Disclaimer: I own nothing and that's just fine by me. I wouldn't know what to do with all the money.

Okay, admittedly, a lot of these are going to be a little AU, especially when involving the Jokerz, but that's just the way my mind works. The odd pairings wouldn't work without a little AU-ness, anyway. Please enjoy, and remember that suggestions are most definitely helpful.

This is a power of Good against Evil,
Of Right against Wrong,
Of doing what you think is right, even when no one else will help you.
-The Princess and the Goblin.

Poisoned Ivy:

With a sudden feeling, like cinder blocks atop her shoulders, Melanie ducked beneath the counter and ignored the look her fellow waitresses gave her as they continued about their business and she tried to breath.

On the other side of the restaurant, the fancy part with few windows but plenty of trap lighting, was the blond haired girl's mother. She wasn't in her alt ego's clothing and was simply sitting alone, drinking appletinis and eating rose salad. For whatever reason, Melanie was sure that her mother certainly wasn't there to enjoy the food. The place was good, but it wasn't quite up to her parents' regal taste and preferences. So, that either meant her mother was there to see Melanie or she was there to meet one of her families "business" associates.

Carefully and hoping that in this bent over position her mother wouldn't notice her, Melanie stalked to the back kitchen, asked one of her fellow waitresses to cover for her, clocked out and once she grabbed her coat and reached the door, she paused and looked from one end of the block to the next.

Nobody she knew was in sight. Taking in another deep breath, the former Ten of the Royal Flush Gang put on her light jacket and ran as fast as she could to the subway, her heels causing her some pain, but all she could think about was getting as far away as possible as fast as she could. Despite her parents having been in jail for the last year, they most likely hadn't changed and she wasn't sticking around to have a little chat.

Scared Crow:

Sometimes, when the other Jokerz were in deep sleep and unable to hear her, (thank God) Deidre woke up in the wee hours of the morning, remembering things that felt so real but couldn't be. There were nightmares, bad ones, where she and her sister could make even more copies of themselves, where the rest of their group had even more peculiar abilities than they already had and there were only three new and old Justice League members fighting against them.

Those nightmares would have almost been like dreams, if only they didn't all end the same way. It wasn't always clear and she couldn't remember all of it, but what she could made her rush straight to the bathroom to empty her stomach. There were whips, there was Batman screaming in agony, there was her and Delia smiling sadistically, electricity firing through nerves (though she wasn't quite sure through who), the smell of smoked flesh… And then everything cut to black as she woke up screaming.

It is on those nights that Deidre feels most guilty and shameful for being one of the Jokerz and the urge to leave before anyone knows she is gone intensifies. But she won't go, not yet at least. Not until she convinces Delia to come with her or her twin is beyond her reach and starts acting completely like their grandfather.

Riddle Me This:

"No matter how hard you hit me, no matter how much I hurt, I'm always good for a laugh. What am I?"

Terry gave an exasperated grown, leaning back in the leather chair that should have been rather comfortable after all the years Bruce had spent sitting in it, but was far from comfortable in any way. He leaned back up to ruffle his hair and look at the aged hero, annoyance and fatigue showing.

"A Joker?" The young Dark Knight tried, cringing at the amused look that came across Wayne's features for a flicker of a second before settling back to patiently waiting.

"A child's toy? A mentally unsound psychiatric patient? Tickle-Me Elmo?"

Here, Bruce's face almost split open with the short noise that in an earlier life may have been a laugh but came out more of a suppressed cough. His back hunched a little from the action and Ace yipped from behind them, probably understanding what was happening. Wouldn't surprise Terry.

Bruce looked at the seemingly always lit computer screen and nodded at the entrance to the Bat Cave, "We'll save the rest of this lesson for another time. Go get some sleep."

Coin Toss:

"You know," J-Man chuckled, nuzzling into Delia's neck again and earning a wonderful moan from the clown girl, "I've been wondering lately how you keep coming here when I know your worthless bitch of a sister has a big problem with me."

"She's not my fuckin' keeper," Delia sighed, "She couldn't stop me from coming here if she tried. Nor the others for that matter."

"Hm, not even the snowbird?" J-Man asked with just the slightest hint of jealously that was well hidden as he nestled closer to the very naked girl in his stolen three-thousand dollar sheets.

Delia snorted and adjusted her wig, now slightly loose and out of place from the last few hours of screwing the less homicidal and therefore less attractive but still do-able New Clown Prince, "Ghoul's not a junkie, dearest. He just uses the expensive sun block and only walks around during the night. Hell, I don't even think he's used any form of narco. And no, he can't tell me what to either."

"Could have fooled me, the way you hang off of him when you're not at work."

"J-Man," Delia growled, annoyance obvious as she leaned in for a kiss and bit his lower lip, causing him to give a small yelp-slash-laugh, "Not that it's any of your business, since we agreed to see other people, but I haven't slept with him. He's a prude."

"What, is that girl-speak for gay?"

Up North:

Thick black feathered wings flapped heavily and Warhawk rose through the air like a bass in a river, trying and failing to ignore the snow pelting him as much as possible.

Growling and lightly picking some ice from his mace, Warhawk turned on his comm. link and heard the light beep that signaled his father was back on the line.

"Rex? Are you almost to Gotham?"

"Yeah, dad, I'd like to talk to you about that. Didn't you say the weather man said it was supposed to be sunny?"

"Of course," The voice on the other end spoke in offence, "Otherwise I would have gotten Mr. Wayne to pick you up. Why?"

Warhawk, still annoyed at the cold but unwilling to cause the Green Lantern to worry too much and cause his heart to strain, gave a little cough into the wind and muttered, "No reason. Call you when I get there. But, uh, could you get the new Batman to meet me at the train station? I… forgot where Mr. Wayne's house is."

Pretty Kitty:

Purring contentedly, Tigress leaned further into Ramrod's huge chest and wrapped his huge arms around her soft, naked stomach. The ripped sheets under them were still slightly wet from their previous hours of intimacy and she reveled in their scents that mingled in the air and clung to their clothing that they rarely wore inside the abandoned warehouse they'd claimed as their own two months ago.

"That was awesome," the horned splicer growled in his own little realm of content. They hadn't done anything like that since Batman changed them back into Norms and they'd changed back once they'd broken out of jail together. It was one of those evenings filled with relishing the other's raw power in their preferred forms.

"Mmm," Tigress moaned, "Said the bull to the tiger. I should be the one praising you. Those moves were different. In a good way though. You've been reading that book again, I'll bet."

Sewer Rats:

Spellbinder revved up his machines again as the three new teens he'd snared into his web of fantasies took the plunge into their own little worlds of loving families, fame, fortune and whatever other simplistic things children wanted in order to feel anything.

Behind his mask, he sneered as one of the teens, a blue haired one he vaguely recalled from his days as a teacher, attempted to straighten his currently weightless body and starting moving his lips in a poor attempt at a string of words the psychologist couldn't make out. When the action repeated, the rogue moved from his area at the controls and came close enough to the green sphere to tune into the words spilling from the young man—Donny, that was his name, right—repeatedly.

It was, Spellbinder supposed, a chorus from a song the boy had probably written himself. It was slurred from the virtual reality, but the master of all this could appreciate the meanings behind them. Obviously a victim of neglect, a runaway who daddy didn't care for very much and mommy tried to support but failed. Easy pickings for someone like Spellbinder.