How Did Jk Manage To Write Ootp And Not Come To The Conclusion That The Only Career W Any True Meaning

Dani is hunted by the JL

So dani was traveling around the infinite realms and came across a universe that she and danny would LOVE

Their are super heros, and clones and wizards, and alians

Dani send danny hlthe location of the universe with the caption:THE WORLD OF HEROS AND ALIANS WHICH WILL YOU MEET FIRST

Danny texted her back a voice massage of his screaming thw word alians

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Do dani was exploring this new universe wjen she saw asshole.1 berating a teenager about how he's not fit for this life

The asshole.2 chimes in and AGREES with asshole.1, at this point the kid looks upset

and dani could understand teenagers in the superhero business is not the best(she asked) and sometimes tough love is what it takes so she was going to leave

Then she heard asshole.1 say" clones should just be terminated to save everyone problems like this"...

No...dani didnt hold back in teaching asshole.1 a lesson in clone rights via: trial by fist

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But now 3 months later she decided to ask the assholes what they want and why they keep harassing her

She didnt expect a rant about how an unsupervised meta(and a clone asshole.1(whos name is superman WTF is super about him))

Then they all had a meeting about her IN front of her

The options ranger from finding her original to termination to imprisonment to forcing her to be a superhero

They eventually decided to make her a superhero in training...

These people are IDIOTS, if you dont trush her why put her WITH A TEAM, why not just let her leave, the most she did was get payback for the insensitive shit superman was saying but the sheer notion she was a clone was enough to FOECE her into a life she dosent want...

Oh hell no

So when the JL and clones in the background came up to tell her that they decided to give her a chance at "redemption"

She looked then in the eyes, sniled a too sharp smile said:no

Then she screamed

PAPA

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The next thing anyone knowes is the watchtower is in an unknown location with a person that looked scarily similar to the unknown clone

And then he said

WHY DO YOU HAVE MY DAUGHTER

Feral McGee™

It starts with the Joker. 

His goons picked up Tim Drake. Not specifically because it was Tim Drake, he just so happened to be in the Joker’s neighborhood, and we'll, he can't pass up that opportunity now can he? 

Except Tim Drake is watching, along with the rest of Gotham, at the Batcomputer. He’s nursing a broken foot and has been put on monitor duty until he's cleared for field work again. 

The guy looks enough like him, though. Black hair, blue eyes, and bags under his eyes for days. He's also got the same lean sort of build like he does. 

It happens like this. 

The Joker is doing his monologue thing where he explains whatever twisted game he's come up with this time. He takes up the majority of the screen, so nobody can see Not-Tim behind him, not until the big reveal. Then he covers the screen again, getting up close and personal, before stepping back. In those quick few seconds, Not-Tim is no longer sitting there tied to the chair. 

Someone off camera lets the Joker know, and he whirls around, confused as the rest of Gotham. 

And then Not-Tim comes in with the steel chair. 

Or, well, a crowbar, but the reference holds up. 

He takes out one of Joker’s knees before punching him in the face. The Joker drops like a bag of stones, out cold. 

Then he looks towards the camera. 

“Hey there. I'm not really sure where I am, but also if he was after Tim Drake, he got the wrong guy. I'm not him, I'm just some dude. Anyway, I'll just-yep-” he carefully steps over the unconscious Joker, gives the camera a little wave, and then leaves. 

Batman and Nightwing enter shortly after, with the Joker and his goons out cold and tied up. The knots were complicated enough where, in the end, the police resorted to cutting the ties off of them so they could be properly cuffed and taken to Arkham. 

“A constrictor knot,” Batman tells Nightwing as they watch the villain be taken away. “Often used by sailors to temporarily tie things together to keep something in a bag, or to hold something to glue it back together.”

“Huh,” Nightwing says, scratching the back of his head. “Go figure.”

—

The next time it happens, it’s the Riddler. 

He’s laughing, giving his riddles to the Bats and recording himself to all of Gotham while his victim, one of the Wayne brats, hangs over a vat of something. From a distance, he looks like Tim Drake, or maybe a lankier Dick Grayson. And he’s not the only victim, they’re all scattered across the city, but he thought an important figure such as a Wayne should be under the Riddler’s direct supervision while he enacts his schemes. 

While the Riddler cackles and plots and waves his cane around, in the background all of Gotham can see the figure escape. Several Gothamites recognize him as the kid from before, who clocked the Joker. They all watch with bated breath as he sort of wiggles his way out of the ropes holding him up. Once he’s free, he climbs the rope and gets himself down safely. 

Gotham holds their breath as the kid casually walks up to the Riddler, who’s mid-rant. He politely taps him on the shoulder, and as the Riddler is turning around, the kid clocks him just as brutally as he had the Joker. He’s down with one punch. 

They think he’s going to say another sort of awkward goodbye, but instead he pats the Riddler down until he finds a piece of paper tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

“Right,” the kid says, looking at the list. There’s a lot more static overlay now, and several wonder if it’s damage to the cameras. “Uh, the Clocktower, the Docks, and-” he squints at the page for a moment-”Mama Nacaroni’s? What the fuck is that? Anyway, uh. See you later, I guess. Oh! And we’re at the Gotham Arena. Have fun with him, I guess.”

The kid tosses the paper off to the side before the camera cuts to black. 

Just like last time, everyone is out cold and tied up. The Riddler himself is sporting a pretty bad shiner, but well deserved nonetheless. 

“Stop it,” Red Hood tells him. Batman just looks at him, and though Hood can’t see the top half of his face, he can tell that his eyebrow is raised. “You know exactly what I mean, B. Put the adoption papers away.”

“Hn.”

—

After that, it sorta becomes a game. The rogues of Gotham are no longer after a Wayne, or after anybody who holds any kind of social status like usual. They’re all going after this one kid, all determined to be the one to hold him. And each one is televised. 

Mr. Freeze freezes him in a block of ice, but due to the cameras glitching out, nobody can really see how he got free. They do, however, see the kid suplex Mr. Freeze. It should seem impossible, given his lanky figure, but he evidently has more muscle than he’s originally let on. 

Two-Face gets a hold of him, using chains and some power-dampening cuffs just on the off-chance that he’s a meta. They all watch as the kid leans down, pulls a bobby pin out of his hair, and picks the locks on his cuffs. One punch, and Two-Face is down. 

Gothamites are going wild for the kid. They’ve dubbed him Feral McGee™ (an online poll, of course), because every time he goes in for the punch he gets this feral look in his eyes. Also, just the fact that he casually goes up to these rogues and takes them out with all the casualness of doing something incredibly mundane? Incredible. The Gothamites are eating it up. However, despite the video evidence, nobody has been able to properly identify the kid. They know he has black hair and bright eyes, but any time he gets near a camera, it’s like there’s this weird, sort of warped quality the camera takes on. It doesn’t usually calm down until the fight is done-as one sided as they usually are-before he awkwardly skedaddles away.  

He gets kidnapped by the Penguin, Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy (though that was more just a friendly chat than anything), Mad Hatter, and the Riddler again. 

And then the Joker escapes. 

It’s no surprise as to who he’s going to go after. 

Due to one too many careless goons, they manage to find their way to the Joker’s hideout pretty quickly. This time, it’s all Bats on deck, and they all hide away in the rafters as Feral McGee™ is hung over a vat of acid. His whole body is tied up, hardly a single inch of exposed skin to be seen except for the neck up. 

They watch the goons, they watch the Joker, and they watch Feral McGee™. 

The Joker is monologuing, practically begging the bats to come find him before the timer runs out. When it does, the kid gets dumped into the vat of acid. 

Despite these stakes, the kid seems to be only mildly annoyed. 

“Fuck this, I have homework I still need to finish,” they hear him say. 

They all watch, amazed and confused, as the kid starts gnawing through the ropes. Human teeth shouldn’t be able to do that so easily, but one bit after the other, and soon enough the kid’s got himself freed enough to just climb up the rest of the rope. When he’s at the top of the crane holding him up, Batman lets down a rope and pulls the kid up and out of danger. 

“Oh, cool, you’re all here,” the kid says casually, as if meeting the entire Bat Clan is just a normal Tuesday. And then he pulls out a notepad and pen and hands it to Red Hood. 

“Can I get an autograph? You’re dope as fuck, dude.”

Red Hood has to look away and hide his face in his arms for a few moments to not give away their location with his laughter before signing. And then, one by one, the others do as well. They pass along the kid’s notebook with shit-eating grins and barely contained snickers despite the fact that the Joker is still right below them. Even Batman signs it, after his children don’t stop hounding him about it. 

In their distraction, they didn’t see the kid sneak away. He’s far away from them now, nearly right over the Joker. Danny waits, though, until the Joker has turned around as the timer almost runs out. They watch as he snickers at Joker’s flabbergasted look. The Joker comically looks back and forth and under objects the kid obviously isn’t under. However, before he can do or say anything else, the kid drops from the rafters and right on top of the Joker. He crumples to the ground, unconscious. The kid, however, just brushes the dust off of himself. Despite the fall he took, there isn’t a scratch on him. 

When the bats join him, they give his notepad back to him, barely able to contain their laughter at the absurdity of it all. The kid, too, joins in the camaraderie, laughing and joking along with them as Batman secures the Joker. 

“Okay, okay, but I gotta ask, dude,” Red Hood says at one point, looking at the kid. “How do you keep getting kidnapped?”

The kid just shrugs. “I get distracted easily. And I’m sleep deprived, so you know. Social awareness is kind of at an all time low right now.”

“Why are you sleep deprived?” Nightwing asks, barely hidden concern in his voice. 

 “Finals are kinda kicking my ass right now. Especially this dumb English homework I have. You guys wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“Oh, lucky for you,” Red Hood says, wrapping an arm around the kid’s shoulders as he walks them out of the warehouse, “I happen to know a lot about English. So, it is Shakespeare?”

“Yeah, Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

As they walk off, Batman calmly watches, though the rest of the bats can see his jaw twitching. Nightwing comes up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

“If you don’t adopt him, I will.”

“Hn.”

!!!!!!!!

Any news on DM and DM2?

Currently working on the last two chapters of DM! I'd like to post them both with a short amount of time between. DM2 has no update news at the moment.

Ahahaha

i always forget how much of a hell getting up in the morning during the cold months is until im trying to get dressed taking frost damage like ough augh ugha oagh uagh

guys i wanted this to be humorous, a lttle fun why is it sad why is it sAD????

If it's one thing the bats have learned to fear, it's smart people in Gotham. Practically every good lawyer, engineer, psychiatrist, and scientist have turned evil in the city. So when a student graduates as a double major valedictorian from Gotham U, they all take turns monitoring him to ensure another villain isn't in the making.

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 1: the assassin and his servant | AO3

CW: Suicide, blood, injury, referenced childhood trauma, mild violence

It is no surprise that the League of Assassins has its own fair share of enemies at its tail. Yet recently, there has been an onslaught of attacks, prompting its members to switch between the network of bases—its young heir is no exception. The third base to house Damian sits between two frosted peaks towering over a Tibetan village, first founded by the demon's daughter herself. Though the instigator of the attacks is unknown, it seems that the abilities of the opposing group is nearly on par with the trained assassins. Damian has scoffed at this piece of information; no one stands at the same level as the League.  

Unfortunately, Damian has been kept away from the frontlines under Talia's strict instructions despite his insistence to fight. Knowing his status, Damian begrudgingly complied to escape and hide. Even if the food is cold and the night wind sometimes sneaks in to bite his bones, he sits still to wait for news announcing that it's safe to return to the main base.   

He sits up on his creaky bed. The ends of the sheets are fraying, and the floors are ice cold, with the gray and brown meshing into a drabby color. The only semblance of a decoration is his twin katanas leaning off the side of his bed frame. It's a far cry from the home he knows, though his routine is mostly unchanged: training from dawn to dusk. But he can tell this day is different. From the commotion happening outside the room and the lingering tension in the air, Damian deduces that another attack is on the way.  

Finally, his thoughts are confirmed when he hears the door open. "Master Damian?"  

He has his back turned to her, his servant, but he can already picture out her presence. An unsteady stance dwarfed in a thick coat, calloused hands wrapped in fingerless gloves, cheeks that have lost a tad bit of their rosiness nowadays, and hair pushed back into twin braids. A child just like him, but raised an assassin nonetheless. "Lady Talia wishes for you to be relocated again. We will use the back tunnel and rendezvous with our guides halfway down the mountains. They will escort us to out—"  

"Where are we relocating to?"  

". . . I don't know, Master."  

She swiftly moves to the side to pack his things. Damian picks up his weapons, biting back the habitual click of his tongue. He's sick of the cycle, feeling like a coward running away endlessly. "And why can't we hold them off?"  

"We do not have enough people. Between guarding the Demon Head and the Pits, and covering all bases . . . The enemies have become too much to handle." Marie ties together the strings of the backpack, before strapping a rolled-up sleeping bag on top.  

"If our assassins are competent enough, we would not be struggling ," Damian hisses.  

The servant doesn't reply, but he catches the twitch of her upper lip. Like him, Marie has been forbidden from fighting the enemies, but she has been helping with the supplies and cleaning, apart from assisting him in training. She should know how weak the League has become.  

"We will leave in five minutes," she says, offering his coat to him.  

"What if I don't want to leave?" 

"I am sorry, Master, but Lady Talia said—"  

"Nevermind what Mother said. I can do it. I can fight."  

Marie's expression changes just a little, and her hand reaches up to clutch her sleeve. He knows that even though she serves under him, she mostly answers to his mother. And defying Talia had greater consequences. It is not the first time Damian has wanted to go against higher orders; Marie has often eased him into not breaking the rules. 

"I think it is better for you to reserve your energy for training, Master. Let the rest of us worry about the enemies." 

"Tt. Grandfather should do something about this."  

When Marie finally persuades him, they venture out to the winding halls. She navigates expertly, avoiding the rings of the gunshots and clashing of swords. Damian knows that they are near the exit when he feels the chilling gust of wind. The rocky snow-topped terrain welcomes them outside—there is only white and gray for miles that everything looks like a lifeless desert. Damian blinks against the sunlight, puffs of fogged breath floating along his vision. In the snowy landscape, Marie looks even paler, as if her skin has become translucent.  

The swords on Damian's back feel heavier too. He has found that fighting in the cold is more troublesome—his joints are hardened, and the blood rushes out of his limbs. The stiffness of his muscles limit his movement and the thin air makes it difficult to breathe. Their escape party is too vulnerable, and if they were to encounter a hostile group, he will have to make the kill quick.  

He glances at Marie every now and then. Her skills are average, and she looks smaller when bundled up. He doesn't miss the way she favors one foot when she trudges in the snow. Though she has been mentored by Talia, she is not like his mother, nor like the other women he is familiar with, like Nyssa or Lady Shiva. She's practically dead weight for Damian. An easy target.  

He doesn't remember when she first started serving under him. He only recalls huffing in annoyance seeing the tiny girl hanging around on the sidelines as he trained, occasionally joining him for a spar. He only knows her as the one who brings his food, supplies him with his secondary weapons, escapes into other bases with him, and acts as his mother's slave. She looks more attuned to the civilians in the towns Damian sees during his missions, not someone who has blood in her hands. Rarely does she show emotion, not even some annoyance or defeat when he easily beats her during practice, not even flinching when the other servants delivered sharp slaps on her arms, not even a hint of awe like when Damian first gazed upon the second League base in Nepal. Her expressions are usually blank or incomplete, as if she suppresses her reactions.  

She marches close to him, head darting around to check for danger. Damian stops and asks, "How long until we meet the guides?"  

"We have one day of travel, Master."  

"One day? Could they have not sent a plane?"  

"It's too risky…"  

Damian clenches his jaw. A day of hiking through frozen hell. He pulls his hood over his head and quickens his pace.  

"Wait, Master, we should slow down." Marie calls after.  

He doesn't care. The faster they walk, the faster they can meet up with their allies and get out of there.  

"Master, wait—" A thump sounds out. Damian looks behind him to see Marie scrambling to get up. 

"Tt. You could have stayed behind if you can't even walk."  

Marie mumbles her apologies while catching up to him. "We should keep ourselves from tiring out quickly. There is still a long way to go."  

"What if the enemies catch up to us?" 

"They will not." She purses her lips. "They should not know you're escaping. They should not know you're here in the first place."  

"They always know." Damian continues along the nonexistent path. "I'm certain there are moles here."  

As they keep walking, Marie sometimes wobbles with the humongous bag but she doesn't trip again.  Damian doesn't keep count how many steps they have taken or how long they walk, but soon he starts to stagger and shiver, and the sun fades away slowly. Marie directs them to a small cave carved out on the side of a cliff. It is small and still cold, but it will do for the night. Damian gives in to his aching legs, putting his swords in front of him, while Marie sets up the camp. She kindles a humble fire and takes out the supplies to make a meal.  

"A seating mat, Master?" Marie lays out a folded cloth off to the side. Damian crawls to it wordlessly, leaning against the bumpy wall and draping an arm over his eyes. 

She hugs her knees and watches the boiling water. "There might be a storm tonight. I can cover up the entrance, but I do not know how well it will hold up."  

He doesn't reply.  

"Any food you prefer, Master?" 

"What difference does it make? It's all tasteless meal kits."  

"But—" 

"I don't care. Whatever you can make."  

"If we wake up early, we can reach our destination in time," Marie continues, "It is colder in the morning but I have heat packs in the bag."  

“...” 

Damian peeks as she cooks a simple stew. The aroma spreads around the cave, mingling with the shadows created by the fire. The warmth chases away the chill just a little. His servant seems to note his unwillingness to make small talk, so they eat their meals in complete silence, basking in the crackling flames instead. Marie unrolls the sleeping bag and positions herself near the opening of the cave with a knife in hand.  

"Please get some sleep, Master Damian. I will keep watch," says Marie.  

Damian rolls to face the ceiling. Camp-outs are often bleak, and he practically has to sleep with one eye open. But owing to the soreness of his body, he drifts into deep slumber. He has no clue how long he sleeps but when he wakes up, the fire has gone small and the numbed pain in his back has become more persistent. Damian sits up to see Marie staring off blankly into the foggy snowstorm. She's trembling badly and her chapped lips have turned into a light shade of blue. They make brief eye contact before she jumps up to push out the little snow starting to pile up at the opening.  

Damian averts his gaze, buries deeper into the sleeping bag, and thinks to himself how foolish it is for her to stay awake and away from the fire.  

He lies awake instead of going back to sleep as the  cold has won over his drowsiness. An eternity of gazing up at the darkness, his eyelids begin to feel heavy— 

Damian's hand darts up to grab the wrist hovering over him. “What are you doing?” 

Marie recoils back in surprise. "Hea—heat pack, Master. You looked cold."  

"Tt. Forget it. I will get one myself if I'm cold."  

Marie nods weakly, lowly muttering her apologies again, and returns to her post.  

***

The next time Damian wakes, it's from noises nearby. The morning light has spilled into the cave, and the fire has reduced into ash and some smoke. The second thing he notices is the lack of Marie's presence—Damian scrambles up and runs towards the cave opening to see his servant locked in a fight with a stranger just on the edge of the cliff. An enemy assassin perhaps. He has her pinned to the ground, but her fingers are tightly wound around his neck. Marie lets out a choked scream when the man jams the hilt of his weapon on her injured foot.  

Damian immediately pulls out his katana and swipes at the enemy's neck. He tugs Marie by the collar and kicks the man's large body off the drop. After looking around for other assassins he looks down on his servant, who's already making a makeshift splint from her knife holder despite her ragged breathing and the cut running across her hairline. 

"Where's the bag?" Damian asks, wiping off the hint of blood from his blade.  

Marie's eyes widen up at him, and they slowly follow down the height of the cliff.  

"Really? You can barely hold off an enemy and you've lost our supplies?" Damian's hand clenches around his sword.  

"I am sorry, Master, I was packing up and—and I was about to wake you." Her voice wavers. "I—I still have some food in my belt—" 

" Save it," he cuts her off. "We have to get down from here as fast as we can."  

Even if that assassin is a lone wanderer, they can't risk another similar encounter. If that happens, Damian isn't certain if he can keep himself alive, much less the both of them, especially if they're overwhelmed by numbers. He curses at his stiff hands; he could've been much faster if it were any other circumstance.  

"I—I am sorry, Master," Marie gasps out.  

"I said save it." Damian begins to hike again, and she follows while limping after crawling into the cave and packing up his sleeping bag.  

He's surprised that she survived and held off the assassin, but she did so sloppily that her injury was aggravated. Because of that, they will be slowed down indefinitely, unless he chooses to venture on ahead. That is the truth in the League of Assassins: that kind of weakness isn't tolerated, even if she has some ability to defend herself. Those incapable are quickly rooted out, and those who are prodigies train to become more vicious.  

Damian momentarily halts when he observes that the path has narrowed down. They can still cross and climb down, but after one wrong move, they will be falling into a merciless death. He tests the rock, moving one step at a time and clinging onto the shallow crevices of the wall.  

He turns to Marie. “Climbing gear?”  

She bows her head in guilt. “Inside the bag . . . Master.”  

“That is your own fault,” he spits out. “If you cannot cross this, I'm not helping you.”  

He feels her trying to follow closely, but her balance is dangerously off. Damian watches as she struggles to walk through. Her breaths are unsteady as she keeps her gaze on her feet. On top of that, she's shivering more than the previous day.  

When Marie makes a misstep and gasps sharply when she slips, Damian jumps in to grab her sleeve to keep her from falling. She swallows and thanks him, to which he sternly directs to hold onto him as they cross. It takes them a longer while than he hoped for, but they finally come towards a more spacious and safer landing. Still, the bottom of the mountain is still too far to see.  

“I thought Mother sent you to escort and protect me,” he tuts, looking down at her as she collapses on her knees to catch her breath. “Yet you are slowing us down and putting both our lives in danger.”  

“You . . . you are right, Master. Forgive me.” She coughs a little, rubbing the area near her wound. “But I was trying to protect you—”  

“You were as good as dead if I had not stepped in. Who were you trying to protect?”  

“I apologize for my inadequacy.” She has lowered herself into a deep bow, head touching the snow. “Please punish me or kill me as you wish. We are nearing the meeting point anyway; I will be of no use soon.”  

“Tt. You don't even deserve to perish by my hand.” Damian looks down at her in distaste. The heir of the League should not be accompanied by such a servant in the first place. It's already a miracle that she has survived for this long, and he doesn't want to get rid of the little help she can offer. Perhaps as a convenient shield if they encounter enemies again.  

“Stand up,” he orders. “You are delaying us again.”  

She carefully does so, but when she shows her face again, Damian is nearly taken aback, seeing her again up close. Her forehead is smeared with dried blood and the side of her face is slightly swollen. But what surprises him is her usual dead eyes are now glistening with tears.  

“You are right, Master. I should not delay us any longer.” Marie sniffles, moving over to the edge.  

“Wh—what—”  

“I am sorry for not meeting your expectations. There is no excuse for my actions.” She takes out her knife.  

“Wait—” 

“Our allies are nearby; it will not take long.”  

Red. All that fills his vision is red: bold, flowing red against the canvas that is the frost. The intricately-carved hilt sticks out of her abdomen, spreading the ghastly color into her clothes. The blood isn't anything new for Damian to see, but he has never seen it like this.  

The white sky and red.  

Her white fingers and red.  

The white shine of the blade and red.  

Heavy drops spill onto the snow, then crushed underneath her boot as she sways backwards.  

“Please take care . . . Master Damian.”  

Before he can tell his body to move, she has disappeared by the hand of gravity, falling until the fog covers up. Damian wonders where the scream he hears comes from until he realizes his throat is hoarse.  

***

Damian jolts awake, cold sweat slithering down the nape of his neck. It takes him a second to realize that he is in his bedroom in the Wayne manor, and the sun is yet to rise. He shivers even though he feels warm, as if the memory of the cold has followed him back to reality. Frustrated, he tugs hard at his hair as he tries to even out his breaths.  

He just dreamed of that again.  

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