Ok guys, look at me *shaking with ghostbat energy*
During the events of Batman fear state, scarecrow finds a way to get into batman's mind and mess around a little. So, naturally, batman asks ghostmaker to enter his mind and check what's going on, you know, as you do
This happens in Batman (2016) #113, if you wanna read the whole thing you can start at Batman #106 or (if you wanna see Khoa's introduction and first appearance in the comics) Batman #102. I'm telling you this because right here at this moment, there's a wonderful, incredible potential for ghostbat fics and I need someone to tap into that, so bear with me
In the actual issue, things get resolved a little faster, but here we have your prompt: Bruce and Khoa exploring Bruce's mind, walking around through all of his memories, trying to get to the one they need and find out what's wrong with his brain (besides the usual).
So we can see Bruce at multiple points of his life
Khoa: you know, I think you could've been an actual cute baby if they'd just given you brown contact lenses
Bruce: don't start
Khoa: I mean it, you had potential. But as things are, you were just a small creepy creature
Khoa: like, what's the deal with all the staring?
Bruce: I was attentive and observing.
Khoa: you were strange and off-putting... Not much different than you are now I guess
Khoa: Oh, he's staring at me now. Can you make him stop? Do they come with an off button?
Bruce: It's just a memory, Khoa, it can't hurt you
Baby!Bruce: •-•
We can have kid!Bruce going to the park with his parents; they send him to play with the other kids and about half an hour later he comes back with some company.
Kid! Bruce: *holding a little kid's hand* Mother, Father. Meet your new son, Tobias.
Martha: What
Kid!Bruce: I adopted him as my brother since you wouldn't give me one by your own volition. He's part of the family now. He's very nice, I think you'll like him.
Tobias: :D
Thomas: How did you even get him-
Martha: *carefully* Look, Bruce. Darling. I know you want a little brother...
Kid!Bruce: I really, really want •-•
Martha: ... really, really want. But you can't just steal a kid like that, that's illegal.
Kid!Bruce: -_-
Kid!Bruce: I shall be a criminal, then.
*in the background*
Khoa: so... you've always been like that, hm?
Bruce: stfu i was six
The comedic potential??? The opportunity to throw all your headcanons into it and call it a day???? C'MON!
And you can take a completely comedic approach to it, but may I present you one more aspect of this little adventure because everything is fun and games until I throw horror at it O_o
So, here's the thing about Scarecrow's plan: he creates an evil/monstrous version of Bruce in his memories. It doesn't appear much so it's hard for me to explain what exactly it is and what it's supposed to do, but it's basically:
Ghostmaker just straight up kills it but yk I think there's more potential to this idea, it can be further explored
I, personally, love the idea of this disturbing version of him being able to manifest itself in multiple memory!bruce versions
So, cute but creepy baby bruce? He's about to get creepier
Baby!Bruce: •-•
Baby!Bruce: *eyes go completely black*
Khoa: yk, Bruce... I'm not a kid specialist, but I think there might be something genuinely wrong with mini-you...
Bruce: Khoa, seriously, I thought the only baby here was my younger self. Could you please stop trembling under the stare of a 1 year old-
Baby!Bruce: *turns his head 360 degrees like a kid in a horror movie and starts coughing black goo*
Bruce: ...
Khoa: see, this is why i never wanted kids.
Also, just as a side note, khoa can also show bruce his own memories
So you can do whatever you want with that information. I just really wish that whole plotline had been longer
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who tf gave emperor the right to be pretty
LIKE LOOK AT HIM/POS
WHY IS HE PRETTY
WHY IS HE LIKE THIS
PARASITE I HATE HIM/J
also whatever i say next is under cut because it DOES NOT leave this house, and mutuals, if you see this…. NO YOU DO NOT/lh <3
wanna know something else that made me tear down thy walls
you see another thing is that emperor refers to himself as the king a lot and uhhh
well
i also. got hit. with the thought of him calling me his queen a lot and it made me bawl tears. a whole ass waterfall.
"my queen" turns into a pile of dust and is blown away in the wind. forever.
THAT PET NAME WILL FOREVER BE MY WEAKNESS/POS
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I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.
What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.
What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.
What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.
The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.
And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.
But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.
I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.
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