Fuck yeah, melancholy...

hurrdurrwaffle:

Anne Hathaway, ladies and gentlemen.

So that’s why she wanted the Clean Slate.

Lois Lane looked at her notepad, eying her own prose. Could use punching up. Was she sure that Wayne Manor only changed in October and December? She thought she’d heard something about pink ribbons during Breast Cancer Awareness Week…

Lois, like a hundred other journalists, had convened on the manor like ducks on bread. Because when Bruce Wayne wanted to say something, he either leaked it like a normal genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, or he held a press conference. It was a press conference, which meant that he was letting people into his home. Or at least close to it. And for the notoriously private Wayne, who’d never even had his phone hacked, that meant it was something important.

Lois bet that Wayne was finally going to come out of the closet. Her husband had twenty dollars on the exact opposite. She loved Clark, but obviously gaydar wasn’t one of his superpowers.

A sudden bustle from the gossip rags got her attention. Their cameras acted as a crude strobe light as Bruce Wayne strolled out from the depths of his manor. He was dressed casually for such a clotheshorse: penny loafers, khaki pants, and a magenta dress shirt (Lois knew it).

Alright, finally read Gotham City Sirens

…what the hell was that?

Selina was surprised to find herself breathless.

Funny. It was a move she herself had used more than once before. But she tended to be assertive, forceful. Bats and his kind seemed to respect that; and even a boy scout like Captain Marvel liked a woman who could kick his ass, or at least kissed like it. But while Black Cat was energetic, she was also… soft. Skillful. Passionate. Like them trying to kick the crap out of each other had been as much foreplay as dinner and a movie.

Selina felt her body responding. Not to the intensity of Black Cat’s advances, but to the desire behind them. Her nipples stung with hardness and she moistened between the legs, even moaning slightly as Black Cat continued to devour her mouth.

Then, Black Cat stopped, burying her wicked smile in Selina’s neck as she flashed her steel-tipped claws.

Selina had a moment of panic, but her body was still floundering in the wake of Black Cat’s sheer need. She could only gasp as Black Cat brought those claws down, into Selina’s shoulders—but not with any force.

Instead, the points just cut into the first layer of Kevlar woven into her leather.

Chuckling darkly to herself, Black Cat pulled her claws down Selina’s body. They didn’t cut through Selina’s body armor, but Selina still felt the slightest prick of their sharpness, the most exquisite pain as they skirted her skin.

Let’s face it, Selina, she thought, you didn’t get into the dominatrix game just for the fashion.

Felicia made it into the Egyptian room. A bunch of dusty old coffins and sepia-toned pictures of guys in pith hats, mostly. What a horrible place for her Bastille to spend the rest of its days. It would look much better in her game room.


But oh, what was this?

 

Leather catsuit like they were holding auditions for The Matrix, a whip just in case anyone wasn’t getting the all-points bulletin that ‘I’m sexy!’, goggles and a big D-ring on the zipper for that Elsa, She-Wolf of the SS vibe… she’d fit right in on a Gotham tourism poster.

 

Oh.

 

Oh, no way.

 

It was Catwoman, that old bitch who every wag thought she was ripping off. Like the idea of a cat burglar with a cat theme was so original. She was just in it for the puns. Christ! Dressing up a little kid in red and green and sending him to fight serial killers—that was original.


And she even had some pathetic obsession with Batman—definitely hadn’t gone anywhere, seeing as the guy had some Brokeback Mountain thing with his clown. While Felicia had gotten rimmed by her superhero. Did no one realize this?

Anyone wanna beta a fic I’m working on? It’s a Black Cat/Catwoman team-up story.

Not in *that* way.

Yes in that way.

But also in the *other* way.

Also, Mary Jane is there. (Yes on both accounts.)

Catwoman and Black Canary by Ksennin.
An obvious pun presents itself.

Catwoman and Black Canary by Ksennin.

An obvious pun presents itself.

Bachelorette Party by Ksennin.
The real reason Dinah and Ollie aren’t married in the Nu52. Be sure to tell the artist if you’d like to see more.

Bachelorette Party by Ksennin.

The real reason Dinah and Ollie aren’t married in the Nu52. Be sure to tell the artist if you’d like to see more.

Let’s face it, Batman would be a lot LESS screwed up if cross-dressing was the extent of what was on the menu.

Let’s face it, Batman would be a lot LESS screwed up if cross-dressing was the extent of what was on the menu.

Two days ago, Anne Hathaway is photographed without underwear.

Five miles away, the diamond collection of internet millionaire Carl Sinclair goes missing.

Everything has gone according to plan.