Listen, Peter knows he's being kind of an asshole. Maybe blame the Trauma or the fighting literal middle aged homicidal maniacs at 15 years old or, most likely in this specific case, the fact that he somehow got transported to a city that smells worse than the Hulk's armpit on a bad day.
But you cannot blame a guy for seeking out the one thing that brings a modicum of joy to his life in the middle of what are honestly some of the worst few months he's ever had.
So when Signal, for the second time this patrol, tries to inch his way onto the rooftop about five feet behind Peter, well... Peter does what brings him joy.
"Hood tried that same tactic last week. Didn't work then either." Peter would never admit out loud that he's smirking under his mask.
Behind him, he hears Signal groan then shuffle forward to sit on the rooftop beside him, all attempts at stealth out the window.
"How do you do that!? Seriously!? It was funny the first few times you did it to B and Robin, but Every. Single. Time? From all of us?"
Peter lets out a brief chuckle.
"Maybe you guys should train harder."
An affronted gasp is ripped out of the other hero. "Trai- Train harder?! How dare you? Our training was the actual best, some of us were even trained by literal assassins. It's not our fault you seem to have some... some sixth sense for when we're nearby!"
Peter let out a full laugh at that.
When he'd landed in Gotham initially, he'd been shocked and confused. It didn't take long for Karen to connect him to the internet and for him to realize he was not in Kansas anymore. Kansas being New York, or... Oscorp? Depends on how you want to look at it. New York if the city, the Oscorp 16th floor laboratories if you want to get the picture. You know what, this is too much info, you get the picture.
When he realized Gotham had heroes already, he looked into the politics of it all. He knew powered people were not always welcome (he'd dealt with enough rants from Wade about the X-Men mutant rights campaign to get a clue), so he dug deeper into this universe/dimension/whatever you want to call this Not New York and Not Oscorp place.
What he found was contradictory and borderline laughable. The Batman, cryptid protector of Gotham, had seemingly instigated a No-Meta's rule for the city, but one of his affiliated heroes within Gotham was a person with powers. Also, he regularly teamed up with powered individuals when working alongside the Justice League, which he'd co-founded. So, Peter felt pretty confident that if he let himself get introduced to the Bats early on he would be safe here.
And he was right. He hopped back into the friendly-neighborhood habits in the rougher parts of town (seriously, who has a whole section of a city called "Crime Alley"), and within a few days he found himself in the presence of not one, not two, but three Bats, including the big Bat himself.
He had been debating pretty regularly with himself about how much to reveal and. the mechanics of dimension travel and not wanting to break or alter any timelines, blah, blah, blah. But when it came down to it, there had been no alerts or ringing from his Spidey-Sense other than a buzz to let him know they were closeby. As soon as he turned around to greet them, the buzz died down entirely.
So he told them everything except his name. He was honest. He even told the Bat that they were welcome to take a blood sample to see he wasn't lying about not having a Meta gene and that he was just a regular old lab experiment gone wrong. He was entirely unsurprised when they did take one, but he was sort of surprised that when they asked for his name and he told them that he wouldn't give them one, they only asked "why?" instead of immediately attacking him.
And Peter was honest again. He was a functional adult, he had the means to create himself a fake ID and documents, and he wanted to establish himself in Gotham for whatever amount of time he was stuck there. Where he came from, identities were earned and he had been burned before because of it. He was in a new place with new dangers and the last thing he needed while trying to get his feet under him were outside forces (AKA Bats) meddling in his personal life and making it harder for him, even if unintentional. They'd get his name in time, but they'd have to earn his trust, just like he would be working to earn theirs.
The Bats hadn't loved that answer (shockingly), but they only asked for his name a few more times before dropping it entirely when he refused to budge. The constant questions had quickly moved to his powers after that though. Peter hadn't minded sharing, as his potential teammates would be better equipped to work with him in the field if they knew what he was capable of. He did however, by genuine accident, leave out his Spidey-Sense when listing them. And rather than add it on later, he quickly realized that it was a small source of entertainment that didn't cause any true harm.
And within about a week after those power-related questions started, a bet was made between the Bats. In all the times they had met with Peter, not a single one could sneak up on him. Not Dick, not Jason, not even Damien or Cass!
So, as siblings do, they made a bet. Whoever could sneak up on Peter and tap him on the shoulder without being spotted or acknowledged first would get a whole batch of Alfred's cookies to themselves. Peter knew the prize, and he sure as hell wasn't going to make it easy on them.
"Yeah, it's a sixth sense alright." He chuckles. "I told you guys I had heightened senses. I can hear you coming from several blocks away, even further if I'm actually listening out for you. You guys will just have to be stealthier." Peter shrugged jovially.
Signal grumbled to himself over that. "Stealthier, he says. Well, how do you suggest we do that?" Signal leans forward on the edge of the roof to try and catch Peter's line of sight.
"Well, you can start by telling Red Robin that changing his patrol times just to pair up with you in an attempt to use you to distract me would work a lot better if I couldn't hear his cape scraping against the railings on the fire escape steps just now."
Signal reeled back in shock as a plethora of curses rang out from the fire escape behind their backs, prompting Peter to chuckle again.
"Nice try, though."
Just once I would like a Peter stuck in Gotham story where Tony gets dragged along with him for the ride.
Like they drop down and Tony is like
“Not an ideal situation, good news is we’re not dead. Bad news that looked like a one way trip for us. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Now we should focus on short-term goals: food, water and a place to stay, everything else can wait.”
I want Tony to be out there working his ass off from helping people with broken items then getting a job at wayne enterprises and starting a technology revolution in this dimension because he just can’t stand how out of date everything is and then running to pick up Peter from the rich kid school and the two of them trying to do reconnaissance and failing miserably.
Peter for his part is having a great time with school and his new vigilante gig.
Peter’s vigilante friends in school are worried about how bruised Peter looks sometimes and think that Tony is abusive before breaking in and just hearing Tony being a mother hen.
Then one breakout things are not looking too good and Spider-man just says
“Karen, activate Papa Protocol.”
And then like ten minutes later in comes Ironman with a bone to pick with the rouges.
Bruce doesn’t know if he loves Tony or hates him but his kids find him hilarious.
This is my first writing on Tumblr, pls give feedback if I have mistakes
When you're bird die, you feel free. Nobody can't stop the brutality you will do anymore but you want just sit you're side and think about why are you lose him, why he die, why you are alone? Why you don't feel something anymore? Actually this was basicly question. You lose only one you feel something for.
Beautiful, snowly day you come his grave. Wet soil, hear silence, feel cold on skin.. Maybe you feel his pain.
His grave, you looked at the gravestone, read the name Jason Todd.
A woman approached you. The woman was so ingrained in your mind. You recognized her by the sound of hers feet sinking into the snow. She took a step behind you.
"You shoudn't be in here, why are you come to grave of someone you don't know?" Now you feel something, Something strong. Strong anger..
"Oh no, no, no I just came to pay my respects."
"You know, coming here makes you look desperate."
"In fact, I have brought you a mission for win-win"
She took a file out of her bag and gave it to you.
"Maybe you'd like to shot the joker that caused the death of the man you love..." you can't hear her anymore. Just focus on file or should I say the hellfire you're going to do...
Inspired by the many videos talking about Batman in the Marvel!verse and vice versa(mainly Spiderman in DC)
The Marvel and DC universes are fusing together. Whether it's a spell gone wrong, a tech piece gone haywire, the mysterious forces of the cosmos, or a combination of all three, the two worlds are colliding. More than that, they're MELDING. Gotham appears in the Marvel!verse, and ordinary people already have train tickets and business meetings there. Xavier's school for the gifted has been funded by Bruce Wayne for decades, and Xavier can remember collaborating with Superman and Wonder Woman on more than one occasion. Quicksilver has access to the speed force. Zatanna remembers working with Doctor Strange. Everyone knows things weren't like this a few days ago, and yet they all have memories spanning decades of working and knowing each other. The Asgardians once waged a war with Krypton.
Universes melding isn't unusual. It happens all the time, usually between two realities that are similar to each other. People often don't notice because it usually just results in a case of deja vu for those whose lives varied too much from the other universes. The only reason it's so noticeable this time is because the two universes fusing are so different from each other. This is bad, as the more the realities differ, the more likely it is that the meld could fail and destroy both their worlds.
Haven't decided yet if the heroes should try to separate, or help fuse the two realities. Still, I think it'd be pretty cool. Bit too ambitious for me though. I don't know enough Marvel or DC to portray the many characters accurately.
Natasha arrives back at the safehouse with Jason and fast food in hand. She hands out the variety pack of burgers and fries, plows through two burgers in under ten minutes, and makes her escape to change.
It has been a long day.
She changes back into the sweats, tank top, and silk robe that she’d been in last night and takes a moment to just breathe. Confronting Batman and Agent A, corralling the kid, running after Jason—it’s been a long day.
She stands in her doorway and listens to Drakov extolling the virtues of one of his knives to Damian, who she can’t see, but the fact that he’s being quiet means that he’s probably engaged. And Clint, very quietly: “I was never supposed to be a hero.”
Jason says nothing, but the air is charged.
“I’m a carnie, or an assassin, or a mercenary, or a government drone—not a hero. Was never supposed to be a hero. And then a portal opened up and Loki turned my heart to ice and my will to his, and Nat had to break me out again. And then another portal opened up over Manhattan and I said I could fly a plane, for some fucking reason, when Captain America shows up and says we need to go. And he just looked at Nat and she did her little chin lift that means so much and yet so little, you know the one?”
Jason croaks a laugh. Natasha smiles to herself a little. Nice to know she can still befuddle Clint sometimes.
“Yeah, and then Captain Fucking America nods and says let’s go. Like he just needs the word of a former KGB assassin to trust the word of the freshly un-brainwashed assassin. Like, what the fuck?”
“What the fuck,” Jason agrees, sounding like he’s sitting on a laugh.
“And then there was an alien invasion,” Clint says. “And I thought, ‘you know, I don’t think this week could get any weirder,’ and then I’m being called everything from stupid for being the only baseline human on a team of enhanced people—from technologically enhanced, to genetically enhanced, to being a fucking alien—thanks, Thor—and like. Fair. I also think I’m stupid for, uh, accidentally signing onto this circus—shut it—“
Jason’s laughing.
“I’m a carnie, I know exactly what a circus is like, and the Avengers have it all!” Clint sounds indignant. “But I’m being called stupid and badass in the same breath and then there’s the word ‘hero’ and I’m busy looking around for Captain America. I can’t say a damn thing, because it’s ‘bad for image’ and ‘we have enough issues, Hawkass, stop making my job harder’ and—well, you get the picture. So I kept my opinions to myself and thought that those people calling me a hero were stupid. And then I met Kate.”
Kate, Natasha knows, is a damn good hero. If a little rough around the edges. Which is why the callsign Hawkeye suits her down to the ground. She also takes great glee in yanking on Clint’s worldview, which is always hilarious to watch.
“And I realized that you can’t call yourself a hero. Maybe you can’t see it. Apparently I saved someone and did something badass during the Battle of Manhattan and Kate idolized me. She’d already been in archery and martial arts and after the Battle, she took it up to ten, and then I found this idiot teenage girl with a bow and arrow and a thousand dollar jacket wandering around Bronx and doing a good job almost getting herself killed. And of course I pulled her ass out of the fire, and told her to stop being stupid, and this girl had so many stars in her eyes she might as well have had a couple of galaxies hanging out in there, but she tried so hard to play it cool.”
Kate did not play it cool. Natasha remembers meeting Kate the day after. Kate was cool like a raging bonfire. Kate was not cool. Funny as hell, but not cool.
“And she followed me home and showed up on my doorstep and demanded training because she was going right back out there whether I trained her or not,” Clint says.
And now she’s the most dangerous seventeen year old girl on the eastern seaboard, Natasha thinks, grinning.
“And she knows me now. She knows that I’m not a hero, I’m just a guy that’s going to sit there and say, ‘I have this skillset. This is what needs to be done. I’m the guy that can do it. No one else around can, so let’s do it.’ And apparently that’s how that works.”
There’s a long silence, and Jason finally asks, “Was there a point to this, or is today Therapy Day and I’m the mannequin everyone’s talking to?”
“I knew I was forgetting something,” Clint says to himself, and Natasha giggles quietly. Jason snorts. “The point is that there’s a shitton of fuckups like me that get seen as heroes for some fucking reason. You have a special skillset, you see a need, you’re going to do it, damn the consequences. That’s why heroes are so controversial, because we’re needed, but we don’t work within limits as defined by laws or morals or whatever. I work with the Hulk, I’ve been brainwashed, I’ve been every bad guy in the books. Natasha’s KGB, her job was seduction and assassination and gathering information and toppling regimes, and she’s damn good at that. Tony was called the Merchant of Death. He’s a damn good weapons inventor. Batman might not call you a hero, but Crime Alley does. Natasha sees an Avenger in you. We all did, frankly, when she showed us the baby she tripped over.”
“Hey,” Jason says mildly.
“Nat’s a hundred and three, you’re a baby,” Clint says blithely.
Jason chokes. “A hundred—“
“And three,” she agrees, stepping back into the dining nook. “Can’t wait to be a hundred and thirteen, I’m going to start claiming I’m a teenager and watch all the double takes go in the opposite direction.”
Clint guffaws.
“Did you think I was joking about immortal assassins?” Natasha asks, curious.
Jason shakes his head. “I mean—Bucky Barnes. That was proof enough. I thought, maybe you were in your fifties and got recruited in the 70s. Twenty years is plenty for needing the kind of bloody revenge you talked about, not—“
“Almost eighty,” Natasha says, not unkindly. She grabs her tea and some blackberry jam and starts preparing it. “Did you want some?”
“I—yes, please.”
Drakov, in the living room, also requests tea. Natasha goes through the motions of making tea for three fairly quickly, snagging a jar of honey and some milk and bringing it all back to the table. “In the nook, Drakov,” she says. Clint gives her a puzzled look, and then realizes as Drakov comes back into the nook, Damian in tow.
“Your sneaky Russian brainwaves,” he accuses cheerfully, passing the honey.
“Clint,” Natasha says, very fondly, “you’re deaf.”
