Things That Make Gotham Criminals Say Oh Shit:

things that make Gotham criminals say “oh shit”:

Batman showing up to the hideout and not asking any questions

Nightwing cracking his escrima sticks together with 0 witty banter or foreplay

Red Hood when his hands are shaking

Injured Robin and Batman known to be in near proximity 

Any sightings of Batman on Robin II’s death anniversary

Superman in Gotham without an escort

Batman speeding through the Narrows on a motorcycle and not the Batmobile

Red Hood abandoning his guns and throwing punches instead

Robin fighting with a sword and 0 supervision

Jim Gordon trying to quit cigarettes for the 19th time on the night shift

Any captured Batkid too injured/tired/frightened to taunt the responsible criminals

Batman bleeding and/or missing any major parts of his armor

Any Bat vigilante other than Duke outside during daylight hours

The masterpost

I don't know how to do the fancy, tiny link shit cus imma be very, real with all yall...I am not a tumblr girly...

Okay so I made the links tiny but dear God, how do I make it those little things where it's (pry1) and you can just click on it? I can't search for shit and YouTube has forsaken me but I hope this helps people!

Dead Man's Diner

Pt 1 Pt 2 Pt 3 Pt 4 Pt 5 Pt 6 Pt 7

Champion and King

Pt 1

Welcome to Gotham

Pt1

Do you perchanfe have an archive account

I do perchance have one, I haven't posted anything on it in a while tho, if I do post Dead Man's Diner on it, it would likely be an expanded upon version of the story! More background on what happened before and such

Edit: not me fucking forgetting to tell yall my account its Mystics_many_Magics! Its mostly just two cyberpunk 2077 fics!

Not my usual DpxDc, but have some fun stuff

(Just a random plot bunny about Damian getting sent to the pokemon world.)

Damian knew, deep down that he really shouldn't have gone off alone but honestly what else was he supposed to do? His father had yet to take him seriously, Richard was once again treating him like an infant and Drake wouldn't do the honorable thing and die.

Tood was the only one that took him vaguely seriously and that was solely because of the time he had spent with the League.

Cassandra was out with Brown in Shanghai, and Thomas thankfully had the correct reaction of running in fear when he entered a room!

So really, who could blame him for going out in Gotham alone.

Damian could, Damian very much was blaming himself.

Because he had been out on patrol for not even a few hours when he stumbled upon a man with a strange looking gun, muttering things and he hastily tried to unlock the door to a jewelry store.

It was supposed to be easy, the man was clearly put of his depth, Damian would swoop in, he would apprehend this criminal and then he would finally be looked upon by his father as the true son of the Bat!

Now if only it really went that way, because as Damian was sneaking along the roof of a near by building, his foot slipped, causing him to topple over the edge, landing on the filthy Gotham streets, and by the time he was able to find his footing, Damian was looking up at the criminal, only to see a beam of light hit him straight in the face.

And then there was blackness.

---

Damian woke with a start, shooting up from his position laying on...lumpy uneven forest floor? His head pounded as he stumbled up, eyes open but unseeing.

He sensed movement around him, and his hand gripped the edge of his sword as he forced his eyes to focus.

Looking to the source of the movement, Damian paused, blinking a few times as he saw a bulbous looking insect, with green chitin and a pale tan underbelly, it had massive eyes, golden and almost peering into his soul, it's red antennae wiggled as it looked at him.

It was staring up at him as much as Damian was staring down at it.

Waiting for the insect to make the first move, Damian saw it tilt its head and make a sound "Catta! Caterpie!" It was a soft sound, nervous almost as it sounded confusion.

Damians mind was working on over drive because he just got the very distinct impression that this...insect? Had just asked him a question, it had far to intelligent eyes to be a simple insect.

"I do not...understand your language." He ground out, he had yet to move his hand from his blade, but his grip on it was loosened, "and I do not know...where I am."

---

Professor Oak frowned as he looked down at the screen, there had just been a massive energy spike just around base of the Silver mountains, it was...concerning to say the least.

Sending a worried look to one of his assistants, Samuel hurried out of the lab, heading to his office the older man sat down with a huff, pulling a radio transmitter from his desk, he fiddled with the setting before clicking it on.

"Sierra Oscar 1 calling in to Ranger Dispatch over." Waiting for a response with baited breath, Samuel reread the energy signals hoping they were less dangerous than they could truly be.

"Ranger Dispatch to Sierra Oscar 1 you are coming in clear, over." A rich deep voice sounded back to him.

Letting out a small sigh, Professor Oak held up the reserver closer as he spoke, "Ranger Dispatch, we just saw a massive about of ultra wormhole energy around the Silver mountain range, coordinates to follow, advising a Ranger troupe to search for Ultra beast contact. Over."

DPxDC Summoning Failed Successfully

Imagine a warehouse. Imagine a bunch of cultists in dark robes with all the candles, daggers, ancient books, and chanting. Now add Danny.

Only not as the summoned being, no. As a sacrifice.

He is sitting down, tied to a chair, in the middle of the summoning circle, looking as bored and deadpan as he can possibly be. The cultists are chanting, and he frowns, listening to their chants for a moment.

"Hey, is that Latin?" He questions, but to no avail, "You know you're not actually using those words correctly, right?"

"Keep quiet, child!" One of the cultists snaps. Danny leans back in his chair and shrugs.

"I'm just saying, you ain't summoning shit with wrong grammar," he huffs, seemingly absolutely nonchalant about the whole thing. Oracle, who is watching the whole ordeal through the surveillance cameras, raises her eyebrows. Red Robin and Robin are already en route to the building the cultists chose for their extracurricular activities, but now she almost wants to watch this a bit longer.

Gothamites are pretty used to all kinds of shitshows, but this boy is from out of town. She checked him through facial recognition. Daniel Fenton, a transfer student from Amity Park, Illinois.

A few more cultists stop chanting and turn to Danny.

"Do you know Latin?" One of them asks, and the boy makes a half-nod, making a thoughtful face.

"Not fluently, but, like, it's a dead language, I felt kinda obligated to learn it. Just for the meme, you know?" He chuckles.

The cultists, judging by their confused silence, don't know. Barbara doesn't know what he's talking about, either. But she is almost curious now, so she taps Robin's and RR's comm lines:

"RR, Robin, when you arrive, don't jump into the scene," she asks.

"Understood," Tim answers immediately, but Damian, of course, demands explanations:

"Is there an obstacle?"

"Not really," Barbara humms, "The sacrifice is in the process of de-escalating the situation."

She can almost hear the questioning silence over the comm, but, thankfully, no one argues. Meanwhile, one of the cultists pipes up, voice full of doubt:

"So, you can... like, proofread our incantation?"

"Yeah, sure," Danny nods, apparently fine with being sacrificed, "Who you're trying to summon anyway?"

"Satan," that same cultist answers, and Danny laughs approvingly.

"Classic," he nods and smiles, "I'll give you this. The circle is mostly alright, so you don't need an incantation to summon the fucker, I have him on speed dial." And with that, he leans forward, screaming towards the floor: "Ey, Satan!"

Barbara must say the act was actually convincing, but he went a little overboard with it now. She reaches to tell both Robins to get in, but suddenly, a loud, booming voice reverberates through the building.

"The fuck do you want, kid?"

Cultists fall to their knees - it doesn't seem like an act of worship, more like their knees bucking. The whole circle dimly lights up in red, smoke raising from it.

"Do you see this shit, Oracle?" Red Robin questions, and she mhm's at him, not sure what else to say. If this is still an act or a trick, she must say it's a very good one. Although somehow she suspects it's not a trick. She's seen enough magic in her life to tell the difference.

"Do you want to come to Earth, be gay and do crimes?" Danny asks, almost mockingly.

"Fuck off."

The red light flickers and disappears, and Danny looks back up to cultists, grinning cheerfully.

"Welp, looks like he doesn't wanna," the kid concludes and stands up from his chair. Barbara hadn't seen when or how he got out of his bindings.

The cultists just watch him walk out of the circle in bewilderment.

"Pursue?" Robin's voice comes over the comms, and Barbara thinks for a moment.

"I get a feeling like that's a bad idea," Tim mutters over his line.

Barbara agrees.

Everlasting Trio Nobody Knows AU DP x DC Part 4

Part 3

(Tim POV! This is a long one 😅)

 Tim almost has it. He's so close to cracking this file he can fucking taste it. He's been fighting this thing for two weeks. It's the most incomprehensible and infuriating code he's ever faced off against, which is fitting considering who gave it to them.

The engineer. THEIR engineer. The engineer they didn't ask for and Tim still isn't sure how they got, and the single biggest mystery in Tim's fucking life right now.

See, a significant amount of Bat gadgets at this point are Tim's brainchildren. He imagines them, he designs them, he workshops and tests them.

A few months ago, he'd had a pouch on his utility belt full of experimental pellets meant for slowing down fleeing vehicles. They were designed to break when run over and the compound inside would expand into durable, sticky foam that would ensnare tires.

He'd tested them in the cave.

He had not been prepared to take one hit to that side and have to frantically divest himself of that pouch before he became Gotham's latest foam based cryptid. 

His family had laughed themselves silly at him even as he broke off in pursuit of the drug runners he'd been fighting.

When Tim had doubled back expecting a mess to clean up and pellets to rework? It had been gone. All of it. The foam, the pellets, the pouch of his utility belt.

A serious problem, because who knows who got their hands on that?

Then it had shown back up.

That is to say, Gordon had called them because he found a pouch with a note labeled ‘for Red Robin’ sitting on the stand of the Bat Signal and didn't dare touch it.

After making sure it wasn't a bomb or some kind of biological weapon, Tim had opened the pouch - his own belt pouch - and found pellets. New pellets. Different pellets.

The note just read, “As funny as that was to watch, I fixed them for you. No more premature sploogage on the job. :3 P.S. here's a recipe for solution to dissolve future intentional discharges.”

They'd been right, too. The new pellets were tested (in case THEY were a bomb or biological weapon) and they'd been just strong enough to safely transport but still break when under the pressure of tires. Even the foam was more effective, and the spray Tim synthesized from that stupid recipe had worked like a dream.

What. The fuck.

This person not only improved his design and came up with a dissolution agent from scratch in days, they'd been watching without him knowing and made off with the original pellets without anyone noticing.

This was either a rogue in the making or someone they wanted on their side, and either way they needed to be found.

So Tim had done the obvious.

He'd put together a lockbox of money for the product they'd been given, loaded it with no less than ten (10) bat trackers and a note thanking their mysterious benefactor and requesting to meet up. He'd exploded a foam pellet on a rooftop and left the box on it in the hopes they'd notice and find it, then hung around far enough to not be seen and close enough to beat feet as soon as the trackers started moving. 

They did not start moving. They all went offline simultaneously. 

Tim has never moved so fast in his life, and yet by the time he got to the rooftop there was a pile of foam and nothing else. Not even a trace of whoever took the lockbox.

The next day, there was a ping of one (1) tracker that led them to a note thanking him for the money, refusing to meet, and asking if they'd considered certain improvements to their grapples with schematics for said designs.

Thus started the most bizarre and infuriating chase through notes, money, helpful designs and disappearing trackers Tim has ever been a part of.

Last time, the engineer had left them a USB stick and a note claiming that since they really wanted to know about him so bad, they could have the information on the USB if they could crack the encryption on the zip file inside.

Obviously they screened heavily for viruses or backdoors, but long story short Tim has been trying to crack the fucking thing for two weeks and refuses to let Oracle help. It's personal. It's a matter of pride. 

He could swear the code itself has actively been sabotaging his attempts to hack it, which is, you know. Impossible. 

Ping!

Tim blinks, looking over at the map on another monitor of the Bat computer. 

“Motherfucker-”

He taps into Duke’s comms. This is the first time this has ever happened during the day shift, he wasn't expecting it.

“Signal! I need you on the roof of the warehouse on the corner of Fifth and Everest - a tracker just came online.”

Another thing that infuriates Tim. You can't just turn Bat trackers on and off. They're activated, and then they either stay active or they're destroyed. They can't be turned off and then reactivated.

And fucking yet.

Duke groans, but his own tracker starts making its way in that direction.

“Dude. He's gonna be long gone by the time I get there. He always is.”

“He can't run from me forever,” Tim insists. “I'm almost in this damn file, and I am going to find him and dangle him off a roof from his ankles for giving us this runaround, so help me God.”

“Uh huh,” Duke deadpans. “Sure you are. I'm almost there, and- oh look! A note. What a surprise!”

Tim hears Duke touch down on the rooftop, eyes on the code on his screen while his brother clears his throat and reads aloud.

“Ahem- ‘Good morning, sunshine!’ - guess that's me - ‘I hear some bats and birds have been murdering tires at an alarming rate with the way they drive their bikes-’”

Tim freezes. He's not listening anymore.

“Signal.”

“‘- and that just can't be good for business. Nobody wants a bald tire ruining a chase. So boy do I have the thing for you-”

“Signal!”

“What?”

“I got it.”

“Huh? Got what?”

“I cracked his file. I got it.”

Tim is staring, wide eyed and full of a mixture of elation and trepidation at the contents of the zip file. It's a single text file titled, ‘Wow! You did it!’

“Oh, shit? Well? What's in it?”

Tim swallows, mouse hovering over the file. He takes a deep breath, then double clicks.

The file opens.

Tim blinks.

“Red Robin? What's in it?”

Tim scrolls slowly down, disbelief and horror dawning across his face. “Oh my God.”

“What? Come on, man, talk to me.”

Tim scrolls further.

“Oh. My God.”

“Red? Red Robin, you're scaring me, man.”

Tim puts his face in his hands. Voice muffled, he responds.

“Duke.”

“...Red? You okay?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It's the entire Bee Movie script.”

Silence reigns for a solid five seconds before Duke breaks and descends into raucous, hysterical laughter.

Even muffled by his own hands, Tim's scream of rage scares the bats in the cave into a tizzy.