alternaverse, ho! Blink: Part 1
This is one of those times I wish my brain could just okay the skip to the fleshy parts? But NO. My brain is like, HERE, HAVE SOME EXPOSITION. I don't know; it's not like I don't love plotless violence and sex from other people... I probably could've finished this tonight except that I wasted two hours of my life looking through Gerard Way pictures on tumblr and Batman watches on e bay. Nevermind that I have a Batman watch on my wrist right now. What about my other wrist, huh? Maybe it wants one. I also found that picture of Gerard browsing a Batman comic, though, so I consider my time...not as wasted as it could have been.
So this is the first two parter I'm posting. It may eventually be a three parter if I need more than a day (a Tuesday!) to write dub/non con. It's hardly more than the comment I posted yesterday (was that yesterday? Or the day before?), and I have a whole lot more written, but any other cut-off point seemed awkward and I am IMPATIENT. I have written up my little fic titlehead as if it was done. It is not. The ending is done; some dialog I had a lot of fun writing is done; a drawn out fight is done...but the story is missing a middle chunk. I guess I should go join the Earth-3 comm so I have somewhere to post this shit when it's done.
Title: Blink
Author: zombieboyband
Fandom: Batman, Earth 3
Summary: Bruce blurts out an incredulous laugh when he sees Owlman. Owlman really, really doesn't like people laughing at him; nor does he like someone else wearing his face. Owlman draws an owlarang and prepares to slice. "Who's laughing now?"
Pairing: Owlman/Batman. Um. Yes. endcredits made me do it encouraged me and gave me the prompt in the summary.
Rating: Eventual NC-17. Now? Pfft.
Warnings: Owlman. Violence. Something between dub-con and non-con. Selfcest! But not yet. Sorry. The violence and the sex come later. Pretty much immediately after this, though.
Word count: 1,055
Disclaimer: Batman and Owlman, the goddamn, are not mine.
Gotham was quiet.
Bruce Wayne had moved back into the family manor a few months prior. In the city, crime was down; cops were out. Batman was the city's most wanted man, since the Joker was safely contained in Arkham Asylum.
In the Batcave, Bruce stared at the piece of tech R&D had been tinkering with. Lucius had explained what it should be able to do, in theory--he was uncomfortable with the whole thing--but Bruce didn't really believe. They'd bought out another company and had thus taken on their projects worth keeping, but Bruce hadn't paid much attention until someone started trying to steal it.
The media hadn't gotten a hold of the story, but there had been break in after break in at Wayne Tower. The piece of equipment was with them only because it had been strange enough to be locked down in the more secure places. Batman had waited for the thieves, but they never came when he was there. When the break ins started happening in broad daylight, it was time to do something besides up security.
Bruce had it removed on a hunch. Once it was out of the tower, the break ins stopped, even though they made no announcements.
Someone wanted it very badly.
It had occurred to Bruce, late one night as he tried and failed to sleep--what if someone wanted it because it worked? And if it worked, then, somewhere--
He pushed thoughts of his parents out of his head.
He pushed away thoughts of Rachel.
Bruce was no stranger to temptation. Temptation, perhaps, found him to be a stranger instead. His life was as it was meant to be: Batman was winning. With the cops swarming over the city like never before, there was less crime. With the Joker put away, Gotham was safe from threats the cops couldn't handle. So if there were weeks when he spent hours a night staring at the slim metal cuff that was the remote control for the unit, they didn't really matter. Eventually, when no one came for it, he buried it further in the Cave--away from his things, away from the places he frequented. It was in a far away room, still under lock and key, with lockers filled with rarely used Batman components.
Or so it was until it started to beep.
It took him some time to find the source of the noise, and longer still to reach out and touch it. The metal hummed under his fingers, warm and thrumming. There were numbers--the units meant nothing to him--flashing on the interface. Still, he was not an impulsive man. He'd make some calls, figure out a secure solution, something safe. He shouldn't have ignored it for so long.
That night, Batman had a slow time. The crimes he stopped were getting pettier and pettier, smaller and smaller. He could never feel good about the city, not while he was still needed, but when he returned that night, for a moment, he let himself think it might be hopeless. The beeping continued, but he was determined to go get an hour's sleep or so in his bed, proper--if it made noise, it didn't matter. It would only bother the bats. Still...
It was unlike Batman to leave things untidy. So he checked the plans he had for the thing, noted the switch that turned it off. His stroll into the room was quiet and easy, not the gait of a man who had contemplated bending the fabric of reality for his own purposes, for his own grief.
Then his fingers flicked the power switch, and Batman blinked out of view.
--
It's not Tuesday, but the citizens of Gotham don't need it to be. Whenever Owlman walks amongst them--like the superior species he is--they tremble and offer up whatever they have. It's not worth his time--he likes things personal, so he can keep his crime empire on a tight leash, but he doesn't have the time to fucking micro-manage everything, for fuck's sake--but he makes sure to put a little fear into them, all the same. A flash: violence, theft, someone left near crippled in an alley, and he's gone, bounding across rooftops to attend to real business. To even walk amongst these pathetic people is beneath him, when he can fly.
The clown's been a little scarce lately, probably nursing the broken ribs from last time. It's hard to not break the toys he plays with most, but even his slips serve a purpose. Even an absence of a couple of days makes the city bleed, makes it pale and weak with the need to please him. He knows it, and he knows that the city isn't in any danger of slipping out of his grasp even when the clown is around. Still, they both know that the Jokester spreads something around (chaos, says Owlman, hope, says the other, but entropy is entropy and what the clown says doesn't matter--it'll take far more than a push to get Gotham to roll away from the Owl), so the absences from the public view tend to be short. Maybe he's just gone incognito, but he's never been subtle and Owlman doesn't think he'll ever learn, or want to learn. The idea that he might be wrong tickles the back of his mind, but he dismisses it. His senses are keen and his eyes are sharp as he glides over and through his city--putrid thing that it is, soggy and dirty like a paper castle kicked into a puddle, it is his. The realization hits him anew all the time, and the joy that wells up in him might leave anyone else giddy. And he's grinning, yes, when it's glide land grapple gun run jump glide, but there's too many teeth. There might be something that starts off as joy, but by the time he feels it, it's turned into something too fierce to have much left in common with it.
He is the night.
Something dark and indistinct flutters past him, swinging around the corner of a building. There's a snarl on his lips--the rooftops are his!--and he's after it, swooping in like the raptor he is, changing course to pursue, pursue, pursue.
So this is the first two parter I'm posting. It may eventually be a three parter if I need more than a day (a Tuesday!) to write dub/non con. It's hardly more than the comment I posted yesterday (was that yesterday? Or the day before?), and I have a whole lot more written, but any other cut-off point seemed awkward and I am IMPATIENT. I have written up my little fic titlehead as if it was done. It is not. The ending is done; some dialog I had a lot of fun writing is done; a drawn out fight is done...but the story is missing a middle chunk. I guess I should go join the Earth-3 comm so I have somewhere to post this shit when it's done.
Title: Blink
Author: zombieboyband
Fandom: Batman, Earth 3
Summary: Bruce blurts out an incredulous laugh when he sees Owlman. Owlman really, really doesn't like people laughing at him; nor does he like someone else wearing his face. Owlman draws an owlarang and prepares to slice. "Who's laughing now?"
Pairing: Owlman/Batman. Um. Yes. endcredits made me do it encouraged me and gave me the prompt in the summary.
Rating: Eventual NC-17. Now? Pfft.
Warnings: Owlman. Violence. Something between dub-con and non-con. Selfcest! But not yet. Sorry. The violence and the sex come later. Pretty much immediately after this, though.
Word count: 1,055
Disclaimer: Batman and Owlman, the goddamn, are not mine.
Gotham was quiet.
Bruce Wayne had moved back into the family manor a few months prior. In the city, crime was down; cops were out. Batman was the city's most wanted man, since the Joker was safely contained in Arkham Asylum.
In the Batcave, Bruce stared at the piece of tech R&D had been tinkering with. Lucius had explained what it should be able to do, in theory--he was uncomfortable with the whole thing--but Bruce didn't really believe. They'd bought out another company and had thus taken on their projects worth keeping, but Bruce hadn't paid much attention until someone started trying to steal it.
The media hadn't gotten a hold of the story, but there had been break in after break in at Wayne Tower. The piece of equipment was with them only because it had been strange enough to be locked down in the more secure places. Batman had waited for the thieves, but they never came when he was there. When the break ins started happening in broad daylight, it was time to do something besides up security.
Bruce had it removed on a hunch. Once it was out of the tower, the break ins stopped, even though they made no announcements.
Someone wanted it very badly.
It had occurred to Bruce, late one night as he tried and failed to sleep--what if someone wanted it because it worked? And if it worked, then, somewhere--
He pushed thoughts of his parents out of his head.
He pushed away thoughts of Rachel.
Bruce was no stranger to temptation. Temptation, perhaps, found him to be a stranger instead. His life was as it was meant to be: Batman was winning. With the cops swarming over the city like never before, there was less crime. With the Joker put away, Gotham was safe from threats the cops couldn't handle. So if there were weeks when he spent hours a night staring at the slim metal cuff that was the remote control for the unit, they didn't really matter. Eventually, when no one came for it, he buried it further in the Cave--away from his things, away from the places he frequented. It was in a far away room, still under lock and key, with lockers filled with rarely used Batman components.
Or so it was until it started to beep.
It took him some time to find the source of the noise, and longer still to reach out and touch it. The metal hummed under his fingers, warm and thrumming. There were numbers--the units meant nothing to him--flashing on the interface. Still, he was not an impulsive man. He'd make some calls, figure out a secure solution, something safe. He shouldn't have ignored it for so long.
That night, Batman had a slow time. The crimes he stopped were getting pettier and pettier, smaller and smaller. He could never feel good about the city, not while he was still needed, but when he returned that night, for a moment, he let himself think it might be hopeless. The beeping continued, but he was determined to go get an hour's sleep or so in his bed, proper--if it made noise, it didn't matter. It would only bother the bats. Still...
It was unlike Batman to leave things untidy. So he checked the plans he had for the thing, noted the switch that turned it off. His stroll into the room was quiet and easy, not the gait of a man who had contemplated bending the fabric of reality for his own purposes, for his own grief.
Then his fingers flicked the power switch, and Batman blinked out of view.
--
It's not Tuesday, but the citizens of Gotham don't need it to be. Whenever Owlman walks amongst them--like the superior species he is--they tremble and offer up whatever they have. It's not worth his time--he likes things personal, so he can keep his crime empire on a tight leash, but he doesn't have the time to fucking micro-manage everything, for fuck's sake--but he makes sure to put a little fear into them, all the same. A flash: violence, theft, someone left near crippled in an alley, and he's gone, bounding across rooftops to attend to real business. To even walk amongst these pathetic people is beneath him, when he can fly.
The clown's been a little scarce lately, probably nursing the broken ribs from last time. It's hard to not break the toys he plays with most, but even his slips serve a purpose. Even an absence of a couple of days makes the city bleed, makes it pale and weak with the need to please him. He knows it, and he knows that the city isn't in any danger of slipping out of his grasp even when the clown is around. Still, they both know that the Jokester spreads something around (chaos, says Owlman, hope, says the other, but entropy is entropy and what the clown says doesn't matter--it'll take far more than a push to get Gotham to roll away from the Owl), so the absences from the public view tend to be short. Maybe he's just gone incognito, but he's never been subtle and Owlman doesn't think he'll ever learn, or want to learn. The idea that he might be wrong tickles the back of his mind, but he dismisses it. His senses are keen and his eyes are sharp as he glides over and through his city--putrid thing that it is, soggy and dirty like a paper castle kicked into a puddle, it is his. The realization hits him anew all the time, and the joy that wells up in him might leave anyone else giddy. And he's grinning, yes, when it's glide land grapple gun run jump glide, but there's too many teeth. There might be something that starts off as joy, but by the time he feels it, it's turned into something too fierce to have much left in common with it.
He is the night.
Something dark and indistinct flutters past him, swinging around the corner of a building. There's a snarl on his lips--the rooftops are his!--and he's after it, swooping in like the raptor he is, changing course to pursue, pursue, pursue.