005. your (not so) friendly neighborhood batman (spiderman+batman gen, PG)
god i haven't written in forever.
(893 words) // (PG)
warnings: SO UTTERLY SILLY. there is no point to this fic.
written for a prompt by peanuts (WRITE A BATMAN/SPIDERMAN CROSSOVER DRABBLE. THAT INCLUDES ICECREAM SUNDAES) as part of the halloween trick-or-treat meme circulating my flist, haha. took me forever to get this thing started -- i wasn't quite sure what to do with it, honestly -- but once i got going it just flowed, haha. this was lots of silly fun to write. |D;
your (not so) friendly neighborhood batman
by worldatomic
Gotham City is-- a lot cleaner, honestly, than Peter was expecting.
The kids love it. It's so very different from New York -- the streets are broader, not quite so busy -- but the skyscrapers tower over them just as they're used to, and the sun glitters off the many windows in sprays of light that dazzle their eyes.
The park is very, very green, lined with tents, bustling with people (half of them in costume), and in the very center is a monument to Harvey Dent that Peter will readily admit to being a little confused by. The tents offer anything from fried dough to milkshakes for food, and activities for the kids like throwing rubber darts to crafts to face painting. He finds himself grinning as he looks at the array of face paint on his group of kids; little Sally Adams has whiskers and tiger stripes, Jake Crocker has had lightning bolts painted in a line from his left eye across the bridge of his nose to the corner of his right jaw. Maria Ross has a bat painted on her cheek -- "like Batman!" she'd said, apparently in the true Gotham spirit.
In the south corner of the park is a wide platform, on which a small circus group is currently performing fantastic arobatics that actually make Peter a little jealous; he'll have to try some of them out, he can just imagine the faces on the crowds when they see him. There is a crowd of small children and teenagers (probably skipping school, because that is clearly the cool thing to do) clustered at the front of the stage, oohing and ahing at particularly impressive feats.
Peter wanders idly through the crowd, keeping an eye on his kids at the same time as eating an enormous cone of cotton candy, and really just enjoying the day. The air is cool and pleasantly crisp, but the sun is warm enough on their backs to be comfortable and the sky large and blue overhead. It is, really, the perfect day for an outdoor Halloween celebration. Some of the costumes he sees are really quite good -- an Incan mummy, jewelry and gold arm bands glittering in the sun; an Eskimo, wearing what looks like authentic fur; someone dressed up as what Peter thinks is Hades, with a matching dog to which they've attached two extra heads in an alarmingly realistic attempt at Cerberus (he stares for a moment at that one); a very accurate troop of Star Wars characters that makes Peter's inner fanboy flail with glee; and -- Peter stops, blinking -- Batman, hunched uncomfortably over an ice cream sundae dripping with hot fudge and rainbow gummy bears, accompanied by a butler who makes Peter think immediately of Jarvis.
It's. It's a really authentic looking Batman.
Peter glances around -- the kids are thoroughly occupied by a showing of pet costumes, probably won't even notice he's gone -- clears his throat, and sidles stealthily closer to the man wearing the Batman costume. It looks even more realistic the closer he gets; he's seen pictures in the papers, videos on the tv, the internet. It's the same jigsaw armor, the same boots, the same cloak; the cowl gleams dully in the sunlight, a vaguely matte-finish that he recognizes from thousands of tabloids.
New York has its fair share of superheroes -- himself, Ms. Marvel, the Hulk, Daredevil, Iron Man, Captain America (Peter's man enough to admit he has a slight hero-worshipping crush on Steve; nothing nearly as obsessive as Tony's, though) -- but nothing quite like Gotham's Dark Knight. There are so many rumors about him he might as well be relegated to legend, almost on the same level as Thor.
Peter may have a slight man-crush on Batman, too.
"Really, sir," says the butler as Peter creeps closer, "you could try being a little less enthusiastic about this, I'm sure."
Ah, British sarcasm; always such fun. Peter feels a surge of affectionate familiarity.
Batman-- snorts. "Right," Batman says, and never has something sounded so odd in Peter's head, "because Batman is such a friendly person."
The butler opens his mouth to say something; Peter, glancing around, interjects before he can stop himself. "It's true, you never hear much about 'your friendly neighborhood Batman,'" he says, and then bites his tongue to keep himself from blurting out anything else when the two turn to stare at him. "Uhm." He waves, awkardly. "Hi? Your, uh, your costume is really good."
There is a long, incredibly awkward pause. Batman is terribly incongruous, out in the sunlight. "Thanks," he finally says.
Peter smiles nervously, fidgeting. "You're--" His voice cracks, and he turns bright red, coughing. "You're welcome."
"Your costume is hardly inadequate, as well, sir," the butler says, and Peter blinks, looks down.
"Oh," he says. "Right." He'd forgotten he wore his Spiderman costume (the kids had loved it, though). He twists the mask anxiously in his hands. "Thanks. I, uh, spent a lot of time on it."
"We can tell," says Batman; there is a faint curve to his mouth that looks as out of place on his face as his costume does in the daylight. "It's very good."
Oh god, Peter is going to die of embarrassment; his whole face is burning. "Thanks," he mumbles, and promptly bolts for the safety of his group of children.
He absolutely has to call MJ.
(893 words) // (PG)
warnings: SO UTTERLY SILLY. there is no point to this fic.
written for a prompt by peanuts (WRITE A BATMAN/SPIDERMAN CROSSOVER DRABBLE. THAT INCLUDES ICECREAM SUNDAES) as part of the halloween trick-or-treat meme circulating my flist, haha. took me forever to get this thing started -- i wasn't quite sure what to do with it, honestly -- but once i got going it just flowed, haha. this was lots of silly fun to write. |D;
your (not so) friendly neighborhood batman
by worldatomic
Gotham City is-- a lot cleaner, honestly, than Peter was expecting.
The kids love it. It's so very different from New York -- the streets are broader, not quite so busy -- but the skyscrapers tower over them just as they're used to, and the sun glitters off the many windows in sprays of light that dazzle their eyes.
The park is very, very green, lined with tents, bustling with people (half of them in costume), and in the very center is a monument to Harvey Dent that Peter will readily admit to being a little confused by. The tents offer anything from fried dough to milkshakes for food, and activities for the kids like throwing rubber darts to crafts to face painting. He finds himself grinning as he looks at the array of face paint on his group of kids; little Sally Adams has whiskers and tiger stripes, Jake Crocker has had lightning bolts painted in a line from his left eye across the bridge of his nose to the corner of his right jaw. Maria Ross has a bat painted on her cheek -- "like Batman!" she'd said, apparently in the true Gotham spirit.
In the south corner of the park is a wide platform, on which a small circus group is currently performing fantastic arobatics that actually make Peter a little jealous; he'll have to try some of them out, he can just imagine the faces on the crowds when they see him. There is a crowd of small children and teenagers (probably skipping school, because that is clearly the cool thing to do) clustered at the front of the stage, oohing and ahing at particularly impressive feats.
Peter wanders idly through the crowd, keeping an eye on his kids at the same time as eating an enormous cone of cotton candy, and really just enjoying the day. The air is cool and pleasantly crisp, but the sun is warm enough on their backs to be comfortable and the sky large and blue overhead. It is, really, the perfect day for an outdoor Halloween celebration. Some of the costumes he sees are really quite good -- an Incan mummy, jewelry and gold arm bands glittering in the sun; an Eskimo, wearing what looks like authentic fur; someone dressed up as what Peter thinks is Hades, with a matching dog to which they've attached two extra heads in an alarmingly realistic attempt at Cerberus (he stares for a moment at that one); a very accurate troop of Star Wars characters that makes Peter's inner fanboy flail with glee; and -- Peter stops, blinking -- Batman, hunched uncomfortably over an ice cream sundae dripping with hot fudge and rainbow gummy bears, accompanied by a butler who makes Peter think immediately of Jarvis.
It's. It's a really authentic looking Batman.
Peter glances around -- the kids are thoroughly occupied by a showing of pet costumes, probably won't even notice he's gone -- clears his throat, and sidles stealthily closer to the man wearing the Batman costume. It looks even more realistic the closer he gets; he's seen pictures in the papers, videos on the tv, the internet. It's the same jigsaw armor, the same boots, the same cloak; the cowl gleams dully in the sunlight, a vaguely matte-finish that he recognizes from thousands of tabloids.
New York has its fair share of superheroes -- himself, Ms. Marvel, the Hulk, Daredevil, Iron Man, Captain America (Peter's man enough to admit he has a slight hero-worshipping crush on Steve; nothing nearly as obsessive as Tony's, though) -- but nothing quite like Gotham's Dark Knight. There are so many rumors about him he might as well be relegated to legend, almost on the same level as Thor.
Peter may have a slight man-crush on Batman, too.
"Really, sir," says the butler as Peter creeps closer, "you could try being a little less enthusiastic about this, I'm sure."
Ah, British sarcasm; always such fun. Peter feels a surge of affectionate familiarity.
Batman-- snorts. "Right," Batman says, and never has something sounded so odd in Peter's head, "because Batman is such a friendly person."
The butler opens his mouth to say something; Peter, glancing around, interjects before he can stop himself. "It's true, you never hear much about 'your friendly neighborhood Batman,'" he says, and then bites his tongue to keep himself from blurting out anything else when the two turn to stare at him. "Uhm." He waves, awkardly. "Hi? Your, uh, your costume is really good."
There is a long, incredibly awkward pause. Batman is terribly incongruous, out in the sunlight. "Thanks," he finally says.
Peter smiles nervously, fidgeting. "You're--" His voice cracks, and he turns bright red, coughing. "You're welcome."
"Your costume is hardly inadequate, as well, sir," the butler says, and Peter blinks, looks down.
"Oh," he says. "Right." He'd forgotten he wore his Spiderman costume (the kids had loved it, though). He twists the mask anxiously in his hands. "Thanks. I, uh, spent a lot of time on it."
"We can tell," says Batman; there is a faint curve to his mouth that looks as out of place on his face as his costume does in the daylight. "It's very good."
Oh god, Peter is going to die of embarrassment; his whole face is burning. "Thanks," he mumbles, and promptly bolts for the safety of his group of children.
He absolutely has to call MJ.