#!?!?!?!?!? BATMAN COULD NOT!!! BEAT THAT INFORMATION OUT OF ME! EVER!!!!!

[ef-1]

Sending this to you specifically because I feel like you understand it best and you never shy away from calling Daniel out. Not an apologist for rich men, every single one of them is fucked up and has done fucked up shit. Would never defend Daniel from things he deserves to be criticized for, but so much of the uhhh 'dialogue' right now is just hate wanking lol. There is this blog who genuinely made a post celebrating that she would have never been able to tag Daniel hate in the past because he was too popular and she willingly (?!) admitted she regularly searches him up to look for hate and 'smile' LMAO? We're not even doing the ole' moralising our hatred thing now? Allow it 😭

1. where are you fucking finding these people I just screamed.

2. That one derek pope lyric

[yenonnoff]

TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE!

atsumu miya x fem!reader

⌒☆ synopsis : when y/n l/n, a rising actress, decides to star in a romance film that could make or break her career, she’s unable to showcase her skills, revealing her inexperience within the romance department instead. worst of all, atsumu miya, her co-star and the main lead’s love interest, seems to hate her guts! with absolutely, unbearably zero chemistry between the two, an idea was proposed: spend time with one another in the upcoming weeks. will y/n be able to ignore her professionalism and listen to her heart? and will she, a clueless romantic, be able to pick up on the signs her co-star is sending her?

⌒☆ content: actors/celebrity au, social media au, modern au, enemies (got off on the wrong foot) to friends to lovers, slow burn (sorry 😞), mild angst, fluff, crack/humor

⌒☆ warnings: she/her pronouns used, contains a lot swearing, mentions alcohol/alcohol consumption,

⌒☆ status: on hiatus; started (07/18/23)

�� chapter names may change as the story progresses + unless stated differently, ignore all timestamps

🎬🎧 — playlist

STARRING:

｡ｏ♡ HOT dummies // mentally sane + atsumu ig? ｡ｏ♡

( minor chars! )

LIGHTS:

01. vengeance (like batman)

02. vroom vroom! im here (୨୧)

03. wtf is love

04. sweet dreams (or not)

05. hi, mr. charismatic

06. give me a break (୨୧)

07. morning madness

08. you ruined my coffee with your scowl (୨୧)

09. emergency conference meeting!

10. strangers (?) at an amusement park (୨୧)

11. perhaps a malfunction?

12. a mistake, 100% a mistake

13. your words

14. message sent, message received

15. tolerate! tolerate! tolerate!

16. me, you, and a beautiful sunset (୨୧)

CAMERA:

17. snap out of it!

18. brewing up a storm

19. do not disturb

20. conversation over coffee

21. cat chase (୨୧)

22. 2 people, 1 truth (୨୧)

23. the act of kissing (୨୧)

24. plans & precautions

25. fame is not for the weak (୨୧)

26. a pro’s guide to scandals

27. stranger danger!

28. what comes after heartbreak? (୨୧)

ACTION:

29. mission failed (unsurprisingly)

30. 10 things i hate about you

31. i hate unrequited love tropes

32. beachside lesson on romance

33. seashells and slackers

34. to the miya’s (୨୧)

35. wait a minute, you what?!

36. mondays are for bad luck

37. anything for you (୨୧)

38. clown circus clown

39. love is when two hearts beat the same (୨୧)

ENDING CREDITS:

40. to new beginnings

41. i want to call you mine (୨୧)

42. choices with lovely outcomes (୨୧)

43. gross! lovebirds!

44. co-star to your main event

EXTRAS:

45. a lovely tryst

46. clueless romantic, but i love you

a/n: hi!! this is my first ever smau + my first time posting on tumblr so pls be patient if smth looks off (and if smth does, pls kindly inform me!!). i want to thank @idlerin for inspiring me to make this, so many thanks to syl!! u should check out her smaus and other works, theyre all amazing!! asides from that, i want to give the fattest biggest thanks to my best friend may (@kqbukimono) for putting up w/ my spontaneous questions and for giving the best advice ever (ure the best ig 😜). she also helped me choose the title! ok im being too nice, he might make fun of me. thank u so much to everyone who is planning on reading my smau!

taglist is open! dm or ask to be a part of it!

[writers-wrongs]

Could you write yandere headcanons for Arkham Riddler x male reader? If you don't do Arkham then BTAS?

sure thing! so far ive only played arkham knight (didnt realize it was the last installment til i was halfway through the plot) so thatll be where im drawing from

yandere!arkham!riddler x male!reader

-now, eddie is 100% bi (fight me), so hes not surprised when hes into a guy

-he is, however, surprised that hes actually romantically interested in someone enough to keep an eye on him as he navigates gotham

-this man... is interesting? and intelligent? that cant be possible, everyone but edward is a dribbling moron!

-but here you are, solving a few of the riddles hes placed around the city. he cant let you take the trophies, theyre for batman, but now hes certainly paying attention

-a few months after he first notices you, youre just go about your day when you notice a neon green question mark down an alley. another one of those trophies! might as well solve the puzzle, even if you dont get to keep it

-you solve the puzzle and go to try and grab the trophy, not expecting anything but a slight shock, but youre instead knocked to the ground from the voltage

-you wake up in default gothamite mode: tied to a chair in the middle of an empty room. of course, it had to happen eventually. soon, the riddler himself comes in to speak with you

-"good, youre awake. if i had to beat myself in chess again, id go completely insane"

-and he... sits down. sets up a chessboard on the table in front of you, and unties your hands. you play, mostly out of fear, and while you dont win, you get pretty close

-he looks shocked and excited, with a dash of smugness

-"i knew you were the one. second smartest man in gotham- right after me, of course"

-he explains to you that hes not going to kill you, just keep you ("i cant let that mind of yours make direct contact with the idiocy of gotham! your IQ will lower just by being around them!") and that he'll keep that mind of yours sharp

-how does he do this? puzzles. lots and lots of puzzles. hes a bit of a sadist, so the puzzles are mandatory if you want things like food. regardless of how you do, he'll keep you alive, but if you want anything more than the necessities, you better get good with puzzles

-he spends lots of time with you. he says its because youre the only interesting person in gotham, but its mostly because hes an incredibly lonely man. its hard being at the top, so he'll cling to anyone who can even get close to what he sees as his level

-he LOVES learning more about you. not that he didnt research you for months, but he could only gather so much information before kidnapping you. every conversation is like an interrogation

-in terms of affection, hes... interesting. if you earn your dinner, hes programming robots to serve as waiters and dusting off his green suit. i wouldnt call him a romantic, per se, but he certainly thinks of himself as such

-dont expect much in terms of physical affection, he takes a while to get to that point. hes the riddler, after all! hes above the need to cuddle! unless... if you need comfort, he supposes he can indulge you

-if you ever try to escape, he'll be furious. how dare you try and leave! how dare you assume hes dumb enough to not have planned for this! until you apologize, youre getting the bare necessities and no attention

-when you inevitably start to reciprocate, hes smug about it, but secretly ecstatic. he knows hes not the most charming guy around, but he managed to win over the second smartest guy in gotham. and isnt that all he really needs for companionship?

[bats-and-birds-24]

Chapter 15:

Talia could feel her temples throbbing from the mess she’s going to have to face. Bruce would not take kindly to knowing that he has another son, one that he knew nothing about. And that’s not even touching the situation with Jason right now. At the very least, Timothy should have filled in most of what has happened to the two, which should lighten her load considerably.

Jason was still resolute in his decision to remain in Nanda Parbat which should cause considerable friction between him and Bruce. And where does Dick fall in this situation? She knew that her beloved’s eldest was not a fan of her and wouldn't take too kindly to Damian’s existence, or keeping Jason’s existence a secret from them.

She shook the thoughts away from her mind, she would simply have to trust Tim for now. The door to her office opened as she began to plan for what might happen next.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The silence was deafening as Tim sat across from Bruce and Dick in his guest bedroom.

Bruce seemed to be processing his explanation of what he’s been up to until this moment. Dick had his head in his hands. Neither were taking things well. He watched as Bruce got up to stare at the window for a few moments before coming to sit back down.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” When B looked at his face, he seemed wearier than he had been before, the dark bags under his eyes were evidence of the weight on his mind since the start of this whole ordeal. 

“Well, you were not exactly in the best mindset to accept this information. I figured it would be best to keep you out of it until I could see for myself if it was real.” Tim answered honestly.

Bruce exploded at that. “What do you mean I wasn’t in the best mindset? I’m your guardian, your boss, your fa-. It’s my job to know where you are at all times and keep you safe!”

Tim too had reached his breaking point, “Keep me safe? Keep me safe? That’s what I’ve been doing for you ever since I became Robin! Were you keeping me safe when you beat up all those petty criminals back in Gotham? Or when you would disappear and leave me to inform the commissioner on cases? You were out of control Bruce, you were putting people in the hospital for simple muggings! You needed a Robin to calm you, to keep you in check.” 

He could see in Bruce’s eyes that he was faltering, “And I was right, I kept Jason’s resurrection from you because I knew that if it wasn’t true, if it ended up being just a fluke, you would simply shut yourself down even further and refuse to see reason. I had to make sure that my hypothesis was right before reaching out to you.”

“I- you- but,” Batman faltered as he met Tim’s eyes, storm gray met icy blue, and in that moment, Bruce felt a swirl of emotions with anger, disappointment, gratitude, failure, and love for his third child. How he wished he was a better father, to Jason, to Tim. He stood up, not breaking eye contact. 

Tim wished he knew what was going on in B’s mind at that moment, but all he could pick up on was a hurricane of emotions, not being able to place a single one. So there was no way in hell that he could have predicted what was about to come next. 

Bruce pulled him into a bone crushing hug, the first he had ever gotten from him.

There were obviously more issues that needed to be addressed, but for now, this was enough.

The two didn’t notice as Dick left the room, he had a lot on his mind and needed a moment alone to think.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He could understand why Tim didn’t want to drag Bruce into this, but why did he leave him out? What about Barbara and Alfred? They all saw Bruce go through this depressive state and yet he didn’t reach out to anyone else, he tried to shoulder this burden by himself. 

After all the two had gone through together, did he still not trust him? Why not tell him about Jason? He would have loved to help, and he would have kept it from Bruce. He slid down a wall, his head pounding, of course he would get a migraine now.

His head in his hands, he let his guard down in the heart of enemy territory, he didn’t notice the flash of black taking away a set of keys. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cass had done it. She had stolen from a protege of Batman. She had to admit, she thought that this was going to be much harder than it actually was, but then again, he was going through severe emotional turmoil, so it wasn’t exactly fair.

She quickly made her way back to her quarters. Her living space couldn’t have been more different than Jason or Damian’s large opulent studios, she only had a small windowless shack of a room, as her father requested. After all, weapons and tools don’t require more than a well insulated shed to be stored. A small pile of clothes and a pillow next to an exposed brick wall made up her bed. She curled up in her little bed pile and looked at her prize.

A set of keys needed to start the batplane. If Batman and co. wanted to leave Nanda Parbat, they needed to take her with them. Just a few more days and she’ll never have to see the face of the man who claims to be her father again. She’s seen Jason’s face when he talked about Bruce, there was anger, yes, but there was also fondness, nostalgia, and even the rare true smile of joy when he recounted his memories to her.

He didn’t need to be a good parent, just better than David Cain, and powerful enough to keep him away. Besides, even if she didn’t like him, she like Tim, Damian, and Jason well enough, and what she had heard about Dick along with her brief meeting with him seemed to paint him as a kind man who loved his family. She hoped that her new family would treat her better. Exhausted from the day’s events, she fell asleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jason sighed as he stood before Dick. Dick had removed his mask so Jason could feel his baby blues stare into his soul. In a bid to cut the awkwardness, he tries to start a conversation, which fails terribly the moment he opens his mouth. “So, uh, how are things going back in Gotham?”

Dick lets out a hysterical laugh, “You come back from the dead and this is the first thing you ask me? No ‘hi Dick.’ ‘I missed you Dick.’ ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I came back from the dead Dick.’” 

Jason panicked, “I’m sorry! It’s just, I wanted some time for myself. After the pit I was in a fugue state and I only recently got my memories back, and you know, I just wanted to train so that I could eventually kill that damned clown.” Once the word vomit ended, Dick looked at his brother’s face to see him looking ashamed of himself. 

Jason knew that they didn’t exactly start off liking each other, what with replacing him as Robin and all, but they had grown closer over time. His emotions of late had mostly been anger and disappointment in Bruce, a melancholy nostalgia when thinking of Alfred, and resentment and outrage towards Tim, the last of which he only recently got over after meeting the kid for himself.

Dick took a step back, “I yeah, I guess that’s fair, lashing out at you wasn’t going to do any good.” He paused and turned to look at his baby brother, so much had changed, yet so much had remained the same. The shape of his eyes, the shade of his skin, and the way his speech combined the grit of Crime Alley and the poetry of Sylvia Plath, and yet so much had changed, his eyes were no longer pure blue and had instead taken on a tint of green, no doubt from the pit, he was taller, more muscular, and his face seemed to be set in a permanent frown.

“So things in Gotham have not actually been going great, uh, B didn’t really take your death well to say the least.” He said, scratching the back of his head. Jason gave a sardonic grin at that, “Yeah, I’ve heard. Tim told me he’s been babysitting B since he’s apparently lost all common sense.”

The grin turned into a scowl in a blink of an eye, rage bubbled up to the surface. If he had been so distraught at my death, why didn’t he kill the reason behind it? Why did he have to go around beating up low level crooks and muggers who merely want to make a living instead of finishing off the biggest reason for crime in the city? 

Jason steeled himself, but the brief change in expression already told Dick everything he needed to know. Jason catches his breath and motioned for Dick to sit in a chair as he himself sat on his bed. “We have a lot of catching up to do.” Dick cracks a smile, “Yeah, we do.”

[breadandblankets]

"So are you too locked in or can I make a request?"

It would never, ever, get old: watching a man the size of a mini van jump a foot in the air and straight out of his skin. The flash of steel catches the blinding supermarket lights in his ghost vision.

Wisely, Duke steps out of the way of the knife going for his stomach.

"Duke what the fuck!" Jason whisper yells when he realizes. (Duke barely suppresses an eye roll, who else has the invisibility powers required to make a holographic jacket stealthy.)

(Cass probably, Duke's mind provides.)

"I could have hurt you!"

"It's nice for you to think that," he consoles with as much condescension as Duke could muster. (A lot, for your information, he learned from the best, and also Batman.) "Anyway answer the question."

"No," Jason grumbles, trying to straighten his list where it got crunched in his deathgrip. "Planning d-"

"Day was yesterday, yeah, I had a math test yesterday."

Jason's eyes narrow.

"Does B have more trackers that I don't know about?"

"Hm? No," assures Duke. "I took Tim's notes."

"Tim's notes that have like a billion layers of security?"

Duke snorts.

"His notes that have two passwords, a thumb scanner, and a retinal scanner." He rolls his eyes for real this time to display his clear disdain.

"That Babs can't hack through?"

"You and I both know that Babs' concept of 'can't' is much more flexible than her concept of 'won't'"

"Fair that's on me for this very stressful afternoon you are putting me through," Jason snipes.

"Think of it as exposure therapy," Duke says, patting Jason's shoulder, which, to Duke's extreme delight he doesn't flinch from. "And I'll show you how I hack Tim's shit when we're not in public."

Jason grumbles, which is good as gold in Jason speak.

"Make your request," Jason begrudges, in that tone he has that indicates he will be judging your choice.

"Jalapeno cornbread, and you show me how you make it my dad wants the recipe."

Jason's head snaps up and he smiles.

"Oh man if it's for Doug you can request anything you want!"

"Eighteen million dollars," Duke jokes.

Jason pretends to think on it for a beat.

"Make it 14 and you have a deal."

Duke sighs dramatically.

"You drive a hard bargain but I'll accept... I guess."

"Shut up flashlight," Jason laughs. "Come on, I need cornmeal now."

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

what if a paparazzi had followed the wife in arranged!verse? managed to get a minimum of information, like, I don't know, the car? it is small information but it continues to be fuel for the media

Batman dropped from the roof- low roof top down in front of a reporter with a growl. "Leave it."

"Leave what?" he said.

"The film."

"Bull shit," he scoffed, "I got a whole fucking paycheck here-"

"She doesn't need to be exposed for that."

"What'd do you car-"

The crack echoes through the alley way and the man reeled back, hissing a string of curse words. But Bruce didn't flinch. "She's innocent."

"Yeah. Sure," he scoffed. "What'd do care if some spoiled rich cunt gets outed for killing her baby."

"Because if you give me that film, I can give you a better story."

"Yeah sure-"

"I can give you Bruce Wayne cheating on his wife."

"How is that better?" he snorted, wiping blood off his mouth.

"You want the backlash? You want to see her stand up in front of a press conference cry? Believe me. That first tear hits her note cards and your entire career is gone. You're gonna look like a monster terrorizing a scared little girl. And for every pro-life person calling you a hero there's gonna be a pro-choice organization rallying to support her. She turns this into a tidy little fundraiser and you? Well. If anyone ever hires you again. Well. Maybe you can run a retirement home newsletter. "

"Goddamn it."

"The memory card."

"Show me yours I'll show you mine," he said smirking.

And Bruce pulled a flash drive from his utility belt and tossed it. And when the paparazzi took the card from his camera and tossed it Bruc nodded. He doubted that this was the only copy but. It would be easy enough to make things disappear.

You had enough to deal with. You didn't need vultures like this one putting something this painful all over the front page of every tabloid in the country.

He could handle a little cheating scandal. He could play the penitent husband. He could handle contrition. But he didn't know if your spirit could take the beating of the scandal this could start. And he'd rather play pretend than have to plan a funeral.

[animealways]

what is justice?

Stark!reader being a asshole to bruce wayne/mention of jason todd (i did this purely because i wanted to point out the major flaw of batman as a superhero. I know i'm gonna piss off a bunch of people but this shit gets defended way more then it should be)

bruce wayne, the ceo of waynes enterprises and who is also now known as batman. is walking into the avengers tower, that is now used as a avengers museum. that was something no one would ever could have predicted but then again ever since your dad became iron man nothing ever seems to be peacefull anymore.

he arranged a meeting with you, only you. as bruce walks into the assigned room he found you sitting at the end of the table, staring out of the window rather bored.

''what is the meaning of this, stark?'' he said as soon as the door was closed. ''isn't it obvious?'' you retorted rather annoyed that your family biggest competition is now trying to argue with you. ''what do you mean? 'isn't it obvious?' are you seriously willing to risk the lifes of innocent civillians to gain a better reputation or more money from revealing me as batman?'' the older man crossed his arms glaring at you.

''the fact you think that i did this as y/n stark a greedy capitalist and not iron shadow, earth first line of defence who just want to look at out for the everyday people really shows me how little self awareness you have about your own flaws and crimes.'' you stood up from your chair glaring at bruce. ''what on earth are you talk-''

''i am talking about the millions of people that put their hard earned money into to your company and you just lying to them where is actually goes to, instead using it to dress up as a animal and beating up the metally ill as some sort of furry on steroids!''

''i am protecting gothem, you out of everyone should understand that.'' he put his hand on the table almost it slamming onto the table. ''you can do that without commiting crimes. hell, you're basicly are a thief!'' you threw up your hand in the air infrustated at the fact you have to explain this to a far more experienced busniness man. ''you should own up to your mistakes and take some responsibility cause stealing money of millions is probably the least fucked up thing you have done as batman.''

he walk around the table coming closer to you but with a reasonable distant between the 2 of you. ''and what supposed ''crimes'' are we talking about?''

''oh i don't know hmmm~'' you put your chin in you hand dramaticly putting on a 'thinking face' ''maybe jason todd almost dying and then letting the joker run free.'' bruce eyes widen at the name. he grabbed you by your blouse. ''how do you know about that?'' he growled at you and shoved his hand away. ''how do you think i got so much proof of you crimes?''

bruce stood there not moving. ''... he... he didn't...'' you crossed your arms and sat on the table. ''yeah he helped me... after i killed the joker.'' ''what?'' bruce looked stunned at the information. he knew joker had died but no one knew to who. there was no proof to suggest it was you, after all he was found stabbed and hunged to the ceiling by a rope not too far away from a politie station. no dna, no video footage, no fingerprints, no handprints, no footprints, no nothing and the way he was killed suggested it was a gothem criminal with a personal vendetta against the joker. that not even metioning that you don't live anywhere near gothem.

"Why would you do all this?"

"Because the night after the gala i ran into jason. It was like watching my dad recover from his ptsd... only jason was broken beyond repair."

...

"I recognise his voice and fighting style but i knew their was something off. He wasn't standing straight as if his back got permanently fucked up. So i did some digging and found out everything. All i can say it that its disgusting..."

Bruce sighed and put his hand thru his hair. "Look if you're gonna tell me i should have killed joker then i have nothing to say to you anymore."

"Well i sure have something i want to know. How the hell can you live with yourself knowing a deranged murder is on the loose, a murder that broke your son by torturing him for over a year!"

You yelled not caring about who could potentailly hear you.

"Because if i killed him i wouldn't be serving justice. I would be serving revenge... when my parents died i vowed to never take a life."

You could feel the vines in your head about to explode of anger.

"Seriously... that your fucking excuse? Fucking justice? Tell me bruce what fucking justice to who exactly are you giving by letting a murder do crimes against innocent people?" The older man turned around but you were not gonna let him go without giving him a reality check. You pulled him by the collar forcing him to look at you.

"Jason was right about you. You're just a child trying to do good but don't want to face your past trauma leading to innocent people getting hurt."

"Don't act like you know me."

"I don't but by letting joker live you indirectly killed who knows how many innocent people and that all i need to know."

"Killing a murder doesn't change the numbers of murders in the world." Bruce pushed your hand away while glaring at you.

"But you might prevend another innocent person death. Isn't that the entire point of being a superhero? Putting yourself thru hell and forgetting about your own for other peoples sake. That is gonna include your own personal philosophies batty or did you forget that being a hero means results are the only thing what matters in the end? Cause if we fail people die."

He walked away clearly done with this conversation. "And don't worry about jason. I've made sure he is getting what he needs."

He stopped in his tracks and turned around. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that he is finally getting therapy he oh so desperately needed and once he goes thru the exames he will become a shield agent cause i personal recommanded him to the big boss. He will be working in a place where he isn’t forced to be bait by wearing bright ass clown colours and will have acceses to mental support. Hell if he wants to he could become avenger knowing how skilled he is."

"Are you implying i wanted him death?" He glared at you.

"No i'm saying you sucked at protecting him and you should stay away from him atleast until you realize how much fucked up shit you just let happen." Bruce glared at you before storming out of the room. Definitely for the best cause at any moment both of you were ready to throw hand at each other.

You sighed and sat down back into the chair.

"Oh bruce... you could have so much more..."

[halfagone]

...I have such complicated feelings about the Anger Management ship. This isn't to say that I don't like the ship (I do, I actually adore it) but I happen to be very nit-picky about the execution and dynamics that I'm always super hesitant to read new fics with these two as the main pairing.

(If you plan on reblogging this, please do not put the crossover fandoms or the ship name in the tags. This is a rambling essay, not a purposefully antagonistic vent about other people's writing style or preferences. I KNOW not everyone likes or dislikes the same things that I do, and just as they are due their own opinion, so am I.)

To be completely transparent, I don't think Jazz would like Red Hood. Oh, I think she'd absolutely adore Jason, but I don't think she would like Red Hood. I honestly believe that if she found out Jason was Red Hood sometime later into their relationship, she would want to take a step back and think things through. This isn't to say that she would break up with him because of it, or hate him suddenly now that the truth is out, but it's one thing to find out your boyfriend is secretly an anti-hero vigilante, and it's another thing to find out your boyfriend is secretly a crime-lord who beheaded EIGHT PEOPLE and stuffed their severed heads into DUFFEL BAGS to send a message to Batman. It's one thing to find out your boyfriend doesn't get along with his family, and it's a whole other thing to learn your boyfriend beat his adopted brother brutally and PAINTED THE WALLS WITH HIS BLOOD without ever meeting him first and based on information he hadn't even found out firsthand but was given to him by a woman that was purposefully stoking the flames of his anger and hatred to make things easier for her son.

She knows Jason a little more personally now, so she's aware of the layers to his character and history so she has a better understanding of what his motivations might/could be, but that doesn't lessen how HUGE of a shift in perspective this could be for her. It'd be worse if Jason hasn't expressed any regret for what he did to Tim, especially considering Red Hood supposedly protects kids but went along and beat Tim so viciously anyways. You can't even use the excuse that Tim is a 'child soldier', when Jason is just as willing and ready to use that same excuse when he gripes about how terribly Bruce treated him or Bruce's supposed lack of grief and regret over losing Jason. It doesn't mean what he went through was any less terrible, but it does make him a hypocrite.

I feel like they would have to steadily overcome this obstacle, and I do honestly believe that Jazz would implore him to get therapy to help him, and if he didn't agree, she would be seriously concerned about their relationship. Seeing as Jason has also inherited Bruce's miscommunication (or general lack of communication) and poor coping mechanisms.

Of course a lot of this could be outright avoided or fixed in the background, but I don't find that it happens a lot? Or, if it does, it's never properly explained? I can understand if it's a short fic and all that background plot points can't be properly addressed in the short amount of time, but when it's a longer fic I always feel like it's a missed opportunity NOT to have and/or show more growth in Jason as he learns what a civilian relationship (hell, a healthy relationship in general) is actually LIKE after losing so much of his life to his need for revenge.

Which kind of leads up to my next point... I'm very nit-picky when Jazz is shown to be super BAMF and always ready to throw down. Jazz has always been badass to me, but I always felt like her type of strength always relied more on her intelligence, sharp wit, and most of all her compassion. She's a good shot, and she's always willing to step in physically if she feels like it's necessary, but violence has never been her first choice. She wants to be a psychologist/psychiatrist - for her to constantly be willing to roll up her sleeves and punch someone out is not conductive to a working and trusting relationship between a doctor and their patient. Or between most people, in general.

(Another thing! I feel like Jazz would believe that people deserve second chances. While she might agree that someone like the Joker might be beyond saving (something she might agree to with great hesitancy and reluctance), she wants to believe so badly that people can change for the better. This could be caused and/or linked to her childhood, and how her parents never spent time on her and Danny but she was desperate to fix their family. Which could be the reason she got into psychology in the first place. For her to admit that some people can never change, would be like Jazz admitting that she wasted the early formative years of life trying to fix a broken home all for nothing. This, however, would cause more contention between her and the Red Hood. Can you tell I don't think they'd get along?)

However, this sort of personality and behavior is very reminiscent of someone else. That person of course being Danny himself. Danny is the one that's often throwing himself into fights and roughing it up before thinking twice. When he grows up, he might learn to rein it back in and think things through more, but I find it strange that the exact opposite it applied to Jazz's character when she has already succeeded with a balance of careful forethought and affirmative action. I like when there are differences between their characters, I like how they differentiate and balance each other out. I like how it shows their opposing thought processes and principles.

This does lead me to my next point... Liminal!Jazz is very hit and miss for me. Giving her ghostly qualities not only takes away some of the things that make her unique to Danny (it sucks too because I adore how Jazz is so sympathetic and tries so hard to understand what Danny is struggling through, it really shows how supportive Jazz is and has always tried her best to be). It particularly irks me when it's explained that this is caused by ectocontamination when Danny supposedly never had those same ectocontamination effects BEFORE his Accident? When he was similarly contaminated for all of his life as well. Technically speaking, their parents should be contaminated too in order to make the reasoning consistent. But most of all it... and I hate to say this, but I feel like it cheapens Danny's tragic death. Danny went through SO MUCH and suffered excruciating pain and now whenever he looks in the mirror he will never see the same human kid he'd once been, while Jazz didn't have to suffer the same thing or even CLOSE TO IT and still got those same physical characteristics. ESPECIALLY when the reasoning feels hollow. And even I hate how I can't get into the concept because I've seen the headcanon utilized in some pretty inventive ways! Nonetheless it still bothers me and I see it so much that I find that I have to outright avoid so many fics to get away from it. The premise of the fic itself might interest me but the concept bothers me THAT MUCH that I just can't.

And a lot of this is connected to how Jazz is so often characterized or shown in conjunction to Danny. De-Aged!Danny fics where Jazz takes care of him are really cute- god knows I love a good baby!Danny story- but I feel like these fic concepts don't give Jazz the opportunity to shine on her own. When I heard people complained about where Danny was in Elizabehta_Beilschmidt's Friendly neighborhood vigilante (and yes I know what her @ is, but I am PURPOSEFULLY not tagging her), I was honestly SHOCKED. I loved that Danny wasn't really around. That might sound harsh, but I came for a Jazz/Jason fic where these two were the main characters. And who we, naturally, should spend the most time with.

Most of all, Jazz's whole personality and life should not be based on babysitting/caring for her little brother. Especially in a lot of these fics when Danny is an adult of his own. Danny has been shown to take care of himself even at fourteen, if he's eighteen or even in his twenties, that shouldn't have suddenly changed. Jazz should not have been forced to take care of her younger sibling to begin with, for her to be forced or feel obligated to continue and spend more of her life unnecessarily worrying and fussing over her brother is not fair to her. I hate to separate them, but their lives take them in different directions and it's not healthy or fair for them to curb their wants and dreams to satisfy their desire (and perhaps even codependency) to stick together. It's both adorable and heartbreaking in kid!Danny fics to see how she continues to hold strong and try to do her best for him, but she already spent so much of her life doing that. Let her have time for herself and her interests and her cute boyfriend GODDAMMIT!

So yeah. I have Complicated TM feelings about Anger Management. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[chesspens]

I know it said spammed with ANONYMOUS asks but... I'm just gonna spam you with regular asks.

What is your favorite interpretation of the Joker vs your favorite of Batman/Bruce Wayne?

Of course I love new 52 batjokes! There is just so many things going on with those two, alas the comic introduced me to superwonder and this scandalous but I ship them quite a bit, but that is not what we are talking about. I personally love new 52 because joker is pretty serious about their relationship, it could be read as obsessive but really, like fogman said it is a humanizing factor. I personally love that, and bruce is always constantly trying to understand joker but also distances himself from him, as though afraid of truly knowing him. Afraid of truly knowing that at the center of all this evil, of all his crimes, is batman. It's like... Joker's entire existence is a love letter to batman in the worst way possible. God the ending had me beat, bruce ends up crossing the line, the line joker pretends to have crossed, bruce threatens him, threatens joker with the one and only thing that could ever scare him, his past. Then he falls to his death, or at least what was supposed to be his death. There is honestly so many reasons why new 52 would be every batjokes shippers favorite, the disguise, the uncompromising and unconditional love that joker feels, that bruce fears, and in the end lays beside him, the man that has caused him so much pain and loss, ends up calling him a friend. I love them. Eric border is utterly adorable though, honestly joker pretending to be a good boi has to be everything I ever needed in life. But amnesiac joker is everything to me, I hate scott snyder for giving such a good concept only for it to fit four pages of a comic book, like god! I am so pissed, they deserves so much better. I wanna see him get re-jokerized I want bruce to find out that the guy he met on that bench was joker, I want to see that information sink in. The information that joker pleaded for him not to go back, I also wanna see him chuckle with regret when joker told him that he's talking about the lake. How utterly stupid he was for not listening. Imagine him facing joker again with that knowledge? Looking at him with regret whilst he brandishes a knife with the intent to slice through layers of kevlar, remembering the gun that he held under his chin, how the flower that sat in his pocket used to be the color purple, you remember the the color of brown illuminated by that strangely orange lamp when you see green strands flowing in the wind. You wonder now, the skin of his ears would have reddened with blood in this cold, but it stays that same acid bathed color no matter the weather. You regret ever having met him, that man on the bench for now you wonder, would he have smelled of that rotten and festering green apple scent or would he have worn perfume or cologne, would he have preferred the scent of lavender or wood? You then feel a cold sharp stab of pain in your rib, not too deep and your senses are once again engulfed with him and all you feel is regret.

[heroinejinx]

‘One Fine Day’ - Songbird, part 1 of 6 (Seraphine x Jinx AU)

So, um... I have a new rarepair hyperfixation. Definitely didn’t write this when I should’ve been focusing on uni work due in less than 2 weeks, what’re you talking about? 

Anyway, Seraphine is an aspiring popstar working full time in her father’s music store, Songbird. Life is good but kinda lonely, and then Jinx comes along...

Chapter title, ‘One Fine Day,’ is based on the song by The Carpenters.

Also, big shout out, love and kisses to my handsome wife Babs (@lesbian-batman)who beta’d for me <3 love youuuuu

TW: extreme cuteness and fluff. That is all. 

(1,181 words)

AO3 link

Enjoy!

Dreamy vintage pop drifted through the music store’s speakers, bringing life to the rainy Zaun afternoon outside. The takings from the morning were low, especially for a Friday, and the bout of bad weather had driven away any hope of more sales. Might as well have closed up for the day, there and then.

Seraphine idled behind the counter, passing the time by singing along to each song, adding her own trills and high notes where she felt like it. While she belted out tune after tune, she doodled flowers and love hearts on the notepad allocated for ‘work purposes only.’

Her father would’ve flipped his lid if he found out how Seraphine spent her downtime at the store. Songbird was his pride and joy, in part because he’d named it in honour of his daughter, his only child. He’d called her Songbird ever since she was born; said even her crying sounded like an aria.

She took great care of the store for him, of course, but he wouldn’t have approved of her methods. There’s always something to do around here, he’d say. Make yourself useful instead of daydreaming. As a former rockstar and current sound technician for one of Runeterra’s most famous bands, he was hardly one to talk; he dreamed of success back then, just like she did now. Whilst he had the freedom to make his dreams come true, he’d also seen how the music industry corrupted people. He didn’t want the same for her, no matter how much she protested. Since he’d left to join K/DA on tour, she found herself shackled to the store with almost no time to pursue what she loved most.

Music...

Seraphine strived for the spotlight. Over the past couple of years, she had played dozens of open mic nights and gigs at small venues and clubs. Her reach and popularity grew every day. In the last month alone, she’d gained over five thousand new followers on social media and music streaming platforms. It was only a matter of time before a scout from a record company realised her potential and scooped her up.

Until then, life ticked by. Eight ‘til late at Songbird six days a week; studio recordings in the evenings, or at the weekend if she could find someone to mind the store; writing sessions crammed in wherever and whenever she found the time and inspiration. It was hard work, but anything regarding music barely felt like work at all. Music occupied all of her time, mind, and heart. It informed every aspect of her life, even her relationships.

To Seraphine, people were like songs. She’d never tried to explain it to anyone else – had met no one who would’ve understood – but everyone had a melody to them. Strangers gave off waves, impressions. At first, most people sounded like white noise or a continuous low-fi beat. She had to know someone on a deeper level to really hear them; for them to feel open enough to let her listen. It was a long time since she’d gotten close like that.

Between running the store and cultivating her fledgling pop career, she had no social life. Most of the people she’d met through music were acquaintances, transactional connections. In a crowd of fair-weather friends, voices blurred and distorted in the din. Everyone sounded the same.

Seraphine gazed out upon the shop floor filled with CDs, vinyls, and cassette tapes, with no one around to take them home and play them loud like they deserved. A cold loneliness seeped into her soul. She hated days like those, nothing to do but entertain herself and ignore the boredom itching beneath her skin. Music was a lovely companion, but sometimes she needed more than it could give.

With a wistful sigh, she tore off the decorated page of the notepad. Tacked it onto her father’s cork board of concert leaflets, old photographs, music lesson advertisements, and Janna knew what else. The cheerful rumblings of a new song played overhead, as she picked up her favourite bubble-gum pink gel pen, the same colour as her hair, and started on a new page. She drew a dainty love heart so cute she couldn’t help but beam with joy.

Admiring her creation, she didn’t look up when the bell chimed for a new customer. No one had come in for at least two hours; she was out of work mode, in her own little world. Chances were, they wouldn’t need her help, anyway. They were probably stepping out of the downpour, grabbing shelter where they could. It happened a lot around that time of year, heading into fall. So, she ignored the customer’s presence. Even kept singing, albeit under her breath.

‘Hey, do you have any other Bikini Kill records in store?’

Wow, that voice...

Seraphine met the customer’s eye immediately, desperate to find the owner of such an instrument. A petite young woman glared back at her with quizzical impatience, waving a copy of the band’s 1993 album, Pussy Whipped. A navy boiler suit dwarfed her frame, while ocean blue braids swung around her booted feet, frayed and scruffy like they’d been under a hat all day. She had the most distinctive eye colour Seraphine had ever seen. They weren’t quite purple or pink, but some inscrutable shade between the two. Under the store’s artificial light, the colours seemed to switch and swirl.

The music of Bikini Kill seemed to suit her aesthetic, raw and full of rage at the world in that feminist punk rock way, but there was more to her than that. Something unreadable lurked behind those ever-changing irises. Rather than the white noise of a typical stranger, she was a mess of pitch and frequency; a cluster of songs overlapping and battling each other.

What an enchanting cacophony of a person...

Seraphine yearned to hear more, to know everything about this captivating woman. What was her name, her story, her purpose? What were her fears and dreams and fondest memories? Did she have family in Zaun, or was she from out of town? What did she do for work and in her spare time? Did she have a lover? What was her type? Did she like girls...?

‘Well? Do you?’ She spoke again, raspy and sweet. A smoker’s rasp, no doubt.

The image of her posed with a cigarette between her plump, open lips, danced across Seraphine’s mind before she could stop it.

Blushing and hot all over, Seraphine shyly shook her head in reply and returned to the comfort of the notepad.

Janna, it was all so surreal. She had never felt so compelled by a person, and from such a tiny interaction, no less. She couldn’t follow this woman’s song at all, and she... well, she loved it.

‘Okay... I’ll be back.’

With that, the new object of Seraphine’s fascination turned heel and left.

She thumped her head onto the counter and groaned. All she could do was hope that she wouldn’t miss the next visit. And, if the woman bought something, maybe Seraphine might catch her name?

[weekend-conspiracy-theorist]

an entry in the tim&steph role swap au

"Bullock," Jim said, just pointedly enough to drag his detective's attention away from the shitty breakroom coffee he'd just spilt on his eternally hideous tie. They'd paused in the bullpen on their way out of a conference room, where they'd been discussing the kind of case that made Jim feel ever closer to retirement.

God, he missed Montoya. She'd have had something incredibly crass to say that would at least have made him want to laugh, even if he wouldn't. He couldn't say she hadn't seemed to be happier with whatever it was she was up to these days (he, very purposefully, did not know what that was), last time she'd caught him for a drink, but he still missed her on the force.

Harvey grunted, glancing up as he snapped his fingers at a nearby officer and made a hand gesture that could easily have meant something rude rather than "go get me some paper towels." Luckily, Marquess caught his drift, and with a roll of her eyes she set aside her pen and rose from her desk. "What?"

"Who is that." Jim tipped his chin across the bullpen, sipping from his own terrible paper cup of breakroom coffee.

Harvey looked over. Squinted. "Berkowitz, I think," he said, and then caught Jim's unamused glower out of the corner of his eye. He squinted again--this time not focusing on Officer Piper Berkowitz, who Jim knew at least by sight because Jim made it a point to know all of his officers (and also because she was taller than every other person in the bullpen), but on the maybe-teen with the big camera and the piercing eyes who was inducing that look of begrudgingly amused annoyance on her face. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her hip propped against her desk; closed body language, unwilling to be convinced by whatever had her conversational partner gesturing so passionately, yet where he looked combative, there was an answering tick of a smile on her lips.

Even as Jim watched, his officer unfolded her arms, sighing, and there was a flash of smug victory in the kid's eyes.

Harvey grunted again. "Some kinda PI. He's popped up a few times recently. For one, he was at that club Supergirl and Wonder Girl busted up, few months back."

It was Jim's turn to grunt. What a headache. It made him appreciate the Batman all the more whenever he had to deal with the young adult super powered set. Even if most of the Bat's brood weren't metas, he had no idea how the man handled that many teens and twenties vigilantes at once.

He sipped more of his coffee. Watched the PI lean on the back of Berkowitz's chair as she pulled up what looked like a license plate search on her computer. "Why's he here and what's he want with Berkowitz?"

"What do they ever want?" Harvey asked dryly. "Information he's supposed to be asking for through official channels, I'd assume."

Sure. But why Berkowitz? was the more important part of the question. She was a beat cop with no particular pull in the department; he only even knew her name because he made it a point to know all their names. He hadn't thought she was crooked, or easily bribed or cajoled--no more than anyone else, anyway--nor especially brilliant at her job. He'd know more than just her name, if she stood out from the crowd, either positively or negatively.

Marquess returned from the bathroom, one hand full of paper towels which she shoved into Harvey's chest. "You're welcome," she said, pointedly, and Harvey scowled at her.

"Keep an eye on it," Jim said.

"Sure," Harvey grunted. He was already more focused on blotting coffee off of his tie.

Jim sighed.

***

The PI--the junior PI, he learned--wasn't any kind of priority for Jim. There were a couple dozen private investigators floating around the city, most of them attached to three or four larger detective agencies, most of them getting their work from law firms and bond agencies. The kid's age and his attitude made him an oddity, but--

Jim was a busy man, with a horrible, thankless job. Oddities were just--

Oddities.

Harvey brought him tidbits occasionally, when he bothered to remember that Jim had asked him to be paying attention. Tim Drake had recently turned 21; he worked for Red Bird Investigations; he owned controlling shares in Drake Industries, a company formed and previously run by his now-dead parents, but he had as little as possible to do with the business; one week, he brought in enough evidence to close the case on a string of robberies that had stretched across the East End, after a young woman grew frustrated with the GCPD's progress and hired him on; the next, he broke the nose of one of Jim's officers after getting in between him and one of Gotham's many sex workers. (The incident was under investigation; no charges were being pressed until it was determined whether the officer had in fact attempted to sexually extort the young man as was alleged.)

Most of Jim's rank and file officers seemed to dislike the kid, and the feeling was clearly mutual. Harvey said it was because Drake made himself easy to dislike, but Jim knew it was deeper than that. He was fighting a constant, losing war with his own people to remind them that they were not above the law; that they were public servants; that just because the man or woman beside you wore the same badge as you did, didn't mean you automatically trusted their word above that of the civilian on the other end of their gun. He just could never seem to convince them not to blindly close ranks around each other--even the clean ones seemed to think camaraderie trumped the need for objective detective work.

Tim Drake afforded Jim's officers none of the respect that they believed they deserved for wearing their badges, and that was what they disliked. Berkowitz, Jim assumed, was one of the few officers with her head on straight enough to recognize the kid could be a useful source of information, if an annoying one.

Jim told Harvey to shut it down, next time he heard anyone talking shit about any private investigators, but he knew even as he said it that he was wasting his breath.

***

"Piper."

It wasn't a shout, but the sheer command behind the name had every head in the bullpen whipping towards the door, including Jim's--

He saw disheveled black hair and wide, pale eyes, a swollen nose and heavy bruising blooming across a tense jawline, and then Officer Miles Franklin threw up his arm and stepped in between Tim Drake and the rest of the bullpen. Berkowitz was pushing her way out of the breakroom, but even her lofty height and broad shoulders had a hard time parting the sea of gawking policemen.

"What are you doing in here, Drake?" Franklin demanded. "This isn't open to the public--"

"Out of my way, pig," Drake snarled, actually snarled, and brushed his arm out of the way. "I need to talk to--"

"The fuck did you just call me?!"

Jim had been halfway out the door into the stairwell on the opposite side of the room when Drake burst into the bullpen, but he still found himself shouting and his feet moving the moment Franklin grabbed the front of the kid's shirt, knowing Drake was about to get shoved bodily into the wall--

Drake moved, faster than anyone Jim had seen without a mask over their eyes, and Franklin was the one plastered against the wall as Drake twisted his arm up behind his back.

Half the room was yelling, but Drake's voice carried. "I don't have time to play games with you when there are kids in danger, you self-aggrandizing scum of the earth goddamn poli--"

Berkowitz yanked Drake backwards by the collar of his tshirt. His feet actually briefly left the ground. "What kids, Tim?" she demanded. Steady; calm; a distinct counterpoint to Drake's trembling fury.

"Fuck," he cursed, with feeling, and even before his toes touched back down he was fumbling in his messenger bag for that same massive camera Jim had seen him carrying the last time he was in the precinct. "Piper, I found Carrie Prentiss--"

"The runaway?" Franklin asked scathingly, as he yanked his uniform shirt back into place.

Drake and Berkowitz ignored him, though she shifted between the two of them to break his line of sight on the PI. "It's a fucking trafficking ring, at least ten kids involved, and I think they're moving them tonight. I've got--"

He barely had to shove the camera into her hands before she was already flipping through the pictures in the gallery, her own jaw tightening.

When she noticed a presence leaning over her shoulder, she whipped her head around, something nasty on her lips--but it died when she realized it was Jim. Neither of them had noticed him telling the rest of the room to shut the fuck up and stand down.

"Where is this?" he asked Drake, gruffly, as he took the camera out of Berkowitz's hands; Drake rattled off an address down near the docks, his hands flexing at his sides and nearly vibrating in his boots. Had to have taken him thirty minutes just to get here. "You couldn't just call 911?"

"And have them send a marked cruiser to check my story? Make them move those kids immediately?" A trickle of blood had begun to leak slowly down his upper lip, and he swiped it away with his shirtsleeve, adding sardonically, "I also may have stumbled into some of Falcones' boys in my haste to put enough distance between me and their people to safely make a call to Berkowitz. I was three-quarters of the way here before I shook them."

"Your fucking luck," Berkowitz said flatly. "That's got to be the third time this month you've 'stumbled' into some kind of enforcement bullshit."

"It's a talent. Comissioner, please--"

Jim had seen enough. License plates; faces; identifying marks. Zip ties on wrists too small for handcuffs. "I need SWAT on the phone yesterday," he snapped. "Simmons--"

***

It was a long night.

Most of them were long nights, but this was--

It was a long night.

"Thank you," he said, gruffly, and resisted the urge to give Berkowitz a side eye. She was a full head taller than him; he wouldn't get much out of it.

Berkowitz was the one to bring him coffee, looking tired and faintly apologetic, as he observed Drake's after-the-fact questioning. Jim suspected he wasn't the only one on an adrenaline crash; despite his typical standoffish and abrasive demeanor, the kid had turned over his SD card readily, additionally offered up the case notes he also had shoved into that messenger bag, and was at least neutral, though not quite polite, as he walked Simmons through the work that was going to result in fourteen reunited families, by the time they finished tracking the rest of the kids' parents down.

(Carrie Prentiss's mother was out in the bullpen, holding her daughter tightly and sobbing, comfortable in the knowledge that her decision to hire a private investigator had saved over a dozen lives.)

She just sighed, staring through the mirror at Drake. "He been behaving himself this whole time?"

"More or less."

"Minor miracles."

Jim snorted. He sipped the coffee. "How'd you end up in the middle of this?" he asked, keeping his tone neutral. "Not exactly your beat."

"No, not my beat at all," Berkowitz agreed, and there was something in her tone that had Jim turning, his eyebrows rising. She scrubbed a hand over her face. Left it pressed against her cheek as she watched Drake through the mirror.

"Four years ago," she said quietly, "I'd had my badge just long enough to think I knew a little bit about what I was doing, when me and my partner of the time got dispatched to the aftermath of a home invasion. The paramedics were already there, and it was--well. There've been way nastier murders in Gotham, but not ones I've personally been on the scenes of. The guy's sixteen-year-old son had got home right after the perps left, tried to do CPR; he was covered in blood, had been going so long he'd broken some of his dad's ribs, was refusing to let the paramedics pull him away. Turned out I actually had absolutely no goddamn clue what I was doing, that had become clear the second I stepped into that house, but someone had to get that kid out of there. So I picked him up under the armpits and carried him right out the door." She held her arms out straight, demonstratively. "Kid cursed up a blue streak, fought like a demon, and I just held him there on the front lawn, let him go at it until all the fight just... left him."

Berkowitz breathed in slowly through her nose, letting her arms fall. "When the tabloids came knocking, wanting the scoop on the most violent murder in Bristol since the eighties, straight from the lips of the first responders who had pulled Jack Drake's son off of his lifeless body, I was the only one who told them to go to hell. Guess Tim appreciated that. There are a few other officers he's willing to work with when he has to, but I'm the only one he ever seeks out willingly. He's a perceptive little brat, probably knows I have a hard time holding his attitude against him when I know where it comes from. When I don't always disagree with him."

Jim, as deliberately obtuse as he ever was, definitely did not think about a coat draped over a young boy's shoulders or a black cape that may have one day replaced--

He didn't think about it. "This goddamn city," he said, instead, and Berkowitz snorted.

"Every day I wake up and I think, 'This is it. The day I finally fucking quit.' But I never do it." She scrubbed a hand over her face. "Sometimes I think Tim's probably right, when he gets frustrated with me for acting too much the cop and starts getting nasty about my life choices. I don't know if we can really change things from the inside. But what the hell else am I supposed to do?"

It wasn't like Jim had never asked himself the same question.

"The best you can," he told her gruffly, and drained the rest of the coffee she'd brought him.

***

Jim had added new data points to his list about Tim Drake:

The kid was, objectively, a genius. He was also, objectively, an asshole, and a trouble magnet, and suffering from a terminally self-important case of "being twenty-one years old." It all formed a picture of a brilliant, traumatized teenager who was growing up into an ewually brilliant adult with a massive chip on his shoulder, but Jim didn't--

There were still questions.

Where the hell the kid's boss ever was, for one. It had been a minute since Jim had brushed up on the State of New Jersey's training requirements for private investigators, but he was pretty sure Drake shouldn't have had as much free rein as he did. Why even a traumatized millionaire's son would turn to private investigating instead of running the company he wanted nothing to do with and nonetheless refused to let go of. How he got half the information he turned up with, because even a genius didn't have encyclopedic knowledge of Gotham's crime families because he "liked to keep his ear to the ground," as Berkowitz reported, making scare quotes and rolling her eyes.

The oddity was becoming a genuine concern, low in Jim's gut. Drake only seemed to be blunt and standoffish; Jim became more certain, every few and far between time that he watched the PI move around his precinct, that Tim Drake was a man who played his cards close to his chest; who never gave up more than he got back; who was pulling strings to get what he wanted even when it wasn't clear what that was.

It was time for a second set of eyes.

***

Jim wasn't surprised that Drake figured out what was happening before they made it to the roof of the GCPD. Those sharp, pale eyes of his didn't miss much; they certainly didn't miss the ROOF ACCESS sign or the keycard Jim swiped to open the door.

"Gee," Drake drawled, massive coffee cup in one hand and the other tucked nonchalantly into his pocket. "I don't think I'm supposed to be up here, Commish."

Jim had been amused to realize, the first time he had an actual talk with the kid, that Drake was utterly torn between his instinctive dislike of police officers and his begrudging personal respect for Commissioner Gordon, and he tended to compromise by alternately being sarcastic or quiet, rather than boldly rude and antagonistic like he was with most of the department.

An expression twisted across Drake's face, there and gone before Jim could identify it.

"Special circumstances," Jim said gruffly. He didn't even have to look to find the switch for the Bat Signal; his fingers found it on autopilot. He'd summoned the Bat on accident more than once when he'd come up here to smoke and didn't notice himself going through the motions. "You've helped us close a few big cases recently, and I like to make sure all my resources are familiar with one another."

"Makes sense," he said, with another unidentifiable note in his voice. Amusement, maybe. Not that that made sense.

The Bat wasn't going to take long to show up--Jim had given him something of a heads up in advance--and so Jim was particularly on alert as he lit his cigarette. He didn't go so far as to peer directly into the shadows, but he kept his attention on his lighter and searched his periphery. He felt the shift in the air when he arrived, but wasn't sure yet where he'd landed. Was that corner there darker than normal?

"Batman," Drake greeted calmly, turning his chin to gaze at a different shadowy corner, and Jim felt his eyebrows raise as Gotham's Dark Knight stepped slowly into... well, not into the light. But out of the worst of the gloom.

"Tim," Batman returned, as unflappable as ever.

Jim took a drag of his cigarette, fighting back the surprise that wanted to blossom across his own face.

"OH MY GOD!"

The excited shriek split the night, and Drake--who Jim had yet to see wearing any expression that wasn't some combination of stoic, smug, or pissed off--lit up like a Christmas tree. His coffee cup sailed towards the trashcan by the door (missed, barely) and he sprinted towards--

Jim took an involuntary step forward, a gasp strangling his voice, as Drake leapt off the roof.

He seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and then a second figure, blonde hair and a grapple line streaming behind her, slammed into him. Drake's arms flung around her neck, Batgirl's arms flung around his waist, and she spun him in a circle once her boots touched down on the rooftop, laughing delightedly. In a move too fluid to be improvised, their grips reversed as she was setting Drake down, and then he was spinning her around instead.

"Tim!" she cried, throwing her arms up as she leaned back into his grip. "What the hell are you doing here?!"

"When the hell did you get back from space?!" Drake demanded.

He tried to put her down, but Batgirl was suddenly clinging to him, octopus-like, with all four limbs. "God, check your messages. Literally, I had walked into the Cave when B was like, 'Oh, I've gotta go to the GCPD,' and I was like, 'Fuck yes, it's been forever since I got to hang with the Commish,' and stowed away in the Batmobile. Wonder Girl and Impulse say hi, by the way, and--"

Batman cleared his throat.

His expression, even through the cowl, even through the gloom, was long suffering. Jim--remembering the migraine he'd gotten from dealing with Supergirl and Wonder Girl--felt an uncommon surge of pity towards the man in the cape.

"Go find another roof for your meeting, B, we're busy," Batgirl told him sternly, but she did disentangle herself from Drake, leaving only one arm possessively curled around his shoulders.

"I take it you've all already met," Jim said, with nominal good humor and just enough bite to remind the Bat that their flow of information was meant to be a two-way street.

Batgirl's eyes got big behind the cowl, reflected in the way it pulled at her cheeks. "Ooh, is that what this was supposed to be?" she stage-whispered to Drake. "What'd you do, huh? Break another cop's nose?"

"Another?" Batman repeated.

"Don't worry about it," Drake said calmly. Batgirl cackled as Batman's expression grew further pained. "Officer Pickens has bigger things to worry about. Like the IA investigation." He paused, squinted at the Bat, and added, "Don't give me that look. Unlike all of your little minions--" he flinched as Batgirl pinched him in retaliation-- "your disappointment has literally no effect on me."

Batman, visibly, took a breath. "Honestly, Jim," he said, just a hint more exasperated than gravelly, "I was trying not to jinx you. You don't deserve to have to deal with this."

"What am I, Beetlejuice?" Drake asked dryly. "You say my name three times and I'm summoned from the ether?"

Batgirl pressed her nose to Drake's ear, whispering something that made his mouth curve up in a wicked smirk. He tilted his chin towards his shoulder, telling her quietly, but not quite quietly enough, "Robin and I bonded while you were gone. I think it's giving him a better idea of the kind of shit we used to pull, and he wishes he was still oblivious."

Used to pull, Jim thought. (Didn't think, not really, because he didn't want to know.) They'd clearly known each other a long time. He couldn't remember any male, black haired, teen vigilantes in Gotham when Batgirl had been Robin, which meant--

He wasn't thinking about it. He genuinely, deliberately, would not be looking for 5'8"-5'11" blondes in Tim Drake's personal life.

(Especially not ones who intersected with his own daughter's.)

Jim took a drag off his cigarette. Although...

"There was a kid," he said slowly, "who used to 'run messages' into the precinct on behalf of some anonymous tipster. Montoya always suspected he knew more than he was letting on. Kid had such a baby face, wonder if he's lost it now that he's an adult."

Neither Drake nor Batgirl reacted, in a way that was a reaction in and of itself.

"Sounds irresponsible on behalf of the tipster," Drake managed, keeping his face as straight as possible. "Getting a kid involved like that?"

Batgirl coughed.

"I'm gonna stop asking questions before the answers keep me up at night," Jim decided, stubbing his cigarette out on the side of the Bat Signal--there was a bare spot in the black paint, just there--and tossing it into the trashcan. It stuck on the coffee splattered against the lip, drawing attention to the cup on the ground next to it, and Drake looked faintly embarrassed.

Batgirl cocked her head to the side. "You could've almost looked cool if you'd actually made that."

"I hate you," Drake told her.

"You wish you hated me," Batgirl told him.

"I wish I'd never had children," Batman told Jim.

Batgirl brightened, even as she picked Drake up in a fireman's carry--he yelped, scrambling to hold on--and grabbed her grapple gun off of her belt. "Good thing I'm not your kid!" she said, cheerfully, and for the second time tonight someone jumped off of the GCPD roof.

Jim tucked his hands in his pockets, surveying the living gargoyle in front of him. He waited long enough he thought the kids were out of earshot, then waited some more until the Bat gave him a slight nod. Figured they'd tried to hang around to eavesdrop. "I take it that whatever ulterior motives I'm detecting in him, they're probably nothing to worry about."

"Hngh." Batman shifted, and his cape brushed gently against the concrete rooftop. "I recently found out she's been manually deleting him off of my World Domination Predictive Algorithm spreadsheets for years," he admitted. "There's a lot of uncertainty to those anyway, of course. And I... trust her judgement."

"You trust his?"

"Nominally." The barest hint of a smile. "As far as I can tell, he hasn't ever tried to take over the world."

Jim snorted. "Your opinion has been noted."

"Anything else you needed me for?"

Jim crossed one leg over the other, leaning back against the wall. "Word on the street is Black Mask has been making moves into Triad territory. Any ideas why."

"Mm. Three weeks ago..."

[rougerave]

Behind closed doors (part 2)

“You know ma, you’re a hypocrite. Even you Jay. Don’t think I don’t know about Mr Harper.” The room just went silent. They were back at the compound, sitting by a fire in a private sitting room.

Jason’s eyes went wide and Talia just sighed. She knew this conversation was bound to happen. Ra’s just chuckled. He lived for this chaos.

“When that boy was flirting with me, you were about to pull out an arsenal of weapons just to threaten a boy I might never see. Then we find out your pregnant and have been dating someone for THREE YEARS. Jason’s no better. But I am curious Jay. When are you going to propose to mister Harper? You’ve been seeing him for five years now.”

That made him choke, but then he smirked. That smirk that shows that he knows something you don’t. He was about to say something when Damian beat him to it.

“The ring is in the left pocket of his coat. By my estimation he was going to do it before the New Year.”

If looks could kill, Damian would be dead ten times over, but the blush on his cheeks made his glare ineffective.

“So, were we ever going to meet this Mr Harper before he became our in-law or at the wedding?” Ra’s asked, mirth playing in his voice.

“I was going to do introduce him next month. I just don’t need three pranksters meeting yet. I need to mentally prepare myself for that. The twins are mentally draining on their own. We don’t need a trio so soon.” Talia just snorted at that before she stood up and walk towards the exist of the room.

“Marinette. Walk with me.” The young girl just stood up and walked out the room with her mother, leaving the three males in the room. “Soo… Five years?”

----

“Is everything okay ma?” Mari asked, concern lasing in her voice.

“Yes, everything is fine. I just want to talk to you.”

They walked to the garden and then laid on the ground looking at the stars.

“I wanted to apologise, but I want you to know the reason why I did the things I did. Things between your father and I didn’t work out, as you can see. We did love each other, enough to have three kids. But he didn’t want kids. When Jason was born he was there for a month then he vanished. Not a note, just gone. Then we meet seven years later, and you twins were conceived. But again he vanished for thirteen years, no note, nothing.

I don’t want you to feel that heart break. I don’t want you to give your heart to someone only for them to chew it and spit it out. And yes for the last three years I was being a hypocrite, and for that I am truly sorry.”

Marinette stayed quite for a moment to soak up the information before she replied. “It’s okay. You were just looking out for me and I get it.”

They stayed there for a while, enjoying the silence, which was quickly disrupted by a quite snore. When Talia looked over, she saw her daughter fast asleep. She smiled and softly brushed the hair out of her face.

“Do you need help there? Getting her to bed.” The mother turned to the new voice only to see that it was Khalid. She smiled softly before nodding her head.

“When did you get back?” She asked as she led them to Marinette’s room.

“About twenty minutes ago.”

“How did it go?”

“Let’s just say that Batman won’t be using his limbs for a while. I did find out why he was stalking Jayson.” He said as he put Mari on her bed, and Talia put a blanket over her and kiss her forehead goodnight.

“Do tell.”

“He wanted to take the kids. He wouldn’t tell me more.” That made her pause. Fuck sakes Bruce. “After thirteen years, twenty years for Jason, he wants to be a good father and take them under his care. He won’t care for them thought. He would only get them killed. He needs more ‘students’ to do his bidding under the flag that it’s for justice. I’ve done everything in my power to raise my kids to the best of my ability, and trust me I know I’m not the best mother, but I did what I had to do to make sure that my kids know how to survive in this harsh world.

Bruce changed. He changed we he lost his parents, he change when he asked to be trained by my father, and he changed the most when he put on the cape and mask. He doesn’t know it, but he crossed more lines, worse line, and yet he considers killing to be the worst one. Somehow there is worse things than the killing line, and trust me I’ve seen it.”

By the time she finished they were back at the garden, just sitting on the bench under the cherry-blossom tree.

“I trust you there. I was with you for most of it.”

Talia just smirked at him, before leaning on his shoulder and Khalid put an arm around her waist, just sitting in a comfortable silence.

“So I heard that the great Talia al Ghul fainted.” Khalid said the amusement rolling off him in waves. That earned him a snort and a light hit in the stomach.

“It was sort of your fault.”

A very fake, very over-exaggerated gasp was heard. “My fault. How, in anyway, was it my fault?”

“You helped in the creation of your daughter.”

“How sure are you it’s not a boy?”

“Call it a gut feeling.”

“The same gut feeling that got us trapped in a Mexican gang war, which by the way, somehow landed us in the Amazon. That same gut feeling that got us trapped in the pyramids of Giza? Do you really want to go on that gut feeling?” The mirth in his voice was unmistakable.

“Okay so maybe not a gut feeling. Maybe hope I guess?”

“Yes maybe it is hope.” He said before he closed the distance and kissed her. A sweet yet passionate kiss.

“PDA.” A new voice said.                                          

“We’re not in public.” Talia groaned away from the kiss.

“What’s up Jay?” Khalid said with a light chuckle.

“I just came to say my goodbyes. I’m being assigned to a mission to Hong Kong. Cass needs help taking out a gang. From there I will be in the UK.”

“Why does every al Ghul sound so hopeful about the possibility to be involved in a gang war?” Khalid asked.

“Why do you sound so hopeful at the possibility of blowing things up, for example; the booming of the pacific.” Talia counted

“Fair point, but that was also to get a reaction from Ra’s.”

“Why would you need to get a reaction from grandfather?”

“Khalid and I made this challenge when we were fifteen. Try to get a reaction from the Demon Head. He makes this face where he tries to decide if he should be angry or proud, then he scrunches up his face when he can’t come up with a decision, to the point he looks constipated, all while opening and closing his mouth. It makes him look like a fish out of water. You should try it sometime.”

Jason looked between his parents before he snorted and shook his head in amusement.

“All I can say is that your kid is going to be chaotic.”

“Naturally.” They answered simultaneously

Jason snorted. “I’ll see you in two months.” Then he disappeared into the shadows that he walked out of.

“He didn’t say what he will be doing in the UK, did he?”

“Nope, but I bet you 100 pounds I know what he will be doing.”

“You sure you want to bet Khalid? Against me no less.”

“Yes, I have a good feeling about this one. Trust me.”

Talia snorted.

----

“So, when do I get to meet the family?” Roy asked in the quite of their shared bedroom. After Jason helped Cass, he went straight to his and Roy’s apartment in the UK, after making sure he disabled all communication and tracking devices so he won’t be followed or disturbed. (Paranoid much.)

“Why are you so eager to meet my family? The only sane one is my unborn sibling and that on it’s on is saying something, all things considering.” Jason said as he came out the bathroom.

“It can’t be that bad.” Roy said looking up from the book he stole from his fiancé. Jason had finally done it after he was busted for trying to hide it.

“It’s that bad.”

“I feel like there’s a story.” He said putting the book on the bedside table, while Jason flopped onto the bed besides him.

“My graduation.”

“I would have done the same.”

“When the twins were five, they played catch with an actual grenade. Somehow the pin got lose and fell on the ground mid-air. Mari somehow seeing this got out an aluminium base-ball bat and tried to hit it. She grazed it, changing the direction of the grenade. The grenade flew into my room. That was my third trip to the pits.”

It was silent for a long minute. “Aside from you dying, I would say that is pretty funny. What did your ma and grandfather do?” Roy asked while trying to hold back a chuckle.

Jason playfully glared at him, before pulling Roy to him and rolling over so Roy was under him.

“Easy. They don’t know.”

“And why is that?”

“Jd (grandfather) had to personally take care of something, and ma was in the middle of a Mexican gang war. Cass dragged me to pits with the help from the twins.”

“So you guys never felt the need to tell your mother or grandfather for that matter.”

“Nope. It’s a secret we take to the grave.” He said leaning in closer.

“The same grave you evaded three times.” He snorted at that. “Zombie.”

“You know you love me.”

“Yeah I do.” Roy said closing the final distance in a heated kiss. They would have gone further if it wasn’t for a crash and cussing heard in the direction of the living room. They separated quickly looking at each other to conform that the other heard the sound, before the reached under the bed for their weapons.

They sneaked out of their room slowly and into the hall-way that lead to living room. As they reached closer they heard the voices growing a bit louder. Upon listening closer, Jason recognized the voice and let out a breath of relief. He looked at Roy signalling to lower his weapon.

“I guess you get to meet my family tonight.” Jason said, whispering into his fiancés’ ear. When he pulled back, he saw shock written on Roy’s face before he settled into a lazy smirk. Jason rolled his eyes. Time to make their presence known.

“You know you can knock right. I’m not against it. It’s actually considered polite.” Jason said while leaning on the wall. Roy leaning against him.

“Where’s the fun in that.” Mari said from her place on the floor. She had been the one to trip on thin air and cause the crash. Damian had been the one too cuss up a storm.

“You messed up your own plan, and why are you two by yourself?”

“To deliver a message and to say hi to our soon-to-be-brother-in-law.” Damian said from the kitchen. He was raiding the fridge. He knows that Jason likes to bake, so there has to be some form of cookie.

“In the cookie jar Dames, not in the fridge. We talked about this.” Jason said not even looking in that direction, before turning to Roy.

“Roy meet the twins. The rat that’s raiding our kitchen is Damian.”

“uck uo itc!” Damian said with a full mouth of cookies before swallowing. “Sault Roy.”

“Sault Damian.” Roy said with a little sault, chuckling.

“The blob that’s pretending to be our rag is Marinette.”

“hugr.”

“Nice to meet you too. Quick question, are you okay there?”

“hugr” was the reply, though it sounded defeated. The two adult in the room looked at each other with worry before they made their way to sit next to Mari.

“Dames do you know what’s up with Mari?” Jason asked after trying and failing to turn his sister over.

“Yeah, but its best you two talk alone. Which reminds me. Ma and baba (Khalid. At this point they have just accepted him as their father,) would like to have lunch with you and Roy tomorrow at that café two streets north from here, at 13:00 sharp. Don’t be late. Jd and I would like to meet Roy tonight while you two talk.” Damian said before he stuffed another cookie into his mouth.

Roy looked at Jason in slight hesitation, before they stood up, leaving Marinette on the floor.

“I’ll see you later tonight.” Jason whispered before nodding and giving him a kiss. Roy just nodded before leaning down to ruffle Marinette’s as a goodbye, and left to get his jacket and boots. The London air is getting a bit warmer so there’s no need for his winter coat. He came back and led Damian out the door so he can lock it.

Once they were out the door Jason sat on the floor with his sister.

“Talk to me Mars. What’s on your mind?”

“I’ve been assigned a solo mission.” She said finally sitting up, but not look her older brother in the eye.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s not a league mission.”

Oh.

“Who assigned the mission?” Jason asked slowly.

“The Order. They found the culprit of the fire in one of their temples. Apparently two of the miraculous and one of their most important books got stolen from him. They felt that two of the stole miraculous have been activated and corrupted.” Marinette said in a whisper. Jason was just shocked into silence.

The Order of Guardians never assign missions to the Shadows. They hardly assign missions in general, and when they do, the missions are the ones that you lose parts of yourself. Where you learn what sacrifice is. Sacrifice in the form of your sanity, emotional well-being, and in most cases your physical well-being.

“When do you leave?” He asked in a whisper.

“Two days from now. I wanted to ask if you and Roy can drop me off in Paris. Ma can’t stand being in a plane anymore, and baba is staying with her. Jd isn’t going back home for a while and Damian is tagging along. They leave tonight after they are acquainted with Roy.” She reply.

“Tell you what. How about after lunch tomorrow you stay with us until we drop you off. I have a feeling our parents are going back to the League to keep things in order while jd and Dames are not home. Every two months Roy and I will visit you with Dames, and if ma feels alright then, I’ll bring her too. Jd will drop by anytime his free. Since this is Order and Shadow business I’ll ask Roy to help keep the JL out of Paris. On last thing. Never and I mean never feel afraid to ask for back up. I will come running to help you. It’s my job and my responsibility as your older sibling to help you. Do we have a deal?”

He got a hug in response. “Thank you.” She whispered.

“Your welcome. Now let’s get you to ma. She must be having a heart attack on not hearing from you.” That earned him a snort.

Despite knowing the damage from having a very overprotective family, Marinette knew that she could always count on them. She knew that they would support her and love her, and she knew that deep down she didn’t mind not having a boyfriend. Well not now anyway. She has all the love she needs right here.

[armatuspoeta]

~Redamancy~

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- // This story follows Detective Emily Walker, a gifted police officer who has close ties with Lieutenant Jim Gordon and a tragic past. She goes with Gordon to investigate the crime scene and murder of Mayor Don Mitchell Junior, however things soon become much bigger than she ever thought, and her life will never be the same. Romance, tragedy, heartache, and all the many wonders and misfortunes of life ensue on her determination-fueled mission to apprehend the Riddler and uncover the truth of Gotham side by side with Gordon and the infamous Batman. [Emily is an established character; however, I left many aspects about her (like her physical appearance) purposely vague. I want the reader to be able to walk in her shoes... like a middle ground between a y/n fic and an oc one.] ```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Tw: Violence, mild depictions of gore, murder, other mature themes, cussing ``` Word Count: 13,924 ~~~ A/n: Wow, this took a lot longer than I expected, lol.  But here it is, the first chapter finally finished! With that being said, this is my first fanfic, so any feedback is welcome! There might also be some spelling errors in here, so I’m sorry in advance :}

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                             [Chapter One: The Bad Beginning]        

                                                             A scream. A horrid pierce through the night. It woke me up instantly, like a splash of cold water. My blood felt like ice, pounding almost painfully with each thump of my heart.  I couldn't move my wide-open gaze from the ceiling. Fear sunk its claws deep into my flesh. I couldn't move, not even as pained gasps came from down the hallway. There was a wet choking noise. Sputtering. Labored breathing… a thud. I couldn't move, even now as there was only an eerie silence. My chest rose and fell with a shallow rhythm and my hands gripped onto the blanket with white knuckles. An attempt to break from my spell of hesitation. It didn’t work. Quick footsteps began to come from my parents’ bedroom. They got closer, louder, and I felt my body begin to tremble violently with the promise of a horrible painful fate. But the noise carried past my bedroom door. They hurried down the stairs until they were eventually out of earshot. The front door slammed. Suddenly the claws were ripped away, gone with the footsteps. However, they were replaced with a different terror, a horrible urgency in the aftermath of the dark deed that must have occurred.  The aftermath of my cowardice.  In one swift motion, like a much more confident and braver version of myself, I threw the blanket from my body and ran down the hallway towards my parent’s bedroom. Moonlight spilled through the gap of the door, not fully closed in a rush to flee. With my heart in my throat like a steadily pounding drum, I placed my shaking palm against the wood of the door. I paused to gather courage. To mentally prepare myself as much as I could. ”..Mom?...Dad?...” I pushed it open the rest of the way. I had never seen so much blood.                                                              ~ I wake with a start, my eyes wide and my breathing fast. My heart beats against my ribcage like a caged animal.  I look down at the table I’m mostly slumped over, my brow furrowed with a mix of confusion and terror. The typical aftermath of that nightmare. My spiral notebook lay open in front of me, the one I use for work. Messily written notes take up about half the page, detailing my findings and other important information. Scattered around the table is an assortment of papers, photographs, and statements, all belonging to a case I’m working on about a simple home robbery. I look in front of me to see my laptop open in the middle of the table.  The screen is black. I reach for the laptop to confirm my suspicions about the battery being dead but am instantly met with a nasty stinging sensation.  On the underside of my forearm, there’s a big red indent on my skin from where the thin metal spiral holding all the pages together dug into it during my unplanned slumber. Momentarily distracted by the discovery, I raise my left arm off the edge of the pages.  How did I manage to fall asleep on top of the worst parts of the notebook? I gingerly let my arm rest on the tabletop and then reach for my laptop with my right. A quick smack on the spacebar lets me know that the battery is in fact dead. Damnit. I can’t keep doing this.  I can’t keep pushing myself this far, ignoring myself this much for the sake of others, for my job. But how can I stop? The precinct is overworked enough as it is, and as much as I would love to forget, these cases aren’t just a job. They’re people. Living, breathing, and hurting... but sometimes... Sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth it. If I’m even making anything better.  I became a detective to help this city, to do the best I could to make sure that no one would have to go through what I did, So that I could do my best to let people live happy and peaceful lives, to be a light in the darkness. An agitated sigh escapes my lungs as I place my hands to my forehead.  The old kitchen chair groans as I lean back against the uncomfortable wooden backing. I’m working myself to nothing and I’d be lying if I said that my cause was selfless. In all honesty, it helps me forget my own troubles. Solving the mystery, giving people closure and helping them move forward with their lives... it distracts me from the deafening silence I come home to. Temporarily satiates the vicious monster that my grandmother had carefully sewn into every aspect of my existence. The words that I eventually began telling myself.  This is the only way I’m worth anything... But time and time again, it’s never enough, the beast is never satisfied. I am never enough. Still, I keep trying, keep forcing every aspect of myself into my job, pouring all of my life into my foolish hope of healing whatever I can get my hands on. I’m getting tired. I know that I can’t keep this up forever... I can’t keep running this marathon, and the finish line will never stop moving. When I take down one operation, there’s always another. When I’ve solved one case, there’s always a new file on my desk.  The underbelly doesn’t sleep, and in that regard neither can I. Gordon sees it, I know he does.  He’s been a light in my life ever since that night when he pulled me away from my mother’s body.  I know he knew my parents, even though he was a good bit younger than them when they were all working in the same precinct. Maybe that’s part of the reason he stayed in contact after that night, always made sure I had what I needed and more.  He tries to talk to me about it sometimes, tries to convince me to take a break.  As much as I want to, I can’t. I’ll be left in my head, left with my fear and finish line getting even farther. Even if it kills me, I have to keep running.  I take in a deep breath before I let it out again. I need to stop thinking about this and get on with my day. With a newly established sense of vigor, I grab my glasses from beside my notebook and put them on. The lenses are a bit smudged from my half-asleep struggle to get them off my face, but I ignore it for now. I need some caffeine and some grounding. Pushing up from the old kitchen chair, I make my way to the kitchen. My bare feet catch the chill of the cold linoleum tile, classic shitty apartment off-white and a bane of my existence during the colder seasons.  Though, I like most of the other aspects of the space.  The walls are painted a calm yellow and my small square table is pushed against the left wall. Matching yellow chairs are pushed in and a modest house plant acts as a centerpiece. I’m not really sure what kind it is, but Gordon got it for me as a housewarming gift when I first moved in after I finished college.  It must be very resilient or need very little care because I always forget to water it... honestly, it’s a miracle it’s still alive and still green.  Tea. Right. Newly re-focused, I go up to my white cupboards and stand on my tip toes to open it and pull out my favorite mug. At this point, the routine is easy, and my body goes through it on autopilot. Fill the kettle with water. Put it on the mount. Press the button. Grab the package of tea. Take the bag out. Put it in the mug. Most of my coworkers prefer coffee and while I do sometimes partake in a good cup of joe, I just like tea better. It’s easier to drink for some reason. I tried to get more into coffee before, when I was just a rookie cop trying to fit in. It didn’t really work. I still can’t seem to find my place there. Even though I made Gotham history with how fast I was promoted; I work hard, and I can’t even count how many cases I’ve solved... it’s still the same.  Though, maybe that’s the problem. Maybe I don’t set aside time for friendships and maybe my tunnel vision gets too consuming.  But I can’t stop it, everything I’ve tried doesn’t work.  I’m stuck in this endless loop of filling a forever emptying cup, drying a waterfall with paper towels.  The kettle beeps, high pitched and ear piercing. The water’s ready. Once again, I shift my focus to starting my day. I pour the water into the mug before setting the kettle back on the mount. Steam fills the October air, and the water begins to stain with swirls of green. Cup in hand, I continue the routine and go to stand by the window. It’s about four and a half feet tall and two feet wide, nice to look out of but otherwise not much to write home about. The wooden edges were painted messily and it’s chipping a bit from how long ago it must’ve been. It’s my favorite window in my apartment. The reason doesn’t even really have anything to do with the design itself, but rather it’s functionality.  I can get to the fire escape through it.  On clear nights, nothing is more soothing than sitting on the cold metal with a blanket and looking up at the stars or watching Gotham’s sleepless routines.  I often think about someone I really like and trust sitting up there with me, sharing in the serenity... but that’s all it ever is. Thoughts. I don’t have time for romance. On the horizon, golden sunlight is cresting over the dark buildings, painting the sky with various shades of pink. A contrast to the greys and blacks of nearly every building in this part of Gotham. The warm morning glow brightens the town, making the darkness retreat like hissing vampires. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of clouds right now... maybe it’s gonna be sunny today.  A faint honk from the street below catches my attention. A taxi angry at a person on a motorcycle for going before them, even though it didn’t even really seem like the taxi had the right of way. Though, seeing the biker in question brings a small smile to my face. They drive off into the distance until they’re little more than a blurry dot. I know that it’s a bit weird to smile at strangers who have no idea that you exist, but this person passes by here almost every day, almost always near dawn, and they always wear the same grey jacket, dark green helmet, and tan backpack. After seeing their commute so many times, I can’t help but think about who they are and find comfort in the familiarity. What kind of a life do they have? Are they going to or coming home from work? Do they have a family? Who are they? It’s funny how two separate routines lining up just right can make a complete stranger start to feel like a distant friend. Though, I know that my amicable affections are one sided. I take a sip of my tea and resume my quiet observations of this town. This city, where I lived since I was born, where my parents started their life together. Gotham is a cesspool in many regards, but there’s still good. I see it every day. Humble families doing what they can to scrape by, neighborhoods and communities helping each other during times of crises, seats given up on the subway to someone who needs it more. The sun is still there when it’s covered by clouds. Kindness and empathy still exist even when overshadowed by darkness. Even if it feels hopeless, even if I can never stop running... I won’t give up on Gotham. I can’t give up on Gotham.                                                        

                                                         ~

The rain pummels against the asphalt, batters against the metal roof. It was not and still isn’t sunny today. Warm air is blowing from the heater vents of Gordon’s unmarked station car and it’s a saving grace in this harsh weather. I’m sat in the passenger seat wearing my work clothes. A white tucked in button up, my shoulder holster, a black tie, my very professional black jeans with my golden detective badge attached to my left front pocket, black converse which are also very professional, my glasses, and my puffy midnight blue GCPD jacket. I had gotten it when I was first hired. The right shoulder has the GCPD symbol embroidered on it in a golden yellow and the zipper doesn’t really work anymore after years of not-so-gentle wear. I can’t bring myself to ask for a new one, though.  Four years of fighting crime carries a lot of memories with it. I look up out of the rain-hazed windshield. The city is dark around us and the only light comes from the headlights and the buzzing streetlamps lining the sidewalk. This part of town is trashed. More than usual. There’re piles of garbage, a lot full of bulldozed rubble, and the bones of a tall unfinished building. It keeps my attention and as we get closer it’s easier to observe the details. It’s comprised of rusted scaffolding and thick weather-stained concrete slabs. Near the bottom in a long strip is an old metal sign with the renewal plan logo and catchphrase printed throughout in tarnished white letters. It seems like it wraps all the way around. To my surprise, Gordon slows in front of the building and pulls into the nearly hidden entry way. My brows furrow and my mind begins to swim with a dozen questions, all of which I’m trying to answer at the same time and getting nowhere. We’re supposed to be investigating the crime scene of the mayor, and to my knowledge this place is nowhere close to it. Gordon drives further into the unfinished parking area and stops in front of an elevator built in the middle. It sheds a sickly yellow light and provides the only illumination in the otherwise dark building. I turn my head to look at Gordon and I know he can see my confusion... But he says nothing as he puts the car into park and shuts the car off. Like such a menial task could take all of his attention. Knowing that he won’t acknowledge my silent question, I voice it instead. “Wasn’t Mitchell killed in his house?” My voice is a slice through the silence. He takes out the keys and keeps his focus ahead, utterly unphased by my words. He was expecting it. “Yeah.” He answers simply and my stewing confusion festers into quiet bewilderment at his avoidance. Sure, he answered the face value part of my question, but that wasn’t what I really wanted to know, and he knows it.  “So... why are we here?” I prompt again, this time I make sure to phrase my words in a way he can’t step around. After a small moment of tense silence, he turns his gaze to me. His face holds an expression that I rarely see when it’s just me and him. His eyes are sharp and there’s a neutral scowl on his lips. The tough exterior he uses during work. His armor of sorts, a way to hide his true self from anyone who either wouldn’t like what they saw, or to protect himself. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” He answers gruffly before he unbuckles his seatbelt. My mind begins to race once more with possible explanations, but nothing makes sense. If we’re here to see some sort of informant or other police officer then he wouldn’t be acting so strange about the situation, he would just tell me what’s going on... so who are we meeting with? His continued silence gives me no more answers and before I have the chance to ask more questions, he gets out of the car and closes the door with a soft. ’thunk’. Without even sparing me a glance, he begins walking to the elevator.  I don’t want to be left behind, so I get out of the car and follow after him. The elevator has two metal grate-like doors that he squeaks open before stepping inside and standing to the right in front of the panel of buttons. I follow him in and stand on the left side. He pulls the doors shut and pushes the button for the top floor. It’s still silent between us and I can’t help but wonder if I did something wrong. The lift begins to ascend, and I turn my head forward to watch the empty floors go by through the gaps of metal. Did I say something bad to him without realizing? Did I forget something important? I try to think back to earlier today, looking for a reason he would be upset at me, but I come up blank. I trust Gordon, he’s been an important figure in my life for quite some time now... but still, the taught energy between us tingles up my spine, sinks it’s fangs into my back and infects me with an anxious itch.  Sure, I can survive a shootout, keep calm in pursuits, and witness the horrors of humanity on a near daily basis, but I’m a coward when it comes to personal human interaction. I want to ask again, try to get the answers that the little demon in my back is so ravenous for...  but when I open my mouth to speak, Gordon beats me to it. “This place and what I’m gonna show you... you have to keep it secret.” He’s still looking forward at the column of buttons, his gaze intense yet blank. Like he’s thinking just as hard as I am. My mouth closes, but I’m left with even more questions than I had before. What’s so special about this skeleton of a building? He looks over to me with a raised brow and I realize that I didn’t answer him. Almost panicked at the revelation, I rush to answer and in turn stutter my words. “Ye-Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, I won’t tell anyone...but what is this about, Gordon? You’re making me worried.” His gaze softens and with that little action, all of his armor falls off.  There’s a cocktail of emotions behind those deep chestnut eyes.  Tenderness, fear, guilt, nervousness... why? Nothing is making any sense. “I’m sorry... you’ll understand soon.” Is all he offers before he looks back at the door.  Godammit, why won’t he just tell me?! The creature gnaws on my flesh and my bones begin to jitter as the curiosity starts to eat me alive.  Finally, the elevator shudders to a stop and Gordon pushes the doors open. Rain blows in from the open spaces where walls should be, with it carrying a deep chill. Some illumination is provided from the elevator’s aforementioned glow, but the floor is still shrouded in darkness. Closer to the edge of the concrete across from the elevator, there’s a strange shape. It’s cast in a deep black shadow against the far away lights of the city. Gordon steps off of the elevator and begins walking towards it. Tentatively, I once again follow him. As we get closer, it gets easier to see... it’s a spotlight... and stretching across the surface is a metal bat symbol. Oh... oh. “This is the Batman’s signal tower.” I blink as the realization causes an internal avalanche, the creature in my back howls with glee and my cascade of thoughts wrap around my mind.  Gordon is working with him. How could he not be? If we were here to lure him out and arrest him, Gordon would have said. No, Gordon was nervous, afraid of what I would think of him after I found out.  Understandably so, Batman is a bit of a touchy subject back at the precinct. Most if not all the cops hate him, but it’s not out of fear for the people.  It’s from a selfish belief that he’s doing their jobs for them and encroaching on their territory.  They forget what’s actually important here... Protecting Gotham. As for myself, I have mixed feelings.  I’m glad that it seems he’s keeping a good morality, but what if that ever changes? What if it’s more complicated than he thinks and he ends up hurting the wrong people? Though, I guess cops face that dilemma too.  As long as it seems like he keeps the best interest of Gotham in mind, I have no problems with him.  Gordon reaches down and flicks the switch. It starts buzzing and a dim green glow resonates within the bowels of the light. It gets brighter with the second until it’s a powerful yellow beam across the sky and his symbol is projected up into the clouds. I’ve sat on my fire escape and looked up at that thing so many times now, but it feels so surreal to be seeing it this close.  This symbol represents more than just the bat.  I’ve seen it firsthand. Criminals are terrified of him, enough so that even just seeing his light can send the timid ones home... and the brave? The foolish? I end up seeing them in the interrogation room and I can tell that they’ve run into him before they even talk, and not just because of the bruises.  Their eyes dart, their knees bounce, and they flinch at every sound.  That symbol doesn’t just mean Batman, it means fear. I turn my attention from the projected bat back to Gordon. He’s observing me, trying to gauge my emotions through my stunned silence.  The fear is still there, deep within his gentle chestnut eyes. I take in a deep breath. “I’m not mad at you.” I break our spell of festering stagnancy with a gentle tone. Sure enough, his shoulders relax a bit and he breathes out a quiet relieved sigh. “How long have you been doing this?” I ask one of the many questions buzzing throughout my mind. Gordon is quiet for a moment before he turns his gaze out towards the city. He’s observing the glittering lights, the cars down on the street... but I can tell he’s not really paying too much attention to them. “Been two years now.” I blink silently as I let the information sink in.  Two years is a long time to be hiding something like this. I then voice my next question, trying my best to pick the most relevant ones since I’m assuming our time alone is limited. “Why bring me here tonight?” The mayor was just murdered, a very important case. It wouldn’t make sense for Gordon to delay us being there just so that he could make this confession to me. Talking with the Batman had to have some sort of significance to the investigation. “When I got the call, they told me there’s a card addressed to him at the crime scene. I want him to check it out, see what he thinks...” The others really aren’t gonna be happy about that. He turns his head towards me, and his eyes now carry a glimmer of softness. “I need you on this case too. Figured you should meet him now instead of later.” A bit of warmth fills my chest at his words and the deeper sentiment underneath them. He wants me to work this case with him instead of the other detectives that were already assigned to it, and he wanted to bring me in the loop sooner than the others so I would have time to process it all. He likes to pretend that he’s such a cold and callused lieutenant, but I know the real him.  Gordon is kind and considerate to the people he’s close with, but something I value most about him is the bond we share. In my entire life, there’s only been a handful of people who have been able to read how I feel, understand what I mean when I say something a bit more abstract. Those people were my mom, my dad, and Gordon. After they died, it was only him left on that list. I feel my smile falter a bit at the thought of them, but I try to fix it before Gordon can notice. It doesn’t work, I can see his own fading and a gentle concern take its place. It’s been twelve years since it happened, I’ve long since learned to live with it and I try my best to not think about it too much. Doing that does bring me some reprieve, but it never fully goes away. It’s like my trauma is a living thing, an apex predator that stalks my every move and waits for the perfect times to pounce, rips me apart from the inside out with images that never truly leave. Regrets that I can never rectify. I wish I could just focus on the good moments with my parents and forget everything else, but the memory of that night gets stuck in my head like a broken VHS tape, rewinding over and over at the worst possible parts, a scream on repeat. Then a lion claws its way out of the TV screen, boasts itself with a puffed-out chest while it glitters red with dark bloody pride. It casts a shadow over all the better times spent with my family. I can lock the animals away, take out the VHS and push it to the very back of the shelf... But then the nightmares come. They’re not nearly as often as they used to be, but when they rear their ugly head, it’s an entity that escapes my careful control. It lets out the spiteful zoo, rips out whatever was playing and shoves the dusty tape back in. On those days, I just try to ignore it, to distract myself. They go away eventually... but other times there’s more reminders and it’s much harder. The roars get louder, more demanding, starving for my attention. The shadowed hand grips my chin forces me to look at the blood red screen. I blink and give up trying to convince Gordon. I know he’s not gonna let me go so easily, not when he knows something’s off. “What’s wrong, kid?” He speaks in a gentle voice as he closes the distance between us and puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. I give him an appreciative little smile before I turn my gaze to the darkened cityscape below us. “...I dreamed about them again. Of the night it happened.” The only sounds around us are the faint buzzing of the signal, the loudly pattering rain, and the far away noises of Gotham below. It seems that he’s trying to think of what to say. “I’m sorry...” He draws in a little breath, and I turn my head to look at him. He’s gazing out towards the city now, just like I was previously. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” I remind him with a melancholic sense of certainty in my tone. I don’t see it often, but sometimes I catch little hints that he feels guilty for it all, even though there was nothing that he could’ve done. Whenever I see it, I do what I can to correct it. Regardless, his expression is sorrowful and behind his eyes I can tell he’s thinking about when it happened. “It was hard for me too... it still is. I still miss them. We worked together sometimes, me and your folks. I looked up to them a lot.” The VHS clunks and sticks itself on a different part of the worst event of my life. Gordon was one of the first responders that came to the house.  I know it wasn’t easy on him either... I know I didn’t help with that. But I was only thirteen and I couldn’t accept that they were dead. “Wanna talk about it?” He asks me and moves his head to return my gaze. Part of me wants to, wants to just let it all out and hope it’ll stay gone, thrown to the wind like a handful of ashes.  But I know that this isn’t the time. The mayor is dead and at any moment Batman could come up that elevator.  Right now, how I feel isn’t important. I gently shake my head and give him a small smile. I mean it to look reassuring, but I can see that it must not have worked because Gordon’s expression stays mostly the same. He lets out a quiet sigh before he gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Alright. But if you ever need anything, I’ll be there. All you gotta do is ask.” My smile becomes more genuine at this. The reassurance is calming, especially because I know he’s not just saying it to make me feel better.  Gordon took care of me while social services were making sure that my grandmother’s house was a stable place for me to live, he helped me get the scholarship I needed to get my Criminal Justice degree, he helped me become an officer, and then he convinced the Commissioner to give me a chance when I applied to be a detective way sooner than it’s usually allowed in most departments. I owe a lot to Gordon, and I’m glad to call him family even if we’re not related. “Thank you. For everything.” Gordon smiles in return and he lets his hand rest at his side again. We fall into a few moments of a comfortable quiet. The rain still pours, and the city still bustles with nightlife, but it’s a soothing ambiance. One I’ve been accustomed to for many years. Though, it’s interrupted when the elevator suddenly whirrs to life behind us. It startles me and I spin around to find that it’s begun to descend. In my peripheral I see Gordon turn his head to look back at me as the elevator goes, leaving us only in the yellow aural glow of the spotlight. Someone must have called it from one of the lower levels... Gordon speaks my thoughts. “He’s here.” I turn my head to look at him, my eyes a bit wide as the nervousness grows stronger, overpowers any residual warmth I was feeling and spreads throughout my upper body like a parasite. I’m not quite sure why I’m so nervous to meet him.  Maybe it’s because I’ve been curious about him for so long, or maybe I’m afraid of making a fool out of myself in front of someone so revered and infamous. Or maybe, it’s because he feels like such an intangible thing to me... something surreal and unfathomable. Like a dream. Much more casual than me, Gordon turns around to face the empty space where the lift was in preparation for the vigilante’s arrival. I take a breath and level my gaze towards the darkened elevator shaft as well.                              Soon, the light starts to come back and within the rising elevator there stands a shadow. Batman. His suit is so much more detailed in person... different shades of black make up the ensemble and every single detail seems like a lot of thought went into it.  A black cowl made of thick leather with ears that come up in a point, a dark grey chest plate with his symbol going across, tactical pants, a utility belt, arm guards with a row of what I assume to be some sort of... crossbow arrows? affixed to them. His black cape is attached to his shoulders and it seems to be made of some sort of heavier material... leather maybe? If so, it’s a smart choice. Leather is pretty protective. His boots seem to be a higher end brand of work boots, also leather and also black. Rainwater still drips from him onto the elevator floor... but it doesn’t seem like he would be too affected by the rain. He’s got all those protective layers on, I bet he doesn’t even feel it.  He reaches out with a gloved right hand and pushes open the door... but then his gaze lands on me and he stops in his tracks, like a deer caught in the headlights.  Did Gordon not even tell Batman I was coming?... Or is this their only way of communication? Regardless, I swallow a lump of anxiety and turn my head to Gordon, silently hoping for the best. “You got here fast.” Is all Gordon gives in form of a greeting. I still can’t bring myself to say anything yet, even as I look back towards the vigilante and see that he’s looking right back at me. “Who is she?” Batman’s voice is equally as enigmatic as his persona. Deep and rough but still soft and rounded at the edges. It’s almost breathed out, like a dark whisper. “She’s detective Emily Walker. We can trust her.” Gordon answers. Batman’s quiet for a second as he looks from me back to Gordon... like he’s deciding for himself if he can trust me.  Then it seems he’s come to his conclusion, and he closes the distance between him and us... It’s so surreal to see him this close.  Like something you’d dream and can’t possibly be real... but here he is, standing right in front of me... wait, he’s actually right in front of me- I look up and find a pair of ice blue eyes shrouded in black greasepaint staring right into me.  It’s a shock, an electrocution that pierces into me and stabs through all of my defenses.  Throughout my life, I’ve carefully built these walls, and I’ve made them so thick and so tall that hardly anyone could scale them, and therefor they could never truly see me living in the middle, trapped in my dusty old cottage.  But he’s here now, standing in front of me in this signal tower and in the decrepit old shack I’ve forgotten how to escape from.  The lion scurries back into the fuzzy TV screen, terrified of the stranger that’s appeared in our home.  I’m scared too, horrified of what he might find here, horrified that the bloody pictures and the stagnant staleness permeating the air will disgust him or drive him away, that he’ll use it against me or mock me.  But... there’s something else too. I’m elated, ecstatic that someone is finally visiting, someone is in here with me and I’m not alone anymore.  Maybe he has a key, maybe he has a sledgehammer, maybe I can escape, remodel, do something to stop drowning in the dust and death, to feel the warm sunshine on my skin once again and breathe fresh air. “Don Mitchell Junior was killed in his home earlier tonight... the killer left a card for you. I want you to come take a look with us, see what you can find out.” Gordon breaks the spell, pulls my hand from the live wire, causes Batman to shift his gaze back over to look at him instead of into me.  My cheeks feel hot against the frigid air, and I’m still disoriented from the mental intrusion.  Was that what it was?... How did he even do that?... How did he easily break through every single barrier I put up? In all my life, I’ve never had eye contact as intense as that... no, it wasn’t even eye contact. It was opia, he was staring directly at my soul... and I was completely defenseless against it. Why couldn’t I look away, what was he searching for? Did he find it? Batman hardly seems distressed by our exchange, but I know he felt it too. How could he not? How could he not know that he was standing right inside of my inner world? Regardless, batman shows no emotion on his face.  His mask -both physical and metaphorical- is flawless... but there’s a slight tick in his jaw, like he’s holding something back. Maybe it did have an effect on him.  Maybe he wasn’t expecting to fall that deep into my eyes. I wasn’t expecting him to either.  However, that’s all the clues I get.  “Sound good?” Gordon asks Batman and I finally turn my head to look at him.  The poor Lieutenant looks confused... I wonder what that exchange looked like from his perspective. Probably very weird. ”What?” Batman rasps out and with a furrowed brow, I take my chances at looking back at him. He seems almost dazed, shocked, confused... like he was completely in his own world for a moment... Did he experience the same thing I did, or was he just thinking very very intensely for some reason? Gordon raises a brow at the Bat before he looks between me and him, confusion clear as day.  “The mayor was killed. I want you to come with us to check it out.” Oh, the others are really going to hate that... having batman running around Gotham is too much for them, but having him in an active crime scene? We’re in for a long night.                                                               ~ Yeah, I was right. The others really do not like this.  We’re walking down the dim hallway of the late mayor’s home, a beautiful old townhouse that’s well cared for and cozy, definitely owned by rich people. Gordon is walking in front of me, leading the way through the parted sea of glowering stares. Not a single one of these cops are giving us any mercy, no they’re all glaring in unison like a hive minded creature, determined to make us feel like scum. It’s working. Well, for me anyways. However, I try not to think about it too much. They can make me feel like shit, but they can never make me fold... I trust Gordon, and therefore I trust him with his decisions... even the ones that involve bringing a vigilante to a high-profile murder case. He walks behind me, his heavy bootsteps a constant interruption in the tense atmosphere. A metronome, steady and even. A reminder that he’s still behind me beside from the way I can feel him. His looming figure almost seems to carry a cloud of shadowed energy with him, the kind that tingles up your spine, raises the hair on your arms, and steals the breath from your lungs. It probably helps that he’s always so quiet. In the short time I’ve known him, I’ve realized that he doesn’t talk often, and when he does it’s usually just short replies. Martinez and another officer are guarding the entrance to the study and behind them a few crime scene analysts in their white jumpsuits are measuring, taking pictures, and dusting for fingerprints.  Martinez lets me and Gordon in with a little tip of his hat, mostly aimed to Gordon I think.  Me and Martinez aren’t friends, but we aren’t enemies either. In truth, I’ve only spoken to him a few times and it was all work related. We keep walking into the scene and I’m about to begin taking stock of what I see- but then I hear the heavy footfalls stop. Why’d he stop? “Woah, woahwoahwoahwoahwoah...” I turn my head back towards the commotion.  Officer Martinez’s palm is placed firmly against Batman’s chest plate, and he’s leaned his body a bit to block the path through the threshold of the study. The bat looks down to the hand on his chest and then back up to meet the officer’s gaze. He remains silent, but the expression in his eyes is searing, like he’s just daring Martinez to try something. “Police action.” Martinez finishes his sentence and looks right back into the burning glare he’s receiving.  Martinez will never let Batman through, and with the way they’re looking at each other, the vigilante may very well get arrested tonight. “Gordon-” I get his attention and he stops walking to look back.  He lets out an annoyed puff of air before addressing the situation. “He’s with us, Officer.” Martinez looks utterly bewildered at Gordon as he turns his head to look back at us. “You kiddin me, sir? You’re gonna let him in here?” He asks before letting his incredulous gaze flick between the Shadow and Gordon. Despite the way the Bat slightly tensed up with agitation when my coworker referred to him in such a way, he remains patient with the matter and Gordon remains diplomatic. “Martinez... let him through.” The officer is plagued with uncertainty... but orders are orders, and he can’t very well refuse if he doesn’t want to face the consequences. So, with a palpable silence carried between the four of us, Martinez returns his hand to his side and let’s Batman through into the study. Gordon continues walking further into the crime scene as he puts on some white disposable gloves, and Batman walks past me where I’ve stopped.  I turn to follow after him when I hear Martinez mutter to himself. “Goddamn freak.” Wow. What an asshole. That’s definitely being added to my mental file of him. Forcing myself to ignore my anger, I continue to follow after the bat... I don’t know if he heard the insult or not, but it seems pretty likely he did. I hope he’s not letting it upset him. Regardless, this is a crime scene. A man was murdered. Anger has no place here... at least not from me. With that in mind, I observe my surroundings. The sight is grisly. Mitchell is posed sitting in his recliner with his left arm on the arm rest. Over his left hand is a small paper bag and his head is covered in duct tape all the way around except for the top. Brown hair matted with red sticks up messily from the space. Gordon steps up to the right of the body as he finishes putting his gloves on. I stand in front as I begin putting on mine. “What do we know?” Gordon asks the lead detective standing behind Mitchell’s chair. Seemingly done scanning the room for now, I feel batman glide to the left of Mitchell from behind me and the lead goes quiet as he watches him with a bitter stare. Of course. Because we totally need this to happen again, right here, right now, in front of the dead body of a brutally murdered mayor. But, I stay out of it and refocus myself. I look back to the body and scan all the details I can find. Written across the face of the tape mask is the phrase ‘NO MORE LIES’ in red marker.  So Mitchell was hiding something... or maybe Mitchell’s death is supposed to convey some sort of message. Probably both. I would like to give Mitchell the benefit of the doubt, but I don’t think any politician doesn’t have a few skeletons in their closet(s). “Detective.” Gordon prompts again and I look up, thinking for a moment that he was addressing me.  Though, I quickly realize that Gordon was addressing the lead. Whoops. I give a quick glance around and it doesn’t seem that anyone noticed. Good. I look back down to Mitchell. As I observe what I can, the lead detective seems to have been taken from his resentful Batman-caused stupor and answers Gordon’s original question. ”Sorry, Lieutenant... we’ve got blunt force trauma, lacerations on the head. He got hit a lot of times... and hard.” That much is obvious. Though the headwounds do look particularly nasty, they don’t seem like they would be the direct cause of death. Unless maybe he also had gotten a very bad concussion and suffered internal bleeding. Though, I see no convincing evidence of that yet. My eyes trail down to the floor in front of Mitchell... blood has seeped across the ground and splattered in other areas. Deep red with a darker tint towards the edges in the larger puddles and the same dark color all throughout the smaller ones. It’s been a couple hours since it was spilled... there’s a lot of it, too... It couldn’t have come from just his head, something else must have happened. There’s a thoughtful silence between us and I make careful steps towards the right side of the body, next to Gordon. With gentle movements, I hold the late mayor’s forearm in my right hand and carefully take the bag off it with my left. The sight that greets me is fairly ghastly, but not unexpected. His thumb has been cut off... that explains the blood at least. “All this blood from his head?” Gordon asks and I answer, turning my attention upwards towards the vigilante and my coworkers. “No. The thumb was severed... the killer probably took it.” The lead detective’s expression turns even more sour, and I realize that I must have stolen the words from his mouth. Again- whoops. Still, I keep focused and look down at the deceased hand once more, determined to find out all that I can.  Maybe I’ll be able to see something that Mr. Sunshine detective over there missed, and I can make him annoyed again. Gordon takes his little flashlight from his pocket before leaning over and clicking it on over the stump. I bring it a bit closer to the light so we can observe it better. With the added visibility, I see that the edges of the sever is bruised. Mitchell was alive when it was cut off. “He was alive when it was cut off.” A much darker voice echoes my thoughts and in a moment of quiet surprise, I look up at batman to find his eyes flit from the deceased hand I’m holding to meet my gaze. The contact is less intense this time, but it still sends a tingle up my spine, still sends a rush through my nervous system and still grants him access to the little cottage inside my head. My coworkers look to him as well, almost questioning. As they stare, I come back to myself and look down again. Batman is a better detective than I thought... or maybe he watches a lot of true crime. Maybe both. My coworkers are still looking at him and the air is becoming unbearably tight. I have to say something. “There’s ecchymosis around the wound.” I give some clarification to hopefully let us push past this awkward tense spot. In Batman’s eyes I can see a bit of subtle bewilderment.. maybe I voiced his thoughts as well. Eye for an eye, I guess. After only a few seconds of the thick atmosphere focused on me, I feel myself crumble a bit under all the attention. So, I shift my focus back to the sever, hoping they look away again soon. What’s so crazy about me clarifying something Batman said to warrant this kind of reaction? Am I supposed to just let the conversation hang like that? Is the lead pissed off that I backed up something the Bat said? Is Gordon lost in thought or waiting for the lead to say something? Whatever the case, I want them to do it not staring at me. I try to ignore it and just focus on my job. Doing so, I realize how clean the cut looks. Bloody and horrendous, sure, but lacking the usual jagged and uneven implications of movement. “There wasn’t a struggle either... he must have been unconscious from the blunt force to the head... which means he probably died from suffocation when his airways were blocked with the tape.” Gordon releases a quiet sigh at my deduction. His expression becomes a bit pained as he thinks about it. “Damn...” And I have to agree. It seems like a terrible way to die. A terrible way to murder someone. With that thought, I don’t see anything else worth noting about the finger and I gently set the hand back down on the arm rest. I feel more than hear batman’s bootsteps glide behind me as he crosses the room, most likely observing something else.  I’m still not used to having him around... it’s strange how he can seem to float through a room. Maybe he really is just a living shadow.  I look up and see Gordon turning his flashlight to the TV, observing the newspapers taped over the screen. They’re of Mitchell, headlines and articles about his campaign. Painted over them in the middle is the word ‘LIES’. The theme repeats. This killer either knows something about the mayor that we don’t, or he’s completely delusional. Either is perfectly believable at this point. The lead detective finally continues the brief, and I listen while I scan the room. “Security detail downstairs said the family was out trick or treatin. The mayor was up here alone... the killer may have come through the skyline.” His words are finalized by the click and flash of one of the crime scene analyst’s cameras.  I look up to the skyline to try to see if there’s any cracks or smudges on the glass... but if there are, they’re too small to see from here.  Though, my attention catches something else. Batman is moving from the wall toward a seemingly unnoticed spot on the floor, his face retaining all of that stone-faced coldness that seems to be the baseline of his persona. With a new curiosity, I follow behind him. The vigilante stands silently in front of it as I walk up beside him. He eyes me before glancing down at it, observing it. I look down too. It’s a strangely shaped bloodstain, an outline of something with a right angle. I crouch down as I retrieve my small flashlight from my jacket pocket and click it on. With my light shining on it, I can see little streaks from where it seems like whatever object left this slid against the floor a little bit, as if thrown or dropped. My mind goes to the possibility that Mitchell dropped this when he was attacked... but then why would it be bloody? Would the killer really have the ability to finish the job while injured and still manage to not get their blood anywhere on the crime scene? I guess their blood could be here too, but from what I’ve seen, the patterns don’t really match up if it was coming from two different people. Another odd thing is that the blood here is darker than the rest, meaning whatever this event was, it was probably done sooner than when the thumb was removed.  I look up from my crouched position and Batman meets my gaze. Again, the opia is still there but I try my best to ignore it. “This blood is older. I think whatever left this outline was the blunt weapon.” He’s silent for a moment as if thinking, analyzing the stain with my theory in mind, matching it up with the various other small clues and blood splatters in the room... I suddenly feel like a rookie version of myself telling Gordon a theory and anxiously awaiting his approval.  Even more like the approval hungry person I was (and I’m sure I still am) a great flood of relief and pride washes through me as Batman gives me a small nod in agreement. Though, the stupidly pathetic wave of dopamine leaves nearly as quick as it came as he turns to walk back towards Mitchell. Well, at least he acknowledged me for a second. That’s a start, right?

I click my light off and pocket it again as I stand. A quick yet thorough scan of the room reveals no new information jumping out at me.  So, I follow the Bat’s example and return to my spot next to Gordon as the Lieutenant prompts the lead detective again. “You said there was a card.” The detective nods and turns his attention from the small notebook he was writing in towards a desk to his right.  On top of it are two things that look like they don’t belong in the usual clutter of paperwork and books.  A stiff green envelope with some small black writing on the front, and a strangely marked piece of paper with a plastic sleeve over it. “Yeah.” He answers as he holds both the pen and notebook in one hand and grabs the card with the other. The man hands it to Gordon, and I move to stand a bit closer to Gordon’s shoulder so I can read it as well. ‘To The BatmaN’ It says in a scratched handwriting. It’s easy to see that it matches the rest of the scrawls here. Gordon is quiet as he carefully pulls the card out, his expression focused and deadly serious. It’s a Halloween design with a cartoonish print of a skeleton with its arm around a giant owl while he shushes the reader with his other hand. Something about the childish nature of it in such a gruesome setting makes a knot form in my stomach.  Gordon begins reading the stylized print on the front cover of it. “From your secret friend. Who?” Gordon then opens the card and continues to recite. “Haven’t a clue? Let’s play a game just me and you... What does a liar do when he’s dead?” Underneath that, there’s a line of strange symbols... some sort of code I don’t know the key to. I can hear Batman start to take slow steps towards us, see his dark figure approaching in my peripheral vision. He’s as curious about this as I am... and rightfully so. This card is addressed to him after all. I lift my gaze up and observe his features as he takes his final step a couple feet in front of me and Gordon. A sharp jawline with a slight bit of stubble and lips shut in a firm line. Even though I’m pretty doubtful that I’ll ever be able to guess who he is, I still take mental notes. “There’s a cipher too.” The lead states and draws my curiosity once more. So that’s what those weird symbols must be. Gordon hands me the card before he accepts the cipher page from the lead detective and holds it where we both can read it. He looks over it with confusion before he looks to me, asking me a silent question with the raise of his brow. ’Do you have any idea about what to do with this?’ Holding up the card so that I see both sets of symbols next to eachother, I begin to think and observe, try to find matches to the symbols on the card or some sort of hidden clue within them. However, there’s too many of the strange markings and I quickly get lost within them, like reading a very boring book with very small letters.  Gordon watches as I do this, holding up the page of ciphers for me as I strain my eyes and my brain in more futile attempts to find out the hidden code. His curiosity seems peaked at my attempt. I know that I’m probably onto something, but this method of trying to solve it isn’t going to work.  A quiet and frustrated sigh leaves me before I lower the card once again and give Gordon a shameful shake of my head.  I should know how to do this. It’s my job to solve things, to find the pattern. I can’t help but feel a bit disappointed in myself. Though, I’m not going to give up that easily. It’ll just take me some time, my own copies of the cipher, and a place that’s not covered in blood or has a murder victim in it. In response to my temporary admit of defeat, Gordon looks up to the vigilante, curios of what he’ll make of all of this.  “Any of this mean anything to you?” Gordon asks with a raised brow and turns the paper so the Batman can see it. I hold out the card in a similar manner and watch as the Shadow’s cold gaze flicks between the two documents with a mix of curiosity and puzzlement... but there’s something else underneath that as well, it’s like he’s just now seeing that the card was written to him. Under the controlled guise, he’s a bit alarmed... which is understandable. Nobody wants a killer to write them some cryptic riddle. A few moments of silent contemplation pass. Batman opens his mouth to respond, but he’s cut off by a shrill voice near the entrance of the Study. All of our attention shifts to it. ”What’s goin on here?” Rasps the telltale half-screech of my boss, Commissioner Pete Savage. He’s wearing a white dress shirt, a dark tie, dark pants, dress shoes, and a black windbreaker. His short grey hair is swept back and on his face are a pair of clear framed glasses and a very unhappy scowl. To really drive home the palpable anger, his hands are placed firmly on his hips. Not only that, but Savage speaks in a thick Gothamite accent... which really just sounds like a stereotypical angry New Yorker, which makes his scolding even more unbearable. I’m really not looking forward to what happens next. I give a worried glance to Gordon, and he meets my gaze. In the span of seconds, we have a silent conversation with each other amidst the blooming chaos.  Me telling him that I’m not the one who’s going to try to talk Savage, and him reassuring me that he can handle this to where we both still have our jobs. Gordon then looks back to our commissioner. “I asked him to come, Pete.” He says with a motion towards Batman. Man, this really isn’t going to end well... Savage already doesn’t like me too much. I feel bad letting Gordon take the fall for this, but he has a lot better chance at getting away with this than me. Savage begins stalking up to Gordon as he speaks, and Gordon reluctantly goes to meet him halfway. I can tell that he’d rather be anywhere but here. “This is a crime scene!” It’s Mitchell for christ’s sakes, I got the press downstairs!” Savage scolds as he points at the body, his furious eyes staying fixed on Gordon. “Ya know, Jim, I cut you a lotta slack cuz we got history. But this-” He pauses to point over at Batman. “Is way over the line!” The bat in question doesn’t seem too perturbed with the situation... instead it looks like he’s deep in thought as he keeps scanning his eyes over the body. I wish I could ignore conflict as good as he seems to be able to, but I’m still painfully aware of the arguing going on a couple feet away from me. “Kid, c’mere.” Gordon grabs my attention. My head snaps in his direction and I see that he’s holding his right-hand palm up in my direction. It take me a second to realize that he’s asking for the card. Once I do, I quickly jump to correct myself and hand Gordon the card. Savage subtly rolls his eyes at me. I wish I knew why he hates me so much. Nothing I ever do seems to be good enough, and I always have to work my ass off to even be slightly acknowledged by him. He knows how capable I am, he knows how good I am at what I do... but maybe that’s part of the problem.  He didn’t actually think that I would pass that NDIT, not within my first year at GCPD... I think that’s a big part of the reason why he even let me try. Not only did I pass, but I got 100% on my first try. That was the day his loathing began. Gordon silently holds up the card for our commissioner to see, frustration clear as day on his features.   ~~=~~ As Savage reads it, he begins to seethe with rage. ‘To The BatmaN’. “Wait, he’s INVOLVED in this?!” Gordon shakes his head, trying his best to remain calm but it’s easy to see that his patience is wearing thin. “No, he’s not involved-” “How do you know?! He’s a goddamn VIGILANTE, he could be a suspect!” Commissioner Savage continues his outrage and I feel bad for Gordon... I feel bad for Batman. Gordon invited him here, but everyone’s just been treating him like dirt the entire time. The Shadow hides his emotions well, but I know that if I was in his situation, I wouldn’t feel too great about it. I want to try to help. I push down the bloom of tingling nervousness within my chest as I leave my spot next to Gordon and stand next to the Bat by Mitchell’s body. He’s still ignoring the heated argument and his eyes are glued to the corpse. I can see that he’s deep in thought, but about what I can’t really tell... maybe multiple things at once, maybe he’s mulling through all the clues we have. On top of this, I can tell that he’s hyper aware of my presence but trying to ignore it. Maybe he’s afraid I’ll start scolding him too, or maybe he’s just plain weirded out by me. Either way, I came over here for a reason. I give a glance over to the two policemen and find that they’re still deep in their argument.  The coast is clear.  I look back to the Bat. ”I’m sorry.” I extend an apology like a friendly hand. It’s up to him if he takes it.  The sentiment seems to catch him off guard and he looks to me with a furrowed brow from under the cowl. Is he really that confused that I’m being nice? Or maybe he’s just not understanding what I’m apologizing for. ”The way they’re acting... they don’t have to like you, but they don’t have to be children about it. Gordon wanted to bring you, so it’s gotta be for a good reason.” Now he fully turns his attention to me. Soft blue eyes burrow into my own once again, but he doesn’t have to break through any walls this time.  I open the door and welcome him inside the cabin. There’s an added bit of skepticism inside the puzzled expression as he searches the house, pulls books off of the shelf and overturns couch cushions. I let him. A few moments pass and it seems that he gives up. His eyes soften a bit before they turn back to the body.  I can’t help but feel a bit dejected that he didn’t say anything, but at least the air feels a bit lighter between us. The agitated words have since raised into a hushed shouting and there doesn’t seem to be any hopes of the argument getting calmer any time soon.  ”He lies still.” Until Batman once again seems to cut through it all with his rumbled discovery and casts the room into an uncomfortable silence... again. So he must have been thinking about the riddle. Gordon and Savage are looking at Batman, Gordon like he’s caught onto a rapidly moving train of thought, and Savage like Batman had just insulted his mother.  Maybe he should. ”Excuse me?” His tone is thin, and it’s obvious he’s on the verge of losing it. ”The riddle.” I speak up and Savage’s searing gaze lands on me until Gordon re-directs it and raises the card up for the Commissioner to see once more. “What does a liar do when he’s dead? He lies still.” Exasperation fills his tone, but still he’s trying to be professional. We’re all cast into a silence once more.  Me and Gordon waiting for Savage’s move and Batman assumingly waiting for ours.  Finally, the raging grump of a police commissioner stomps from Gordon and over to the corpse, stopping on the opposite side of it that me and the Bat are standing next to. His expression softens into one of a pained sorrow as he looks at all the damage done, and I can’t help but feel bad for him. I knew that they knew each other, but it seems like Savage and Mitchell were closer than I thought. “Ah, Jesus...” Savage mumbles to himself as he continues to observe the state of his dead friend. It’s never easy seeing a dead body, but when that corpse turns out to be someone you knew... it’s always so much worse.  My left hand moves to nervously fidget with the broken zipper of my jacket and Savage suddenly turns his attention back to the vigilante beside me. His eyes are sharp and bitter once more. “This must be your favorite night of the year, huh pal?” The commissioner spits out, obviously turning his grief into rage for anyone he deems worthy of it. “Happy fuckin Halloween.” Savage finishes as he turns his hateful glare to me.  I can tell that he probably wants to start laying into me as well, but Martinez’s soft voice cuts through the atmosphere and steals all of our attention. “Excuse me, Commissioner?... They’re ready for your statement.” Savage lets his gaze go back to Mitchell. Again, his rage morphs into sorrow. After a moment of a tense pause that holds us all hostage, Savage tears his eyes away from the former mayor and fixes them on Gordon. He stalks over to the Lieutenant and stops just about a foot away from him before he leans in close to his face. “I want him outta here. NOW.” He growls the last word out and Gordon somehow still manages to not say or do anything in retaliation. Without another word, the ball of rage leaves the scene and storms off to deliver his statement, Martinez following at his side. Gordon is taking a moment to collect himself... I don’t blame him.  The room around us has become a bit easier to breathe in since Savage left, but the air is still dense and tinged with iron. A man is still dead and the one responsible is still on the loose. Gordon turns his head towards me and Batman. ”Come on.” His tone is short but it’s clear that the annoyance in his voice is not meant for us.  Regardless, I oblige and the three of us begin to walk the opposite way we came, down one of the dimmed hallways of this now broken home.  Cops are still littered throughout the area, and I look down to avoid them. That’s when something on the floor catches my attention and I can’t will myself to go any further... there on the dark wooden planks is the sticky red footprint of a child’s shoe... perfectly positioned to see the grotesque tragedy.  Soft yet thudding bootsteps trail to a stop beside me as the TV clicks on, red static buzzes across the screen. I look up towards the sound of quiet voices and see that a few feet down the hallway there’s a bedroom door open and mumbled words. Consumed by this pit of grief-stricken realization, I follow them, Gordon and the Bat going momentarily forgotten. I need to know what happened, and I hope to whatever god is out there that it’s not what I think. In the room, a little boy dressed as a red ninja is sitting on the edge of his bed and across from him a policewoman is writing something down in her handheld notebook.  In my head, the VHS clunks into motion and the past plays for me once again.  The lights in the cottage dim. The screen is all I can see. I was in his place before... looking at him, I see my reflection. An echo of the summer night that I come to dread every year since. One that tossed me out to sea and left me to fend the rough waters with storms that never seem to truly pass. I can’t look away as his tear glazed eyes looks up to connect with mine. They hold all the sadness of a devastated child.  One that’s seen something they were never supposed to and now has to live through the anguish. He looks so young... I hope he can find it in himself to still be a kid after this, to be carefree and playful. I was older than he is, but when my parents were killed, it still took all of those away from me. The boy’s gaze flicks to the right of mine and it’s only then I can bring myself to follow it.  Batman is standing beside me, a tower of darkness and mystery... yet his demeanor seems just as far away as mine just has been.  His eyes seem just as troubled... maybe he also knows how it feels.  Maybe he’s got a bloody VHS of his own. Gordon must have kept going when we stopped because he’s walking back to us from the way towards the exit. I look at Gordon and I know he can feel my pain, my grief for this poor boy who just had his life forever changed.  ”Yeah...” He confirms to us, and I feel the weight in my chest sink heavier. Batman’s eyes are still on the boy who’s since looked back at the officer in front of him. ”Kid found him.”       ~* THURSDAY, OCTOBER THIRTY-FIRST ------------------------------------------------------- The city streets are crowded for the holiday, even with the rain. Hidden in the chaos is the element, waiting to strike like snakes.  But I’m there too. Watching.  Two years of nights have turned me into a nocturnal animal. I must choose my targets carefully. It’s a big city... I can’t be everywhere. But they don’t know where I am. We have a signal now. For when I’m needed... But when that light hits the sky, it’s not just a call... it’s a warning. To them. Fear is a tool. They think I’m hiding in the shadows... but I am the shadows. I wish I could say that I’m making a difference... but I don’t know.  Murder, robberies, assault... two years later they’re all up... and now this.  The city’s eating itself. Maybe it’s beyond saving... but I have to try. I have to PUSH MYSELF. These nights all roll together in a rush behind the mask. Sometimes in the morning I have to force myself to remember everything that happened. The notebook closes like muscle memory.  It is muscle memory at this point. Nirvana plays in the background, loud enough to echo against the cavernous walls of the abandoned subway station, but soft enough that I’m able to keep enough attention on the morning news playing on the screen behind me and the events of last night playing on the one in front.  The music helps me think, lets me passively take in both sources of information without getting overwhelmed.  I’m still in my drifter outfit, the middle stage between Batman and Bruce when I can’t be seen as either. It’s how I spend pretty much every morning now. My way of winding down, shedding the skin I put on every night so I can go back to just being Bruce... though sometimes, I wonder if there’s even a separation between the two anymore.  ”..This certainly isn’t the first time Gotham has been rocked by the murder of a political figure. In fact, in an eerie coincidence, it was twenty years ago this week that celebrated billionaire and philanthropist Dr. Thomas Wayne and his wife Martha was slain during his own mayoral campaign.” My mind stutters when the news anchor says my parent’s names. It’s like a cold glass of water thrown into my face.  I try not to think about that night too much... but it seems that everyone else just can’t help but bring it up. Reporters are like vultures when it comes to tragedy, and it seems that they’ll never stop feasting off of mine. I need to listen to what else she says.  Keeping my attention focused on the news, I reach over and turn down the music all the way before allowing myself to look at the television behind me. ”It was a shocking crime that remains unsolved to this day. Don Mitchell Jrs’ political career was especially notable for his tough war on drugs..” The news anchor keeps speaking about the mayor as the elevator in the shaft behind me starts rattling down. Great. I’m sure this conversation is gonna go well. I turn my gaze from the television behind me to the screens on my desk, trying to delve deep into my work so maybe he’ll leave me alone. As much as I try, I can’t truly focus on it. I’m too distracted listening to him close the elevator door and walk towards me, the thump of his cane accentuating every other footstep. Still, I try to ignore it as I reach out and hit the fast forward button. I need to get to the crime scene. ”I assume you’ve heard about this.” He asks about the news story. Like usual, he’s pretending that nothing happened, like we didn’t just have a verbal war hours earlier. ”Yeah.” I answer him, not bothering to hide the shortness of my tone. I’m not gonna bring it up, but I’m not gonna act like I forgot either. I don’t care if he knows I’m still angry at him. I hear Alfred take a couple steps closer until he’s standing beside me at the desk. The monitor’s screen displays Mitchell’s body through a grainy veil of red, what my contact lens cameras saw.  Gordon’s observing his head with his flashlight, the lead detective beside him.  Picking up his hand and removing the bag is her, Detective Walker.  I don’t know what to think of her yet.  Gordon said that we can trust her, and it seems like she’s good at her job... but there’s just something about her that feels... different somehow.  The way she looked at me... I was just trying to size her up, see if I could trust Gordon’s word about her... but then her eyes locked onto mine and everything suddenly fell away. We weren’t in the signal tower anymore, we were at Wayne Tower, and she was there, locked in the empty dark home with me. She saw the angry little boy sitting there in his parent’s bedroom, wondering why the world was so cold... she saw me. I don’t like it. No one is supposed to be able to see that deep, not even Alfred, not even the people that know me. ”Bruce!” Alfred snaps me out of the trance. I look down and realize that I paused the video on a perfect frame of her face, the moment when she seemed to read my mind about Mitchell’s thumb. ”Bruce, did you hear me?” I blink and take a second to collect myself before I finally look over at Alfred.  He must have thought that I was ignoring him on purpose because he looks angry.  ”No.” I answer and look back at the screen. It’s still paused on her, crowned with the information my recognition software found. Alfred lets out a soft frustrated sigh before he repeats himself. ”I recognize her name... but I don’t know what from.” What? Why would Alfred know her?  I need to find out, I need to know everything about her that I possibly can. My curiosity feels like a beast, feral and unrelenting. Starving for every bit of information it can get it’s claws on.  I move to my monitor on the far right and minimize the displayed camera systems, then open the search engine and type in her name and title.  Multiple articles appear, but none of them are what I’m expecting.  ’Det. Amelia Walker and husband Ofc. James Walker Murdered || GCPD1′      ’Celebrated Cop Duo Murdered! ||GothamGazette’            ‘The Mysterious Case of Amelia and James Walker || GothamColdCases’      My breath catches in my throat... She went through it too, then. That’s why she froze up when she found Mitchell’s son.  I click on the first link.  ...’At approximately 3:28 AM, July 15th 2010, GCPD first responders received a phone call from a concerned neighbor claiming that screams were coming from the Walker Residence.  When police arrived, they found the bodies of Amelia and James Walker, stabbed to death in their bedroom.  Amelia was on the floor and James still lying in bed. Emily Walker, their thirteen-year-old, was on her knees at her mother’s side unharmed. The police have not yet found the killer.’... ”Oh... I see.” Alfred breathes out with a heavy sadness. My jaw clenches and I minimize the page. I can’t read any more of that, not right now... why are people always murdered in this fucking town? Why does this darkness have to spread so much, infect so deeply and take so greedily?... I’m getting distracted.  I look back at the main monitor and press play.  We watch the video silently for a few moments before I skip ahead to when Gordon’s reading the card. I pause it and then hit the print button.  The warm paper glides out from the printer and it’s a grace for my aching fingers.  As much as I’d like to savor it, I don’t want to waste any time.  The video continues in the background as I write down the answer to the riddle in silver sharpie, writing each letter above the symbols in the card- what I can only assume is the letter’s equivalent in the cipher. ”The killer left this for the Batman?” Alfred’s alarmed voice breaks the silent peace we found.  There it is, all my hope for a calm morning gone. I look at him, expecting the tension to soon break into a shouting crescendo. ”Apparently.” He moves his gaze from the screen back to me and I can see the agitated shift  in his features.  ”You’re becoming quite the celebrity. Why is he writing to you?” I glue my eyes to the screen once more and press the fast forward button.  I can tell that our conversation is quickly becoming a ticking time bomb.  One wrong move, and it’ll blow. ”I don’t know yet.” The answer stays on the neutral side of things, doesn’t comment on his first statement. It’s a bit ironic though, Batman becoming well known. I started this project to try to make a difference in Gotham, an actual difference, instead of our politician’s usual way of staying in good light and making more money... but I didn’t realize just how freeing anonymity is. ”Have a shower.” Alfred changes the subject with a tone of defeat as he sets a glass of water down on the desk beside me.  I expected him to re-open the festering wound of our argument from last night, but I guess he learned that saying the same thing over and over again won’t make me change my mind. I never thought the day would come.  He turns away from me and begins to walk back to the direction of the elevator. ”Our accounting friends at Wayne Enterprises are coming for breakfast.” What?? Those are the last people I want to see right now and Alfred knows it. Not only that, but they’re going to be in our house. Today alone I’ve had to deal with two assaults, a mugging, murder, and now accountants?? He couldn’t have even told me beforehand so I could have some time to prepare for it? ”Here? Why?” I try to find some sort of reason why he might ever think this was a good idea. It seems that my question was the end of his patience. ”Because I couldn’t get you to go there!” He bursts out as he turns to face me again. Oh boy. Here it comes again. ”I haven’t got time for this.” I say as I look back towards the red screen. It’s true, I really don’t have time for this conversation again, especially since he knows I still feel the same about it that I did last night. ”It’s getting serious, Bruce. If this continues, it won’t be long before you’ve nothing left.” There it is. Alfred wants me to go on my father’s route of change, to use money to become a mayor and try to save Gotham ‘the right way’. Maybe it would have worked for my father, but I’m not him, as much as Alfred wishes otherwise. I was born into this company and robbed of every major life choice since I was ten. I don’t want to be the ‘Prince of Gotham’ I don’t want to have my name and face plastered everywhere. That won’t help anything, not from me. This town is rotting, and it gets worse every day. Old fashioned politics can’t save it anymore and no matter how much he hates it, this is the only way.  Gotham needs Batman, not Bruce Wayne the hermit screw-up. With a deep breath, I turn my head once again to meet the eye contact. I want him to be able to see how much I mean this. ”I don’t care about that. Any of that.” His jaw ticks and I can tell I’ve struck a nerve. ”You don’t care about your family’s legacy?” He thinks kissing babies and being famous is my legacy? No, what my dad stood for, his charities and kindness, that was his legacy. Doing what he could to help Gotham, to save people. ”What I’m doing is my family’s legacy. If I can’t change things here, if I can’t have an effect... then I don’t care what happens to me.” His expression shifts as the anger seems to melt away and instead a grave sadness replaces it. ”That’s what I’m afraid of-” ”Alfred, stop. You’re not my father.” Fuck. I really didn’t mean to say that... I really don’t mean it either, but Alfred doesn’t know that. The damage is done. There’s a weight between us, one that bogs the air and makes him pause for a few seconds as the sadness in his eyes grows deeper. ”I’m well aware.” I can’t do it anymore. This conversation, this night, the accountants, the disappointment and pressure, the murderer on the loose, and that fucking detective... I just need to be left alone for ten goddamn minutes or else I’m going to explode. Neither of us say anything else as I look back to the screen.  Gordon is showing the cipher page.  I quickly pause it and press print before I get up and leave for the elevator. I don’t know why I always have to make everything so much worse.  Sure, Alfred pressures me to be someone I’m not, but he still raised me when no one else could... even though he didn’t know how to. He’s not my father, but he always took care of me like one. Drowning in regret, I close the doors and press the button. The freight elevator begins to rattle upwards and once my work-station is out of view my eyes close and my head thunks against the cold metal wall. I’m so tired and sore, and there’s a million different emotions going on all at once, thrashing, fighting, screaming, crying...  I just want to lay down.                                                                   ~ ​

[dizaryswrites]

Hey this isn’t meant to be confrontational or any kind of critique or anything, just a truly genuine question out of curiousity and what not. With works like finish line, where it’s a complete au of the Batman, but the whole Something Happened to Jason thing is included, do you ever worry about balancing the risk of like victim blaming in a sense? Like I do think there’s this unfortunate idea of Jason being to blame for his death, which we’ve scene parroted in canon even at times by certain characters, but also an unfortunate number of fans themselves seem to think Jason was reckless or impulsive or did something to make his death happen, rather than dying as a hero Child protecting his mother (as he finally argues in print in task force Z). But like in finish lines it’s written that he sort of disobeyed Bruce and Dick, ignored their warnings, and acted in a manner that could be seen as reckless or impulsive solely for the thrill of it, which sort of toes that line? Again, not a critique, sort of more of a writing question to balance for my own ideas. Like is that smthn you are concerned about and try to balance, is it less of a concern, is it not a concern with au works?

I honestly don't think I've ever intentionally thought of Jason's death in this way when writing. Probably because I don't see his canon death as his fault and I write out of that mindset. He was a child who was betrayed and failed by multiple adults, in simplest terms. And I think in my fantasy AU, his death has similar beats. He, a child, tried to save someone but it turns out to be a trap.

I think context matters for Finish Line because Jason was a successful driver in the middle of a race. So while his coaches are giving advice, he's in a high stakes situation where he ultimately has to make a judgment call based on his own ability and experience. It's probably not the first time he went against their advice and likely succeeded in other circumstances. At the end of the day, he is the driver. Yes, he stated that he wanted to push his limits, but I think it's less for thrill and more because he genuinely believed he could make it past this other driver crowding him. Either way he made a split second call with the information he had. And most importantly to me, his family doesn't blame him or Duke for their crashes and instead rally around them. Of course, this is all informed by my point of view which is that Jason isn't at fault for his canon death.

I think AUs are fun because you can try different things. With Finish Lines I was more concerned with the impact the crash had on Jason so it ended up unintentionally toeing the line depending on the reader's interpretation. I think that's okay since AUs explore an alternate world and altered relationships. For your writing, Anon, it really depends on what you want to come across. Do you want the reader to have room for interpretation? Do you want them to leave with a firm understanding of Jason's role in his death? If it's important to you and the story you're telling then it's okay to pay more attention to balancing that or making it clear to the reader. And most importantly, write what you enjoy and what makes you happy!

[onetimeidreamt81]

I was walking down the street, when The Flash and Zoom raced around the road, fighting. The Flash was losing. Luckily, there was something that everyone didn't know about me. I had a power too. I could invert other super's powers. Focusing on Zoom, I activated my power. Turning Zoom from one of the fastest people alive, to the slowest. While he was running. Leaving a long skid mark on the pavement, and a splat on the steel skyscraper wall. Flash stood horrified at the sudden shift. He approached me, because when I used my power it had a visual effect. Flash questioned me, and I calmly answered him. When he was down, and I started to turn away, Flash called out.

"How are you so calm about all this?" He asked, confused.

I turned back around, a lollypop in my hand, "I'm from Gotham."

Flash's eyes widened ever so slightly. And I left. Now, because I had done this in public, everyone knew about me and what I could do. The powered people, both heroes and villains, feared me. The non-powered people didn't. Batman, he didn't fear me. He was angry at me. Because I accidentally made his job harder.

They found out about why I left Gotham. The one and only time I ran into The Joker, on instinct I inverted him. Little did I know that, when Joker fell into the vat of toxic waste, turning his hair green, his skin pale and caused him to turn insane, that that was his super power. So now instead of being supernaturally insane, now he is supernaturally sane. Now he is even more dangerous than before. Harley Quinn was not happy with the change.

So I left.

Sometime later after everyone found out about me, I went out to lunch with my brother to hang out. We were eating our lunch, talking, and having a good time. When the guys from the table a few feet away saw that I was sitting there. They then started loudly proclaiming that Vision was the best superhero ever. I did my best to ignore them, when they started to bring me into the conversation without talking to me.

Finally, my brother couldn't stay silent anymore. He started telling them that Vision is just a robot. He is basically the Internet given consciousness. He told them that the Scarlet Witch could beat him. That I could beat them.

The guy got up, and when I wasn't looking, he reached into my bag and grabbed my phone. I don't know how he figured out my passcode so fast, but he got into my phone, and started giving out my private information to everyone there. I twisted my arm out of his hand, grabbed his wrist and twisted it behind his back. Slamming his face into the table. I leaned in close and said, "Next time, I'll aim lower."

Pushing away from him, I took a few steps away backwards. He took a threatening step towards me. Pulling out the pocket knife I kept on me, I threw it at him, the blade going through his hand. I turned around fully, grabbed my bag. Raising my hand, the knife, that was still in the palm of the screaming guy, flew out and into my hand.

Then I disappeared. Leaving everyone slack jawed.

[soulmate-game]

Daughter of wonderwoman au where marinette finds out her mother is actually Diana and somehow it ends up with her meeting/being introduced to the batfam maybe because she has super strength and is seen yeeting some bad guys who tried to mug her... Or something.

“... you are running from your problems, Mari,” Adrien’s exasperated voice reminded his best friend. Again. She ignored him, and he threw his hands up in exasperation. “Look, you don’t have to do anything about it! Nobody would hold it against you if you decided to just, ignore that you found anything out at all. But you need to actually think about what we just found out and decide whether or not you’re gonna do anything—“ he side-stepped a piece of trash that went flying in his direction. “—or if you’re gonna move on and pretend nothing happened.”

“Isn’t that what I’m doing?” Marinette shot back, pushing her bangs out of her face and tying her hair back with one hand.

“No, you’re currently hiding away in Gotham to avoid your parents while you beat up every random group of idiots who thinks you’re an easy mark,” he retorted. Another wannabe kidnapper went flying in his direction, making him sigh and side step again. She had thrown that one with only her one free hand, showing just how upset she was. “You’re ignoring everything in your life, which is not what we meant we said you should get a little space.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marinette dropkicked the last criminal into unconsciousness before stepping back and putting her hands on her hips. She looked over at the now seven passed out men in the alleyway, and the one very frustrated ex-model pinching the bride of his nose. “I think I’m coping just fine.”

“It’s better than being forced to suppress all of your emotions, sure,” Adrien reluctantly agreed. “But not by much. Your angry rampage through Gotham has already attracted more attention,” he raised his hand to point at a nearby rooftop. Several shadows lurked there, looming over the building’s edge. “Which, might I add, is exactly why I told you not to come to Gotham.”

“You’re the one who followed me here,” she shot back before turning to the shadowy figures above them. “Go ahead and come down! But it was self defense, and you can’t arrest or beat me up for defending myself!”

The first figure to drop down straightened your just as quickly, revealing the imposing figure of none other than Batman himself. The little white eyes on his cowl seemed to narrow on their own as he looked down at her.

“That might be true, but I’m sure you know my policy on metas in my city,” he grumbled back at her. He wasn’t necessarily threatening, but he definitely wasn’t welcoming either. With all of his limbs hidden behind the cocoon that was his cape, Marinette would never be able to predict his next move if he did decide to fight. Not that she seemed particularly worried about that as she crossed her arms over her chest and met his glare evenly.

“Oh, do you own this city now? I wasn’t given the memo,” she retorted. “And considering I didn’t even know I was a meta until last week? I think I deserve a little slack. I’m angry and if people think the tiny little girl in pink is an easy kidnapping target, then it’s their fault for making themselves into the perfect practice dummies for me to try out my newly discovered strength on.”

Adrien saw the eyes on Batman’s mask narrow even further. Marinette wasn’t exactly at her most charismatic at the moment, and Adrien didn’t wanna get the both of them into a bad relationship with the experienced superhero who always seemed to know things he shouldn’t know. So he stepped up quickly, getting in between Marinette and the Bat and holding his hands up in a placating gesture.

“Okay, Monsieur Batman,” Adrien started slowly, making sure his posture was impeccable and his smile bright. “She’s telling the truth, even if she’s not... the most tactful about it right now. She just found out some very concerning things about her origin and Gotham is the best place for her to hide from her problems and let loose a little pent up aggression. But— well,” he grimaced. “We didn’t intend to run into you guys, but maybe it’s a good thing we did.”

“How so?” Batman was clearly still incredibly suspicious of the both of them and wasn’t giving an inch. So Marinette rolled her eyes (she was still very moody) and leaned around Adrien so she could get a good look at the monochromatic hero.

“I thank my lucky spots that we ran into you, Batman!” She said monotonously. “Me and Adrien are paw-sitively excited at this opportunity.”

Batman. Froze.

Not only were those two lines the very first lines ever spoken to him by two foreign heroes a few years ago (with a few key words changed to protect identities), but they had become their code phrase for whenever they made calls to one another outside of their costumes. All at once it seemed to hit him— the golden hair and bright green eyes on the boy, the blue-black hair and normally super-focused bluebell eyes on the girl that were currently sporting very uncharacteristic frustration. Their heights. Their builds. All of this info flowed through his mind and compared to the information stored in his memory, and it only took the span of two seconds for everything to click.

Suddenly Batman was at full attention, back straight instead of looming over them and eyebrows clearly raised high under his cowl.

He knew Chat Noir and Ladybug would never take a random vacation to Gotham. Ladybug herself had nearly waxed poetic about how much the city depressed her just from the pictures she saw online. If she had willingly come to visit, it was more than to just blow off some steam.

“Batcave?” He asked, earning a relieved look from Adrien and a moody silence from Marinette.

“Please,” Adrien agreed. “You can probably help us, actually.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette leaned back in the metal debriefing chair, legs up on the table and looking for all the world as the picture of pure teenage rebellion and angst. Coincidentally, Red Hood was in the exact same position in the chair next to her.

Batman and all of his other bats and birds were in the cave with the two off-duty Parisian heroes. Everyone except Adrien and Marinette still had their masks on, since the two Parisians were still not privy to their identities. Yet.

To be fair, the bats hadn’t known the identities of the two miraculous users either before today.

“Cha Noir,” Batman started, only to get a head shake from the blond boy.

“Just call me Adrien. Chat’s out of the bag—“ he ignored the groans at the pun and soldiered on, “—so might as well use my real name.”

Batman nodded. “Adrien, then,” he amended. “Why are you and Ladybug really in Gotham?”

Adrien sighed. “I wasn’t lying, before. Marinette,” he gestured to his hero partner. “Just found out some distressing family news. Since HawkMoth is gone, she doesn’t need to repress her negative emotions anymore. But she also didn’t want to be around her parents while she processed everything. I told her to choose any other city— really, I begged— but she insisted on coming to Gotham.”

“The never ending cloud cover and constant rain seem thematic,” she finally spoke up, reaching into her big over-the-shoulder bag and pulling out a large envelope. She threw it to Batman, making the thin package slice through the air like a knife. To nobody’s surprise the seasoned hero easily caught the projectile between two fingers. He looked at the envelope and back to Marinette, silent questions floating in the air between them. Marinette decided to answer at her own pace.

“That’s what we found out. You see, one of my friends is a huge science nerd. A genius. And he wanted to compare DNA samples between us to see if there were any genetic components that determined a person’s suitability towards certain Miraculous or other magical artifacts over others. It was supposed to just be a fun side project that he didn’t expect any breakthroughs on. He mostly just wanted to satisfy his own curiosity. But instead of finding out if our DNA was linked to the miraculous, he found out that my parents are not biologically my parents.”

“Hence the whole just finding out that you’re a meta thing, right?” Nightwing spoke up, fully invested in the story. “Did they never say you were adopted before?”

“It’s not in the system,” she replied easily. “My parents have all the documentation to prove that I’m their biological child, except I’m not. When I confronted them about it, they caved and admitted that they had adopted me in secret and covered it up. Apparently a friend of theirs was involved in something illegal, and,” she waved at the envelope that Batman was now opening. “The details of what we were able to dig up are in there. The summary is this; their friend was part of a secret, illegal experimentation to create clones that could defeat the Justice League—“ the air seemed to get sucked out of the room as soon as those words left Marinette’s mouth. Everyone seemed to know exactly what she was talking about. “—a group called CADMUS. They made me, as apparently one of their early attempts. But I didn’t exhibit any of the powers they were looking for, or any meta traits at all, and my body refused to mature at the rate they wanted. They had no use for a seemingly normal human baby that they managed to clone, so they were preparing to kill me and start over. That’s when my parent’s friend stole me, not wanting to kill an infant, and begged my parents to take me in and pretend I was theirs. Low and behold, it turns out that my DNA just needed a very specific series of emotions to unlock it’s latent abilities.”

“Those emotions being..?” Red hood trailed off, earning a wolfish smile from Marinette.

“Intense anger, betrayal, and confused frustration closely followed by the desire to punch other people’s faces in.”

“That last one is just an assumption,” Adrien chimed in. “And maybe not accurate. But the first three, our scientist friend was able to confirm. The rapid experience of a lot of negative but action-oriented emotions released whatever had been holding back the powers in her DNA from expressing themselves,” he had switched to French so that he could explain everything exactly as Max had told it to them, but he knew all of them were fluent anyway so it was fine. They nodded along, processing the information.

The crinkling of paper drew everyone’s attention back to Batman, who had been flipping through the detailed break down of everything they had found about Marinette’s situation and how she was made by CADMUS.

“Uh,” Red Robin nervously spoke up. “What’s up, Batman?”

“Your genetic donors...” Batman breathed, getting a wink and finger guns from Marinette.

“Yup. Isn’t that just the most fucked up thing you’ve ever seen? They were clearly trying to make someone who could destroy the world.”

“That makes me nervous,” Nightwing admitted, getting up and going to get a look at the papers himself. “It can’t be that ba—“

When even Nightwing was left agape, everyone else who wasn’t in on it found themselves squirming.

“Just tell the rest of us, already!” Robin demanded after the silence stretched just a bit too long.

“The unknowing genetic donors that CADMUS used to make me,” Marinette spoke up, still with her legs up on the table. “Are a very mad-scientist’s-wet-dream combination of Lex Luthor, Bruce Wayne, and Wonder Woman.”

“We don’t even know why they added Bruce Wayne’s DNA,” Adrien admitted. “Although our scientist friend thinks it’s because of physique. His hypothesis is that, in order to support the genes of Wonder Woman, they had to add male genetics that could support the production of a very high muscle mass and would lean towards easy development of a very athletic body. Lex might be evil-scientist smart, but he’s a string bean. But if he added the DNA of another multi millionaire who just so happens to maintain a ridiculously fit body without putting any obvious work into it,” Adrien shrugged. “Then maybe the clone would be able to support Wonder Woman’s genetics and that of two human donors without falling apart.”

“So I’m ‘the clone’ now, huh?” Marinette snarked, earning an exasperated eye roll from her friend.

Batman just stared at the both of them for a moment. He walked away without a word, and came back with a fresh needle and a box. He placed it on the debriefing table.

“Can I do a paternity test myself?” He asked, his voice suspiciously less gruff than normal. “I trust the both of you, but I rather be safe than sorry with something like this.”

The both of them just stared at him in confusion. They traded a glance, and finally Marinette shrugged and moved to sit in her chair properly. Her shirt was already short sleeved, so she just held her arm out so Batman could easily get a blood sample.

“Sure, why not. But do you just have Lex Luthor or Bruce Wayne’s DNA sitting around to compare, or—“ she shut up when she watched Batman take off his glove and roll his own sleeve up. Realization slowly sunk in as he asked Nightwing to take a blood sample from him.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, eyes wide. “You’re— and Luthor doesn’t know— holy shit this is even worse than I thought,” Marinette rambled, not even noticing as Red Hood moved forward and took a small blood sample from her.

Adrien put a hand over his face and just laughed for a moment hysterically. “Oh my god,” he looked over at Marinette. “You could take over the world.”

“I have the blood of Batman AND Wonder Woman on MY side,” Marinette joked back, also hysterical.

When the bat’s high tech equipment was able to come back with a positive result only a few minutes later, Marinette and Adrien had to sit on the floor and just let it all sink in. Which Batman did not at all help by immediately unmasking himself and trying to make a proper introduction.

“I wanna go beat up random thugs again,” Marinette whined, pulling at her hair. “I’ll put on a mask, whatever, but just please let me punch people. I need to punch people right now.”