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Caught Short Superheroes

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

_ _

_ _

It was not a normal day for Batman, sweeping his long, black cloak around him, eyes intense, ears primed for the smallest movement. An anonymous tip had sent him straight into the heart of Poison Ivy's lair in the centre of the city, though it could have, on first inspection, passed for a garden centre, perhaps with a normal block of apartments attached to it. Of course, the fact that a giant greenhouse like that should never have been in the middle of Gotham City was something that slipped by the attention of so many, though it was not something that Batman chose to linger on. Where she set up one base, the extensive greenhouse could be transported to another location. Villains like her always had ways of doing things and Gotham seemed to have become a hub of it, despite his best intentions.

Still, the tip from Detective Gordon helped get him into her base, the note that large deliveries of new seeds had been delivered – far beyond the capacities that even those growing on a commercial scale would have ordered. There was no doubt that she was paying in counterfeit money in her criminal crusade to save the planet, but she had formed her own little corner of paradise there in the greenhouse with trees stretching to the glass roof, exotic plants thriving there, though the heat, thankfully, was not too much for him, not even under the cover of darkness.

He avoided the security lights, lips pressed together into a thin, hard line, the bluish glow of them barely illuminating anything, though they could be flipped onto full beams if they caught his motion through the greenhouse. He had to be careful, so careful.

Yet there was nothing truly abnormal in the greenhouse, the rich scent of the earth all that reached his nostrils. The mask covering his face, including his eyes, helped embolden him some, for he knew the sorts of plants that Poison Ivy favoured, as went her namesake, were very often poisonous, if not deadly. The villainess enjoyed perverse maiming, in the name of “good", apparently, as much as rendering her enemies incapacitated.

Nothing here.

_ _

He scanned a new planting ground where fresh seedlings had been pressed tenderly into the earth, a barer area that promised something more. Yet there was nothing there that could really be considered untoward, even if he knew what Poison Ivy was inclined to grow. It could have been a normal greenhouse, if not for the toxic plants carefully concealed solely so that they would not be brushed against by anyone accidentally walking the normal paths through the greenhouse. The far end was even set up less like an exhibit of dangerous flora and more like a traditional greenhouse with potting benches and trays of seedlings in pocket-like plugs of soil, waiting to grow large enough to be planted.

What was that? Batman's head came up, heart pounding, though he calmed his adrenaline with a slow breath through the mask, the respirator ensuring that nothing toxic, as he had not been on the path, entered his lungs. A whistle?

It might have been late, but Poison Ivy slept lightly, more interested in her plants and her gardens than she was in quite often looking after herself. Batman swallowed a curse and ducked, hidden in a bush, though he was careful to let the pointed “ears" of his usual mask, which was worn under the special respirator, not point up. That would have been a silly way for him to give away his position…

Poison Ivy was beautiful, there was no doubt about it, though she stalked by him without a care in the world. Surely, she did have a care in the world, though he didn't want to assume otherwise, breathing as lightly and as evenly as possible so as not to make a sound as, from the cover of the plants, he followed her as closely as he dared. In his ears, the sound that the respirator and his breath made was obnoxiously loud, though Batman compensated by slipping between the plants and long, hanging vines as if through a crowd where he could not afford to alert anyone to his presence.

Her whistle was what led him exactly where he needed to go, though he could not quite see what she was doing, as closely as he pressed between the plants. Pausing at a waterfall, she grimaced slightly, her hand going to her stomach, though did not stop to tend the plants there, moving on as if she was uncomfortable, her stride and step a little more calculated and careful than they had been before. Batman watched, as silent as the night. Was she unwell? Perhaps repeated exposure to her own toxins had finally gotten the better of her, though he would have thought that she was immune after so many years and her exposure practices. That was just how she was able to kill, after all, with a poisoned kiss, one of her many favourite ways to end a life where it no longer benefitted the planet.

“There you are…"

She murmured to herself, soft and light, the discomfort melting from her expression as she knelt, preparing a fresh patch of soil for the seeds beside her in a small tub. She wore a long, flowing skirt that she tucked under her legs, apparently not minding how the already damp earth moistened her clothes. Batman peered between the fronds of a patch of ferns while remaining hidden, quietly unseen, raking the earth to aerate it and creating little lines with her finger in the soil, all for the seeds to be dropped into. When they were covered up again, she hummed a tune to herself, rising to fetch the hosepipe, the spray set to a gentle setting so that her fresh seeds would not be disturbed as they germinated within the carefully cultivated soil.

If Batman had not known all the crimes she had committed and the extent of her sins, he would have thought her gentle, caring and perhaps even been impressed by her devotion. It was something that he could respect.

“Now then…"

Poison Ivy smiled, reeling the hose back up, her expression light.

“I think the newest members of my family, my wonderful, lovely, new children," she said, as if the plants could hear her, “need some fertiliser. Don't you agree?"

She laughed lightly, though there was no malice in her tone, something that confused Batman even further. If there was something untoward going on there, walking in on her, even so late at night, should have elicited a villainous monologue or something of that ilk, not see her tending so sweetly to her plants and her garden. He could even overlook the toxic specimens in light of her attitude.

But what Batman could never have expected to see her do in front of him and her “family" of plants was for Poison Ivy to lift her skirt less than demurely, tucking it up high. With a twist of the fabric, she somehow had it knotted in just the right way that it was hitched up, leaving her backside exposed, though she did drop her underwear to her ankles and kick them off.

Batman would have gaped if he was not trying to be quiet, struggling with all his might to take long, slow breaths through the mask, hunkering down. Should he even be watching that? What was she doing?

Yet Poison Ivy did not have cause for embarrassment, apparently, when she did not know that she was being watched as she squatted right there before him and bore down. The tension that he had spotted in her stomach earlier, how she had held it, was pushed out, the villain grunting softly as she relieved herself.

“Yes… The best fertiliser…unff…for my garden, my wonderful children."

She might have said more but it looked like, at least to Batman, that Ivy didn't have the breath in her while she was, to put it crudely, pooping, to say anything else, her hips shifting slightly as she eased her weight back and forth. Her feet were bare, though he hadn't given that any consideration before as they curled into the soil, not knowing where to look as she pushed out a thick log of waste.

It was not like anything a human, not even Batman, could have produced, shocking even him, though he had heard something about those with special powers needing to use the bathroom more frequently and excreting greater amounts at any one time. But he'd never actually seen it for himself, his cheeks heating up in embarrassment, though his eyes were drawn to her, as if it was the kind of show that he could not explain nor stop watching.

It was confusing, though there was nowhere for him to go, afraid to move while she was still there, in case she heard him. If there was one way to incite the wrath of Poison Ivy, it would most certainly be while watching her excrete long, mostly firm logs of waste. And her body had a lot to get rid of too, much to his surprise, eyeing up the one, two and three sausages of waste that had already left her. The first was a good ten inches, at least, in length, but the others seemed bigger still and thicker around with a little crackling to their surface. He couldn't help but think that it would be the kind of “fertiliser" that would need to be buried rather than left on top of the soil as it was, though it was not the kind of thing that Batman hoped that he was going to hang around there to see. He shouldn't have been watching what he was as she relieved herself onto the bare soil.

“Ah… That's better…"

But there was more to come, shocking even Batman as she left out a soft groan, her knees apart to balance herself better, for Ivy didn't have anything to lean on there, out in the open. Neither was there anything else to distract him as her backside shifted as if to help her move the waste from her body, though Batman could not speak for her. From his voyeuristic position, tucked into the bed of rich, green ferns, he could only see if not experience what she was feeling for herself.

The waste she excreted was even larger than the first ones, some a little softer and squishing from her obviously, though she already seemed to have the necessary wipes to clean herself up with in hand, ready to use. Did that mean that Ivy had expected to need them, or had she been caught short? It was hard to say, taking short breaths through the respirator, though the light tang of human waste mixed with the earth in a way that only mildly filtered through the respirator, for which he was thankful for. In the open, there was less aroma to it too.

He supposed he had to take those little things as thanks, one way or another, if he was to get out of there without being seriously maimed or poisoned in some way.

That was why he stayed as quiet and as still as possible, Poison Ivy shifted her hips so that her waste was spread out along the new bedding ground of seeds, giving them the best “fertilisation" that she possibly could. Her care of her plants went far beyond anything that Batman could ever have imagined, though he tried still not to pay too close attention to her, the accidental voyeur to a scene of care and dirtiness (at least in his eyes) that he should never have seen.

His stomach churned uncomfortably, looking away, though there had not been anything sexual about it. How could there possibly be when he was looking at that? All there could be was embarrassment at seeing such a show, a show that should never have been seen.

Poison Ivy finished, discreetly and modestly ensuring she was clean, though the wipes she used, of course, were eco-friendly ones that would dissolve, causing no harsh reaction on either skin or planet. It was almost amusing, Batman thought, that she would re-use the waste from her body too in fertilising her plants. He kept that perverse chuckle from rising, however, for it was not born from true mirth but bubbled up from where it did not belong.

The villainess took a moment, he supposed, to check the health of her bowel movement, though that was not something that Batman would ever have considered doing, even if she was glancing back and inspecting them as if she was looking for something. Perhaps she did not want to add sub-standard fertilisation to the ground? It must have passed visual inspection, however, for she rocked back and took a careful step away with a small hum of relief.

Ivy slid her underwear back on and untied her skirt so that it fell back into place, giving him the opportunity while her head was turned away from him to sneak away, melting away back through the forest of her greenhouse. He left nothing, not even a footprint, nothing to say that he had been there. Yet he glanced back, in the glow of the night lights, catching sight of her tenderly ensuring that her fertiliser was brushed over into the soil, all where it could do the most good to her plants.

Batman frowned and shook his head.

Gordon probably got a bad tip from someone who was just trying to waste his time… Nothing was going on with Poison Ivy.

He moved on, as if he had never been there, ducking out into the night of Gotham City with a scene in his mind that could never be forgotten, as much as he tried.

*

“A good day to go out on the boat, don't you think, Steve?"

Two fishermen walked down from a parking space at the top of a cliff, cool boxes and fishing gear tucked tightly into their hands, more than one rod each, though they most likely did not need two rods each when they were purely out there fishing for pleasure. The golden sand of the beach below them, as they made their way down the steep, stone steps to the beach and dock, should have been more of a lure than it was, but they only saw the tantalising tease of fish, of spoils gained from relaxation on the dock or on the boat. Either would work for them, especially Sam, a little rounder than most and red in the face already from all the physical exertion. His friend, Steve, scoffed and snorted, casting his friend a look.

“As if we have any choice, Sam," he said, rolling his eyes. “God, I can't get the wife off my back these days… Have to get out before she even wakes up, or she's always on my case about something or the other. Steve this, Steve that, sometimes I wonder if that's actually my name! Not Steve but Steve this!"

They laughed, though they did love their partners very much and did not truly want to be without them. But Sam especially needed a break, glad to be out with Steve again, their friendship one that had gone on for many years. A relaxing day on the beach, most likely first of all, or perhaps the boat when the tide was receding from the dock, would be an excellent start to the weekend.

But their day was not destined to be peaceful or relaxing at all, not to start with at least, as they made their way down to the beach. For someone, they would later discuss, seemed to have been completely and utterly caught short down there, a flash of red catching Sam's attention.

Hm… That's odd… Is that a woman?

_ _

The base of the cliff came out a little at the base of the stone steps and they rounded it together, though he could not see more, not once he had dropped his vantage point of the steps. Still, Sam's legs were more than grateful to be on solid ground again, not the seemingly never-ending steps of that cliff. He'd almost let the flash of colour slip his mind when his eyes landed on her.

She was beautiful, a tall, red-headed woman whose locks seemed to flow and fall dominantly yet softly around her face and shoulders, even though they were clearly wet, presumably from the ocean. Her top was green and fitted, though gave the impression that it was made of fish scales, gleaming in shades of green and blue, the rich deepness of the ocean flowing through. Her trousers would have been the same, tightly fitted, he assumed, to show off her figure, if they had been on her and not cast aside into the drying sand, the tide on the way in.

They did not know that it was Mera, though his eyes dropped instantly to what was under her backside. She squatted there before him, wide-eyed and caught in the act, her knees pressed close together but off to one side as she tilted a little, leaning on an outcrop of rock for balance. But she had not been able to help herself, considering the large pile of waste under her bare bottom, a pile of logs of varying sizes there.

He couldn't look away, couldn't drag his shocked gaze from the moment of the scene before him, though he was aware too that he should not have been looking. In its innocent form, it was a woman relieving herself at the foot of the cliff where the tide would come in, surely, in due course to hide her shame, to hide the fact that she had not even been able to make it up the cliffs to the bathrooms, as unpleasant, to be fair, as they were. He would have much preferred himself too to go behind a rock or even simply urinate in the sea itself, though that was something that men were more likely to do, where he was from, than women.

It was undignified to stare at her, the pile of what looked like seven logs of waste under her, some of them smaller than others, though one had to be at least a foot long – that couldn't be right! He gulped, blood roaring between his ears, sweating anxiously, seeing so much, the woman staring right back at him. If he had had to describe her expression, he would have later said that the redhead had been defiant yet shocked, though he could not blame her for that. Something had gone wrong for her that day and she had not been able to help herself. Didn't everyone have trouble with things like that from time to time?

Still, Sam could not help but watch, his lower jaw falling comically slack at how much had come from her body, how much waste there was seemingly left to produce. The woman before him grunted, bearing down suddenly, pushing out two thinner but longer poles of excrement that were seemingly the last of it. They were only followed by a smaller, harder, round plop of poop that tumbled onto the pile that the woman would never get the chance to cover up and conceal her embarrassment.

Not that there should have been any embarrassment about going to the bathroom, of course, but there had to be something about being caught defecating in public, Sam reasoned with himself, sweating, though his twitching fingers did not lift to wipe the sweat from his brow. He could not even look at Steve, not right there beside him, the other man who had been his friend for so many years also stopped dead in his tracks.

He should have looked away. He could not. Not when there was a pile of waste under her that did not look like it should ever have come from any human. He wondered if there was something wrong with the woman, though that was hardly the sort of question that he could ask, her logs of waste softly sinking into the sand at the base of the large pile. Some white-gold sand, crushed shells and stone that had been worn away by the wind and sea, clung to those that had dropped straight into the sand, rolled there as if for decoration, though relieving such things from the body was hardly something that anyone did because they enjoyed it. No, it was a purely physical function, something that the body needed to do, and there was nothing but functionality and perhaps embarrassment over being caught in the act to be had with that.

Still, he didn't look away. Still, Sam stared. He'd later say that it was surprise that locked him in place, but he couldn't really say that, not truly. It was a problem, kind of, but the huge pile of excrement that looked like it should have come from four or five people, not just the one woman, had him transfixed in shocked horror.

The woman, however, wasn't about to hang around after those last two logs and the plop of a smaller round of poop had fallen to the pile, sand clinging to the smaller round as it rolled off to the side. She didn't pause to check what she had excreted, not with the rush she had accidentally placed upon herself. Dressing quickly, she drew her trousers back on, presumably with her underwear tucked into place within for easy re-dressing, racing away with a hint of red in her cheeks. Yet not a word was spoken between them as she raced back into the ocean, though Mera was not swift enough to hide the evidence of her defecation, the pile of poop that was left in her wake, the footprints that told the tale of her passing.

With a splash, the redheaded woman leapt into the ocean, spray dashing up around her body, powering into the deep water and swimming away as if she was a shark, though Sam would have sworn on his life that she was far, far quicker than any shark he had ever seen. It was wrong, yes, so very wrong, though he stepped back halfway, stuttering, shuddering, his jaw working as if he was trying to come back to himself a little.

And, just like that, she was gone, the water closing over her head as if she had never been. Sam looked at Steve, trying to clear his throat, though it was difficult to get himself out of a frozen state even then.

“Steve…" Sam whispered, his tone low and hushed. “What was that? Who… What happened? God damn it…"

He didn't know what he was saying, stumbling over his words, though it was not a sight that he could have expected to walk in on by any means. They had had to stop, though everything had happened quickly, so quickly, all in a span of time where they had not even been able to truly take in what they were saying.

“Well…" Steve tried next, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “That was a very, ah, unusual start to the weekend!"

That was not something that Sam could disagree with, shaking his head and muttering to himself. One thing was certain and that was that it was not a story they were going to be going home to tell their wives!

Goodness knows what they would say…

*

“Ergh… Why do I have to be the one stuck on mail duty?"

The man with a rough face, a scar across his cheek and a grizzled jawline that was badly in need of a shave, scowled as he leafed through the mail.

“Who the fuck is sending mail to the fucking Joker anyway?"

If he'd been smarter, he might have asked something like whether it was a joke to send letters to the Joker, who even had the address, but he was only a henchman, not much going on between his ears. Truthfully, it was the name of one of the Joker's aliases on the letters and envelopes (even the junk mail too in some cases), all so that it would not arouse suspicion, but that didn't mean that it was weird to get so much crap sent there. The main base was an old industrial building, best suited to the Joker's nefarious needs. At least, until he decided that another building would suit him better.

But that was fine. It was not a henchman's worry to question things like that, not when he was just there to do a job, not worrying about anything else, nothing else at all. He only had to do what he was told, though the work was harder than he'd been told. Funny how things like that happened, but he'd rather be under the Joker's hand than against him. Everyone knew what he was like and that bitch Harley Quinn, the psychotic jester that she was…

He frowned at a box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.

“Huh… Boys, take this into the back room."

A couple of the goons, under him, for he was not the lowest in rank among the Joker's henchmen grabbed the box between them so that it remained level. Anything with the alias “Jack White", which was plastered over the top of the box in huge, oversized letters, handwritten, was to be handled with care, though the instructions changed from time to time. He thought it was because the Joker liked to keep them on their toes, always changing the rules (which didn't really exist either) but didn't question it much. Either way, it was a special package that had to be handled with due care and he could only do as he had been ordered.

The goons placed it on a table and backed away, leaving him to frown at it, rubbing at the grizzled stubble, not quite a beard but not as if he had shaved that morning either, on his jaw.

“Shit, what's this about?"

Shaking his head, he checked the Joker's instructions for handling his mail, though there was nothing untoward there to stop him from dealing with that one, that time, as if it was anything else. Though he still could not stop himself from frowning as he slit the string with a knife, a strange smell reaching his nose.

He grimaced. Goddamn hideouts… They were always rank, didn't matter where the hell they were. That one was down on the docks and he could only be glad that it didn't reek of fish or something equally vile. But what the hell was that smell?

Yet all was revealed on opening the box as he gasped in horror and immediately regretted his actions, stepping back, but it was too late to stop the box from falling open to reveal its gross contents.

It had to be from her, of course it was from her, though he snarled and gagged at the sight of several huge bowel movements within the box, the logs of waste thick and so big that it was as if they should not have come from a human body. She wasn't that big, a little woman! She shouldn't have been able to produce something like that, though he could only be vaguely thankful that the poop within the box, the special package, was not fresh and warm from the heat of a person's body.

“Oh… Fuck…"

The other two backed away with their expressions contorted in visions of overboard disgust, though he was the only one of the group that stared in horror, unable to tell what facial expression he was even making. But he'd be damned if he was cleaning that up! What was he, a common criminal?

Well, perhaps, but that was for him to leave a mess of blood behind, perhaps, not a pile of literal shit!

Still, the three large logs of poop appeared to be slightly soft and squishy, one of them rolling back and forth lightly from where the box had been jostled when they'd opened it. They were huge and he couldn't stop himself from guessing at their sizes. Nine, twelve…and maybe fourteen inches long?

He shuddered, revulsion coursing through him.

“What the hell is she eating?"

It should not have been his concern, raking his eyes over the box where the poop had marked it slightly – that must have been where the smell had come from, where the logs had been indented slightly, softening as they waited on the package to be opened. It was a blessing at least, if it could even be called that, that there was no terrible smell, that they were not softer than they were, though they were, pretty much, healthy bowel movements, despite the size. Yet to see them there presented as if they had any right to be rolling around in the box was disconcerting, putting him on the back foot, trying to drag his disgusted gaze away from the poop that demanded that he pay attention to it, the squished soft indents on the logs of waste and the textured (at least visually) appearance of them.

Ugh. He shook his head, working his jaw, trying to find the words to cover his shock, his disgust, yet it all came out in a grunt. It was as if she must have stored them all up inside her for as long as possible for the grandest effect, though there were hardly any henchmen under the Joker's hand that could have said that they had not fallen prey to one of her pranks yet. That was just how she was.

He grunted, shuddering.

“Hellooooooo, boys!"

“What the fuck?"

He turned his head wildly back and forth, but the bitch Harley Quinn, the Joker's crazed lover-something, who made their lives and work so much more difficult than they both had to be, was nowhere to be seen. One of the guys, holding his jacket up over his mouth and nose, though there was not much smell after the initial opening, to be fair, pointed at the box, a recording set off to play through a small, tinny speaker that crackled with Harley's voice.

“Hope you enjoy my little present for you, boys! I cooked up this one especially for you! Say hi to Mistah J for me!"

Harley's deranged laughter, the kind of laughter that would have had a man backing away from any woman who made that sound in a bar or similar, rang out from the recording, playing for far longer than the message itself. He grimaced, rubbing his face, though his skin prickled, wondering if he should have washed his hands before touching himself. Harley Quinn wouldn't be that fucked up, would she?

He didn't know. Didn't dare to know.

“Urgh…"

Dragging his hand down his face, he tried to ward off the throbbing headache, glancing at the guys who were going to be tasked with cleaning up Harley Quinn's mess, thank god, not him. That was one thing about being above them, seeing them as even more brainless than he was. They were the kind of idiots who would probably do something against the Joker at some point and be taken out, neatly or messily, but he would stick around, close to insanity and hoping it wouldn't rub off on him while he survived.

At least, that was if Harley Quinn didn't drive him off his rocker first of all…

He sighed.

“I think we should forgo mentioning this to the Joker…" He grunted, slipping into a more formal way of speaking in his discomfort. “Fuck… Clean this shit up!"

The other henchmen groaned and complained, but he kicked the box at them with a scowl that promised trouble, Harley Quinn's poop rolling about inside and bouncing off the walls of the box.

“Now!"

Even against him, there was little they could do, though it was one less problem he had to take care of.

Harley Quinn, however, didn't often let her pranks go so quietly…

*

Batman cruised in the Batmobile, keeping a low profile, the car adjusted so that it would bypass most attention, though it could revert into its typical form, appearing to have “bat wings" and the like with a push of a button. When he was hunting of reports of criminal activity, the night a quieter one with twilight colouring the sky a rich, deep blue beyond the pollution, he didn't need to draw that much attention to himself. After all, there had been rather a few pranks on him and the Batmobile in particular lately.

He grimaced. No, he would not think of that, all the things that had been found, even the special cleaner that he had to purchase to make sure that everything was…adequately cleaned up and disinfected, to put it mildly, moderately. Though there was nothing moderate about the one who was playing the pranks on him.

At least she didn't seem to be around that night, which was something to be grateful for, at least. She hadn't been much trouble lately, not when it came to genuinely criminal activity, but that did not mean that Batman could afford to take his eyes off her.

He drove the Batmobile through a tunnel, following up on a lead and finding nothing. Everything he went for appeared to be a dead-end that night, though he was not such a fool as to think that that that meant that there was no criminal activity, at the time, in Gotham at all. The Batmobile came up under a bridge, lights from high rise buildings flashing by, always lit up, never sleeping. There was always something going on, always something that he had to look out for…

Splat!

_ _

What the hell?

SPLAT! SPLAT!

He glanced up at the windscreen, time seeming to slow around him as something else landed on the windscreen, another two wet splats following the first. They were so big that, at first, he thought that something had been thrown at the moderately moving Batmobile, neither speeding nor crawling along the city streets, though it was unlikely that a stray projectile could have hit him without it being deliberately thrown.

And yet he knew what had happened in a sharp intake of breath, a shocked moment of revulsion, for there was human waste on the windscreen! Big, fat logs of poop slid down the windscreen terribly slowly and he lunged for the wipers, before realising that he could not do that – it would smear! And how the hell was he going to get that off?

He slammed on the brakes, the Batmobile skidding, tyres squealing, though he could have used the mechanics of the car, high tech as it was, to stop dead in its tracks. Yet, even then, he didn't want to send the poop flying too much or jerk his neck, even if he was, thankfully, protected within the Batmobile. That was something at least, even though he would much, much rather not have had human excrement sliding down his windscreen as if it had any right to be there.

They mocked him, huge, fat logs of waste, at least ten inches long, though one had to be pushing fifteen, even though Batman would never, ever have admitted that he had seen enough of it, from her, to know what her “usual" was. It was disgusted, her sick little pranks, yet it was not the worst of the criminal activity in Gotham City, which was exactly why he had let it slide for so long. The poop was softer than usual – he shuddered at the thought, gritting his teeth – squashing lightly into the glass as if it had been soft enough to lose some of its shape when it had hit his windscreen from a distance.

“Computer, unlock the doors," he growled under his breath, lips turning down. I have something I need to deal with."

“Affirmative."

With the car skidded to a halt, tyre marks on the road behind him, Batman leapt from the vehicle with his cape flapping around him, forgetting who he was in the moment, that he perhaps should have been more refined, put together. Yet no one important would see the poop sliding obscenely down his windscreen, leaving smears of wetness there, turning his stomach, even though the delirious prankster would never have seen the humiliation of it. It wasn't hygienic! How had she even squeezed those out so quickly? She'd had to have been hanging her buttocks over the bridge to pull something like that on him!

Harley Quinn, dressed in her typical jester's outfit with the bell-tipped hat and all, laughed and cartwheeled through the air as she scaled the suspension bridge stretching over the river, heart pounding with comical glee. In the distance, Batman roared, for it could not be considered much of a screen at that low pitch, a bellow of fury reaching her ears.

“Again, Harley?"

_ _

She giggled and whooped to herself as she did a flip, her trousers back up and her boots in place, though she had not had to drop them all that much as she had pushed out her poop from the top of the bridge.

“Direct hit! Mistah J will be so proud of me!"

Whether that was true or not was another question entirely as Harley Quinn streaked into the night, her black-painted lips stretched wide in a deranged grin that stretched from ear to ear.

*

“Hm…"

Catwoman crouched, though the grumble of her stomach told her that she would not be able to stay there for very much longer. It was such an inconvenience, especially when she had a grand heist to take on, perked on the roof of a neighbouring building, expensive but not her target, that overlooked the mansion of a rich Gothamite couple. She'd been casing them for some time, cataloguing the riches within that she could sell and make good use of, even if it was only to feed her glee of theft, the cat-burglar that no one knew was coming.

With the binoculars held up to her eyes, she shifted her weight slightly, her black bodysuit hugging her curves and figure, slim and lithe like the felines that she was named after. Her mask came up over the top half of her face, exposing her mouth and eyes with a sliver of fabric between them, hiding her identity. The top of the mask, as always, stretched over her head, concealing her hair, tipped with two peaks that appeared quite like cat ears. Well, it was her trademark.

But she wanted to get everything seen to before the rumbling of her stomach got to her, holding it in, heat colouring her cheeks. It was so embarrassing to need to go so often, but the couple appeared to be heading out for an expensive night in the city, which would leave the entire place empty for her to take her pick of diamonds, jewellery and more within. Her eyes lit up with greed. It would be a fine haul…

“Hiya, Cat!"

“What?"

She whipped around, leaping off her feet like a startled feline, though she should not have been as surprised as she was to find Harley Quinn standing behind her. She always turned up at the worst of times, her hands clasped behind her back, dressed in a busty red and black corset and tight trousers that still allowed her flexibility. Her hair was out, tied up in pigtails, though her usual deranged look had softened, just a little, into one of pure mischief.

“Harley!" Catwoman hissed. “Quiet! What are you doing here?"

“Ohhh, I was wandering," Harley said, swinging her hips forward and back without a care in the world, “and looking for something to do… And then I saw you! You're so much better than the sunset! What are you doing, Cat? Can I help? Oh, oh, oh!"

Harley Quinn clasped her hands before her, her eyes wide and pleading, so childlike that she didn't appear like herself for a moment.

“Please, can I help? Can I help? Really, Cat? Yes, really? Can I help? Say yes, say yes, say yes!"

Catwoman groaned, dragging her hand down her face, grimacing as Harley bounced on the balls of her feet.

“Harley… You can't just… Ugh!"

They got on as well as two villains could, though Catwoman more tolerated Harley than anything else, for the jester could be eccentric at best and downright out of her mind at worst. With the late evening sunshine, the orange of the sunset, tipping the mansion, aglow on the windows, Catwoman's eyes slipped back to the mansion. She couldn't let her guard slip, her moment falling by the wayside, not while the moment was right. As always, a cat had to strike while the mouse was out of the nest…

“Right, well, you can stay… I'm casing this place, it's full of jewels and gold, these people have more than they know what to do with."

She should have sent Harley packing, but if there was one thing she could say about the other criminal it was that she was rather hard to get rid of. Besides, it was often better to have a second pair of hands to steal, even if Harley was not the best lookout she'd ever seen.

“Just don't be loud," Catwoman hastened to say, cutting off Harley's squeal of delight, her blonde pigtails bobbing. “I don't want unwanted attention here… In and out, you got it? I lead."

Of course, Harley would not mind that. She was just someone who wanted to be entertained, as much as her way meant that she was often providing entertainment too.

Yet the rumbling of her lower stomach, her guts, grew and grew, tightening within her as she desperately tried to find something for Harley to do. They couldn't both go into the mansion, not when she was a dreadful lookout – but what job did that leave the jester with? She'd spent too long casing the place to hand off all her haul!

Yet her belly did not rest, her body aching with a soft need that swiftly grew and grew in urgency, prompting her to pay better attention to her body. For the last week, she had been constipated, but had not paid it too much mind. Bowel movements for her sometimes were a little erratic, if often coming at the most inconvenient of times, considering her sleep schedule, that she was often out at night, working. If being a thief could be called work, that was…

But Harley sneaking up on her had helped the cause, even though there had been pressure and tension there before, her body working, straining to move her poop out of her body after a week of being constipated, of trying to get on with everything without letting it bother her all that much. It had pushed everything into motion at exactly the wrong moment as she swallowed a groan, resisting the urge to press a hand to her stomach.

Damn it…

_ _

She couldn't possibly head down into the mansion in such a state, she doubted she'd even make it inside! With a sigh, she shook her head, looking to Harley, who had been sitting for about ten seconds and had bounced up again a moment later, a nervous ball of frenzied, antsy energy. Did she even stay still when she was asleep?

“Alright, Harley, wait a moment, just…ugh, sit still, would you?"

“Oh, Cat – do cats always land on their feet?" Harley giggled as if Catwoman had not said anything at all. “I bet they do! I won't push you though, Cat, in case you don't land on your feet. You might be a cat that goes splat. And I don't want Cat to splat!"

Catwoman groaned.

“Yes, okay. Anyway, we can get in when the security system is down, but they've not quite left yet, should be another fifteen minutes, by my count. Keep an eye on them, I need…uh…I need some privacy."

Her cheeks heated up against her will and Catwoman backed off without waiting for an answer, though she did wave her hand as if to highlight that it was of a bodily nature. Harley might not have gotten what she meant if not for the fact that Harley, of course, had to use the bathroom more frequently too, just like most that were in their line of business and work. They always got caught out in strange situations and it was not as if there were many choices of more civilised bathrooms often when she was on a job or casing a place. Catwoman and many others simply had to make the best of it.

“Ohhhh, I get it!" Harley chirped, her grin as wide as ever. “I'll come with you! It's perfect, I have to go too and we can get it done quickly. We're lookout buddies, after all!"

Catwoman grimaced, waving her hand.

“Oh, that's really not needed, Harley, but…"

“No-no!" Harley wagged a finger at her. “Lookout buddies always stick together!"

There was not much that Catwoman could say to that, grumbling under her breath, though she was a shade more embarrassed about the whole thing than Harley was, to be fair. There was not much that shook the jester, though she was missing a few screws.

Yet she could not wait, despite the churning, pushing feeling in her gut, everything ramping up. She had to go to! Despite how her cheeks burned with embarrassment, trying to play it all off, to act as if everything was normal, so normal, totally normal. Well, it was normal, but that didn't mean that she wasn't embarrassed about it and, besides, she had to be quick, acting while the couple was still upstairs in their mansion. Until they left, she could not do anything anyway.

A few feet back from their lookout spot, the roof flat, thankfully, she squatted, pulling the trouser part of her catsuit down enough to expose her backside, though she tried to be as discreet as possible. She was modest in that regard and did not expose anything more than was needed as she bore down, trying to ignore the fact that Harley had yanked down her tight trousers too and was humming a tune to herself with her bare bottom hanging out.

Catwoman grimaced.

“Honestly, Harley…"

“What was that, Cat? Hah! What that Cat!"

To say that Harley was easily amused was an understatement, though Catwoman avoided looking at her as she bore down, squeezing out what her body ached to relief. And it was a relief to her, after being constipated for so long, needing that break, to feel like her body was working properly again, though the feel of squeezing out each log, thick and long, at least six inches and most likely more like seven, was still humiliating. It should not have been, not when it was something so common amongst villains, though she would have felt a bit better about it if she had been on her own, able to take the quiet time for herself to relieve her body.

Still, she didn't want to be around Harley as she did it. But she bore down regardless, her stomach hurting a little, though it would hurt less as she took care of the needs of her body, as was the case. She pushed down, soft plops of round poop squeezing out, dropping around the logs, though it was the harder, bigger logs that were the most difficult to get out after being constipated for so long. And there was so much of it too! She grimaced, trying not to think about it, shifting her hips to the side, making a bigger pile. It all had to come out and she wasn't going to stop pooping, of course, not now that she had started.

Her body strained around the biggest poop of all, a fat log that had hardened, compressed together so that she really had to bear down with muscles that she never usually had to think about, easing it out as gently as she could. It was harder than usual, Catwoman thought, because she was hyper-aware of the fact that time was of the essence, that she could not linger for too long, even with embarrassment colouring her neck, creeping down to her chest. But it was done, a sigh of relief escaping her as the tension in her stomach released.

She took a moment to look at her big pile of waste, though it all looked healthy enough, spread out a little so that it was not a tall pile but still a large one. Even though it was something that she was supposed to do, a way in which she could more easily monitor her health when she was working so hard, she was embarrassed too by merely looking at it. It was all so much, everything so big. She'd underestimated the size of her poop too, the logs pushing nine, ten or perhaps even eleven inches, bigger than anything she used to do, but that was the way of it, at least for her. At least the smaller, squashier rounds of poop had not been hard, something that her body had processed more recently. The harder logs had been a pain to push out, however, and she huffed softly, pulling her trousers back into place, settling herself.

“Wow, that's a big pile!"

Catwoman blushed, turning without thinking and catching sight of Harley Quinn's more “respectable" pile of poop, if there was even such a thing. They were smaller, still big around six to eight inches, though she had topped off the pile with a round of smaller poop, about the size of dollar coins around, though they were not all a uniform shape. Even though she should not have been looking at what Harley had produced, she had not been able to help herself, glancing away, though she at least was able to note for herself too that Harley's bowels appeared to be functioning just fine too. She didn't seem like she had been constipated for a week, after all.

“Please…" Catwoman sighed. “Let's not…talk about it. Okay?"

Harley Quinn, much less shy about her own, laughed and dressed again, clean and fresh and ready to go. The piles of their poop, of course, were left there out in the open, not needing to do anything more with them, for they would either be washed away by the weather or cleaned up by some unfortunate soul. It wasn't any of their concern, not one way or another. They'd just leave it there, out in the open, a natural part of life, even though they had to be a little less civilised with the needs of their bodies being a little more demanding.

“Aw, shucks, Cat, I think we're even better friends than before!"

Harley bumped her with her shoulder as they returned to watch, Catwoman laughing lightly as she raised the binoculars back to her face.

“If there's anyone who might make me not feel a fool, Harley, it's you."

“Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

But Catwoman did not answer, not even as a small smile pulled at her lips, for Harley had, in her own way, managed to put her more at ease. Twenty minutes passed before the right time came, Catwoman stiffening, her attention suddenly rapt, the tightness in her stomach long gone.

“There!"

The couple stood by the door, about to exit – they didn't have any time to waste! Firing a zipline to the mansion, where they would not see, Catwoman's eyes gleamed as she tossed Harley a harness, hooking up the zipline runners that would allow them to fire across without even touching the ground. Time was of the essence!

“Be very quiet and follow quickly!"

Harley, happy to be involved, didn't push back, following her lead. The robbery was afoot!

And they were both just glad that they had gotten to relieve themselves before going in.

*

Wonder Woman swallowed lightly, cool and calm, her dark hair flowing down her shoulders, a tightly fitted red top in place, accentuated with gold features. It was a bit gaudy, but suited her fine as it was aerodynamic enough for flight, along with the dark trousers. Superwoman had been captured by the Justice League, locked in the Justice League Watchtower, though there were no external windows to the watchtower, not where the cells were located, a secure holding. Anyone trying to get her out of the prison cell, especially designed by Martian Manhunter and Cyborg, would not be easy, especially as it could neutralise the powers of many supervillains and more. It would not differentiate with her, simply because she was Wonder Woman.

She had to go there, purely as she had been tasked with interrogating her, though it was, suffice to say, far from her favourite activity. Merely another part of her duties, while there were other missions she'd rather be going on, to help the world, taking place around her.

The prison cell was deep within the facility and she opened the door with every intention of being professional, her lips pressed into a light but unyielding line.

But what Wonder Woman did not expect to see there was Superwoman bent over with a low groan, holding her stomach, a woman in evident pain. Her off the shoulder top drooped lower with a large “S" at the bust, her trousers fitted to her body for functionality, though they did have the added effect of showing off her figure too. Alarmed, Wonder Woman reached for her without closing the distance.

“What's wrong? Are you harmed?"

“Urgh… No, fuck."

Wonder Woman raised an eyebrow, though Superwoman was a coarser sort. A swear from her was not unexpected.

“Just…" Superwoman's face contorted. “Trust the Justice League to design a prison without a toilet. I didn't think you were into torture."

She spat the word, though her predicament swiftly became obvious to Wonder Woman, though she did not understand the other woman's embarrassment over it. For her it was just another part of everyday life, especially with her eating more and needing to relieve her body more. There was only so much, after all, that could be done in that regard.

“Ah, of course…" She half shrugged, though was already looking for an answer to the problem. “The cell was only recently finished, that's why there's no furnishing, well, just the cot for the bed, you see."

“Ugh! Quit your rambling on and take me to a bathroom if you must!" Superwoman hissed, though her words came out harsher than they needed to be with the obvious pain her bowel movement, held back, caused her. “I don't want to do it in a prison cell like some kind of animal!"

Wonder Woman, however, hesitated. Who was to say that Superwoman wouldn't try to escape if she took her out of the cell? She could contain her, truly, but there was only so much that she could anticipate. She didn't want to put herself in a bad position, but she had to allow the other woman the ability to relieve herself too. It would be utterly inhumane to do anything else.

Yet Wonder Woman shook her head, stepping back to put greater distance between them as Superwoman clutched her stomach. Flushed in the face, sweating so much that hair clung to the dampness at the back of her neck… There was no denying that Superwoman was in a state of need. But she was not willing to remove her from the cell, not when she had proven herself to be sly in the past.

“Here."

Wonder Woman left briefly, ensuring the door was secured after her, though the tray that she wanted was not all that far away from a dining cart that had been abandoned in the hallway. It was thankfully clean, though she knew it didn't matter anyway, pausing at the door as Superwoman looked up at her with fury in her eyes.

“To the back of the cell," Wonder Woman commanded, not wanting any mistakes. “Now."

Superwoman obliged, though the heat of embarrassment clearly clawed at her cheeks. Wonder Woman would have told her that there was nothing wrong with needing to perform a bowel movement, but something told her that Superwoman would not have appreciated it anyway. She was not that kind of person.

“Here."

Wonder Woman bent down, with distance between them in the bare cell, laying the food tray on the ground. Unlike the first time when she had entered barely a step into the room for the expected interrogation, she closed and locked the door securely behind her, disliking the fact that there was an implement in the room with which Superwoman could attack her. Changing the territory gave Superwoman more of a chance to escape or do something untoward, neither of which were appealing options to her.

Eyeing up the tray with obvious distaste, Superwoman puffed out her cheeks. Still, she could not keep her expression from twisting with pain, obvious need throbbing through her. Even in such pressing circumstances, the need of the body could not be denied, yet the humiliation of being in that need clawed, clearly, at Superwoman. Wonder Woman wondered just when it had last been that she had felt that embarrassed, so out of place, so in need that she would have gone anywhere, in front of anyone, just to get the moment past her. Maybe one day Superwoman would feel the same way as her and, in fact, be better for it.

“And what am I supposed to do with that?" Superwoman grunted, not lifting her head. “It's a tray. Just a tray."

Wonder Woman shrugged. She had defecated on or around worse, it was better than most places where she had had to relieve herself during missions.

“Go to the bathroom. It's that or the tray. I'll face away, do not worry yourself, but I cannot leave while you have the tray in the cell with you."

“You'd think I was planning something nefarious…with a tray of all things."

The sneer could be heard in Superwoman's voice even with Wonder Woman turning away, though she could not fault the woman too much for considering things like that. Slowly, a shuffle of cloth alerted her to the fact that Superwoman had chosen, indeed to use the tray, though she had to keep her attention on her. Even with the cell, protected as it was, draining Superwoman's powers, she didn't want to forget that she was there, not for a moment. Anything could happen and Wonder Woman had not made it as far as she had because she had let her attention slip.

There was a little noise, but mostly just pained and relieved groans, in equal measure, from Superwoman, shifting her weight on the creaking yet reinforced boards of the floor of the cell. That might have to be fixed, Wonder Woman noted mentally, her body lightly contracted in such a way that she could have spun on a dime to attack, if the need came to pass. Superwoman, however, did seem more interested in relieving the need of her body with a low groan and a whimper, a soft thud hitting the tray, than anything else, which was how Wonder Woman preferred it.

When the noises quelled and Superwoman sighed, Wonder Woman listened more intently.

“I am finished."

“Good. Go to the back of the cell again, do not move."

Superwoman went, though did not cease glaring at Wonder Woman the whole time she was inside, grabbing the tray quickly with its newest occupants and leaving the cell once more. It was not something that she took pleasure in carrying, a task that was not enjoyed, and she locked the cell securely. Interrogation, in lieu of looking after the prisoner, would have to wait a little longer.

Yet she could not deny that it was a ridiculous situation, even if she did not find any humour in it.

What a place to find myself… Wonder Woman thought with a shake of her head. Look… It's not right. She must have really needed to relieve herself and she didn't want to, too embarrassed to take care of the needs of her body. It is only a bowel movement and more should understand that.

_ _

Holding the tray before her at a respectable distance, Wonder Woman eyed up the three large bowel movements on the tray, the poop shifting and rolling lightly, though one was softer, splatted lightly onto it. The softness of the poop kept it in place a little better than the others, though she still moved carefully, heading for the bathroom.

They're very large, Wonder Woman mused, peering a little more closely, forgetting herself as if she was merely checking her own poop for health reasons. They must be… Sixteen inches. Not all three of them, but one is a little smaller, maybe fourteen. I would have expected more from her, though they appear solid, no smaller particles of waste coming with them. Hopefully, she did not hold anything back. I would not like for her to be uncomfortable.

_ _

For, even if Superwoman was a prisoner, she was still a person who deserved to be treated well and humanely. There was no leaving aside that and Wonder Woman could only be glad that her body too did not seem to have faced any ill repercussions of imprisonment, even if it was necessary. Although the waste was uniform in shape and close in size, the last a little longer and thinner, it all looked healthy, a dark colour. If she stayed imprisoned without the means with which to care for her body and health, however, that could change.

The softer one is better, Wonder Woman mused, lips pursing softly in consideration for Superwoman. The others must have been difficult for her to excrete, with how hard they are, they seem quite firm. We will make sure that she has an adequate diet and room to move, even inside the cell when it is furnished, to ensure no ill-effects here.

Of course, she did not touch the waste, the movement of her body sweeping any odour from her, though it was rarely a problem. In the back of her mind, she reminded herself that she would have to speak to Martian Manhunter about finishing the cell so that such an issue did not happen again. It was not humane to treat a prisoner like that and least of all Superwoman should have been able to relieve herself in peace as they kept her there, questioning her about the locations of the rest of the Crime Syndicate.

Still, it did not change the position that Wonder Woman had found herself in that day.

*

Arisa would not have expected to end up teaming up with Wonder Woman, Power Girl and Mera to locate Reverse-Flash, the supervillain enemy of The Flash, who perhaps should have been more active in controlling his enemies. However, The Flash had been badly injured in his last confrontation with Reverse-Flash, so it was understandable that he had requested additional assistance while he recovered in the Justice League Watchtower.

“How do you use this?"

Arisa muttered to herself, though she was increasingly familiar with Earth technology. It was not difficult for her to work out, to be fair, her blonde hair cropped short around her ears in a pixie-cut while she wore her usual white corset-type attire and a black skirt that allowed her a full range of movement. Wonder Woman was dressed as she always was, as if she was about to face down a whole army on her own with her lasso of truth in hand (well, she didn't have it out at that time), Power Girl flashy in a white bodysuit and red cape, accentuated with gold around her bust and the tops of her legs. Mera could have just stepped out of the ocean itself in her full bodysuit that went down to the ankles and her wrists, giving the impression that her body was covered in fish scales. Though not the gross, slimy kind – the kind that glittered in the sun like the riches of the ocean.

She could admire them, to be fair, though she was still getting used to them, in a way. Wonder Woman poked at the device that The Flash had given then, tapping a few buttons to pull up Reverse-Flash's near location. They were said to locate evidence of his “negative speed force", though it was not as if there was actively a tracker on Reverse-Flash himself. That would have been too convenient, though Wonder Woman was trying to use three of the devices, at least, together to triangulate his position if he came into the thousand-mile zone between them. It was a technical process, though Arisa would have much preferred to get Reverse-Flash locked away and herself back in her comfort zone. With the missions for the Justice League, there would be a future requirement for her to team up with others, however, when instances of enemy activity came close to her sector.

Oh well…

_ _

“There's no evidence of him passing here, not yet," Wonder Woman said, Power girl flitting up a little in the air as if she could see him with her eyes alone. “We will have to wait."

And, so, they waited, hardly talking, though Power Girl and Wonder Woman seemed more familiar than Arisa would have expected. Mera was quiet and contemplative, far from the ocean. Arisa understood that. She felt far from her home too, though more so than Mera when it came to travelling across the universe.

Still, Arisa could not help that her body alerted her to the need to use the facilities, a strain in her bladder, which were non-existent out there in the jungle, greenery rising around them as they perched on a large outcrop of rock from which they could move quickly off from when needed. It was strange that Reverse-Flash would be out there in the thick of the humidity, but as long as the devices worked, Arisa wasn't going to question it, even after an hour had passed.

Sighing, she rose and stretched her arms over her head.

“I'm going to use the bathroom," she said, using the human term for it, politer. “I'll be back in a moment."

To her surprise, Mera rose too, setting her equipment aside, red hair falling loosely around her shoulders. Somehow, it still managed to look wet.

“I'm coming too, I'll keep you company," she said with a half-shrug, though Arisa's cheeks darkened to a light pink shade. “There's nothing else to do anyway."

“I should relieve myself too," Wonder Woman said, nodding to Power Girl. “As long as you can stay with the device. Warn us if there are any alerts at all about Reverse-Flash."

Power Girl smiled.

“Of course. You three go ahead, I don't feel the need to go at all."

Arisa would have grumbled if she did not want to keep up appearances, in a sense, for going to the bathroom in front of others… Well, it was something that she had to do, with all the liquid she had to consume to keep her energy up, though her body worked similarly to a human, though it still meant that she needed to move the waste fluid out of her body more often. It was awkward to be so caught out with it sometimes, but she had gotten more used to it over the years. Going around others was difficult, but she wouldn't have wanted to delve into the jungle, unfamiliar to her, without company and back up too, which was most likely why Mera had volunteered to come with her too.

Together, the three of them moved to a clearing, brushing through the undergrowth, though it was large enough for all of them to have a little bit of privacy while watching their perimeter, for which Arisa was grateful. She kept her sigh of relief to herself, however, as they faced away from each other. It was easier that way, though she could only be glad that she didn't need to do anything more. That part of her bodily needs had been taken care of before leaving the base.

Urinating carefully, she squatted to do so, her clothing pulled aside so that she could do it modestly, discreetly. It was quiet for her, functional, though she re-dressed with haste, wanting to cover herself again and stand tall, to think of only the mission. Still, relieving the pressure on her bladder at least made her mind sharper than it had been, which was something.

Glancing back, she half-turned, expecting to see the others in a similar state as her, dressed and ready to leave after finishing up quickly, but, to Arisa's shock, they were still busy. For they were not urinating, not like her, but caught up in defecation, in the middle of it, doing the very thing that Arisa had been glad that she had not had to do out there in the jungle, already having taken care of that need earlier.

They didn't seem to care that she was looking or that she had noticed at all, though Arisa's cheeks turned bright red at the sheer size and volume of the bowel movements they were depositing neatly on the ground. Mera and Wonder Woman held themselves steady as if what they were doing was a perfectly normal thing, though Wonder Woman's poop was larger in quantity than Mera's.

It happened quickly, so much so that Arisa didn't have a chance to think about what she was doing, the fact that she was staring, not as Wonder Woman pushed her hips back for a more comfortable angle, adding to the pile. She groaned softly as she did her business, unaware that she was being watched, dropping one log of waste after the other, though they were not small by any means, around ten inches. Arisa gulped as he watched Wonder Woman push out the largest and thickest round of poop yet, which had to be twelve inches long, though it was swiftly followed by a round of small plops of waste, soft enough to push out swiftly, one after the other. It was a bigger pile than Arisa thought that anyone should have been pleased to defecate, though she could not say that she didn't make some “surprising" poop from time to time too.

It must have been worse for them, she thought, Mera's poop even larger, making her jaw fall ever so slightly slack, though Arisa was professional enough to not say anything out loud, even though she still stared. The woman… How could she have so much inside her? They were larger, fourteen, sixteen… Was one even seventeen inches? It was huge! Arisa blushed fiercely, wishing that her hair was long enough to hide the heat from her face, but the cloying, sticking sense of embarrassment had already sunk into her. What were they doing out there in the open doing that too? Was that normal for them?

They looked healthy enough, though Arisa didn't think she should have commented on something like that, not even in the privacy of her own head. It was only a blessing to her that the others didn't make any overt sounds as they defecated, neat and professional, as if it was something they did in public, or at least semi-public every day. For them, it probably was a completely boring thing to push out the logs of poop, whether they were slimmer with the last bits to be moved from their bowels or smaller, harder rounds of poop. Like any bowel movement, it was expected to find the textures and sizes of each movement to differ, though Wonder Woman did give a sigh of what seemed to be relief as she passed the final roll of poop, a thick push that seemed to ease some of the tension to her as it added to the sizeable pile. Still, the pile that she produced was bigger than Mera's, the other woman grunting and shifting her weight, checking herself, glancing down between her legs where she could check her own bowel movement too.

A twig snapped, Arisa shifting her weight at just the wrong time and startling herself into a jump. As if realising only then what she had been doing, staring at their poop, she turned back around as Wonder Woman and Mera looked to be just about finishing up, though there was little she could do about the lingering heat in her neck. Even the tips of her ears were pink, as if her body wanted them to know that she had seen and just how embarrassed she was about the mere act of defecation, even though pooping was pretty much as normal as it could get for anyone in the world. Everyone did it. Was that wrong? Did that make what they had all done there, a shared, communal bathroom experience, wrong in any way?

She didn't know, but pretty much hoped that she would not have to know, glad that she didn't need to go to the bathroom in that way. Who knew what she would have done if they'd expected her to squat there and go right in front of them too! Arisa shuddered. They most likely did expect her to poop in front of them too, if it was such a normal experience for them…

She was fortunate, in that case, though Arisa didn't quite see it that way, respectfully keeping her eyes away as Wonder Woman and Mera stood, fully dressed. Only then did Arisa turn and try to play everything off as normal, though the slightly panicked look in her eyes, the glassy gleam that was so out of character for her (even she knew that) probably gave her away. Mera raised an eyebrow, sharing a look with Wonder Woman, all the while Arisa sweated nervously.

“Oh…" Wonder Woman laughed lightly. “I guess we were all thinking of a different type of bathroom need… Or we were!"

She played it off more casually than Arisa, though it most likely helped that she was not embarrassed about it in the slightest, that was obvious to see. There was no heat in her cheeks and she acted as if she had done something as normal as visiting a shop to buy a product, any product, though, in that moment, Arisa could not see Wonder Woman doing that either.

“Oh, huh… Yeah…"

Arisa floundered, though there was some part of her that was put at ease by their actions, openly taking in the large piles that Wonder Woman and Mera had produced. It was amazing that all that had come from them, though she too, to be fair, had produced a lot of poop at times too when the needs of her body had been great. With eating so much more food, it all had to go somewhere and the normal rhythms of defecation in the cycles of her body were interrupted by missions, whenever the need called. She was perhaps more used to having to poop in strange places than she was having to poop around other people. Arisa, however, wasn't sure which one made her feel more awkward anymore, as there was a new contender in it all.

“There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Arisa," Mera said with a confident smile, one that was supposed to put her at ease. “It's all natural."

“Yes! Yes, of course…" Arisa grimaced, wishing that her face didn't feel so hot, that her underarms were not damp with a touch of anxious sweat, though that was, at least, something that could be hidden. “I'm still…well, getting used to working with other heroes. I know we all have needs like that."

It was what was needed to bridge the gap, the embarrassment that had no place there softening between them. Besides, they had a mission to complete and Reverse-Flash most certainly was not going to capture himself for them.

Leaving the clearing together, they re-joined Power Girl at the rocks, though the devices remained still and quiet, as if nothing had happened. A shake of Power Girl's head confirmed it.

Wonder Woman sighed minutely, the only indication she gave of her frustration.

“We should devise a plan: we will be here for weeks otherwise."

With their bodies relieved, the need for another kind of action had risen too.

*

Zatanna flashed from zone to zone, the experienced dark magician saying, aloud or silently, the backwards names of “spells" to cast them. Calling them spells was a little simplistic for her, though she did not mind, if she had everything in order where it was needed. In her black cape, black and silver corset-type bodysuit (cut off at the tops of the thighs) and fishnets, she was perfectly comfortable, though some might have said that the outfit was overboard from tracking Belial. But a demon deserved a dark entrance even as she sent him from the Prime Earth dimension. She wasn't going to sit by idly and do nothing while he attacked people in the forests, southern Alaska his current hunting ground.

She flashed through a transport spell to an altar, which was made of stone. If Zatanna had not known what it was for, she might have bypassed the pile of rocks entirely, though there were others, better crafted, that looked like ritual altars in the world too. That one was still marked with the blood of those that had been sacrificed and she turned her face from it without looking too closely. She knew what had happened there.

Sacrificing civilians… He was a barbaric demon indeed, though Zatanna would not dwell on it until Belial was captured, no longer a threat to anyone. The spell was ready, all she had to do was to capture him, to lure him into her trap. He sought to increase his power in his current dimension, though she was not about to see it happen on her watch, which was a little unlike her, but even her, as a magician who did not care too much about the wider workings quite often, could see when something was spiralling out of control.

She transported herself, skin tingling through the spell, the reversed word light on her lips, finding a clearing that had not been there before. The fresh, dry air clawed at her skin, yet there was a sense of charring on the air that had not been there before, the ground flattened, simmering with heat that did not belong there. She sucked in a breath.

Fires did not spread in Alaska, not with the land the way it was. Yet the demon-possessed demonic fire, which could take flare anywhere, clearing huge swathes of forest. The ash was not even good for the ground.

Yet before she could move on, something shifted in her gut, a rumbling churn, a sense of need pushing and pulling at her, her body trying to work something out. Zatanna sighed, ignoring it, but the magician should have known by then that there was no sense in ignoring what it was that her body needed, even if she would have much rather have not paid it any attention at all.

“Always at the worst of times…"

She muttered to herself, knowing that it had to be addressed, as much as her skin crawled at the thought of doing it out there in the open, but, really, Zatanna had had to poop so much in strange places that it all really should have been second nature to her by that point. It was not to be helped, not even then, as she glanced about her, though there was not all that much space, not even there, for cover. If that demon had not burned away so much of the forest, she would have had more cover for herself. Just another reason that she would hunt him down and see to it that he stayed out of the realm of the living for good.

It had been several days, however, since her last bowel movement, which was unusual for her, something that needed to be addressed. Thinking of everything as plainly as she could, she squatted where she was in the open forest, the sky clear above her, crisp, cool air prickling over her skin. Her bodysuit, where it tucked neatly between her legs, was an adaptable one so she did not have to slide it down to poop, though it would have been okay if so. Merely tugging them to the side, using the stretch of the fabric to her advantage, she was able to expose herself. If she had been in greater need, she would have merely formed a portal within her clothes, but that required even greater finesse and Zatanna burned with keenness to get back on the demon's track. She didn't know how much time she had left to capture him.

“Urgh…"

She grumbled as she relieved herself, pushing out one log of waste easily, a sizeable one, but not enough to relieve the churn in her guts. It was followed by some softer, more manageable poops, that plopped around it, bouncing lightly, rolling, making a pile. But that would make a mess and she still had to investigate the area for clues…

“Latrop!"

She cast the spell to transport her waist away with a less defined portal into which she pooped, even if it would mean that she could not inspect her poop for her health, though it was not something she needed to do every time. Really, for her, it was a relief to not have to think about it, at least for once. The spell transported her waste away, perhaps a mile away, where it would not affect her looking into the clearing, hot on Belial's trail.

If she did everything right, she would put him away for good, though it was a steep task, one that almost stopped her from pooping, though she had to bear down, had to make sure that the needs of her body were met. Out came another slim log of poop, followed by some smaller, harder rounds, though they varied in size, making her grimace. She supposed that that was what happened when she wasn't able to go for a while, though she squeezed them out regardless, the relief afterwards palatable. When she was alone, at least, there was no concern to be had about where her poop was going to go, who was going to see her. Usually, she just made a portal to go somewhere a distance away from whatever was going on, all so she could get at least a little bit of privacy to defecate.

There was no pile of poop, everything dropping straight through the portal as she sighed with relief, pushing out a twelve-inch log that felt like it had to be near the last, softer than the others. She preferred that, pooping with greater ease, the tension that had been present in her stomach softening a little too. The tension gurgled away with churning ease, lighter than she had been and wanting to stretch. Hell, could needing to poop make her feel so lethargic? Apparently so!

She had needed it so badly that she could not stop the stream, one poop quickly following the other, though Zatanna was not thinking about any particular rush. Some of the softer ones slipped out quickly, her backside brushing the portal, though she kept it as close to her as possible, all so that she didn't have to worry about making a mess in the land that she had to examine. Oh, what a relief it was to have everything out of her, her guts grumbling faintly, her body lighter, easier, bearing down with contracted muscles to push out what she hoped was the final one.

“Unff…"

A grunt. Ah, yes, it was the last one. Thankfully.

As the final poop dropped through the portal, she settled, knowing that she was done. Her poop would be elsewhere, the portal closing with a snap, and it wasn't something that she would have to worry about as she continued to investigate the area. She had to be close on Belial's tail, she was so sure of it, and she didn't want to compromise anything in any way at all.

Re-dressing herself quickly and settling everything back into place, she sighed and stood, straightening to work out the kinks in her back. That helped a bit, made her feel more like herself again. After pooping, she was rejuvenated enough to continue her hunt, determination lining her face.

Little did she know that she had left a surprise present for someone who had not been expecting it at all…

John, an Alaskan civilian, swung the axe, sweat pouring from his brow. He worked hard for a hard life, but it was a rewarding kind of life and not one that he would ever have traded for anything else in the world. With a rough beard and a jacket that had been pulled open, hanging off his shoulders, he debated taking a break to remove his jacket and mop his forehead, his shirt already soaked in patches of sweat.

Yes, maybe that would be the best idea, even if his furnace urgently needed firewood. Some things had to come slowly and that was the manner of life out there, away from the bustle of cities and the like. He paused, wiping his forehead again and dragging off his jacket, though it did not help him cool down all that much in the crisp air, as cool as it was.

Yet John could never have expected a portal to open up before him, for that was all that he could see it as, something out of a weird sci-fi film that he might have watched once, a bright circle with flickering edges into which appeared to be another world. Wide-eyed, he cursed under his breath, taking a step back from the circle of light, which hovered a few feet to the left of him, maybe a foot above the snow as if it possessed some ability to fly.

“What the…"

With his jacket in one hand and the axe in another, he approached cautiously, the axe raised, but stopped dead as something emerged.

A long length of…poop?

He cursed and stared, wide-eyed, not as bold as he might have liked to have been in that moment, as each length of poop, long, fat sausages of excrement, emerged from the portal as if they were being pushed directly from a backside. They were not dropped there – only dropped once they fell fully through the portal – but pushed out, the force of a body used to pooping evidently behind them. He didn't like to say how he knew that, though it was hardly horror that he regarded the phantom poop with.

Was it a ghost? He should not have been as curious as he was, but it was not the kind of story that he would be able to tell any of his friends about at the bar, let alone his partner. He rubbed the back of his neck, dropping his jacket and lowering the axe, as huge logs of human waste emerged from the portal, each one at least ten inches long. And yet they were set to surprise him, thicker around than his worst one had ever been, some lumpier in sections as if they had been worked to be pushed out, others easily rounding on fifteen inches in length. Which was shocking, frankly, as far as he was concerned. How could anyone excrete that much and not feel bad afterwards, purely due to the size of them? It wasn't right, wasn't normal…

But John did not know the person who was pooping that much, forming a huge pile of excrement on the snow, though some of it had melted. Some of the softer poops softened into it lightly, leaving a little colouration, though he was thankful that the chill of the air took the aroma from his nose, not that there would have been much of one anyway. Some were harder than others, as if they had been difficult to excrete, but there were smaller rounds of poop too that tumbled down as soon as they were released from the portal, scattering lightly around the pile where they bounced. The logs of waste, however, mostly formed a tower of poop, piled and lumped together, one log balanced over the top of the other as if they were all supposed to fit together.

He grunted, swearing, shaking his head, though the portal flickered, flashing one before disappearing with the appearance of what had to be the final bowel movement, even though absolutely nothing there had made any sense at all. John was left staring at the pile of what had to be human poop, despite the shocking size of it, with a slack jaw and a story that he could not tell anyone about, the waste surely still warm from the warmth of the body that it had only just left.

“What on earth…" He muttered. “This doesn't make any sense."

And neither would it ever make any sense to him, not as John tried to understand, only in his own mind, why he had suddenly been presented with a portal that day, which excreted human waste.

He buried it. He didn't know what else to do, despite how hard the ground was, frozen under the snow. Decomposing leaves would aid its decomposition into something that would not be recognisable, at least when the weather warmed again.

But he would forever wonder exactly what it was that had happened there that day.