Captain Marvel, With The Powers Of Six Different Gods, And Now The Blessings Of Another, And Widely Acknowledged

Oh wow. I would imagine Bruce giving Tim the Nth degree for this, because honestly? It could have been so much worse.

That part could've been so critical that they died on launch or reentry. They might not have heard the noise, and been too far out to fix it. Or what if the Watchtower wasn't there? It could've been a disaster. People could've died. Because Tim wasn't getting enough sleep and designing critical systems at the same time.

That's reckless and negligent, to say the least. The sleep deprivation isn't good for his own health, and they have been trying to help him. But someone can't be helped if they don't let themselves be helped, so they took a step back. And look where that ended up? A potential disaster. It's one thing to willingly endanger your own life, whether with vigilantism or sleep deprivation, it's another for the consequences of your own actions to have almost killed many people.

Just because he wasn't willing to sleep.

Yeah, I don't think Tim's going to get off light with this one.

The Pitstop

It was a normal day at the Justice League Watchtower Satellite. Heroes were milling about, Batman was monitoring Earth from the deck, there was an astronaut tapping on the glass, Flash was joking with Martian Manhunter...

What, what was that 3rd thing?

Batman looked up and saw in front of his view of Earth was an astronaut, wearing NASA's latest suit design. He stood up which alerted Flash and Martian Manhunter to the strange sight.

He tensed as the astronaut began to phase through the walls and entered the deck. Batman was able to activate the intruder alarm when the astronaut removed their helmet.

The astronaut was a caucasian male approximately in his early forties. There were bags under his blue eyes like many of his own cohorts, and he had black hair as well.

"We need to dock."

"Excuse me?"

"Who are you?" asked Martian Manhunter.

The astronaut's face brightened immediately upon noticing Martian Manhunter. "Oh! I'm part of the manned Mars mission! We just launched and were on our way, but something is making a weird noise, and we don't know what it is. Since we're so close, can we just dock one of your garages so we can figure out what it is and fix it?"

Batman recalled that NASA had launched less than a few hours ago.

"How did you get through the glass?" asked Flash.

"I'm the token metahuman crewmember. So can we dock or not?"

"Of course," said Martian Manhunter, looking at Batman. And what was Batman supposed to say? No?

In the parking garage, Martian Manhunter was talking the other crewmembers while the Watchtower's engineers and the metahuman astronaut, who they learned was named Danny Fenton, inspected the space shuttle and tried to figure out what was making the strange noise.

Batman watched from the sidelines as the others bustled about. They had been at it for an hour, and Batman wondered if he should ask Tim to come by and help. He had informed Tim of the development while the astronauts were docking. After all, he had been involved in some of the designs of this particular spacecraft that were done by Wayne Aerospace.

He was doubtful that Tim could help that much. After all, in all likelihood it wasn't something he designed that was the problem.

Then, one of the engineers fiddled with something and Batman suddenly heard loud rattling.

A crewmember who was listening to Martian Manhunter startled and their eyes widened. "That's it! That's the sound!"

"What it that?" asked Batman.

The engineer pulled out a piece of equipment that had the Wayne Enterprise logo on it. "This module is broken," she said, "it could be repaired but honestly," she inhaled sharply, "this thing is a hot mess."

Mr. Fenton jumped and landed on the ship like the artificial gravity didn't affect him. When he saw the logo on the broken equipment, he shook his fist at the sky.

"Of course it's something by Wayne Industries! We give them half our budget hoping they're share some cool alien inspired technology like whatever they did to build this satellite and instead we get half-assed garbage!"

Batman made a point to not share the latest gadgets with the US government (he didn't trust them), but he wouldn't call their products that weren't built using alien tech garbage. That seemed a little harsh.

"Seriously, was the person who designed this sleep-deprived when they made this?" Suddenly Batman found the walls and floor to be incredibly interesting and looked away.

"Oh that's par for the course when it comes to the stuff they give us."

"I am so sorry."

As they discussed how to improvise a replacement for the equipment quickly enough to avoid drastically altering the astronaut's flight path, Batman got a text from Tim.

So I'm free now. Did the astronauts figure out what was wrong or do they need me? - RR

He texted back.

They figured it out. The engineers have it handled. - B

So, fanart for @hermesserpent-stuff and their story on Ao3, Thundersnow!

✨️Why thank you.✨️

Sobbing dying and crying about the mustic understanding au. How dare you guys make something cute and interesting.

awww thanksss~ its is quite a fun au!!

i love spinning it around in my brain and giving more scenarios to it.

Im glad to have you sobbing, dying and crying!

@lirabuswavi

I made something

I feel like Bruce Wayne projects the kind of amiable playboy 'fun' vibe that he'd be the type of celebrity that certain interviewers feel comfortable surprising with puppies.

You know the kind of shows I mean.

The late-night talk show situations where they're making benign small talk with their smiling guest, and there's a segment where animals get brought out, usually to talk about some sort of ecological relief effort.

So you're watching your trash TV talk show late at night, and you get to watch billionaire pretty boy Bruce Wayne be begrudgingly talked into holding a (relatively) harmless creature which inevitably gets a lot of delighted shrieks from the audience as it starts being a lot more active than the handler promised. And to his credit, Bruce doesn't flinch, he doesn't freak out. But his eyes are a little wide, and his voice a little tight as the smile on his face takes on a slight rictus quality before he's inevitably rescued by an apologetic handler who is also laughing because they all know there was no real danger, it was just funny to put Bruce, who is an undeniable good sport and already laughing along, out of his comfort zone for the sake of charity.

Meanwhile, up in the Justice League headquarters, several founding members of the League are wondering how fast they can get a fake Oscar award shipped to the space station because fuck off. Absolutely fuck off, Bruce. Where the fuck did he study? Juilliard? (Probably.)

(Clark ends up going to a novelty store during the commercial break. It's faster than trying to get anything shipped, even with the infrastructure Bats built for them. He finds it several days later taped to his console in a conspicuously empty briefing room. It's gaudy and awful, the words "Best Actor" engraved on the plaque. No one's around to see him smile. No one comments when it vanishes. Everyone thinks it's been yeeted out an airlock. Dick absolutely comments when it shows up in the manor, stashed in one of the trophy cases that sprung up for all the bat kids' school awards. Bruce has no idea how it got there. Must have been Alfred. (It was not.))

Anyway, consider, for your amusement, Bruce Wayne getting highjacked on The Gotham Toight Show with a handful of wriggling puppies and, for a split second, not having to pretend he's delighted to be there.

Billy is thinking about damage control. Billy is panicking. Billy has several gods screaming frantically inside his head about all the different things he should do. This leads to... not exactly ideal solutions?

Cause one moment Billy's in a meeting room, the next he's bolting through the Watchtower, snagging the containment device and throwing himself through a sudden and convenient portal that opens up next to him.

Well... Billy hopes this isn't going to turn out TOO bad. When he looks up to see several dozen gods and frantic Ancients, Billy has doubts about this turning out anywhere near good.

Shit.

DPxDC Prompt

If you asked anyone who knew of the Infinite Realms, they would tell you "Any trouble caused by a Realms being is solved by a Realms being, if you interfere with the Realms balance you better be prepared for every God, Old and New to turn on you" Unfortunately for the Justice League, they didn't ask anyone who knew about the Realms when the United States government came to them about a rogue spirit that has been causing destruction across the mid western states. With the anti-ghost tech given to them by the government and the Fenton's, they took down the threat promptly, containing the spirit within a device they now keep on the Watchtower. (due to not trusting the government with it) It wasn't long after that the more super powered heroes started noticing their powers weakening. Superman could no longer feel the sun as strongly, Wonder Women could feel her godly power distancing itself from her, the Flash was slowing down. They couldn't figure out what was causing it, but the longer it went on they began to notice a change in those without powers as well. Batman didn't blend into the shadows as seamlessly anymore, Arrow's aim wasn't as accurate. They had taken the Crown Prince of the Infinite Realms hostage and in doing so have fallen out of the Gods favors. The longer they keep the Prince captive, the more the weakness and back luck becomes dangerous for them. The Gods have never been very patient

"So do you know how you're able to do this?"

"No, but I have a theory,"

"What is it?"

"So, you know the Geico gecko they use in their ads?"

You adopted what seemed like a normal gecko. One day, it starts walking on two legs and learns to talk back to you in your own language.

To the writer who needs to hear it…

YES. Your story DOES matter. It wouldn’t exist without you. You are in charge of bringing it to life because other writers don’t possess your style / voice. You are the only person capable of creating your story.

You are an unique, creative, worthy human being. Go show the world what you’re capable of.

Damian was having a very, very bad patrol. A group of cultists had ambushed himself and Nightwing, and kidnapped them both for a ritual. From what Damian had gleaned, it was a summoning ritual for an entity of ice and snow to bring an eternal winter to the unworthy. Or so they said. And also required a blood sacrifice. Which Damian was.

Damian barely registered Nightwing's shouting from the corner where he had been tied up. They had taken him too so the other Bats had less of a lead. This was highly unfortunate, given that the leader was seemingly nearing the end of the ritual, knife hovering over Damian's chest.

Was this how his brother felt? Before he was killed? Not the same, his brother couldn't have known what was happening. But this dread, this anticipation. Was this what his brother had felt? Before he was stabbed through the chest and discarded into a pool of green?

How ironic that Damian was going to be stabbed through the chest. But there would be no pool of green, only red. At least this time his Father would have a body to bury.

The chanting rose along with the knife. Nightwing screamed. Damian kept his eyes open. He would see his demise. He would not look away.

The knife came down and Damian's vision was consumed by black. There was a choked breath and Damian could no longer hear Nightwing.

Dying hurt less that he thought it would. Then the black in his vision shifted. It was... a person. The black-clad back of a person, sitting up and forcing the cultist to stumble back. Had one of his family arrived in time, only to sacrifice themselves for him?

No, none of his family had pure, glowing white hair. Had the ritual been successful? But the sacrifice had not been completed. The person grabbed the knife and pulled it out of their torso.

There was no spurt of blood as there should have been. Instead, the knife gleamed with dripping bright green. The same toxic green as Lazarus water. The being discarded the knife on the ground, ignoring the cultists and their frantic murmuring and Nightwing's renewed shouting.

They turned around and Damian couldn't breath. He had seen pictures of his father when he was younger in the manner. He had seen what his father looked like at Damian's age, as a teenager, and as an adult. This being, with their Lazarus blood and Lazarus green eyes and his father's teenage face smiled at Damian.

"Hi little brother," They said. "Couldn’t let you get sacrificed, now could I? That's my job, y'know,"

(Danny had gone to Clockwork for answers. Danny had gotten answers. Danny had not been happy with those answers. Clockwork had told him that his little brother was about to be ritualistcally sacrificed, and would Danny like to do something about that? Danny very much would. And Danny did. Time to say hello to his alternate dimension extended family.)

DC x DP: The Real Blood Son

It's a year after Damian came to live with them that he decides it is an excellent time to bombard Bruce with his news.

"I had a blood brother." He says to Tim after the other commented how important blood meant to Bruce-ie, not enough to make him get rid of his other sons. "He was the first from the artificial womb mother made with Father's DNA; however, he was disposed of once his heart condition became known. I highly doubt you will last even twice as long Drake-"

"What"

Bruce didn't know that he could make his voice that cold. That dead. What in the world does he mean disposed.

Damian goes still. The kind of still where he isn't sure if he just earned a punishment and is trying not to react to the fear. "My elder brother. Did mother not inform you?"

"Damian," Bruce struggles to level his tone at Dick's hard stare. "She hadn't even informed me of you. Please, can you explain more about your brother."

The youngest nods. "He had no name, but he was my biological brother. He was forced to grow to age of three before they realized he was defective. Grandfather had him sacrificed to the pit."

Jason growls "what do you mean?"

Damian looks confused- as confused as he can with his league training kicking in. "The Lazarus pit is made from the bodies of young virgins. No older then ten. They are sacrificed in exchange for the Infinite Realms' power to sink into the water. The children are not aware of what is happening to them until the very end. They do not suffer."

Bruce feels sick.

They talk a bit more, on how certain followers throughout history were more then happy to offer the great Ra's their own children to renew the pit. How Damain had watched three children when he was seven be sacrifice- it happened every five years- and how the children were given the best week of their lives.

They purposely given the most joy they could feel before the blades to make the Pit as pure as possible. He talked a lot about watching the youngest- five years- be laughing and splashing in the Lazarus water before his mother cut him down, his screams drowning in the green liquid.

"They say the Pit absorbs the last emotion of the sacrifice. Grandfather hopes the children realize the importance and honor they have to be ended for a glorious cause, but occasionally a few are disloyal. When Todd had taken a dip, the previous Renew, had a brilliant girl who figured out what was happening and attempted to escape. She failed, of course, and her arm was amputated in a mission, but she died angry. That's why Todd had such strong madness compared to-!"

"SHUT UP!" Jason roars suddenly, eyes glowing green, and for a brief moment, Bruce swears he hears an undertone of a young girl in his scream "SHUT UP! YOU DONT KNOW ANYTHING! YOUR OWN BROTHER IS IN THERE"

Damain scowls "it's a honor. My brother's body was defective. But he at least had aidded in a glorious ritual."

Bruce can't help it; he leans over the BatCave Railing and hurls his dinner. Damian finally realizes that something is wrong.

They host a funeral for his three-year-old son, who died without a name, and place his gravestone next to his parents. They explain to Damian why the Renewal ritual is horrific but Bruce feels it take years before his son can see that.

Jason, went out into Crime Alley to let off some steam and had been going on a rampage against the underbelly of Gotham. He can't find it I'm himself to stop him.

Bruce asks Constantine to come over and do a small ritual, to hopefully unbound his child and let his son soul move on. Constantine warns that with the kid's name it may not work and that they could only free souls they share blood to but the English man tries anyway.

They send his son their prayers, and hopes. And they try to put him to rest.

Across the Infinite Releams to three dimensions to the right of the Wayne's soul resting ritual, The Fenton's adoptived son, Danny Fenton jolts in his English Class.

The strange stabbing scar above his heart- which is why he never takes off his shirt- burns then cools as if someone had tried to place the temperature-changing ointment. He rubs his best, confused.

What was that?

He'll have to check with FrostBite. Maybe his heart condition is acting up again. It happens every five years even though no doctors his parents have taken him to could figure out what it was.

Until Frostbite. The yeti claimed it had something to do with dark arts, but he's unsure what type.

Frostbite is still doing more testing.

"I wish you had lived, brother. I wish I knew you name"

The wind whispers, and Danny feels a flash of deep longing and grief before it's gone. Yeah, he needs to talk to Frostbite.