#It's hard to imagine Wayne being embarrassed though...so maybe just shocked instead

[gibor-zolel]

Wayne is so stoic and never seems to be surprised by anything, like he is always in control of himself and the situation.

I hope in episode 5 we can say something that catches him completely off guard!

One of my favorite things about stoic/cold characters is watching how they react when someone comes swinging outta left field and says or does something that makes them crack.

In short; I wanna embarrass him or make him laugh out of surprise!

[dilfwaynes]

hcs on talia’s girlfriend being a batman fangirl?

⚢ pairings; talia al ghul x fem!reader

✗ warnings; talia slowly losing it

note: thx anon i’ve been waiting for this. sorry for the long wait.

this is taking place in gotham because i want the useless and unnecessary drama every fiber of her being would prick with annoyance, at first it would be self amusing and like a ‘this isn’t real’ reaction at first, when she spends the night the first time at your place and you come out in a batman pjs shirt.

she’ll give a quick eyebrow raise with pursed lips, the reaction on the outside is dull but still enough to catch your attention, while mentally she’s thinking about all the ways to destroy that shirt, and if this is some sick joke god is playing on her

it only gets worst when you say she’s a hater and ask if she’s a superman fan instead,”don’t tell me you’re some major superman fan.”

“quite the opposite my love.”

doesn’t question anything else that night thinking that would be the end of it and the shirt remains from some childhood silly crush you once had on batman, she’s completely wrong and it’s even worst when she finds out you still have a die hard fangirl crush on bruce without even knowing it, and the fact you don’t even know that the batman is her ex who she shares a son with.

rethinks the reason of her existence when you get in a heated debate of defending batman and calling him the protector of gotham and everyone in gotham needing to start being more thankful and grateful for him

also broods whenever batman is mentioned on the news of once again saving the city from hell that is gotham, you’re so awestruck of batman and she simply can’t understand why, ignores the hypocrisy however with bruce being the man she was in love with for over a decade.  

you don’t really seem to care much about bruce wayne though from what she can tell, and because she’s teem of needing to know everything, she went out of her way to ask.

the simple dismiss of bruce being handsome but overhyped and is probably boring definitely had her swell up with some pompousness, also humored her because you don’t know that’s the same man is under that stupid cowl you love

disguises the main reason of her asking is because of bruce being the father of damian and it just ends as that other than you being mildly surprised but understanding the spring of information of talia’s trust needing to be strong before telling you.

she hasn’t quite yet come around to tell you everything yet, including her real identity either she needs some time to thread that  delicately.

probably has a small annoying fear talking in the back of her head that you might leave her once you know the whole truth and you’ll see bruce as your beloved bat knight and pose her as the  villain, as most do.

the batfamily would find the whole batman crush so funny though, jason would be amused but also annoyed because talia >> bruce or batman always, probably will glare at you the first time he ever saw you wearing some batman merch. damian would be unamused and  unbothered, maybe will ask talia why she allows you to wear batman stuff and embarrass herself like that. dick is your biggest supporter and friend now since he’s the opposite of jason

bruce himself would feel really awkward about it at first but also slowly get cocky with it, likely just to piss talia off.

dick chimes in with it also, “a real batman fan huh? you know the old man sees him from time to time, you should ask bruce to get you an autograph.” talia’s silently seething but not enough that it passes dick, it does you at the mere excitement of batman knowing your existence — unknowingly sending talia into a farther blazing imagination of wrapping her hands around nightwing’s neck, maybe bruce’s too if she’s jealous and mad enough.

once you finally circle into the loop of everything obviously you’re shocked until the embarrassment hits and realize all the moments of you being an crushed batman fan in front of the dark knight himself without knowing, as well as his children who are also his fellow vigilantes.

it happened within minutes of batman suddenly appearing in a hazed phase of damian suddenly taking a leave and talia addressing batman as bruce.

“bruce.”

“what? bruce?”

your confusion at talia’s words becoming awestruck when you see bruce under the cowl.

“BRUCE?”

talia grimes and hates the way your eyes light up slightly and your cheeks brightening up, probably snarks out some comment laced with passive aggression out of jealousy and a little bit of insecurity.

she gives an annoyed cocked eyebrow.”salivating now, are we my beloved?” 

she makes sure to emphasizes ‘my’ and beloved, either to remind you or bruce that you’re hers, or probably to remind the both of you. she trusts you but honestly has no trust for bruce and has a feeling if you were to come onto him, he wouldn’t reject it.

merely disregards all your questions and demanding answers and everything else in between, she gets noticeably annoyed when the bruce-batman subject gets brought up, the new infuriating itch of bruce clawing again.

“why does it matter? do you now desire him more than some childish dream?”

everything clicks now on why the subject always got her  agitated somewhat but now that you know batman’s identity you can see the clear enragement.

she’ll calm down after some reassure but will still think her snapped assumption holds some volume for a while. the jealousy will be worst than ever, she acts nonchalant whenever you’re around bruce but let’s out tiny ‘hms’ or clicks of ‘tsk’ if bruce gets too close.

it takes awhile for you to fully get over that you’re dating an assassin from an assassin empire who shares a son with your childhood superhero

any teasing about your pre obliviousness of bruce’s being batman immediately stops when talia comes into view with the room becoming silent and stiff.

maybe for a future birthday she’ll gift you bruce in his cowl that you love so much.

[pandoraimperatrix]

Four Names for Love

Gotham | BatCat | BabyFic | Multi-chapter | Read on AO3

Summary: When Bruce parted ways with Gotham he was leaving behind more than he thought. Meanwhile Selina is trying to find a way to herself after being abandoned again and on top of that she finds out she was left with a lot more than a heartbreak.

——————————————————————————

Philia part IX

That kind of work wasn’t her favourite, she liked stealing pretty things, but sometimes, if the offer was good enough, she did some corporate espionage too. She had refused first when offered that job, she usually didn’t know exactly who her clients were, it was all very hush hush to preserve everybody’s involvement identities, but she heard through the grapevine that it was someone working for Lexcorp and she really didn’t want to work for that bald creeper. But then they contacted her again offering a huge additional and since she wasn’t doing anything… It was also nice to have something to distract her from the mess that was her life since Bruce’s return. Selina never thought herself as a creature of routine, but boy she missed her old meek life.

So there she was, doing what she was good at and feeling amazing about it.

Until he came and ruined everything again. For heaven’s sake, was he following her? Couldn’t he just stay out of her business? It is Gotham, she is pretty sure there was a lot of crime happening elsewhere too!

‘Go away!’ She said annoyed but otherwise ignoring his dark looming shadow.

‘Do you even know who are you stealing for? What will they do with it?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t care, I just ask how much they gonna pay me.’

Ignoring him, she finished hacking the alarm she was working on. Bruce, in his ridiculous outfit, followed her.

‘That’s a great standard you’re are setting for Helena.’

Selina stopped in her tracks, turning in his direction with rage coursing through her body, her hand was on her bullwhip before she could stop herself.

‘Don’t you dare! Oh my god, you haven’t changed at all, you still think you are so much better than me, fuck you.’

‘I can’t let you do this, Selina.’ He grabbed her wrist.

Rotating her body, Catwoman freed herself and jumped kicking him on the abdomen, but Batman avoided the hit, nevertheless he had to put distance between them to do that which was the result she wanted.

‘I don’t need your fucking permission, fuck off!’

She ran and he went after her, they ended in a hallway that lead to a dead end, he tried to talk to her again, but Catwoman was having none of that, feeling cornered, she jumped again using his shoulders as support and at the same time digging her diamond sharp claws in his flash. Batman grunted with pain and reached for her again, this time grabbing her by the waist, Selina felt her back shock with his chest armour and was ready to scratch him again when they heard sounds of boots running in their direction.

‘Look what you’ve done, asshole!’

She head-butted him on the nose and used the distraction to get way from his arms and run away. Batman left the scene before being seen by the guards.

ooo

Bruce was in his office at Wayne Enterprises pretending to work when his cell phone stared to buzz.

It was Selina. He looked at the screen puzzled. He didn’t expect her to call, especially after their last encounter. Maybe she was calling to throw him a new string of insults after he ruined her plans the night before. No, she wouldn’t call for that. He felt blood drain from his body, maybe something happened to Helena?

‘Selina? What happened?’

‘Hi!’ A sweet young voice answered whispering. Bruce frowned. ‘Mr. Wayne, it’s Helena. Remember me?’

‘Yes… How can I help you, Helena?’

‘Mom said you couldn’t come this Saturday.’

She had actually sent him a very colourful text saying that she didn’t want to see his ugly face anytime soon and that he wouldn’t appear for breakfast Saturday if he knew what was good for him. Oh the woman of his dreams, the mother of his child. So mature and reasonable.

‘I’m sorry. Is everything okay? Why are you whispering?’

‘Everything is fine, I have to talk like this because I borrowed mom’s phone to call you since I’m not allowed to have one even though everyone in my class have theirs. Anyway, I have a play at school next week and Miss Jones said that I could invite anyone I wanted. Do you wanna come?’

Bruce clicked his pen, Selina would not like that. His nose was hurting like hell, he was using make up and still had to make up stories about hurting himself falling from stairs.

‘Yes. Will be a pleasure. Do I have to bring anything? What part are you playing?’

He smiled at her squeal of delight as she stared explaining to him everything.

ooo

To say that Selina was not happy was an understatement.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Helena invited me.’ He answered, dignified.

‘Are you meeting my daughter behind my back?’

‘She called me.’

‘She… That sneaky little…’

But she didn’t finish the sentence because the lights went down and the curtains opened. Selina sat beside Bruce.

‘I wonder where is Alfred’ he whispered ‘he drove me but disappeared when we arrived.’

‘He likes to record it.’ Bruce followed Selina’s gaze and found his butler in the first row with a camera shouldered by other dads and moms holding theirs.  That was something he never imagined he would see again, but a buried flashback of he doing the same thing when he was a kid, before his parents died, played in his head.

A teacher appeared and explained what the play was about. It was a weird play. Aliens from the moon trying to destroy the peace on Earth or something. There was bad guy called Baddy and the hero was called Goody. Whomever wrote that was clearly good with names.

Helena played a tree that Baddy cut to show how evil he was, Helena gave such a dramatic performance of a dying tree that Bruce was very happy that Alfred was getting that on tape. But after she was offstage it was hard to pay attention to the kids instead of the woman fiddling with her hands beside him.

‘Why do you keep doing it?’ He whispered in her ear, her perfume making his slightly dizzy.

Even in the penumbra, he felt the sting of her mean glare.

‘What I do is nothing of your business.’

‘What if you get caught? What happen to Helena, then?’

‘Also nothing of your business.’

‘Not true. Everything related to Helena is my business.’

She snorted.

‘You just found out about her the other day. Don’t be flatter yourself.’

People around shushed them, Selina gave them angry looks.

‘You need to be responsible, Selina.’

‘Oh my god, will you stop? I lived my life and raised my kid for ten years without your advice I don’t need it now!’

A teacher approached them.

‘Miss Kyle, Mr. Wayne’ she blushed when she addressed Bruce, Selina wanted to puke. ‘I need you to leave, other parents are complaining.’

‘I’m very sorry Miss…?’

‘Jones, Andrea Jones.’

‘I’m sorry Andrea, can I call you that? It wasn’t our intention-‘

‘Oh, just come on!’

Selina pulled his arm and they went wait in the hallway, he looked at her hand grabbing him with an eyebrow raised, Selina let go of him like he was made of hot iron.

‘All I wanted was a nice evening with my daughter, why did you have to come ruin everything with your judging, noisiness and flirting with poor school teachers? Why don’t you just craw back from the hole you came from?’

‘Flirting? When did I-?’

‘Oh please! Don’t even try!’

‘I don’t know why you are so angry, I should be the angry one, you know you are putting her in danger, don’t you?’

‘And what you think will happen when people find about your strange little hobby? Pot, you’re black too!

‘Can you both just stop!’

‘Helena!’ Bruce and Selina called at the same time surprised with her sudden appearance, still in her tree costume.

‘What are you doing here, baby?’ Asked Selina.

‘I heard people talking about you fighting, you are embarrassing me!’ Said a very upset Helena, her little face all frowned and red.

‘I’m sorry Helena… I shouldn’t have come.’ Apologised Bruce, crouching to be at Helena’s level.

‘That’s an understatement.’ Muttered Selina bitterly.

‘No mom! Stop that. I know, alright? I know everything.’ She fisted her hands.

‘What?’ Asked Selina horrified.

‘I know you’re my dad, Mr. Wayne…’ She blurted softly.

‘How?’ Bruce whispered.

‘I kinda always did? I mean, why else would Alfie like me so much? And everybody was always talking about you behind mom’s back, how much I was like you. Then mom invited you for breakfast and just confirmed it to me.’

‘Helena…’

‘I don’t know why you left us. Why you didn’t want me back then. But now you’re back and I thought… I thought…’

Bruce fell in on knee.

‘Come here’ she hugged him, crying hard. ‘I’m sorry princess. I didn’t know. I would have never left if I did.’

Selina watched the scene before her weeping in silence, a hand over her mouth holding a sob. Bruce’s words cutting deep.

  ——————————————————————————

I think this is a good place to end this chapter and that means my math is wrong and that the new guy will only come next.

The Baddy play is actually real, it’s from the Japanese all female Musical Theatre troupe Takarazuka.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. See you soon. Sunday?

[cathygeha]

REVIEW

An Everyday Hero by Laura Trentham

Heart of a Hero #2

Eagerly anticipated and well worth waiting for! The second book in this series takes on a new set of characters living in a new town but continues to deal with life issues of military veterans and the people that are in their lives. In some ways it is the story of dreams and goals that were held dear for years and yet something happened in life to derail, detour or destroy the dream from appearing as reality. Greer had dreams of being a hit in the music business, Emmett dreamed of adding to the family military legacy in a big way, Ally and her mother dreamed of a family life with father and husband and yet...those expectations were not to be. And yet...when things don’t go as expected there is always the opportunity to do one of two things...wallow or move on and make the best of it. I really enjoyed this book!

What I liked:

* Greer: banged up and bruised and wallowing a bit she is given a job to do and in doing community service impacts Ally and Emmett in ways that improved her life, too. I liked the way she interacted with Emmett and with Ally...she is a person I wouldn’t mind having as a friend.

* Emett: withdrawn and nursing his wounds he is hermit-ting and wallowing until Greer shows up and begins to draw him out. When he started to emerge I really REALLY began to like him.

* Ally: an old soul that had more on her plate than a fifteen year old should have to deal with. She was tough with a soft center – was rooting for hermit-i

* The parents of Emmett and Greer – they were a soft place to land for their children even though their children might not have always realized it. It did take a bit to warm up to Emmett’s father but all’s well that ends well.

* The military persons from old and current wars that made appearances

* Eddie the horse and Bonnie the cat

* The big reveal...and how it impacted more than one

* Even the sad bits were heartwarming and gave a positive vibe for the future

* The “realness” of the story

What I didn’t like:

* The fact that sometimes people, for whatever reason, opt to escape and in doing so harm not only themselves but others...but...that is life. If those people are lucky they will have people come into their lives that can help them do a U-Turn.

I can’t wait for book three…

Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press – Griffin for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

SYNOPSIS

Laura Trentham, the author of The Military Wife, is back with an emotionally charged novel about redemption and second chances. In the vein of Josie Silver’s One Day in December, AN EVERYDAY HERO (St. Martin’s Griffin, February 4, 2020, $16.99), explores the challenges of a relationship and ultimately discovering that love…and joy is worth fighting for.  

At thirty, Greer Hadley never expected to be forced home to Madison, Tennessee with her life and dreams of being a songwriter up in flames. To make matters worse, a series of bad decisions and even crappier luck lands her community service hours at a nonprofit organization that aids veterans and their families. Greer cannot fathom how she’s supposed to use music to help anyone deal with their trauma and loss when the one thing that brought her joy has failed her.

Then there's Emmett Lawson, the golden boy who followed his family’s legacy. Greer shows up one day with his old guitar, and meets Emmett’s rage head on with her stubbornness. A dire situation pushes these two into a team to save a young teenager, but maybe they will save themselves too. . .

BUY LINKS

Macmillan: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250145550

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1250145554?tag=macmillan-20

Barnes & Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/an-everyday-hero-laura-trentham/1131936712;jsessionid=B7619745B109010F501CA5500AB3BAF3.prodny_store02-atgap02?ean=9781250145550#/

Books-A-Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/product/9781250145550?AID=42121&PID=7992675&cjevent=1101dd10476711ea83cc00ae0a240614

Indie Bound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9781250145550?aff=macmillan

Powell’s: https://www.powells.com/book/an-everyday-hero-9781250145550?partnerid=33241

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

“Disorderly conduct. Public intoxication. Resisting arrest.” Judge Duckett put down the paper, linked his hands, and stared over his reading glasses from his perch behind the bench with a combination of exasperation and fatherly disapproval.

Greer Hadley shifted in her sensible heels and smoothed the skirt of the light pink suit she’d borrowed from her mama for the occasion. “I’ll give you the first two, Uncle Bill—” The judge cleared his throat and narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me—Judge Duckett—but I did not resist arrest.”

“That you recall.” Deputy Wayne Peeler drawled the words out in the most sarcastic, unprofessional manner possible.

She fisted her hands and took a deep breath. The impulse to punch Wayne in the face simmered below the surface like a volcano no longer at rest. But ten o’clock on a Monday morning during her arraignment was not the smartest time to lose her temper, and she’d promised herself not to add to her string of bad decisions.

She sweetened her voice and bared her teeth at Wayne in the facsimile of a smile. “I recall plenty, thank you very much.”

Truth was she didn’t recall the minute details, but the shock of Wayne’s whispered offer on Saturday night to make her troubles go away for a price had done more to sober her up than the couple of hours spent in lockup waiting for her parents.

Dressed in his tan uniform, Wayne adjusted his heavy gun belt so often she imagined he got off every night by rubbing his gun. Giving him a badge had only empowered the part of him desperate for respect and approval. His nickname in high school, “the Weasel,” had been well earned.

Unfortunately, she was the unreliable narrator of her life at the moment and no one would trust her recollections. Judge Duckett, her uncle Bill by marriage until he and her aunt Tonya had divorced, rustled papers from his desk.

The ethics of her former uncle acting as her judge were questionable, especially considering they had remained close even after he’d remarried, but if nepotism is what it took to make this nightmare go away, then she wouldn’t be the one to lodge a complaint.

“A witness claimed you were sitting quietly at the end of the bar until a song played on the jukebox. What was the song?” Her uncle glanced at her over his glasses again, which made him look like a stern teacher.

“‘Before He Cheats’ by Carrie Underwood.” She forced her chin up.

His mouth opened, closed, and he dropped his gaze back to the paper. A murmur broke out behind her.

She would not cry. She wouldn’t. She blinked like her life depended on a tear not falling. Later, in the privacy of her childhood bedroom, she would bury her face in the eyelet-covered pillow and let loose.

Beau Williams, her cheating ex-boyfriend, was only partially to blame for her embarrassing behavior. It was a confluence of setbacks that had had her holding down the end of the bar. Hearing Carrie’s revenge anthem had hit a nerve exposed by the shots of Jack. Rage had quickened the effects of the alcohol, and that’s when things got fuzzy.

“Yes, well. That is a rather … Let’s move on, shall we? The witness also claims after a heartfelt, albeit slurred speech about the vagaries of relationships and how the moral fiber of the Junior League of Madison was frayed, you fed five dollars into the jukebox and played the same song for over an hour. ‘Crazy’ by Patsy Cline, was it?”

Ugh. She didn’t recall how much money she’d fed the machine, but it sounded like something she would do. “Crazy” was one of her favorite songs. A master class in conveying emotion through simple lyrics. She was just sorry she’d wasted five dollars on Beau. He didn’t deserve her money, her heart, or Patsy.

“No one can fault my taste in the classics.” Greer tried a smile, but her lips quivered and she pressed them together.

Her uncle continued to read from the witness statement, “You proceeded to throw two glasses on the floor, shattering them, and attempted to break a chair across the jukebox.”

She swallowed hard. A vague picture of a frustratingly sturdy chair surfaced. The fact the chair remained intact while she was falling apart had sent her anger soaring higher and hotter. A glance from her uncle Bill over the paper had her giving him a nod. She couldn’t deny it.

He continued, “A patron called 911. When Deputy Peeler arrived, he pulled you away from the jukebox and forced you outside. That’s where, he claims, you kicked him … well, you know where.”

“Wayne dragged me down the stairs—”

“Deputy Peeler, if you please.” Wayne sniffed loudly.

“As Deputy Peeler escorted me down the stairs, I lost my balance and fell. The heel of my shoe jabbed into his crotch. Sorry.” Greer didn’t make an attempt to mask her not-sorry voice with fake respect.

If she accused Wayne of misbehavior on the job, he would deny it and spin it somehow to make her look even more irresponsible. Lord knows, she’d embarrassed her parents enough for a lifetime. Anyway, seeing him rolling on the ground and cupping his crotch had been sweet payback.

“I sustained an injury where that spike you call a heel caught me.” Wayne half turned toward her.

Instead of playing it smart and soothing his delicate male ego, she batted her eyes at him. “I’m sure that’s left the ladies of Madison real upset.”

Wayne took a step toward her. “You are such a—”

The gavel knocked against the bench and her uncle stood, looming over them. “I’ve heard enough, Deputy. Sit down.”

Wayne turned on his heel and left Greer to face her uncle Bill. This was where she would promise such a thing would never happen again, and he would give her a stern warning before dismissing all charges.

“I’m striking the resisting arrest charge. It was an accident.”

Greer forced herself not to look over her shoulder and stick her tongue out at Wayne. That left only two misdemeanors, which her uncle could expunge with a swipe of his pen.

He settled behind the bench and picked up his pen, his gaze on the papers. “You will pay for any damages.”

“I’ve already reimbursed Becky.” Technically, she’d had to use her parents’ money, considering she’d crawled home from Nashville broke. “And apologized profusely. You can be assured there will not be a repeat performance. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Good. As for the other charges…”

Her deep breath cleansed a portion of the tension across her shoulders, and a smile born of relief appeared.

“You will perform fifty hours of community service.”

Her smile froze on her face. It sounded like a lot, but she’d been stupid and immature and deserved punishment. “I understand. Clean roads are important.”

“Litter pickup? Goodness no.” He took his glasses off and smiled at her for the first time, but it wasn’t the jolly-uncle smile she was familiar with. “You have talents that would be wasted on the side of the road picking up trash, Ms. Hadley. You will spend your fifty hours working at the Music Tree Foundation.”

“I’m not familiar with it.” She swallowed. The mention of music set her stomach roiling. “Highway 45 was in terrible shape on my drive in last week.”

“The foundation is a nonprofit music program that focuses on helping military veterans and their families cope with the trauma they’ve endured serving our country. They’re in need of volunteer songwriters and musicians.”

“I can’t write or play anymore.” Her dream of hearing one of her songs on the radio had died. Not in a blaze of glory but from a slow, torturous starvation of hope. At thirty, she was resigned to finding a real job and cobbling together a normal life in the place she’d tried to leave behind.

“My decision is final. As far as I can determine, your brain—despite this lapse in judgment—is in fine working order. You can and will help these men and women heal through your gift of music. Unless you’d rather spend thirty days in county lockup?”

Would her uncle actually throw her in jail? For a month? “No, Your Honor, I don’t want to go to county lockup.”

“Good. Once you turn in your log with all your hours signed off by the foundation’s manager, your record with this court will be cleared.” He handed her file to a clerk. “Case closed. Next up is docket number fourteen.”

She stood there until he met her gaze with his unflinching one. “Go home, Greer.”

Her parents were waiting at the door to the courtroom. While they’d faced the horror of having to bail their only child out of jail stoically, her mother’s embarrassment and disappointment were ripe and all-encompassing. Greer wilted and trailed her parents out of the courthouse.

She felt like a child. An incompetent, needy child living in her old bedroom and dependent on her parents for emotional and financial support. She thought she’d hit rock bottom many times over the years, but her situation now had revealed new lows.

The silence in the car built into a painful crescendo.

“The tiger lilies are lovely this year, don’t you think?” Her mother’s attempt at normalcy was strained but welcome.

Her father’s hands squeaked along the steering wheel as an answer.

Greer huddled in the backseat and stared out the window, the clumps of flowers on the side of the road an orange blur. As a teenager, she’d chafed at her parents’ protectiveness and had wanted nothing more than to escape to Nashville, where she’d been convinced glory and fame awaited. Now she was home and a disappointment not only to her parents but to herself. Even worse, she hadn’t come up with a plan to turn her life around.

“Ira Jenkins is back in the hospital. I thought I’d run by and check on him. Since Sarah passed, he seems a shell of the man he once was.” Her mother turned to face the backseat. “Would you like to come with me? I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

“He won’t remember me, Mama.”

“I’m sure he will.”

Greer scrunched farther down in the seat. The last thing she wanted was to make small talk with a man she hadn’t seen in years.

“You’ll have to get out eventually and face the music.” Her mother’s smile wavered and threatened to turn into tears. “So to speak.”

Her mother was trying, which was more than could be said for Greer at the moment. Her parents deserved a better daughter. Someone successful they could brag on at the Wednesday-night potlucks at church. Not a daughter they had to bail out of jail.

“I will. I promise. Just not to see Mr. Jenkins.” Greer leaned forward and squeezed her mother’s hand over the seat, needing to give her something to hope for even if Greer wasn’t sure what that might be.

Her father cleared his throat. “You need to think about the future.”

He ignored her mother’s whispered, “Not now, Frank.”

“A job. Or back to school. We’ll put you through nursing or accounting or something useful.” He shifted to meet her gaze in the rearview mirror. “But you can’t keep on like you’re doing. You need a purpose.”

“I’ll start looking for a job tomorrow.” School had never been her wheelhouse. She’d been sure she’d make it in Nashville and had never formulated a backup plan.

They pulled up to her childhood home, a two-story brick Colonial on the main street of Madison, Tennessee. Oaks had been planted down a middle island like a line of soldiers at attention. They had grown to shade both sides of the street. It was picturesque and cast the imagination back to a time when ladies lounged on porches with their iced tea and gossiped with their neighbors to escape the heat of summer. Air-conditioning had altered that way of life.

At one time, as a kid, she’d known every family up and down the street well enough to knock on their door for help or run through their backyard in epic games of tag. Now, though, the houses were being bought up by people who used Madison to escape the bustle of an expanding Nashville. They built pools in the backyards and fences and weren’t outside except to walk their trendy dogs.

The march of progress through Madison added to her melancholy sadness. There was a reason not being able to go home again was a recurring theme in books and songs.

“We love you, Greer. You know that, don’t you?” Her mother’s voice was tight with emotion, but she didn’t turn around, thank goodness.

Her mother never cried and if Greer witnessed tears, she would burst into sobs herself and embarrass everyone.

“I know. Thanks for everything. I’m going to do better. Be better.” It seemed a wholly inadequate promise she wasn’t even sure she could keep, but it was all she could manage. She ducked out of the car and skipped around to a side door of the house that was always unlocked.

Her room was both a haven and a mocking reminder of the state of her life. Posters of album covers papered the wall behind her bed, the colors faded from the sun and the edges curling with age.

In high school, she’d gravitated toward indie folk artists and away from the commercially driven country-music machine located a few miles south. Joan Baez was flanked by Patty Griffin and Dolly Parton. Even though Dolly veered more country than Greer, no one could deny the legend’s songwriting chops. The guitar Greer had hocked for rent money had borne Dolly’s signature like a talisman. Sometimes Greer ached for her guitar like a missing limb.

The flashing glimpse of a woman in a pale pink suit stopped her in the middle of the floor. She turned to face the full-length mirror glued to the back of the closet door. God, it was like glimpsing her mom through a time warp.

Greer touched the delicate pearls that had been passed down to her on her eighteenth birthday. They were old-fashioned and traditional and stereotypical of a Southern “good girl.” Not her style. She’d left them in her dresser drawer when she’d left home the day after high school graduation.

A tug of recognition of the women who had come before her had her clutching the strand in her hand as if something lost were now found. Was it her circumstances or her age growing her nostalgia like a tree setting roots?

She turned around to break the connection with the stranger in the mirror, stripped off the pink suit, and pulled on jeans and a cotton oxford. Her mother would appreciate seeing her in something besides the frayed shorts and grungy concert T-shirts she’d lounged around in the last week. She reached behind her neck for the clasp of the necklace, but her hands stilled, then dropped to her sides, leaving the pearls in place.

She stepped out of her room and was enveloped in silence. Her father had returned to his insurance office and her mother must have set off for her hospital visit. The house took on an expectant quality, as if waiting for its true owners to return. She was no longer a fundamental part of this world. Not unwelcome, perhaps, but a loose cog in her parents’ lives.

She tiptoed downstairs to the kitchen and made herself a ham sandwich. May was too early for fresh tomatoes, but in another month or two her mother’s garden would make tomato sandwiches an everyday treat.

Craving an escape, Greer grabbed a book and settled in her favorite window seat. The rest of the afternoon passed in the same expectant silence. The chime of the doorbell made her start and drop her book. If she pretended no one was home, maybe whoever was on the front porch would go away. The last thing she wanted was to face one of Madison’s gossips masquerading as a do-gooder.

The creak of the door opening had her bolting to her feet.

“Greer? I know you’re home. Are you decent?” Her uncle Bill’s booming voice echoed in the two-story foyer.

She propped her shoulder in the doorway of the sunroom. “Letting yourself in people’s houses is a good way of getting shot around here.”

“While your mama would have liked to have shot me during the divorce with her sister, I hope we’ve made our peace.” He closed the door behind him and Greer did what she’d wanted to do in the courtroom—she threw herself at him for a hug.

He lifted her off her feet and spun her once around. Her laugh hit her ears like a foreign language. It had been too long since she’d laughed from a place of happiness.

“You could have just come out to the house. You didn’t have to get arrested to see me.” Bill let her go, and she led him into the sunroom.

“Do you want something to drink?” Greer asked, already turning for the kitchen and the fresh brewed pitcher of sweet iced tea.

“No, thanks. Mary has fried chicken ready to go in the pan, so I can’t stay long.”

Bill had divorced her aunt Tonya more than a decade earlier and married the choir director of the biggest black church in town. A scandal had ensued not because he’d married a black woman, but because he, a long-standing deacon in the Church of Christ, had converted to a heathen Methodist.

“How is Mary?”

“Always singing.” He shook his head, an indulgent smile on his face, as they settled into their seats.

His comment sprinkled salt on an open wound. She’d begged off going to church with her parents because of the questions she was sure to face and the hymns she couldn’t bring herself to sing. Some of her earlier happiness at seeing him leaked out. “Good for her.”

“I came to make sure you weren’t mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“I got the impression you expected me to dismiss the charges.” His smile turned into a wince.

“I wouldn’t have been upset if you had, but I get it. I was an idiot and deserve punishment.” She picked at the fringe on a decades-old needlepoint pillow and cast him a pleading glance. “I’d rather pick up trash, though, if it’s all the same to you.”

“It’s not the same to me.” He crossed his long legs and tapped a finger on the cherry armrest of the antique chair that looked ready to surrender at any moment to his bulk. “Do you remember Amelia Shelton?”

“Mary’s daughter? She was a couple of years ahead of me in school. We didn’t hang out or anything, but she seemed nice.” Greer couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Amelia. Greer’s side of the family had skipped Bill and Mary’s small wedding ceremony; the acrimony between him and her aunt Tonya hadn’t faded at that point.

“Amelia is the founder and director of the Music Tree Foundation and is desperate for qualified volunteers. You’ve been playing and singing and writing music since you were knee high. It was meant to be.”

“It’s not meant to be. I’ve got to get a real job.”

Her uncle made a scoffing sound. “You’re too much like my Mary. You could never leave music behind.”

“Music dumped me on the side of the road, gave me the finger, and peeled out.” Greer shook her head and touched the string of pearls, her gaze on his polished black dress shoes. “I’m a mess, Uncle Bill. I have nothing to offer. In fact, I’ll probably make things worse for whatever poor soul I get paired with.”

She expected him to argue, but he seemed to be weighing the truth in her words like the scales of justice. His shrug wasn’t in the least reassuring. “Amelia has done something really special with her foundation. It might do you a world of good to focus on someone besides yourself.”

“Dang, that’s harsh.”

He patted her knee. “I’ve seen all kinds come through my courtroom. The ones who turn it around are the ones who quit feeling sorry for themselves.”

“But—”

“But nothing. Beau is an asshole. Not the first or the last you’re likely to encounter. Don’t you deserve better than him?”

“Yes?” She wished she’d been able to put more conviction into the word.

Beau was successful, nice-looking—even though a bald spot was conquering his hair day by day—and respected in their town. They’d known each other since high school, but had only started dating in the last year.

He was solid and steady and comfortable. Three things lacking from her life. Catching him cheating with the president of the Junior League had been another seismic shift in her world, leaving her unsure and off balance.

“If you can’t believe in yourself yet, then believe me. You are talented, Greer, and you have the ability to help people find their voice.” He slipped a card out of his wallet. When she didn’t reach for it, he waved it in her face until she took it.

A tree styled with musical symbols of all different colors decorated one side of the card. She ran her thumb over the raised black ink of Amelia’s name and an address on the outskirts of Nashville. “I don’t have much choice, do I?”

“Not if you want to stay in my—and the court’s—good graces. She’s expecting you tomorrow at three.”

“No rest for the wicked, huh?” Her smile was born of sarcasm.

Bill rose and ruffled her hair like he had when she was little. “Not wicked. Lost.”

Greer walked him out, brushed a kiss on his cheek, and murmured her thanks. She leaned on the porch rail and waved until he disappeared down the street.

I once was lost, and now I’m found. She’d sung “Amazing Grace” so many times that the lyrics had ceased to have an impact. But, standing on her childhood front porch, having come full circle, a shiver went down her spine, and goose bumps broke over her arms despite the heat that wavered over the pavement like a mirage. Her granny would have said that someone had walked over her grave. Maybe so. Or maybe change was a-coming whether she wanted to face up to it or not.

Copyright © 2020 by Laura Trentham

AUTHOR BIO

Laura Trentham is an award winning romance author. The Military Wife is her debut women’s fiction novel. A chemical engineer by training and a lover of books by nature, she lives in South Carolina.

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[lackadaisical-pottymouth]

Batmans Apology

this is so late oh my gosh im ashamed i forgot about it

Fandom: Batman

-- is a change in perspective

xx is a change in snippet

There was a rumour in Gotham City.

Tuesday. The city lit by streetlights and apartments that hadn’t quite settled for the night. Empty roads hummed with drifters going this way or that.

Fingers, frigid. Ears, nose, frozen. Jim was losing the battle against frostbite.

Restless shivers sent his shoes bopping against asphalt. The pocketwarmer abandoned him by the time he’d lit the big black bat signal, but blessed be his luck, it was a clear night in Gotham City.

The --what did springy Robin call it? Bat-phone?-- the Batphone weighed comfortably in his pocket and pulled double hours as a heater. A small heater that touched barely four by two inches of skin. Only minutes prior had he sent out the signal.

“Commissioner.”

And there was the person of the hour. Imposing, dark, familiar. Maybe a little too familiar. It was easier now than it had ever been to imagine big blue eyes and his father’s jaw--but then again, he hadn’t been privy to that information before.

No, no, Jim. That hadn’t been confirmed yet.  

His soul promptly left his body at the greeting but he pulled it back with gum or staples or whatever the hell had kept it in place for all these years. Right. He straightened his spine and tried hard for the composure that’d been trained into him. Drivers-licence Robin watched from the shadows, the whites of his mask luminescent.

“Batman,” he greeted, refusing to question how he snuck up behind him when he was backed against a wall, “Robin.”

The child vigilante nodded in acknowledgement, stepping forward to join his mentor. He was young, very young despite the upp of his nose and the overconfidence in his posture. The Robin sent an unkind look that he probably deserved.

Batman grunted, “You said it was urgent.”

Right. He brought his hands to his lips and blew softly, all the while wishing for the gloves Barbara had bought him. Like ripping off a bandaid, Jim, he assured himself. “I’ll spare you the details. Word has it you’re Bruce Wayne.”

He imagined the silence that followed was a raised eyebrow, the sardonic sort that wouldn’t have been seen through the fabric--metal?--of the cowl.  

“I get the feeling you won’t tell me who’s under that mask,” Robin bristled but the Bat raised an arm and the boy stayed put, “And I don’t want to know who. Just thought you should know.”

“I take it you’ve looked into it.” said as a statement, as always. But Jim quirked a self-hating smile nonetheless and presented the manilla folio.

“Lot of it is hearsay,” he said, recounting the he said she saids and ‘cousin sally’s he’d gone through to get even that,

He’d look back and they’d be gone, like always.

xx

The intercom rang with yet another arrival and Alfred clicked to connect between pressing shirts. Instantly the feed lit up with a face full of adolescent pimples and aged sweaters. Teenagers, he noted, temporarily setting the emergency protocol to ‘Civillian’.  

“Oh my gosh there’s a camera! Kim, look! We’re famous!”

Nervous skittering was followed by a harsh rebuke that put an end to the abrupt tizz of movement, “Shut up, Barlow. This is a bad idea. We should go home and--.”

A composed cough sent a shock through both teenagers. “I take it you don’t have an appointment,” Alfred said, more or less reciting lines by this point, “Name and purpose for the visit, please.”

“Barlow” paused in confused shock, “Is Bruce Wayne british?” they asked, peering up into the surveillance as though it’d deliver answers. “Never met the guy--Kim? Is he?”

“No!” “Kim” snapped, “He’s from Jersey!”

“You don’t say,” said with the lightest whistle of amusement while “Kim” seemed to seethe embarrassment.

A beat passed and he considered dropping the line, picking up whatever they’d brought later. But they spoke, pulling a thatched cap down over unruly curls, “Uhm, Kim Long. My Ma sent gifts for--,” a stutter as the voice dipped to the faintest of whispers, “For Bruce Wayne.”

Kim looked over a faux-fur shoulder and Alfred paused, his attention fully on the video stream, “He-uh-Batman, stopped a fire in my apartment building. And Wayne funded the whole rebuilding thing. So, thanks.” They looked around, then paused to be incredulous as Barlow gestured to a ziploc container, “we’ll just leave it here, then. Bye.”

He waited till they were gone before sending out the robot rover-- things were mucky enough without added speculations that Bruce Wayne housed Robot Butlers. The goods would be inspected thoroughly before being sent to the furnace. “Kim Long” would be added to the growing list of thank-you card recipients once the ordeal was over.

xx

It was always a toss-up going to work after times as these. Odds were that Wayne Ent would be attacked because he was there, or that Wayne Ent would be attacked in his absence. Rarely was there a third option, so he tended instead to make one.

This he stole from Tim’s book, which Tim claimed was stolen from one of his.

The tux was an authentic Pennyworth, lined with hidden pockets a-plenty and the most lightweight of bullet-resistant fabric. 

xx

Shocker of the year, Wayne Enterprises was under attack.

Mr. Wayne struggled to show his disappointment. Anaji’s presentation would need be postponed for another time, one with a few less looming threats. But the real travesty was that Anaji would have another sixty minute segment scheduled for some later date. Such things were better experienced once and in very small amounts.

Anaji’s apparent dislike translated to stabbing him in the back with her purse as they hurdled through the halls like business-dressed tuna.

The walls groaned and although he was no stranger to their echoing lengths, today they were cold and warped. The steel panels danced under flickering lights. Rivets stared judgmentally as board members stampeded to safety.

Some clutched to their suitcases and their bags, elbowing fiercely against that damn rib that he’d only just gotten clearance for. Those that didn’t sent him cautious corner-eye glances, their breath held as if expecting him to move, to miraculously solve everything. He’d the feeling it was more than just worry for his boisterous persona.

The group took a left, veering toward the shielded emergency steps that led to the back parking lot. With one arm, Wayne propped himself up. Someone and their damn elbow-knives had decided he was moving too slowly, apparently. The other ushered forward his companion of the day who was making good work of turning themselves into a human wrecking ball.

He winced as clumsy feet trampled over his left foot where the toes had yet to heal. He hissed painfully and the group froze. When he turned to them the intern withered instantly, paling several shades as their mouth gaped for air.   

“I’m sorry Bruceman! Mr. Batwayne! Boss Knight!” they stuttered. The hidden gazes turned harsh, scrutinizing. Wayne stepped back, slouching as the prattling continued, “This wasn’t meant to happen--I didn’t know. I swear.”

That again. Familiarity quirked the side of his lips into a smile. They were new then, probably under the mercy of older, more mischievous co-workers. The others though, the fearful ones that stole glances, even now? He didn’t have an answer for those.

“It’s alright, it’s alright!” He stomped three times despite the pain. A wave of suited shoulders relaxed and he’d the distinct feeling he’d passed some sort of test. The frown he felt was put aside and he focused back on the intern, “August, right?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

He huffed in the slightest of ways, looking the appropriate amount of petulant while surveying the reactions, “Well, Augie--can I call you Augie?”

They nodded and he continued.

“These things happen. Don’t worry about it.” and with that he laughed deeply, loudly, too loud for the alarms ringing and the eyes that trained on him like daggers, “no harm done.”

He intended to pat the interns arm. It would be a final, clinching action that would have sealed the facade--but the intern jumped away from the contact. The tension seeped back into their shoulders and drenched the air about them.

For a moment they were ice. As though this would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. The axe that felled the oak tree.

Mr. Wayne coughed, then clapped twice.

“Sheesh,” and he peppered his voice with nervous laughter, wicking away the discomfort in buckets, “I thought this hallway was a lot shorter!”

It worked in the most ineffective of ways. The unease had already become an unwelcomed guest. It stayed there, suffocating, until the heavy steel doors were pried open and the people scrambled to safety.

In the chaos of relief, Bruce Wayne disappeared.  

--

Curiously, Alfred picked up as soon as he beeped in. There was something in his voice, something weighty and strained despite the intentions of the deadpan commentary, “I take it the meeting went well, sir?”

Batman grunted as he moved between vents.

An annoyed sigh echoed on the lips of the old butler, “Right. I suppose I’m talking to myself now. Very good.”

Clicks fired off in rapid succession before halting sharply to an inhaled breath. Batman dove down a side-vent of the building designed for times as these. The clicking resumed, more hesitant this time.

“They came in through the north and southern entrances. Twenty altogether.”

A breath shifted the accents to one that was deeper, gruff and indistinguishable. Alfred grunted before switching back to his normal tone.

“I know Master Batman,” he continued, “they are a ballsy lot. Shame they couldn’t come up with a decent dress code. I’ll send you a visual.”

Another grunt from the aged man and a notification beeped quietly.

Clear lenses tinged blue as the scene was projected. He recognized a few things instantly--the deep crimson of the welcome desk. The bright green of the plants. The huddled forms of the first-floor staff.

Intruders taking strides held themselves with hunched shoulders and trembling guns and seemed altogether better suited in a swiss cheese factory. A few of them rapped idly with their feet while one sang along to the warning tone. Hostiles numbered ten.

The second clip was of the southern entrance, though this group was significantly less decorated than the first.

“Red Robin will be there with haste. I’ve sent him the same information I’ve sent you, sir.”

The grunt that followed was facetious, not quite to the level of gruffness as the previous imitations had been. More a whine, really.

“And we will most certainly have time for cucumber sandwiches afterwards.”

Batman himself made no sounds as he changed to his hands, working at the screws of another vent, this one closer to the breach. “Have Red Robin take the south entrance. Tell him--”

“Already on it, B!”

He froze for the briefest moment before motion returned to his hands.  “Keep on your toes, watch for hostiles in hiding. They’re slow and untrained.”

Red huffed a sound, almost like a chirp, “That makes them easy targets.”

“That makes them unpredictable. Stay focused. Batman out.”

Alfred sighed, “I do so love these conversations,” he muttered dryly. And then the clicking returned, calculated and slow until the communicator was turned off.

Batman frowned as he dropped from the vent he’d crawled through. A fan whirred angrily in the distance and almost masked the soft squeak of dirty tennis shoes on polished tile. One man in particular strode with fake confidence, gesturing wildly with one gloved hand while the other clasped the gun like a lifeline.

“Activate sound,” Batman commanded, dwarfed by one of many purposefully-obscuring columns. He blended to the dark it provided. Instantly the feed was punctuated by the nasally tones.

“Come ooon out, Brucie!” the man drawled, gnarly with overconfidence and ire, “We just want a little chat, see.”

Three batarangs were unsheathed. For a moment, the intruder stopped. His back turned away. His feet shifted weight. His heartbeat skyrocketed. Then he continued in the same grainy pitch.

“Look, we’re even all dressed up to play!” he scoffed, and then he knocked the butt of his gun against the shoulder of an elderly woman. A guest, probably, from the scowl she wore. The man laughed and spat on her floral print cardigan, “Some of us anyway, but that’s alright. We can all have a honky-dory party. ‘S not fair when you’re the only one with a mask.”

Batman breathed and began to move. His strides were rapid, soundless.

“You colossal fu--.”

He flicked his wrist. The batarangs sliced through the air with deadly aim, embedding themselves into the black metal of the gun. The last nicked the mans gloved hand and he howled.

At once the gaggle of nervous accomplices exploded into tones and grunts. Good, he thought, ducking for cover. This misdirection was his disguise.

But the people--the people. He watched as their eyes like saucers roamed the place, their mouths slightly agape in hushed words. They clung to each other.  

Murmurs echoed through the office and stole the places where silence hid before. “It’s him,” they said, “It’s the Bat.” Yet the stillness permeated like a sickness, so much so that the ashen faces in petrified frost could’ve been mistaken for statues.

He moved between pillars, unseen aside from movements in the corners of eyes. Unheard for the cracking of the cape between lunges.

The intruders began to circle, their chests puffed out in an attempt at bravado that failed miserably. Their uncoordinated mishmash of bootleg kevlar and camo-print was almost laughable. Nervousness rattled the guns in their hands in time with the chattering of their teeth.

Batman lunged.

Person One went down with a thud after a crack against his skull. Two had barely crossed his path when a nerve-strike robbed his consciousness.

Three and Four were back to back, but pressed against a huddle of people nearest the welcome desk. They became quick acquaintances with the big blue welcome map and the spot that said “You are Here.” and again with the burgundy carpet.

Five, Eight and Nine turned at this, fumbled with their machinery between obscenities screamed and jumbled orders. A batarang sliced through the guns like heavy leaden butter before a net exploded from a capsule and caught them.

From the shadows Batman watched, taking note of the citizens in varying states of distress, of the men that clotted together between them. His eyes narrowed on the scatter of remainders. Men by the plaque that displayed the Wayne Ent. missions statement, where a group of employees were crouched in fear. The remainders ducked behind information podiums.

It was Seven, with the dirty denim jacket and the greasy hair that still peeked out under his mask, that managed to fire a shot. It echoed loudly, startling Six out of their petrified stance.

“What the hell, dude?” Six demanded, their voice hoarse and their eyes trained on the heated barrel. Then they blinked at the people around them, who’d covered their ears in the flimsiest of shields, “We weren’t supposed to shoot! What if you hit someone?”

With a scoff, Seven repositioned his gun. With a sharp tap, Batman descended and Seven fell.

Six’s eyes were trained on his unmoving associate. Then they climbed the height of the looming figure beside him and rested on unnerving white of the irises. He muttered a single, “Christ.” before he, too, crumbled. The old lady nearest the two spat at the unmoving bodies and Batman allowed himself a smirk as she was pulled back into the protective huddle.  

And then there was that silence again as Batman surveyed the area. Eyes trained on him, some awed, some afraid, many confused, were all obscured the moment the thermo-scanners were activated.

Big bad Ten remained hidden.

“Of course you came,” he sneered from some place where wooden desks surrounded him. Rage and fear caused his voice to quiver, “What a good businessman you are, Mr. Wayne.”

Batman closed in, moving fluidly, quietly, even as the man continued to jeer.

“It’s funny to you, isn’t it? Just another pastime for the rich boy.”

He arched around the desk, the man sniveling in his sights.

“Fuck you,” he spat.

The Batman descended.

--

Gordon had little to say as they booked the perps and led them away. Apart from the recount for the report, he’d stuck mostly to redirecting the wandering attention of his subordinates. But the gazes had lingered despite his intentions. He’d caught the looks on the ruddy faces-- cautious, so cautious, under a layer of confusion. It was echoed in the eyes of people escorted away from the building.

Batman frowned, but stood silently and watched, replaying the taunts. He scowled, etching a personal message to the Cave to scour recent media outlets.

Behind him, though, he heard footsteps. Slightly heavy, but incredibly rapid--as if pushing against something that weighed down. “Red Robin,” he greeted, turning to face the young man.

His lips were a taut line. Batman braced himself for the worst.  

“B, you may wanna look at this.”

A button was pressed and a holoscreen propped up on the gauntlet.

Batman Unmasked, it said, Bruce Wayne is the Caped Crusader.

The scowl deepened.