet all the other mice and why are there fucking mice in Atlantis?   There, uh.  There's a chinese one.  You can tell this movie was made somewhere other than here because that one would have never got past the MPAA.

Anyway the mice/rats have this plan to overthrow the king and steal the elixir of life and then go Pinky and the Brain.  It is not explained why they the elixir will help them take over the world. They also for some reason have laser guns.  The two sailor mice run and tell the king. He doesn't question their story and neither did I.  Elizabeth did.  

Him: ....

Me: The king decides to let the mice try to take over the world because they're just a bunch of heat-packing mice and he has a bazillion army merpeople and toys and the elixir of life.  He replaces it with water so the mice steal a fake. They test it out by tying another mouse to a rock and tossing him down a well to drown.  I mean if you're going to put Don Bluth-level incredibly dark topics in a kid's movie, you may as well go all in. The Creepy Toy is afraid of the mice taking him apart with a screwdriver because then he'll be dead, (for kids!) but a red dolphin reassures him that screwdrivers are banned in Atlantis.  (Apparently they built the city without screws. I dunno just go with it okay?)

The evil mice are in cahoots with the sharks who are in cahoots with the whaling asshole because there needs to be at least six different plotlines at the same time.  They want to feed the pink thingie to Da Boss shark.  Why? Supposedly he ruins stuff....mainly any sort of continuity when someone tries to inject some sanity into this. stupid.  stupid.  Stupid.  stupid. stupid stupidstupidstupid there's a toy army that goes up against the mice who have their own submarines and how the hell are ANY of them supposed to take over the world when your shark shock troops are stuck underwater and you don't have a tornado handy?

I need a break

Their subs also have lasers but they are outgunned via Glove Sniffer's rampaging stupidity. There's a brief fight montage, the dog sets up a sniper point and starts picking off mice even though he lacks opposable thumbs and he's scared of sharks.  And water.  I'm not sure why he's on this vacation.  Maybe they needed to sell tie in plushies?  

Pew! Pew! Pew!  Pew-pew! WHOOOOMPA! Pew! Pew!

There's also a boy doll who looks like a girl doll because he's got a wig on and it's a curse a little girl put on him to look like a girl and blah blah blah blah it's not important.  None of this is important. He sounds like a pirate even though he's dressed in scottish kit. He off a single cannon shot and ta da! he's a boy again and promptly fucks off the movie never to be seen or mentioned again. Yay, misogyny on top of pointless!  Thankfully he does not sing or rap about it.

Him:  Small mercies.

Me: The war is over!  The mice have slunk back to Atlantis and decide to test their elixir of life anyway even though...their entire battle strategy imploded.  Elizabeth's voice actor has given up entirely and she just sort of stands there, lost in her own little hell.  There's a grand total of 4 seconds where the pink thingie shows up and then leaves so the animators have an excuse to plaster him/her/it on the dvd case.  The king decides to reward the useless tourists, half of whom keep asking nosy questions, and puts the Titanic back together again (I mean this IS a Titanic movie, the ship has to be in the film for at least 12 seconds) There is now a sentient screwdriver in the mix whose supposedly the Creepy Toy Fish's best friend.  They'.....but he's scare...I thought they were ban...the fuck.

Him: Well yeah.

Me: They get the ship cleaned up and put back together (what's continuity again?) and then use it to drop Elizabeth and Glove Sniffer on a deserted tropical island to live the rest of their lives going quietly insane up THERE instead of underwater.  Which is an improvement over hostages, because now they're marooned with the Titanic parked on the beach as their own private yacht.  Thank god they don't have relatives that will miss them or go looking for them. I kinda wonder that since they have issues with continuity if there were dead bodies on the ship.  I assume there probably were but there sure aren't any now. I won't speculate as to what happened to them but you never see anybody eating fish down there, if you know what I mean. That's basically the end, everyone lives happily ever after if you don't count mind never seeing your families and friends ever again.

Him: .....you know I hate you, right?

........the dogs name was fucking “Smile” by the way. 

#titanic movie #titanic #titanic cartoon #lasers #wtf