#and i could listen to him talking about Harvey Dent all day

[shedontlovehuhself]

I expect Misha to get a lot of questions about Gotham Knights and Bridgewater tomorrow!

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny is desperately running away. Not from a robber, they’re not much of a threat to him anyways, but from a really intense Batman.

“Oh my ancients,” he muttered as he sprinted away from the dude swinging above him. “Can you please go away?! I already paid you back, dude!” Danny raised his voice at the swooping figure above him. He wished he could go ghost, but that would break his cover so fast as a “meta” or whatever.

“Stop running,” Batman landed in front of him, growl reverberating around them.

“Stop chasing me then! It’s bad manners!” And Danny’s from the midwest, so that’s an actual concern.

“How did you find Two-Face?” Batman loomed before stepping back when Danny’s shoulders curled inwards.

“Oh. Is that what this is all about?” Danny huffed. “It was self defense! And… the pun was too good to not, you know? Yeah, no, I had to. Prime opportunity.”

The cowl might hide it but Danny always knew when people are doing that nose pinch of exasperation. It’s a talent he carefully cultivated through shenanigans and puns.

Batman? Definitely inwardly pinching the bridge of his nose.

“How did you find him? Harvey Dent is a dangerous criminal.”

“In my defense,” Danny started, like a teenager caught guiltily shoving the entire cookie jar into his room instead of leaving some for the rest of the family. “He found me first. Well, no, he found the kids first. He started it!”

Batman somehow raised an eyebrow. How the hell does he do that?? The cowl covered the entire upper half of his face! Danny squinted at him. Is Batman a meta?

“Listen, I didn’t start it, but my sister sure as heck taught me how to end it. It’s not my fault Dent couldn’t handle a beat down. And I told you I was gonna pay you back for that one (1) Big Dent! If you wanted cash, you should have said so!”

“Hrm.”

Maybe it was the fancy gear. Maybe it was the pointy head thing. Batman reminded Danny way too much of Vlad and he got the ick.

“Okay, well, good talk, bye!” Danny ducked and ran, faster than he had before.

Batman grappled up and forward, trying to grab him. Danny, with years of dodge training under his belt and impeccable teenage instincts of gtfo, managed to dodge Batman’s reaching hands with a hollered “OPE!”

“Bye! See you never!” Danny ducked behind an alley and turned invisible as Batman swooped past.

When he was sure the vigilante was gone, he slowly faded into the visible spectrum.

“Jeez. Better warn Amy about this. Maybe I should hide in Crime Alley until this blows past.”

——

Gotham’s underbelly had a new tale to sling around their bars that week and a new demographic to be wary of.

The Terrors, the kiddie gang that ran perpendicular to Crime alley, was preyed on by Harvey Dent.

“What do you think you’re doing to them?!”

“Ahhhhhh!!!” Harvey screamed, flailing as a creature of shadows and claws- god damn those sharp ass claws- descended upon him, scarring it just one side but both sides of his very vulnerable face!

“Back the hell off of my kids, you fashion reject!”

As for Harvey… well, he’s developed an aversion to the smell of peanut butter and small children.

——

Batman, hunting down Danny because he’s worried about the endangered meta kid: you left me a Dent.

Danny, because he sees a vigilante bum rushing him: I have no cash! That’s the only way I can pay you back rn!

——

Batman, trying to lecture Danny about safety because he’s a worried batdad:

Danny: ew a rich stalker trying to be my dad!

@tricksterwitchkat can you tell I’ve been thinking about your pun for days? This is for you, thank you so much for that pun, it made my entire week.

[gothamitelove]

Arkhamverse!Rogues with a lowly grunt that turns out to be a secret badass?

aw shit this is a lot of people!! im gonna go with the main boys + harley quinn, but you just lmk if you want this prompt for anybody else!!

jonathan crane: pleasantly surprised. he'd underestimated you- clearly a mistake. he's very much looking forward to seeing what else you keep hidden (you've been warned).

edward nygma: is kind of insulting about it, as is typical. "you're not as incompetent as i believed you to be! how... unusual." but he will threaten to turn you loose on anybody who threatens him. he has faith in your abilities but he'll never say it

harvey dent: two-face will just grin like a maniac and put his arm around your shoulders- "look at that, huh? none of them stood a chance." he's very proud. if it's harvey who's in charge, he just whistles, long and low, and reminds himself not to mess with you. heart eyes all around

jervis tetch: is having great fun with all of this! he'll be talking about you for days. everybody else won't be able to shut him up. you're the best thing since sliced bread, and if you weren't in his good graces before, you sure as shit are now

harley quinn: she's delighted, and shows it. she does a little twirl and claps her hands, excited like a little kid, and probably kisses you on the cheek. "that's amazing!" to the other guys nearby- "listen up, bozos! this is what i expect from all of you!" she showers you with praise and does not let up at all

joker: is impressed, and says so. prepare for some more dangerous jobs, because you're gonna get them now that he knows you won't fuck up. much like scarecrow in that now he's going to poke and prod you to reveal another interesting hidden thing about yourself

victor fries: is quietly impressed. "i didn't know you could do that." will casually start to name-drop you in conversation with others after this. he treats you with more respect now, trusts you with more of his plans, and is more likely to listen to you

oswald cobblepot: insists on keeping you around. you're competent, you're a badass, why wouldn't he want that? although you may have to stop him from making bets on your fights. he's probably more confident in your abilities than you are and talks very loudly about how much better than the other scum you are

[lingerasthesmokeoncedid]

pairing: pattinson!batman x reader

summary: When her thread on r/GothamUnsolved (claiming that Bruce Wayne is the Batman) goes viral, an amateur sleuth finds herself at odds with both the man - and the Dark Knight.

wc: 10k+

genre: a romantic comedy between two deeply strange weirdos

warnings: canon-typical violence, bruce wayne is bad at google

“After the events of the Gotham Flood, the Batman has become something of a folk hero around the streets of our “fair” city. But what if I told you that the Batman isn’t all he seems? What if I told you that the caped crusader, the man who solved the Riddler and the masked menace of Gotham’s evil-doers isn’t just some guy? What if I told you…he’s Bruce Wayne?” -Excerpt from “Bruce Wayne is The Batman (NOT CLICKBAIT),” a forty-six part reddit thread by TheRealGothamGirl

Three years ago, after devouring a True Crime podcast about the Wayne murders, a nobody barista found her way to the r/GothamUnsolved subreddit.

It wasn't much of a hobby, just a forum dedicated to amateur sleuths attempting to piece together the perpetrators of crimes the Gotham PD was unable – or unwilling – to solve themselves. Ever since, in the hours between the dead-end job she worked to one day (hopefully) put herself through law school, she poured over the subreddit and its various threads, picking apart evidence and seeking it out herself.

Six of her own investigations had led to arrests, she was proud to say. Not that anyone knew who she was. The forum was entirely anonymous, and she wanted to keep it that way. The last thing she needed was some of Gotham’s criminal element coming after her for exposing their identities or that of their accomplices – if they did, she figured they’d definitely kill her, and considering that the Gotham PD solved fewer homicides than her favorite subreddit, her killer would likely never be found. 

But every amateur sleuth like her had a white whale – that one unsolved mystery that would haunt them for the rest of her days. In her case, however, the while whale was more of a dark knight. A Kevlar bat. 

She wasn’t the first to drive themselves basically crazy over the identity of The Batman. Many on the forum had tried, only to run into dead ends or talk themselves in circles or point the finger at plainly ridiculous candidates. ( Harvey Dent? Really? ) However, she was - she believed, anyway - the first person to get it right. 

So, after months of meticulous research, a few illegal dumpster dives outside of Wayne Enterprises, a few less-than-accidental run-ins with muggers so she could lure the Batman for closer inspection, and some incredible luck, she published her findings: a forty-six part reddit thread detailing most of her evidence, enough evidence that a jury of Bruce Wayne’s peers would have no choice to convict him, enough evidence to prove that the crown prince of Gotham was really its caped crusader, enough evidence to prove to anyone with half a brain that Bruce Wayne was unbelievably, irrevocably, incontrovertibly –

“Not the Batman. No. Definitely not.” 

All day, behind the counter of the shitty print shop where she scanned other people’s theses and endlessly shuffled corporate reports into bracketed binders, she’d had to listen and smile and push highlights while customer after customer snickered at the ridiculous theory that had gone viral last night – the “insane” “conspiracy theory” that Bruce Wayne was The Batman. Each of them totally unaware that they were talking to the woman who’d spent months of her life crafting it.  

All of that, she could have taken. But when the crackling television on the wall played a newscast with brooding Bruce Wayne snickering at the idea – staring into the camera as he said it, as if he were taunting her, specifically…that was the last straw. 

“I don’t know, Mr. Wayne, this online poster seems to have really gotten people talking. Are you sure you’re not The Batman?”

“Miss Vale, how crazy would I have to be to run around Gotham City dressed as a bat?”

Vicki Vale, GCN's resident Bruce Wayne stalker, accepted this with a giggle, allowing Bruce Wayne to disappear into his city offices so she might sum up her ambush interview for the folks at home. But the woman behind the desk at the print shop bit the inside of her cheek. 

What Bruce Wayne had just said? It wasn’t a denial. And she did think he was crazy enough to run around the city as a bat. 

In fact, she knew he was. 

Pinned Comment from Mod_GothamUnsolved: “Hey, Front Page! Due to an increase in inflammatory comments and threats against OP for this post, we are locking down our comments - approved users only for now. Sorry! Don’t be dicks next time! Keep an eye on our subreddit for more Bats-related content, though. OP claims to have more information forthcoming.”

That night when her shift was over, she tucked her keys between her knuckles, carried her umbrella in her free hand, and returned by the better-lit streets – basic operating procedure for anyone who wanted to live to see another day in Gotham – to the crappy loft in the crappier side of town where she lived. Every step was agitated agony. She knew it wasn’t literally true, but it felt as if everyone who laughed, everyone who smiled, everyone who glanced down at their phone, was making fun of her theory. 

But it wasn’t a theory. Bruce Wayne was Batman. He was. She just had to prove it–

When she slammed the door of apartment 1319B open, her blood ran cold. 

Oh, she was going to prove it alright. 

Because there, rifling through one of her cabinets as if it were his own home, was the short, gruff, stocky, suited man she’d seen in more than a dozen photographs of Bruce Wayne and his associates. 

“Oh. Mr. Pennyworth. Fancy seeing you here…” She closed the door behind her, rolling her eyes around the room to highlight just how supremely fucked up it was for him to be here. “...in my apartment.” 

For his part, Mr. Pennyworth did not seem fazed by the strangeness of his presence there.

“Hello there,” he hummed, perfectly pleasant as he finally closed a cupboard and crossed to face her in the corner of the room that served as what could generously be called kitchenette.  “I’m afraid we haven’t been formally introduced.” 

“No,” she said, “but I bet you already know who I am. Don’t you?”

No denial. Instead, he slid a file across the grotty, coffee-stained countertop that served as her cook surface, her mail table, her desk, and her dining room. With one hesitant hand, she flicked it open to find exactly what she’d expected: pages and pages of print outs. Not just of her online post history, but of everything else.  She couldn’t help but smile. No, beam . This was confirmation. She had found The Batman. And The Batman had sent his little minion to take her off of their trail. Only a truly threatened man would uncover the identity behind her online handle, break into her home, and present her with what looked like a blackmail folder. It basically screamed, “I’m guilty. I'm the Batman.” 

“You’ve caused a bit of trouble for my boss,” Mr. Pennyworth informed her. 

“And he’s caused a lot of trouble for the city.” 

The man sniffed. “Unless you call causing a shortage of black clothing and Radiohead records trouble , we’ll have to agree to disagree on that point, Miss.” 

Her lip twitched. The butler had jokes. That delighted her in a way she hadn’t expected. Still, she played dumb. “I can’t imagine what Bruce Wayne’s personal fixer would want with little old me.” 

“This is all very embarrassing for Mr. Wayne, as I’m sure you can understand. Being associated with some kook–”

“Isn’t it more embarrassing to actually be that kook?” She mused. “Maybe if he didn’t want to be associated, he would, you know, stop being Batman?”

The slightest flash of annoyance crossed Mr. Pennyworth’s face. “–But he understands that you have a keen investigative mind and admires your tenacity. Even if it’s turned up the wrong result. He thinks he can help with that.”

And here it was. The only logical conclusion of Bruce Wayne discovering her identity. He was going to bribe her. Well, he could have her killed, but that would be so sloppy. These rich guys. Always the same. “Oh, yeah?”

“The Wayne Foundation would like to make a donation to your education,” Mr. Pennyworth said, passing another envelope across the desk, this time, sealed and check-sized. “A fully funded scholarship to Gotham University’s law program. You could train your mind. Put that tenacity to good use. Make the world a better place.”

“And stop pursuing this Bruce Wayne as Batman thing all together, I guess?”

“Well, I imagine you won’t have time,” he said, the implication clear. Her silence in exchange for this money, for her future. “What with all of that coursework you’ll be doing.” 

She picked up the check, toying with its weight in her hand. How strange that something so small could have such power to change her life. A deep breath, then: “I appreciate this. I hope you tell Mr. Wayne that.” 

“I will–”

With three easy gestures, she ripped the check into pieces and resigned them to the nearby trash can. “And you can also tell him that the next time he wants to intimidate me, he should put on his little costume and do it himself.” 

UPDATED TO ADD: Today, I had a visit from Alfred Pennyworth, Mr. Bruce Wayne’s personal fixer (mentioned in sections 1, 2, 4, 7-45 of my investigation). He very politely invited me to cease my investigation into Bruce Wayne. And told me that if I did, the Wayne Foundation would happily pay for me to finally go to law school, something I’ve wanted to do but never have been able to afford. For anyone who still doubts my theory, I think Mr. Pennyworth pretty much proved it. Why would Bruce Wayne need to buy me off if what I said wasn’t true?  Don’t believe me? See the security camera stills below - taken inside of my apartment. That’s Alfred Pennyworth, going through my cabinets. Thanks for stopping by, Mr. Pennyworth, but I’m here for the truth. Bruce Wayne’s money may be able to buy a lot of things in this town, but it’s not going to buy my silence."- Excerpt from “Bruce Wayne is The Batman (NOT CLICKBAIT),” a forty-seven part reddit thread by TheRealGothamGirl

Every Tuesday, on her only day off, she had a little ritual. First, she went to the Gotham Public Library to sort through the public records and pick up a new smutty romance book to read before bedtime over the next week. Then, she went to the courthouse and police station to pull any reports she might have needed for her research. And finally, she would go to the deli behind the police station, order the cheapest sandwich on the menu (usually given at a discount, as she requested day-old bread instead of fresh), and sit on her favorite park bench to enjoy her paperwork, her sandwich, and - on rare days like these - the sunshine. 

However, on her walk to the bench today, a long, black coat wearing a tall, imposing man knocked her off of her path when their bodies accidentally collided. As she stumbled back from the force of him, her papers flying everywhere and her sandwich bag tumbling into the nearby grass, a brittle, soft voice reached her ears: 

“Excuse me, miss–”

Familiar. She’d heard that voice before. 

Crouched down to grab her papers, she looked up to see that the voice belonged to just the man she’d suspected – or feared. 

It was Bruce Wayne. In the flesh. Without his armor or his mask. And when their eyes met, he smiled at her. Not a big smile, not anything he might have flashed in the papers, but something softer. Almost genuine. Almost good enough to awaken a whole sea of butterflies in the pit of her stomach. 

“Oh,” he said, wincing his greeting. A little shy. A little awkward. “Hello. I'm sorry about that. Here. Can I...?” 

He crouched down to help her. For a moment, she lost her breath and every word she’d ever learned. There was nothing but him. She’d been close to him before – once. But other than that fleeting exchange, one she was sure he didn’t remember, she only knew him from photographs and archival footage. In those videos, he’d always seemed…

Well, not to be rude, but a little bit like if the sickly orphan boy in a Charles Dickens novel had been cast in a 90’s grunge band’s music video. 

In person, though, so close, he was something completely different. Sure, the basics of him were still the same, but there was an intoxicating indirectness about him – as though he didn’t understand the basics of human interaction…but something about her made him want to try. 

She shook off the feeling almost as soon as it occurred to her. 

There wasn’t anything special about her. This wasn’t a chance meeting in the park. It was another attempt to con her into dropping her Batman posts. 

“That’s cute,” she muttered, attempting to pile her papers back into some semblance of order. 

Bruce Wayne offered up stray pages as though he weren’t a billionaire crouched down in the middle of a public park. “What is?”

“This isn’t some chance meeting, Bruce Wayne . You’re pretending to run into me just a few days after your bruiser broke into my apartment.”

She glanced up to check out his reaction. A muscle in his jaw tightened and he looked anywhere but her. 

“I didn’t ask him to do that. And–” 

He stopped himself short, as though he’d caught himself almost saying something he shouldn’t have. When he handed her the last of her papers, she prodded: 

“And?”

“And he didn’t break in,” Bruce mumbled. “He said the door wasn’t locked.” 

“I notice you’re not denying the fake run-in.” 

“This isn’t fake," he protested, at last. "I don’t even know you–”

Lie. How was a man with a whole-ass double life so bad at lying?

Maybe that was why he barely made it out of Wayne Manor or his offices. Maybe he was such a bad liar that if he showed his face in public too much, the whole world would see through him. She fought to fit her folders back into her bag, her sandwich quite forgotten nearby. 

“Bruce. I discovered your super-secret identity. You’re not fooling me with this whole innocent guy act.” 

Dropping the pretense of this meeting being an accident – thank God, she was glad he didn’t see fit to insult her intelligence any longer – he leaned forward, lowering his voice as though they were sharing a confidence. “I don’t have a secret identity.” 

He’d gotten closer to her than he’d probably meant, but she could tell he wasn’t going to back down until he had his answer. So, for a moment, they shared the same air, huffing out cold puffs of powdered breath onto the frigid afternoon wind. His lips – so easily identifiable by anyone with eyes as the Batman’s lips – were pink from the cold. She dragged her gaze from them, then met his. 

“Okay, then,” she said, squaring up to him. “Prove it.” 

“Prove what, that I’m not Batman?”

“Yes. And you can do that by taking me to dinner.”

404. Batman error. 

The man blinked, apparently not expecting her to ask him that question – or, more bafflingly to her, shocked that any woman would want to go on a date with him. 

“I…” A muscle twitched between his eyes. Confusion. “I’m sorry?”

She practically sang her answer, quite pleased with herself. How wonderful to play with him this way, to tease him with a challenge she knew he would never meet…to taunt herself with a date she knew she would never get. But it was fun to pretend, just for a second. “The Batman goes out every night between eleven forty-seven and and eleven fifty-two. He doesn’t disappear until sunrise. Take me to dinner. If he’s out tonight and you’re with me, that will prove that you’re not The Batman.”

It would have been so easy for Bruce Wayne to turn on his heel and abandon her. To call a full-court press assault on her character, to degrade her as a crazy conspiracy theorist and resign her silly little theory to the pages of one of those tabloids that had gotten rich off of smearing his dead parents with horrible theories of their own. 

But he didn’t. And she wondered…

She wondered if maybe he wanted to have dinner with her.  

“Eleven forty-seven is a late dinner, don’t you think?” He asked, a cooly conspiratorial glint in his eye.  

“We’ll go to a diner.” She shrugged. “I like waffles.”

“Dinner,” he repeated, confirming. His lips tipping up again in that nearly-smile of his. “I’ll pick you up at 11:45.” 

Going for her forgotten sandwich, she rolled her eyes. It was a fun game while it lasted. But she wouldn’t be falling prey to his promises. She wasn’t a fool. “Sure you will, Batman.” 

“I’m not–”

But before he could finish that protest, she disappeared around a nearby tree, biting her bottom lip to keep from laughing. 

COMMENT FROM @ BALLCHUGGER 69: Batman is the greatest hero. I don’t care who he is. Leave him alone, whore. 

That night, she didn’t even bother to get dressed for a date. Didn’t even pretend it was a possibility. No, if anyone had come to pick her up from her shitbox apartment on the wrong side of the city, they would have found her sprawled on her couch in a pair of sweats and a sports bra, stealing internet from her next door neighbor so she could scroll reddit’s latest Bruce Wayne as Batman megathread and listen closely to a livestream of the Gotham PD scanner. 

Sure enough, about ten minutes after Bruce was supposed to meet her for dinner, crackle-voice cops informed their comrades that the Bat had just strung up three low-level mob figures up by the ankles from a lamppost. 

Ten minutes after that, a knock on the door drew her to it. But when she opened, there was only a small, weighty eggshell envelope waiting for her, taped just beneath the peep hole. When she opened it, a handwritten letter under Wayne Enterprises letterhead informed her that Bruce regretted his absence, but had been called away on an urgent matter. 

She smirked as she tossed the letter carelessly into the trash. She’d always known he wasn’t going to show up. The Batman was never going to ignore the city when it was in danger – even if it meant protecting his identity. 

She had to admit: she admired him for that. 

REPLY TO @ BALLCHUGGER69: I never said he wasn’t a hero. I think he is. In fact, I know he is. So we agree there. But as to the whore comment…if Batman is so heroic, I don’t think he would like you talking to ladies like that.

Sometime around midnight, she decided - for no particular reason - to go for a little walk down to Bowery. The Batman’s main territory. She’d seen him here more than once - and she wanted to see for herself that Bruce Wayne wasn’t at some high society dinner or in his Wayne Enterprises high-rise, but out there, on the streets. Doing what he did best - hunting. 

She stuck to the shadows, one hand on the pepper spray in her pocket and the other on the heavy handle of the umbrella she always carried for protection. But soon enough, she found him. Guiding a frightened woman to the safety of a police car, while her three assailants scrambled away. 

When Batman turned, his glazed eyes caught hers in the shadow. She smirked. He could run after the bad guys, or he could confront her. 

Again, he chose the noble thing. He ran after the criminals. 

Admirable. And fortuitous, as the mud from last night's rain left perfect copies of his boot prints behind. Boot prints that she meticulously photographed for later examination. 

@ CKent_DailyPlanetNews: After independently verifying recent revelations regarding Wayne Enterprise Employee Alfred Pennyworth and the reddit user who asserts that Bruce Wayne is Batman, I have agreed to cover this story for The Daily Planet. More developments to follow. 

For the next few days, after Clark Kent reached out to her anonymous account on Reddit and they set up a time to discuss her Batman finds, she went about her normal routine and tried not to think about Bruce Wayne or his dark knight counterpart. She did her job, raced home, and dove into the other outstanding amateur sleuthing cases that had been piling up during the whole Batman thing. 

But she should have known that once the Clark Kent news broke and the internet exploded over it, Bruce Wayne would not be far behind. 

One afternoon, in the print shop, she was five paragraphs into a really good sex scene in her book when a hand appeared on the desk in front of her, opening and closing into a loose fist - uncomfortable, not threatening. She glanced up to find Bruce Wayne standing there. As unbearably awkward in real life as he was confident and dangerous as Batman. 

She waited for him to speak first. When he finally did, it just came out: 

“...Hi.” 

“Hi,” she said in her best customer service voice. Trying to ignore how his unbroken stare made her want to melt into his stupid, sexy arms and act out one of those romance novel scenes she’d just been reading. The only thing that stopped her from doing so was the knowledge that she’d gotten him right where she wanted him. He was panicked. And panicked men always made mistakes. Mistakes that could lead to him outright confirming his real identity. “Can I help you?”

“Could I…” He swallowed, trying to strengthen his weak voice. “Can we talk?”

“As opposed to what we’re doing right now?”

“Alone, I mean.”

With a flourish, she rose from behind the printing desk and breezed past him to straighten the already-straightened display of staplers and graphic calculators. 

“If you’re here to ask me out, I’m sorry, but my schedule is all full. I don’t go on second dates with guys who stand me up, Mr. Batman.” 

“ Don’t call me that .” 

It was a growl, the closest she’d yet seen to The Batman flashing past his Bruce Wayne exterior. A thrill shot up and down her spine. Keep him talking . She didn’t want to let him go. She loved this dance that they were doing, this go away closer they played. “You saw Clark Kent’s tweet, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this–”

“Of course you don’t,” she mumbled. “You never even asked.” 

“--But please. Stop. The city needs Batman–” 

Clearly, he thought speaking faster and clearer and something approaching a big businessman voice was going to spook her. But she would not be deterred. She’d thought this through a million times. “And they need Bruce Wayne, too. I agree. I just wonder why they can’t have both at the same time.” 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing.” He still hadn’t asked her why she was doing this. And every time their eyes met, she waited for some flash of recognition that she now knew would never come. Even if she told him now what she meant by that little comment, he wouldn’t listen. Why waste her breath? “Nothing you’d be interested in hearing, anyway.” 

Rounding one of the shelves she stocked, he came face-to-face with her. The rack was the only barrier between them. 

“I am asking you to stop this,” he pleaded, low and gentle.  

“Or what? You’ll make me stop?”

“What do you want? What can I give you?”

Her lips tugged. Smug. “I told you, Mister Wayne. I want to go to dinner.” 

“That’s not possible.” 

“Well, then. I think we’re done here. As it happens, I have a meeting with Clark Kent later this week to talk about my findings.”

“You’ll be making a mistake.” 

“Why?”

“Because one day, if you do this, maybe you’ll need Batman, and I won’t be there.” 

That felt like a threat. It felt like a slap. He instantly recoiled, as if ashamed that he’d said it. But when he opened his mouth to no doubt apologize, she beat him to it. 

She’d caught him. The harder he tried to deny the truth, the more he kept showing his hand. “... You won’t be there? Sounds like an admission to me.”

Bruce adjusted his coat, drawing the collar up around his neck. He ignored her question and took to convincing her – which sounded more and more like he was convincing himself.  “This conversation is over. I’m not your Batman. Your ridiculous post is only going to get people hurt. No one will believe you. And you don’t have any proof, just conjecture and speculation and probably some very flimsy ‘evidence.’ Nothing can link me to The Batman. Nothing .” 

She could have laughed. She almost did. But she managed to stop it. Laughing would have given away her whole play. Adopting a fake serious tone, she nodded solemnly. “Of course. Yeah. Silly of me. You . Batman. It’s ridiculous. I’ll just go ahead and cancel my meeting with Clark Kent.” 

Something flashed in his expression. Relief? Gratitude? A tint of regret? “I…Thank you.” 

With that, he went for the door, but only made it two steps before she called him back. 

No proof, he’d said. Please. As if she would accuse the most powerful man in Gotham of being The Batman without any actual evidence. 

“Just one more thing, Bruce.” 

“Yes?”

When he turned back around, he found himself face-to-face with her phone screen, which flashed a perfect picture of Batman’s boot print, which she’d snapped during their last encounter. 

The blood rushed from Bruce’s face. She smirked. 

“What size shoe do you wear?”

COMMENT BY DENT4PREZ: Yo, GothamGirl, any more Batman updates?

REPLY BY TheRealGothamGirl: I’m working on another case right now. The world does not revolve around Batman!  

She wasn’t sure what made her hold back the boot print picture. Considering Bruce Wayne’s shoe size was a matter of public record thanks to some particularly freaky BW TikTok stans, it would have been a significant piece of evidence to add to the pile currently being combed over by dozens of amateur sleuths like herself. 

Maybe it was the slight panic she’d caught in his expression when she showed it to him. Perhaps it was the fact that if he did fully prove him without a shadow of a doubt…he’d have no reason to find her again, ending their brief flirtations. 

Maybe she didn’t want to lose him, something she knew would happen if she pushed the truth any further. 

It was selfish, she knew. To want to keep him. He belonged to the people, and so did the truth. 

But another day or two couldn’t hurt. Especially now that he seemed to hate her. 

One day, maybe you’ll need Batman and he won’t be there . 

It was those words ringing in her ears when her latest cold case investigation took her to The Narrows, one of Gotham’s worst neighborhoods. The evidence had led her here, to an abandoned warehouse where she believed someone had stashed the trophies of the murders they’d committed, so a bit of light breaking and entering was on the menu tonight. But she wasn’t worried. She’d done this a dozen times. Narrows or no, it was an abandoned warehouse. What were the odds that anyone would –

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing in there?”

She was halfway out of the window when a man staring up at her from the street caught her. Damn. She was nearly homefree. 

Adrenaline kicking into action, she threw herself out of the window, careful not to jostle the bag slung across her body – the one containing the killer’s treasures. The man was on her in a second, lunging with everything he had. All of her self-defense training flooded back to her. She dodged him at first, then knocked him back with her umbrella. The next time he approached, though, he caught her on the back foot, and before she knew it, he had her pinned against the wall. 

Something sharp pierced her side. 

She screamed. 

The edges of her world went fuzzy. 

Fuck . Had he stabbed her?

The blood loss was swift. His rancid breath on her cheek turned her stomach. But with one last flurry of energy, she emptied her pepper spray into his eyes, and he scrambled out into the darkness. Probably convinced that she wasn’t a threat to him anymore anyway. After all, he’d stabbed her . 

When he abandoned their little drama, she crumbled down the wall, pinning her hands to her wound. She had to get out of there. Had to fix herself up. But she was…so tired. Down to her bones. The kind of exhaustion that made sleeping on the ground of a dark alleyway in The Narrows with a bag full of a serial killer’s treasures seem appealing. 

Shock, she realized vaguely. This was shock. She was in shock. That’s why the wound didn’t hurt. That’s why she wanted to sleep. That’s why she didn’t notice – not at first – when a cloaked figure stalked into her line of sight. 

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” she groaned, lolling onto her side at the sight of him. 

The Batman. Of all the dark alleyways in all the world, he had to walk into hers. 

“Were you following me?” He growled, eyes darting up to the warehouse, where he instantly spotted the window she’d broken to force entry not twenty minutes ago. 

“No,” she spit, tasting blood on her teeth now. 

“Then why were you–”

“I was on another case.” She followed his line of sight as it traveled from the window down to her bag, which had sprawled open during the scuffle. With those weird shades in his mask, his expression proved unreadable, but she spotted the slightest tensing of his jaw. Ah, so she hadn’t followed him and he hadn’t followed her. They’d just both been hunting the same criminal and gotten here at the same time. “It just happened to be yours, I guess.”

It was only then that he looked at her – really looked at her, not in panic, not in rage – and noticed the red blooming behind the hands clenched at her stomach. His jaw parted this time, but he made no move to approach. 

“Leave me alone. I can–I can–You already said what you would do if you found me in trouble. And I assume you’re a man with, like, a code or whatever. It’s what I deserve. Besides,” she wheezed, indicating the police sirens that had just gone off somewhere in the vicinity. “You have bad guys to catch.” 

God , she was going to die here. She was going to die here and Batman was going to leave her to do it because he had more heroic things to do and also because she’d been threatening to expose him and also he was angry with her and–

Suddenly, he was all she could see. Kneeling at her side, arms at the ready to collect her. 

“Can I touch you?”

“I bet you say that to all the criminals,” she snarked, the blood loss finally getting to her head. 

He remained still. Stoic. He would not be touching her unless she gave her consent. Slowly, very slowly, she nodded.  “Yeah. Fine. Go ahead.” 

No sooner were the words out than he scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest, and walking her out of the alley. 

She tried not to think about the firm warmth of his chest or how right it felt to curl up in his arms. Tried not to think about the easy way he picked her up – as if she was nothing, rather than the generously curved woman she’d always been. 

When he lodged her in the back seat of what appeared to be what she’d pejoratively termed in her reddit post, “the Batmobile,” they were silent. He worked quickly, positioning her so he could withdraw a first aid kit and set to stitching up the wound gushing onto his smooth leather seats. She watched him with hazy vision – cataloging the precision with which he sank a needle into her ribcage and filled her with morphine, the way he cooed quietly when she hissed as he began stitching her up, the delicate care he took with picking the fabric of her clothes out of the gash in her side. 

“I could blow up your life tomorrow,” she muttered. Though whether she was speaking to the bat or the man behind the mask, she didn’t know. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You could.” 

“But you’re still doing this. Why?”

“You have your reasons for doing what you’re doing.” His hands were gentle. So gentle for a vigilante. She was struck by the urge to rip those gloves off and see if those hands were as gentle as Bruce Wayne’s had been when he’d first touched her. “I have mine.” 

“I hope I get to hear them someday,” she mumbled, teasing. “Maybe at dinner.” 

“Batman doesn’t do dinner,” he said, apparently still trying to engage in his little game of pretend. As if he hadn’t just as good as admitted who he was. As if this night didn’t change anything. 

The last thing she remembered, before she passed out from the drugs he’d given her, was the chuckle he rewarded her with when she replied, “Maybe not. But Bruce Wayne might.” 

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Are we still on for our meeting tomorrow? I’m flying down tomorrow morning. 

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM ANONYMOUS: Flying? It’s like an hour drive. Aren’t you supposed to be some kind of environmentalist fighting Lex Luthor, Mr. Daily Planet? 

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Typo. Damn autocorrect. Are we on? 

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM ANONYMOUS: Yeah. 

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM CLARK KENT: Make sure to bring the documents you mentioned in your posts. 

The next morning, she woke up in her apartment. The wounds were the only proof that the night before had even happened. The Batman had saved her life. And according to the police blotter, he hadn’t stopped there. He’d taken her evidence and caught that killer – and on his way out of The Narrows after that, he’d apparently had enough time to stop two muggings.

As someone without health insurance who lived in the most dangerous city in the country, she was pretty used to attending Youtube medical school. Because of that, she had no trouble cleaning out Batman’s tidy stitches and keeping the bandages clean and dry. What she did have trouble with?  Not thinking about him every time she moved. When the pain made her twitch, when the scabs begged to be scratched, with every bandage change, she couldn’t help but think about those warm, gentle hands against her skin. The easy, uncomplicated way he’d saved her. Those quiet words they’d shared in the dark. 

It made her interview with Clark Kent, conducted in a small coffee shop off the beaten path, one where neither of them would be recognized, a little awkward. Every time she breathed too deeply, she was reminded of Batman – and the potential consequences of being here with a powerful journalist, her arms full of proof that would link him to Bruce Wayne. 

“Miss–”

She shook her head as Clark fumbled with the recording app on his phone. “I think it’s better if I don’t use my name. You know it. You’ve confirmed my identity. That should be enough. Anonymous sources are still a thing, aren’t they?”

He flashed a grin. Friendly. Wholesome. Thoroughly un-Bruce-like. “Certainly. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Anonymous.” 

The Muzak in the coffee shop stretched between them as he flipped through his pages of notes. For her part, she stared blankly into the distance past the nearby window. Her hand drifted to her ribcage, pressing past her coat and her shirt and the bandage straight to her slow-healing wound. 

“What do you think will happen?” She asked, vaguely. 

Clark adjusted his glasses. “What’s that?”

“When the people know, for sure, I mean, not just my speculation or whatever, that Bruce Wayne is Batman? What do you think will happen?”

“I can't see the future or anything, but I guess he'll be arrested. He’ll have to be, if there’s ever going to be any faith in Gotham’s institutions again. If my article has anything to say about it, that’s where he’ll end up. Isn’t that what you want? For the Batman to stop terrorizing the streets?”

No. No, it wasn’t what she’d wanted at all. She’d never wanted that. Clark Kent seemed like a decent enough guy, but… no . 

Leaping to her feet, she grabbed at the briefcase of Wayne-related documents. 

“You know – I forgot – I have a work thing.” 

Nearly choking, Clark gawked at her. “But I came all the way from Metropolis.” 

“I’m sorry, I just –”

“Leave the documents, at least.” 

He bolted up from his chair, grabbing for her.  

Too fast. Inhumanly fast. 

She tried to wrench out of his grasp. “No–”

“Wait–”

With a twist, she stumbled back. Clark remained unmovable, but his head tipped suddenly, knocking his glasses clean off of his face. Giving her a perfect look at him. 

It was just a split second, but a split second was all it took for an idea to plant in the mossy soil of her mind and take immovable root. Then, when his eyes focused on her bag, it already began to sprout. 

“Sorry. You’re right,” he said, straightening, as if he’d already gotten everything he needed from her in that single look. 

Which, she suspected, he had. 

@ CKent_DailyPlanetNews: Confidential sources have withdrawn from the Bruce Wayne story. However, with the help of newly uncovered documents, I will diligently follow the truth wherever it takes me. 

After Clark tweeted about her withdrawing from the story, she went home and deleted all of her threads on the Gotham Unsolved subreddit. She’d kept the evidence in a sealed locker in her house, and the digital footprint would surely live on forever, but at least she’d done something . Once she’d closed the book on Batman, she turned her attention to other matters, other cases that needed solving, other unsolved mysteries she hoped she wouldn’t screw up as royally as she had this one. 

The Batman case was the first time she’d ever regretted solving one. She needed another win, anything to remind her that she was on the good side of this city, that she was contributing to its salvation rather than its decline. 

Which is how, on a particularly snowy Tuesday afternoon, she found herself hunched over a cup of coffee (bought in place of her usual sandwich, because it was too cold to sit out here without coffee and she couldn’t afford both) and her records on her park bench when a shadow passed over her.

Not just any shadow. Bruce Wayne’s shadow. 

“Oh. Mr. Wayne. I didn’t - I didn’t think I would -” the stammering continued a minute more before she finally slammed the folder in her lap closed and tried again: “How are you?”

“This is your spot, isn’t it?” He asked, not answering her question.

No wonder. He looked like shit. The bags under his eyes had gotten darker and more bruised. His coat engulfed him. She tried to tease some life back into him – anything to stop staring at the snowflakes currently settling on his eyelashes and melting into his lips. 

“Spying on me again?” 

He shrugged, but it worked. He smiled – just barely. Like most of his smiles. “My office is just up there." He pointed to the Wayne Enterprises building towering over the northern stretch of the park. "I see you down here sometimes. Just like I saw that the Batman threads have all been taken down. And that Clark Kent lost his source. And that someone solved the Kyminsky murder.” 

This time, it was her turn to shrug.

“I just figured it out. Batman brought the guy in. I don’t deserve any credit.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But you might deserve dinner.” 

Against her better judgment, her heart fluttered. A traitorous hummingbird trying to get free and fly straight for him. “Really?”

“Really. But at eight. Not eleven-fifty. I have a lot to show you and I can’t do it in an all-night diner.” 

Intriguing. She probably should have said no. It was undoubtedly better to keep her distance from Bruce Wayne, especially after all that had transpired between them. But he had to know she couldn’t resist a good mystery. “Where, then?”

“Wayne Manor.”

APARTMENT 1319B RECENT SEARCH HISTORY:

What to do if you have weird feelings for a vigilante?

What to do if a billionaire invites you to his house?

What to wear if a billionaire invites you to his house?

Do billionaires brick their enemies up in amontillado cellars anymore?

How to escape bricked-over amontillado cellar

What do rich people serve at dinner?

How to eat lobster without looking like a poor person

Wayne Manor was everything she’d expected. A gothic mansion set out past the edges of the city, it filled in the picture of what she believed about Bruce Wayne. It was sort of a reflection of him. Locked up, crumbling, defiantly enduring, and impossibly beautiful. 

The place was so grand that the second she stepped up on the grand marble steps, she felt underdressed. A feeling that only intensified when Mr. Pennyworth opened the door and snarked at her. 

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss. I see you’ve dressed for the occasion.” 

Behind Alfred’s tuxedo-ed back, she could hear the tinkling of fine music and the pop of a champagne bottle. They’d been originally supposed to go to a diner . How was she supposed to know that Bruce wanted her to dress formally ? She flushed. “He didn’t tell me what to wear, and wouldn't you know it? All of my gowns are at the cleaner’s.”

Alfred scoffed. “You’re–”

But the arrival of his master cut him off. Bruce Wayne stepped into view, looking like an evening star wrapped up in a ten-thousand dollar suit. He still hadn’t gotten the hang of styling his hair like a normal human being, she noticed, and there were several bruises beginning to surface just beneath his collar and at the skin near his shirt cuffs, but even so –

He was so handsome. Especially when he assessed her like he did now.  

“You’re perfect,” he said simply, finishing Alfred's sentence. 

Having handed her coat to Alfred when he waved for it, she gestured down to her jeans and flannel combination. He was in a goddamn tux and she was in jeans . “I don’t feel very perfect.” 

“You are exactly who I’ve been looking for.”

That sounds like something a murderer or Batman or a guy in love would say – dear God, please be the second one. 

“I hope you’re hungry,” Alfred said. “Master Wayne doesn’t eat much, but–”

The tops of Bruce’s cheeks flushed. “– Alfred –”

“But he insisted on only the best. I’ll just be in the kitchen, preparing.”

Without another word, the man was gone. She’d done so much research into Alfred and Bruce, but none of her documents ever could have taught her this: they cared about each other. Almost like father and son.  It was cute, the way Bruce ducked his head, embarrassed, and apologized for Alfred. Domestic in a way she hadn’t expected. 

There was a lot she hadn’t expected, it turned out. The living room of Wayne Manor was well-appointed, but clearly weathered from lack of use. The floorboards creaked beneath her feet and despite the obvious attempts to spruce the place up, she couldn’t help but notice that the entire room, while it glittered from golden candle light and smelled like the fresh, home-cooking wafting from the nearby kitchen, carried with it the oppressive weight of grief. 

Suddenly, so much of Bruce made sense. He was not some playboy who masqueraded as Batman to make meaning out of his useless life. He was not doing it for the attention. He was not a man with a death wish. 

He was just…so, so sad. And so very lonely. And trying to right a wrong for the universe that had never been righted for him. Saving other people so they’d never have to know what he’d been through. 

As she leaned against a nearby window and watched him pour champagne for them both, she blinked away tears at that revelation. She’d always been on Bruce’s side. But now? Now she actually understood him. And that broke her heart a little. 

“I really am sorry about my clothes,” she said, trying to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I thought this would be, like, a casual thing, not a–”

“A date?”

A date. Even after the tuxedos and champagne, it hadn’t even occurred to her that this was a date. 

She’d thought….

Well…

She’d thought…it was, like, a detente. A cessation of hostilities. A friendly armistice. 

But a date…?

Once more, she swept the room. Champagne. Music. Lights. A home-cooked meal. Bruce doing that almost-smile thing he did whenever she was around. Color and life back in his face, something that had been sorely missing the last time she’d seen him. 

Yeah. A date. That checked out. Heat flooded her cheeks. She stared down at her shoes. 

“Yeah.”

“I understand,” he said, handing her a champagne flute. 

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He clinked their glasses together. Sardonic and self-deprecating. “I wouldn’t want to go out with the Batman either.”

Her eyes widened. This was not a mistake. This was not a slip-up. It was purposeful. He’d invited her on a date, invited her to dinner, and was telling her the one secret he’d been trying so hard to keep. Retiring her glass to a nearby table, she repeated the word, “...Batman.” 

He nodded once. At last, a confirmation. “ Batman .”

Before she could think better of it, she charged towards him, to ask him more questions, to probe him for answers – only for the aggressive action to tug at her stitches, causing her to painfully twist and stumble…

“ Shit –”

“Careful there–”

…right into his arms. 

Suddenly, the pain in her side was the furthest thing from her mind. 

Even if he hadn’t just confessed the truth to her, she would have known it was him just from this embrace. It was the same one she’d experienced in the alley that night – the one where he saved her life. It was an awkward hold. Soft in some places and stiff in others. Close but not close enough for her liking. Unpracticed. As if he hadn’t known the non-violent touch of someone in too, too long. 

It washed her in peace from the flushed crown of her head all the way down to her untied shoelaces. 

For a breathless moment, neither of them moved. But the music from the old stereo played something soft and lovely…and before they knew that they were even doing it, as if twisted in some magical spell cast by the speakers, they were swaying. 

“Do you like to dance?” Bruce asked, his breath tickling her neck. 

“No.”

“Me either,” he agreed. 

And yet…there they were. Dancing. Each of them equally unwilling to let the other one go. 

She didn’t know what that meant. Only that it felt right, being there in his touch.

What a miracle – that her life would bring her to this place, this time, this man. All because she nearly died one night six months ago - not that he knew about that yet.   

“Why did you do it?” He asked, melting into her touch. 

“Do what?”

“Try to expose me. And then stop.”

She tilted her head until their eyes met, giving him full, silent permission to survey her. When nothing sparked in him, she asked: “You really don’t remember me, do you?” 

No answer. She tucked herself back into the crook of her body, enjoying his touch while she still could. 

“I had my suspicions about you before the flood. But it seemed so impossible. Bruce Wayne, the Batman? Of course not. But then…I was in that stadium. And those things you put in your eyes when you wear that mask, the things that keep people from seeing your eyes? They shorted in the water. After all that research I’d done about you…when you pulled me out of that water, I recognized them. You have very distinctive eyes, Mr. Wayne.” 

Did he notice that he’d tightened his grip around her waist? As though he were now the one drowning and she was the only thing holding him above the swells? 

“I know you think I wanted this city to destroy you. But I don’t. I think you’re a hero.” She was digging her fingers into the soft fabric of his suit jacket now. Hopefully, he thought she was just holding onto him for support because of her injury – not for the reason that being this close to him made her knees weak and her heartbeat at a rate she considered medically unsafe. “And for awhile, I believed that if the world knew that Bruce Wayne and Batman were the same guy…you could be even more of an inspiration. Someone with everything trying to do something for those who have nothing . The man everyone knows, fighting for the forgotten. The Crown Prince of Gotham saving us peasants down below.” 

She teased him with that last bit. But he was as serious as he had been the moment before. 

“And now?” He prompted, pulling away so she could no longer hide in the crook of his neck. Under his stare, she knew she couldn’t falter. 

“Now, I just want you to keep fighting - even if you have to do it in the shadows.”

Their breath intermingled. It felt like the start of something. His attention flickered down to her lips – 

“Master Wayne.”

The sound of Alfred’s voice made her twitch. She moved to step away, but Bruce held her fast, even as Alfred raised a judgmental eyebrow at their romantic clinch. 

“Dinner is served,” he said, lingering in the doorway. 

Through it all, she realized that Bruce had never looked away from her. And he didn’t when he spoke again. 

“I’m sorry, Alfred. I think we have something else to do first.”

BRUCE WAYNE RECENT SEARCH HISTORY, SCRUBBED at 7:58 PM: 

Ethics of hiring woman you’re attracted to

Can you kiss someone at a first date/job interview?

How to confirm a secret identity?

How to hide bruises from a fistfight you got into the night before a date?

Romantic Covers of Nirvana Songs

How to reveal secret location without seeming like a kid showing a girl your treehouse?

There wasn’t much Bruce Wayne cared to examine in himself. He knew, in vague strokes, that he was obsessive and driven by pain, and desperate for justice in any form it could take. He knew he didn’t want to be the monster that stalked the shadows anymore, but a hero who actually helped people.

And he knew that from the moment he met this strange woman in the park, something within him shifted. She was a threat to him, an existential one he should have done everything in his power to destroy. He was a billionaire, after all. It should have been easy to tie her up in legal battles for the rest of her life, to pay for bots to drown out her posts, to keep upping the ante of Alfred’s bribery until she had no choice but to accept.

Still. He didn’t. She was brilliant and infuriating and matched him turn-for-turn. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she dodged in the exact opposite direction. Whether she was relentlessly taunting him about his secret identity or flirting or asking him to dinner or sneaking pictures of his boot prints or crumbling under his hands as he healed her or giving up the story with Clark Kent or doing that scrunching thing with her nose she did when she was thinking too hard or fiddling with the handle of her umbrella she uselessly kept nearby for protection or flashing those intelligent, sharp eyes of hers…

He was fascinated. He couldn’t remember the last time something other than the underworld of Gotham had fascinated him. Maybe it was this new change in him, the one that had been brewing ever since The Flood. Maybe, as he returned slowly from Vengeance back to his humanity, maybe his heart was slowly awakening, too. Maybe all of those feelings he’d chained away for so long were resurfacing.

In any case…something shot straight through his heart when she stepped down the stairs into The Cave and her lips parted in a wondrous smile. Only, for the first time in his life, a sudden bolt to his chest didn’t hurt. It blossomed into something warm and unfamiliar. 

“What is this?” She breathed, eyes wide and uncertain. “Why have you brought me here?”

“It’s my headquarters,” he said, leading her down the rickety steps until he reached the floor of the spotlight-illuminated tunnel. He suddenly found it impossible to look at her. As if he were afraid she would suddenly pass judgment and he would be found wanting. He steeled himself for what was to come.  From the start, she’d known the truth. He knew she knew the truth. And she knew that he knew the truth. But this was a final confirmation. An admission of guilt, undeniable, that could not be retracted once made. “And I’m showing you because… Because I’m Batman.”

Miracle of miracles, she didn’t run out of the door. She didn’t scream and throw things at him. She didn’t even feign surprise. Instead, she chuckled. Bruce felt his own lips twitch. When was the last time anyone had laughed in this house? “Yeah, no shit. I already knew that. I mean why are you showing this to me?”

That was the question Alfred had asked about a half-dozen times since Bruce had decided to bring her here – a decision he’d made the moment he found out she’d scuttled Clark Kent’s Batman story. And the answer he’d given Alfred was the same answer he’d give her now.

But it wasn’t the whole answer, not really. The whole truth would have been you’re a damn good detective and I want an excuse to get close to you – to stay close to you . Instead, he edited the truth, tailoring it for this moment: 

“Because you’re a damn good detective. And I don’t think I can do this alone anymore.” He paused. “Or maybe I don’t want to.”

Her skepticism was immediate and apparent. “You want me to help you?”

A wash of insecurity snuck up on him all at once. “It would be a good job. I’d pay for law school. You’d have a generous salary. Benefits. The hours aren’t great, but–”

She spun around, and suddenly they were very close. He had her pinned between his desk and his body, but she didn’t seem to notice–not in the way he did, anyway. Her eyes shone. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’ll take the job.”

“You will?”

“But first –” A hint of exasperation and delight mingled in her tone. “I need you to tell me why the hell you thought it was a good idea to put your paramilitary headquarters under your own damn house , Bruce.”

Oh, she was so smug. She’d finally won, hadn’t she? She’d confirmed that Bruce Wayne was, indeed, Batman, and now she got to lord it over his head.

Bruce didn’t mind. Not if she kept smiling like that. 

“I see. So, you’re not going to stop bullying me now that we’re working together?”

“Stop? Oh, no. It’s going to get worse. So much worse.”

He liked the sound of that. 

“Are you ready to start, then?”

“I am,” she said, as confident and sure as she had been from the moment he met her. Despite the blistering lights he set up all around the cave, the work lights that broke through the oppressive darkness here, she outshone them all. “And I know exactly where I want to start.”

“And where is that?” he asked. 

She smirked mischievously, and he knew in that moment that this was the beginning of something new. Something exciting. Something like a sunrise over his long, lonely, dark night. 

“...I think I know Superman’s secret identity.” 

[maniacwatchestheworld]

[From Batman: The Audio Adventures, Season 1 Episode 1 "A Fortune in Sin"]

Part 1/2 Part 2

Here is the first half of Two-Face's first appearance in Batman: the Audio Adventures simply because I find it captivating and could listen to them talk all day... >.>

Video transcript under the cut

[buzzing]

Narrator: A rooftop in Gotham's Little China on a starless night.

Narrator: The buzzing sound you hear is 10,000 volts of neon signage, high atop Yin and Yang's Dim Sum Palace and Dumpling House. A blazing electric yin and yang symbol two stories high whose sputtering radiance is presently reflected in the wide open eyes of a terrified hostage.

Hostage: Please don't do this. Don't do this.

Narrator: He's bound hand and foot and standing beneath the sizzling electric advertisement in a rusty tub of water. Nearby, his captor is bickering angrily with a relentless adversary.

The Other: You better watch your big, fat--hey!

Harvey: Oh, pipe down, you simpleton.

The Other: Hey, Einstein, the circuit breaker's over there.

Harvey: This isn't my first electrocution. I know what I'm doing.

The Other: Sure you do. College boy knows everything.

Harvey: Probably seems like it to you, doesn't it, you ignorant malcontent?

The Other: [laughs] Nuts to that. College boy can't wash behind his own ears.

Narrator: Despite how it may sound, his adversary is himself. He is one man with two voices raised in ceaseless squabble. This conflicted creature is what remains of the man who once was Gotham City district attorney Harvey Dent. An act of spite left him with half his face and a double occupancy inside his head.

The Other: You know what I think?

Harvey: Yeah, I know you don't think.

The Other: I think this whole electrocution gimmick is for the birds.

Harvey: Oh, then it's a good thing your opinion means nothing to me.

Narrator: At once, he is both Jekyll and Hyde, a smooth gentleman criminal and a cruel and vicious thug. And their disputes are settled by the pitiless physics of a tossed coin.

[coin clinks]

Narrator: Now Gotham City calls him Two-Face.

The Other: I said from the beginning, we should just split this drip down the middle with a chainsaw, problem solved.

Hostage: Ahh!

Harvey: Yes, well, we flipped for it, and you lost. And you know what we always say…

The Other: [groans] Don't argue with the coin.

Harvey: We don't argue with the coin.

Hostage: [shivering nervously] You don't have to do this.

The Other: That is not accurate, pal.

Harvey: We're sticklers for precision. We're extremely thorough.

The Other: Two words, chief.

Harvey: Yes, neat and tidy.

The Other: Uh-uh, tooth and nail.

Hostage: What?

Harvey: And every dish needs its spoon. You understand that? We're not savages here.

The Other: Heh, speak for yourself.

Hostage: [wails]

Harvey: The point is, sir, you're a remainder.

Hostage: W-what?

Harvey: By our calculations, you're a yin without a yang.

The Other: And that's about as useful as a pair of left shoes.

Harvey: So we have to balance the books, do a little creative accounting.

The Other: Don't worry. It's all perfectly legal.

Harvey: No, it isn't. It's murder one with malice a forethought.

The Other: Fine, fine, you're the lawyer in this outfit. I'm just here for the screaming. And lonesome Joe here looks like a screamer.

Hostage: [whimpers]

Harvey: Ignore him please, sir. And stand still while we wire you up.

Hostage: Please, I have a wife at home.

Harvey: Oh, yeah, your better half, huh? Well, you should've brought her out tonight.That would've evened things up but made all of this unnecessary.

Narrator: As the terrified captive awaits his end, he has no way to know his rescue is at hand, for the scene is surreptitiously surveyed by a sharp silhouette on an adjacent rooftop.

[dramatic music]

Batman: Batman to Robin. I'm in position and have a clear line of sight on the hostage and Harvey. He left his thugs with the hostages downstairs. They're all yours.

Robin: Acknowledged. I've secured the alley behind the restaurant, and I'm standing by to kick in the kitchen door and bust some skulls.

Batman: Hmm. Say "infiltrate and neutralize" please, Robin. Stand by for a signal as soon as the hostage on the roof is out of danger.

Robin: You can save him, Batman?

Batman: I'm still calculating that, Robin. I don't yet see a nonlethal option for taking down Harvey.

Robin: Batman, what if it comes to the lethal option?

Batman: Nobody's dying tonight, Robin. Thermal shows you have 32 hostages in the main dining room. Two armed hostiles right behind that kitchen door.

Robin: Bob and Bub, Two-Face's trigger twins. But hostage-taking in a Chinese restaurant? This is real small-ball for a kingpin like Two-Face.

Batman: It's February 2nd, Robin, 2/2, and exactly two years ago today, Harvey Dent suffered the disfiguring attack that created Two-Face. His obsession with his own duality is beyond his control right now.

Robin: I get it now, yin and yang. Holy trigger warning.

Batman: We got here just in time. A review of security footage shows 34 minutes ago, Two-Face took the entire restaurant hostage.

[machine gun fires]

Two-Face: Everybody, hands up!

Batman: He held the patrons and the staff at gunpoint.

Two-Face: You're all hostages now!

Batman: While he obsessively arranged everything in the room into symmetrical pairs.

Harvey: Black and white…

Batman: The furnishings, the food, every last pair of chopsticks, he divided into yins and yangs.

Robin: Whoa. I see where this is going.

Batman: When he tried to divide the hostages into two groups--

Robin: He had an odd number!

Batman: And now he's going to eliminate the extra digit unless I time this perfectly.

♪ ♪

[buzzing]

[phantoms-lair]

Batman Exalted thing - The First Exaltation

Bruce sometimes wished he crafted the identity of a reclusive hermit rather than a media darling. All he wanted to do was buckle down on the imminent attempt at a dimensional invasion and try to think of a way to solve it without relying on a power up from the enemy.

But instead here he was in an interview, talking about his company and charity work. "There's been some criticism of the Martha Wayne Free Clinic as of late. Some are skeptical about the noted criminal cliental." asked the interviewer.

Bruce fought back his annoyance. "My mother believed, as do I, that no person is expendable. Some have made poor decisions. Some had poor decisions made on their behalf without their consent. Some are children. All of them, all of them are entitled to medical care. The moment you start adding restrictions, it becomes all too easy to add more and more until only people who have been chosen as the 'right' people can gain aid. And there is nothing more abhorrent to me. Everyone in Gotham deserves care."

Will you protect all the people of Gotham?

Something twinged in his mind as wrong about the question, but he answered anyway. "Every last one." Bruce reaffirmed.

"That's quite a statement, given Gotham houses individuals like Scarecrow and the Joker." The interviewer pressed.

"They're still human. If Scarecrow had a heart attack in Blackgate, he'd still receive life saving care. Outside should be no different."

"But should that be the case? Do people like that deserve to be saved?"

Will you save them?

Bruce fought the urge to scowl. "Of course. And if I can save their minds too, I'll do it. I refuse to give up on anyone."

"MmmHmm." The interviewer looked at him like she'd figured something out. "You had a well know friendship with Harvey Dent. Between that and your charity clinic serving villains, it seems you have some connections to the wrong side of the tracks. Maybe the squeaky clean image of Bruce Wayne is hiding something else?"

Is your philanthropy really to help others, or just a cover?

He stood up, letting a sliver of his anger slip through. At this point it would be stranger not to take offense. "I watched my parents die in a mugging. It would have been so easy to act like you. To judge and look down on people I could easily blame for my grief. But my parents loved Gotham and wanted to see it rise above it's own ashes. And in trying to see their wishes granted I grew to love the city too. All of it. Good and Bad. And I will never give up on it or stop fighting to make it better."

Do you think you can protect the city?

"I will protect Gotham till the day it kills me." Bruce snarled, rising to his feet. And he knew something wasn't right. Something was feeding into his emotions. But it was too late to stop it. The screens cut to static as Bruce Wayne exploded.

~

The Bats had gotten their first, because of course they did. Jim was listening to his radio as he made his way to the studio, not saying a word.

Some of the reports were positive. Everyone else had made it out of the studio. Whatever had caused Bruce Wayne to explode in a dizzying array of light hadn't affected anyone else. This being Gotham, every had evacuated quickly. And the studio didn't seem to be catching ablaze. Small mercies.

From the radio he heard that most of the Bats had shown up, despite it being the middle of the day. They'd sealed the place tight, with Spoiler and Signal bodyguarding the entrance, saying only Gordon himself could get through. His men had tried to force the issue and they'd threatened Black Bat in retaliation.

Jim pulled into the crime scene that was likely the death spot of Gotham's Favorite Son. Spoiler was at the door, arms crossed, while Signal was talking to the EMTs. When she saw him she nodded and moved aside.

Jim didn't know what he was going to find inside. But whatever it was, it wasn't this. Despite video of the explosion going out before the feed was cut, Bruce Wayne seemed to be alive and well, sitting of the set with his head in his hands.

The power literally rippling off him was new. A bright blue energy flowed from his eyes and into a beautiful display rippling around him. It was Gotham, not any one part of it but a rippling view of the city from Park Row to Bristol ever shifting and changing, leading into a night sky with bats flying around. All contained in a very familiar, albeit larger than life silhouette of a sharp eared cowl and cape. The imagery plus his being there for the first conversation with Quill made it obvious.

Bruce Wayne was Batman. And he'd just Exalted, publicly, while in his civilian persona.

"Does one of you powers include seeing the future?" Nightwing asked someone on the other end of the phone. "Then I don't think not being able to accurately get into the mindset of a manipulative sociopath is a personal failing."

"What does Quill say?" Bruce asked in a completely exhausted tone.

"That you're an Exigent, like her. You're in 'Iconic' or 'Bonfire' anima, which is a representation of your soul and power and it's going to take a while for it to calm down. Also that in retrospect it makes sense as he wants a throne to be a power behind and Batman would never accept a throne but Bruce Wayne is more vulnerable. as well as already being a power in the city."

"Nightwing!" Robin hissed, glaring at Nightwing,

"He's involved." Bruce said in the same tired voice. "He's been involved since before you were born. We can trust him, and against Ketchup we need all the help we can get. The question is, what is our next move?" "If you want to kill off Bruce Wayne, now is the time." Red Robin said idlily. "Drake!" Robin shouted reprovingly. It wasn't just Bruce. It was Bruce's whole damn family. "What? He can make a new identity easily. All the paperwork is in place for Uncle Eddie if we need something in a pinch. But this would allow him to devote his time to his actual interests rather than juggle a very public identity that mostly annoys him." Red Robin shrugged. "Most people don't change identities like a coat, Baby Bird." Nightwing said, gently. "They need to get on my level." Red Robin sniped back.

"Killing off Bruce Wayne is not an option. I can feel the ripples of my death having an affect in the city. People are already planning to use it to roll back a lot of the philanthropic works I've done." Bruce blinked. "That interviewer was accepting a bribe to discredit me."

"How do you know?" Gordon asked. "I just do." Bruce sounded more bewildered than tired.

"Can an Exigent be the chosen of a location, like a city?" Nightwing asked Quill. "She says yes." Bruce sat up straighter. "Ask Quill what we should say. Her whole power revolves around stories and that's what we need right now."

"Okay, give her a minute." Nightwing instructed. "Okay, send out word that Bruce Wayne is alive, but under some kind of magical effect. Unknown, but a curse hasn't been ruled out. Bring in Justice League members know to work with magic as cover. Have them recommend isolation until the effects are fully known, which will give Bruce the privacy he needs to get this under control."

"I'll get on the official story then." He was going to get answers out of Batman, out of Bruce, but later. "If news of your survival isn't slowing down the plans, let me know. Nightwing, I take it you can call the Justice League." "There's someone else you need to call first." Bruce reminded Nightwing. "He's panicking right now with the news, but won't admit it."

"Oracle's already keeping Agent A informed." "Not him. R2." Nightwing snorted. "And he pretends he doesn't care." Jim saw himself out. And much as it still burned a little that something was obviously being kept from him, Bruce had said nothing to try to hide his own secrets or that of his children's. Which meant R2, whoever that was, was likely someone else's secret that Bruce didn't feel at liberty to say, like Oracle and Agent A. So fair.

That was for later. They all had work to do.

[luckyspade-8]

The Wonderful Dreaming of Double Hearts

A Twiddler Valentines exchange fic.

Prompts: Meet cute, First Date

Word count: roughly 600

Synopsis: One intelligent man makes a double mined person swoo with confusing words right into a date.

Tw: None, just a jokey NSFW joke at the end. So still, Minor DNI. Go eat those Valentines candies instead.

Notes: Happy Valentines Day @tr4sh-pl4nt !!

"We just had to fall for that e- eg- egg mat- Fuck! Whats that word again?"

"Enigmatic, Harv."

"Yeah, that damn smooth talker. He talked us right into that date."

"Yeah. He did do that, didn't he.." Harvey sighed looking into the cracked mirror, trying to smooth out the shirt with one hand. Oh, how he can clearly remember meeting him.

"Why hello there, my good sirs. My my, what a wonderful day isn't it?"

Taking a moment to think, or really let the coin make a choice, Harv is the first to respond by whipping his head around.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Why, such a spitfire you are. I'm going say you must be Harv. And that makes the other.."

The ginger in a vibrant green ensemble gestures to the other side of the suit.

"Harvey Dent. And I'm sorry, but I don't think we met?"

"Oh but we have, Mr. Dent. We certainly have."

"I don't remember that shit happening, pal."

"Well, let me spin you the glorious tale of how I remember it."

Taking the open seat across, the oddball of a man sits down, still with no name.

"You both were sat in this restaurant, and I happened to walk in, wanting some good food. Then, I saw you.

The duality of beauty and honesty. How perfection should be. How justice can be so pretty when it looks scared. Just so, amazing and handsome. " He said with a sly grin.

Hearing this, Harvey's side started to flush easily. And he could have sworn Harv's started to warm.

"So, I had to introduce myself as Edward Nymga, as that is my name. And then, we had this marvelous conversation. Of how much we are just so, similar. How we refuse to let anything stop us. Of how we just couldnt stand the state of the world and how we want to fix it ourselves. And then.."

Reaching out to the other's hand on the table slowly, Edward started to lean in.

"Right as I was about to ask to meet again, even if I had to beg or barter.."

The puzzling man leaned closer into their face, lowered his voice to listen to the hitches in their breath.

Suddenly falling back into his seat, Edward sighs sadly with a pout.

"..I woke up. Shame isn't?"

"What?"

".. You mean that shit was-"

"All a fantastic dream. But of course, some dream do come true, don't they Mr. Dent? So..."

Suddenly pulling a card from his sleeve and sliding it across the table, Edward continues.

"I'll be meeting you back here, 7:30 on Friday, right?"

Barely even comprehending what just happened, they lazily flipped the coin in a daze and looks at the side it landed on.

"I suppose."

"I- huh. Wha-?"

"Great! I'll cover dinner then."

Suddenly getting up, Edward starts to walk out.

"Oh, and please wear that red and black suit I've seen you wear before, I find it so lovely. It really brings out your eyes. Ciao Ciao Bello!~"

Snapping back to reality, Harv huffs.

"Can't believe you fucking fell for Harvey."

"Say the one who didn't even understand what the last thing he said was and just went 'you too'."

"Shut the fuck up, school boy, how was I supposed to know he call us handsome in fucking Italian?!"

"Oh, I guess you blasting Bella Ciao a lot more than you should into our ears didn't teach you anything?"

"Just shut the fuck up and help me with the fucking buttons on this thing! It aint exactly easy buttoning this satin suit with one hand asshole. Let alone tie that fucking rose knot you so desperately want to do to impress this guy."

"Hey, that was your idea. You said it, not me."

"I will fucking pull out the coin over this shit again, we already fought over what lacey shit to wear under this."

[dented-nado]

Well since you specifically asked: Twiddler

“Yah I like Eddie but he’s straight // BAD LUCK, HUH?”

“No he’s not”

“NO IM NOT??”

Shenanigans

I’m dying right now, the ol’ Harv(ey) stubbornly thinks that Edward fucking Nygma is s  t r a  I g ht love it.  Still one of my fave convos we’ve ever had.

==================

Eddie’s POV

 =====================

It had been about a year since he had joined the sort of halfway home that Bruce Wayne had opened up for Ex-Rogues. However Eddie was somewhat convinced the billionaire he now realized had been Batman the whole time (pfft, he totally could have figured that out… he just… hadn’t…) rather liked having he, Harley, and Harv(ey) as a sort of odd band of roommates. And well… a literal mansion wasn’t a bad place to stay in by any stretch of the imagination.

He certainly had expected (and been quietly and not so quietly jealous) that because Harv(ey) and Bruce had apparently been close as far back as when they were children, Wayne would certainly be ecstatic to have Two-Face hanging around. He still was a little bit taken a back that well… anyone would want him around.

But he really was trying to reform. Maybe part of it was because the routine had gotten boring and he’d started finding more quiet and less destructive games and puzzles more entertaining these days. Besides, he realized he could have more fun with such things when he wasn’t being hauled back to Arkham because he’d taken things a little too far so often.

That being said, he had a new focus, a new goal.

And that was the previously mentioned Harv(ey) Dent. The giant, the absolute unit that towered over him.

Two souls for the price of one. Harvey was quietly intelligent (though sometimes a little bit delightfully oblivious), kind, and soft. Then Harv, he was bold, had a wonderfully fun fashion sense, and had a gravelly voice that admittedly caused Eddie’s mind to pull a blank at times.

They were a man that could have half their face burned to a crisp with acid and still be the only man that had been in Arkham (in Edward’s opinion) that could really get it.

He still remembered the first time “two-face” had been escorted into Arkham, the sight of them had knocked the wind right out of him, completely stopped his plotting for his next attempt to outsmart Batman.

Sure, perhaps he had heard and sort of seen images of Harvey Dent, the famous distract attorney that had been nicknamed Gotham’s “white knight” on the tiny, crappy TV they were occasionally allowed to watch when they were let out of their cells. But that never did him justice.

Seeing him here? Up close?

What a man. A handsome man, carved by angels and blessed by the devil

Now if only he could get Harv(ey) Dent to notice him.

Since that day he’d tried time and time again under the hope that maybe just maybe… this giant of a man would consider a relationship of sorts.

He tried to impress them with his vast intellect, sitting close to him and going off about any fact or subject he happened to know. He then tried to drill Harvey about his knowledge as a lawyer (which he thought also might just be interesting to know). They were certainly a good listener… and Harvey warmed up to talking about legal jargon and the pains of law school with Eddie eventually.

He was able to talk to Harv about their mutual love of fun patterns and bright colors and agreed that anyone who dissed it just didn’t understand fashion. He also realized soon that Harv loved to talk when he was acknowledged, and Eddie was more than happy to encourage him to and lightly swoon at that voice.

However, they were still only on a ‘good pals’ basis.

Which maybe Eddie could have accepted, except he caught Harvey staring at him at times, smiling slightly whenever Eddie would talk about what interested him. And Harv, he had gotten Harv to laugh a few times.

There was something there, he knew it, but for some reason he couldn’t puzzle out, Dent wasn’t acting on it.

It continued to this day. Harley had suggested to Edward he simply outright tell Harv(ey) Dent he was interested in them. But that wasn’t fun or interesting, and certainly not as romantic as Eddie would like.

So, after years of frustration now, he decided he’d go to the one person who had known Harv(ey) Dent their whole life for advice.

 ============

Bruce’s POV

============

“So, that’s my dilemma.”  Edward finished, pushing up his glasses in a very matter-of-fact way.

Bruce sighed. The only person who had ever rivaled his own stubbornness and… stupidity when it came to others having an romantic interest in them, was in fact Harv(ey) Dent. This would no doubt be difficult.

He wasn’t even sure how he managed to get into a relationship with Clark and Diana, so he wasn’t sure how much of a help he’d be trying to get Harv(ey) and Eddie to pair up.

“I’m decently sure he’s interested in you.” He replied.

“I’m quite sure too, however nothing I do seems to get them to do anything.” Eddie expressed, looking completely exasperated.

“hrrn....” Bruce grumbled thoughtfully. “What have you tried so far?”

“Well… I’ve given them gifts, flowers seemed like a sure-fire method- yet he seemed to somehow take them as a platonic gift.”

Bruce stared at Eddie for a long moment. “Who gives flowers platonically?”

Eddie shrugged.

Bruce sighed. “Dammit Harvey… Harv…” He mumbled under his breath. “I could try talking to them, get some better idea of what’s going on their head, could be Harvey and Harv keep arguing on how they want to respond.” He suggested.

Eddie nodded thoughtfully. “That may be the case, that is a possibility I had not considered… thank you for your assistance batma….. ah… Bruce…” He corrected with a slight grin.

Bruce half smiled back.

Batman was on the case.

====

“So… Harv…. Harvey…” Bruce began wandering over to where they were sitting.

They were seemingly switching between drinking a hot coffee and a Frappuccino.

Harvey had complained more than once that because of their disagreements Harv ended up making them consume way too much sugar. Too much caffeine in this case it seemed.

Their eyes flicked over to him.

“Hi Bruce.”

“What’s up Pretty Boy?”

Bruce sat down across from them. “Eddie seems to be interested in you.”

Never hurt to be blunt with a lawyer.

Harvey snorted. “That’d be nice… he is really cute but…”

“I’m sure Eddie is straight, just our luck, right?”

Bruce had never been so shocked in all his life.

Straight?

Eddie…

Straight?! E d  d I  e.

Str a I ght, Edward Nygma E Nygam s t ra ight

The two concepts being put together caused a complete error in Bruce’s mind that was slowly beginning to fry.

Who could possibly conclude that Edward was s t r aight?

The riddler…. The riddler who for a while greeted Batman like he was lowkey interested in a literal love-hate relationship

Edward

Str a I ght.

“Are you… fucking kidding me?” Bruce ended up stammering before he even realized it. “He’s not… at all!”

Harvey blinked at him a few times in surprise.

“What do you mean?”

Bruce gaped at them. They couldn’t be serious.

“Harvey… I… Harv… he… he’s not exactly subtle about it. In fact he’s very open, very much out and proud, flaming even. I’m sure he’d agree.”

Harvey looked at Bruce through squinted eyes. “Are you sure Bruce?”

“Sure, maybe he’s a bit more flashy than your average guy, but that doesn’t mean gay.” Harv added with a shrug.

“He calls you handsome at least 3 times a day.” Bruce said still staring at Harv(ey) like they were absolutely insane.

“Lots of people do.”

“Have you ever seen him even flirt with any women??” Bruce asked in disbelief.

“No but… well there’s always been more men in Arkham, and when do you even have time for that?”

Bruce was somewhere in-between wanting to laugh at them and slap them.

“He’s given you flowers.”

“Pretty sure he’s just being friendly.”

“Friendly…” Bruce wheezed.

This conversation was taking years off his life at this point. He shook his head and texted Edward.

“Get in here (the living room downstairs) It’s important”

Edward slid in and sat peppily down on the couch with Bruce within a few minutes, causing Harv(ey) to look between Eddie and Bruce in confusion.

“You rang Mr. Wayne~?” Eddie asked with a cheeky grin as he leaned his head against his hand.

“You know what these men just said to me?” Bruce began folding his hands together.

“Bruce nooo…” Harvey pleaded.

“No no, I think he should know.” Bruce insisted.

Eddie raised his eyebrows comically high. “Well don’t keep me waiting, what’s the tea?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “They said… they’re sure you’re straight.”

Eddie stared at Bruce for a minute, eyes widening.

“Me?” He asked completely baffled.

Bruce nodded.

Eddie threw back his head and laughed until his face turned red and he had trouble breathing.

Harv(ey) looked on stiffly, feeling as if they had made a mistake somewhere as the dawning realization slapped them in the face.

 ============

Harv(ey)’s POV

===================

It was bad enough they had put themselves in denial so far they had missed out starting something with the small bean-pole riddle-man much earlier…

But now because they had convinced themselves Eddie was straight and therefore could have no interest in them… Eddie and Bruce were refusing to let them live it down.

And Bruce seemed to have gotten literally everyone in on the joke. Anyone Bruce hadn’t told between his partners and his massive family, Eddie had told.

Harley had begun kissing Ivy in front of them while they both traded off saying “no homo tho” between kisses until Harv(ey) groaned and left the room in a huff, leaving them both laughing maniacally.

Eddie had begun dramatically entering a room with a flourish announcing “Ladies and Gentlemen, Guys, Gals, and Non-binary pals, the straightest man alive has arrived, you may all start the party.”

Even when they first slept together, Edward had started quietly laughing and mumbling about “how straight, and very much not gay at all this occurrence was.”

Bruce hadn’t been able to look at them in weeks without breaking out into a full on belly laugh at his expense, mumbling something along the lines of “The Riddler, st r a I ght, good lord...”

On one hand they were happy Bruce was laughing more but god dammit…

They felt a bit dumb about it to say the least.

“How did we ever think Eddie was straight?” Harvey thought to himself.

“I don’t fucking know. I really… really… don’t.”                                                                                          

Well… maybe giving everyone a little levity while still being able to date a cute red-head that seemed to know the strangest facts about almost everything that they could enjoy listening to him babble about for hours happily…. Was all worth it. Even if they were embarrassed by their comically stupid brand of denile.

[arianatheangel-girl]

Batman Forever Alternate Ending

(NOTES: This is a piece inspired by my talks and answers given by the great @academicgangster, on how TLJ’s Harvey Dent has autistic tendencies and is the ex of Bruce Wayne. We both didn’t like Batman Forever’s original ending, so I decided to create a better one. Check out their blog for more info and insight! Hope you like it!)

....

“Please! You’re as blind as a bat!”

“Exactly.”

With that, Batman shot his weapon directly into the large green light that enveloped “the box”, shattering the glass. Both Sugar and Spice immediately ran for cover, and Harvey, extremely fed up with all of Ed’s, well…everything, and realizing that this operation was likely a lost cause, bailed on the situation. 

Seeing that their boss was in danger, both Sugar and Spice grabbed ahold of him and all three rushed out of the Riddler’s lair in the chaos. Let Batman deal with this nonsense, they figured.

Spice, the older and (slightly) more rational of the two, ordered Sugar to drive back to Harvey’s lair as fast as possible, telling her to focus on the road and not stop for anything; Sugar didn’t need telling twice. 

As they drove, Harvey kept his eyes closed and was rocking himself in the back seat, mumbling incoherently with his hands over his ears. It was clear he was just barely holding himself together; the sensory overload from everything the Riddler had put him through was just getting to be too much.

The minute they reached “home”, Spice carefully eased Harvey out of the car, trying to touch him as little as possible so as not to make things worse. Harvey already seemed a little calmer looking at the building, but was shaking as the three ushered themselves into the lair. Sugar, attempting to be helpful, tried to stroke his shoulder to calm him, but Harvey slapped her hand away, mumbling “Back…back…stay back!”

He stumbled to one of the “faces” wall sculptures in his lair, before pressing a few buttons on a hidden keypad, revealing a small door in the side of the sculpture, which he immediately pushed through before shutting the door.

Inside was a small panic room of sorts; the walls and floor were padded with thick carpet, and there was little else in the room aside from a small bed and a dim light, along with some comfort objects. Harvey used this room whenever he had a particularly bad sensory day, but he’d never felt as bad as this; it was almost like he was about to explode, and finally he felt safe enough to let it all out.

Both Sugar and Spice listened from outside, hearing banging and incoherent crying, ranting and screaming coming from inside the room, reminiscent of an overtired toddler having a tantrum because they needed a nap. 

Sugar looked extremely worried, fidgeting and tugging at her curls. She started to go to Harvey, but Spice stopped her, telling her to stay where she was.

“What’s going on with him? He’s never acted like this before.” Sugar asked, concerned for her boss’s well-being.

Spice sighed, looking at her partner in crime and in life; she’d been with Harvey a little longer than Sugar had, so she was a little more experienced with his “quirks”, so to speak. “He’s melting down, it’s happened before. Though granted, I don’t ever remember seeing him this frazzled.”

“Melting down? What are you talking about?”

Spice shook her head, mumbling “Oh God, how do I explain this...Remember that night when I asked you to make his favorites with me? Right before that weird bastard in green tights showed up?”

Sugar nodded. “Sure, why?”

“Well, I did it because I found that’s the best way to make sure he doesn’t get to this point. He has something called autism. The best way I can explain it is…it’s like he has superhuman senses. He feels things far more intensely than someone like you or I would. Something that wouldn’t be as loud to us, it’s as loud as a rock concert to him. And that really wears on him. 

Like, imagine if you were forced to sit next to a loudspeaker all day; I bet you’d be pretty upset afterwards, huh? And if he gets too worn out or frazzled, he melts down like this. So, I try and give him good sensory things to try and offset the bad so he doesn’t explode like this.”

Sugar nodded again. “That makes sense, I guess. But shouldn’t we go to him? What if he hurts himself?”

“He won’t. I know him. When the lair was being built, we made sure there was nothing sharp in that room that he could injure himself on. And besides, going to him right now would just make things worse. 

When he’s like this, it’s like everything hurts. A simple touch can feel like burning; that’s why he slapped your hand away. It’s best if we just let him be. The meltdown will eventually stop on its own. Trust me, if he needs something, he’ll come find us. Right now, I think we need to change the locks, so we don’t run into any more weird green bastards in the future.”

Spice was right. In the panic room, Harvey’s meltdown gradually died down to soft sobbing; at least he no longer felt like he was about to explode. The dark and the soft bed in the room gave him great comfort as he began to rest; now that he knew the Bat was his ex, he would be able to torment him in much pettier ways, once his senses got back to normal. For now, he would rest and regroup.

For the first time in ages, Harvey Dent finally felt safe.

[batfamscreaming]

[superbat hs au - Court of Owls, First hints of ~superpowers~

Tommy was willing to fill the time a while until supper, when about ten minutes before six, the boy on the top bunk would finally sit himself up and slide down to the floor and tugging on shoes without much of a word. “Almost six. Get ready to go.”

--

“Uh-”

Clark had asked him if he had any family, and what he planned to go to college for, and other generic questions he could manage to think of while he unpacked his things and then shoved his empty luggage aside.

“Six?” He asked, like he hadn’t heard any of what Harvey said before.

--

“Dinner,” Bruce said as explanation, unbothered.

(“Unfortunately, my mom,” Tommy had said with a roll of his eyes. “And obviously, Bruce’s an orphan. I’m hoping for medical school, to be a surgeon. What about you?”

There was no moment to acknowledge the middle part of the sentence. Only an impossible-to-hear tightness in the boy in the bunk’s otherwise steady breathing. And then it was gone again.)

“They’ll want you to wear something nice for the opening dinner, and any dinner on Sundays. If you don’t have anything else, your school uniform will do,” Bruce said.

--

(“Wh- journalism.” Clark had replied, but didn’t dare ask about how Bruce was an orphan.)

“Oh, okay. Uh. Yeah. I’ll have to get changed then.” Clark said, and dug around for his uniform. He didn’t have anything nicer than that with him.

He walked out to head to the bathroom and change.

--

“Alright.”

They would wait for him to return.

When he did, it was clear Tommy had changed clothing too, though he hadn’t bothered to leave the room to do so. He sat with Bruce on their bottom bunk, dressed in a matching oxford and button down jacket. Dark pants, black shoes. They could’ve been siblings, probably, despite their personalities.

And once all three were there, off they went, Bruce dutifully leading the way to the cafeteria, and Tommy trailing a bit behind him, content to just follow along for the moment.

“Sundays and special dinners we gotta eat with our hall table,” Tommy said. “And listen to the headmaster give speeches. But other than that, school’s pretty great.”

--

Clark followed along behind them. The closer they got the louder things got, and he could tell this was going to be rough. Places that were loud even for regular people were killer on him. It was so hard to focus on what you were supposed to.

“You like school?” He asked, sounding a little in disbelief.

--

“Uh, yeah?” he said. “Get some time away from the family? Live with my best friend? School rocks.”

He slung an arm around Bruce, and it was accepted with a huff.

“Not everyone’s as good at school work as you,” Bruce said.

“You are, though,” Tommy said. “So you don’t get to point that out to me.”

He poked Bruce’s cheek. The quiet boy smiled a little.

--

Clark didn’t say much. He felt like a third wheel, and the black-haired kid really wasn’t much of a talker. Couldn’t blame him if he really was an orphan.

The dinner was… boring. But hey, free food. The headmaster talked about the upcoming year and how they were all going to grow into strapping young, disciplined men and yadda yadda. Clark didn’t really pay attention.

When dinner was over it was back to the room. Back to bed.

… He had a hard time sleeping. Gotham at night was still so damn loud compared to back home.

--

Gotham was loud.

…

So were the dorms.

(someone, somewhere in the building, was crying into their pillow. Trying to muffle it, but the dissonance--

Multiple people were. Quiet, muffled, hiding it--)

In His Room.

In his room, the first night, a heart started to rocket up in pace from where it had once been steady, panic--

Bruce on the top bunk jerked awake, with the sound of his teeth biting through his lip to keep quiet.

--

Sometimes Clark didn’t realize what was supposed to be loud to normal people and what wasn’t.

“... You okay?” He whispered out into the dark.

--

The boy flinched.

….rolled over to face Clark, breathing still shallow.

He flinched again at whatever he saw.

“...fine,” he said. Then, “Quiet.”

--

His eyes were still bright in the dark, but only when they caught the light.

“... Okay.” He said, and wouldn’t say anything else.

…

He wouldn’t get much sleep.

--

…

…

It was something Clark couldn’t hear, but Bruce’s mind wouldn’t quiet anymore than Gotham or the dormitory would.

“...what’s with your eyes?” he whispered.

--

Oh damn. Oh shit.

He quickly closed them and rolled over so he faced away from the other bunk.

“Nothing.”

--

There was a disbelieving huff from the other side of the room.

...unfortunately, Clark wasn’t the only light sleeper.

“...mmh?” Tommy mumbled, splayed out on the bottom bunk. “What’s goin ‘rong?”

--

“Nothin’.” Clark said again, and didn’t turn around.

They had sent him here to get away from everyone knowing what he could do. He couldn’t blow his cover on the first night because his STUPID EYES GLOWED IN THE DARK.

--

“His eyes were glowing,” Bruce said. Because of course he did. No wonder Tommy called him a snitch--

But Tommy started making noise into his pillow, too.

Laughing. Trying to muffle it.

“Were you dreaming about the Talon?” he hissed, sounding delighted.

--

Ignore it. Let this blow over.

…

“What’s that?” He mumbled, still looking away.

--

Above Clark, Harvey Dent let out a groan under his breath.

Apparently, everyone was awake tonight.

If Tommy’s eyes could’ve glinted in the dark, they would’ve. “Oh, that’s right…. You’re from Kansas. You don’t know about… the assassins….”

“Oh my god,” Harvey Dent whispered only to himself.

--

… Clark finally lifted his head and glanced back at the other bunk.

“What.”

--

“It’s a fairy tale in the area,” Harvey said finally, whispering loud enough for the other two in the room to know he was also a little snitch. “Tommy likes to scare new kids with it. Now shut up, we’re gonna get in trouble.”

Tommy flopped back onto his bed, huffing. “It’s fun to watch them freak out. It’s not like anything bad actually happens by just talking about it.”

“You got a quote for that?” Bruce mumbled, half audible in his pillow.

“Ugh. ‘Happiness depends on ourselves?’ Or in this case, in letting me tell a ghost story in the middle of the night, you babies.”

--

“Fairytale assassins?” Clark couldn’t help but snort and roll back over so no one could see his eyes.

“Guess you city kids gotta have some kinda boogiemen.”

--

…..

Tommy sat up in bed, eyes narrowing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

--

“Well back home we got things like portals to hell and angry ghosts, not assassins.”

--

...somehow, that seemed to settle Tommy, a little.

“No room for that stuff here,” he said. “Just threatening nursery rhymes that date back definitely two hundred years and if you want it creepier, even longer.”

--

“... Assassins with nursery rhymes?”

Sounds pretty lame.

--

“Still spooks people enough,” Tommy said, shrugging. “Especially in this kinda place.”

“It’s nice to think some random murders might’ve had a point,” Bruce said.

Tommy did not respond to that.

--

“Dunno how anyone could get spooked in a place as loud as this.” Clark said, sighing.

No room to think enough to be scared.

--

….for a moment, the three regarded him in incomprehension.

“Oh,” Harvey said. “Oh, he’s not used to the city.”

There was a small sound of understanding from the other two.

“I was gonna say. It’s dead quiet, honestly,” said Tommy.

“Not if we get caught talking,” Bruce warned. “Shh.”

“Shhhhhh,” Tommy said.

--

Clark groaned his own ‘nnnngh’ and shoved the pillow over his head.

It didn’t help.

Somewhere out of normal hearing a car alarm went off.

“You gotta be kidding…” He whispered to himself.

--

…

At least, finally, the conversation, thin as it was, had died out.

(There wasn’t any explanation for why Tommy would think Bruce dreamed of Talons when it was just a silly boogey man.)

But the three boys settled down in their beds again.

Bruce started breathing deeper. More intentionally. Until it relaxed him enough to get back to sleep.

...his heartbeat deepened and steadied out. Much closer than the car alarm.

Tommy and Harvey’s followed.

[...]

He wrote to his parents.

Everything is going well. Making friends. They're all rich but not as full of themselves as I thought they would be. It's pretty cool. Really loud here though. Having a lot of trouble sleeping.

Love you.

Then it was just… back to normal. Like he hadn't found out the teachers beat their students.

--

(When his mother wrote back, she was so relieved he was making friends. That it wasn't as bad as she feared.

But he wouldn't get that letter for another two weeks.)

The next week rolled around, and Bruce grew a little quieter. Tommy didn't, but Harvey quietly told Clark to be extra careful this week. It was an anniversary, he said, assuming that by now Clark knew, Kansas or not. And sometimes Bruce got a little mean during the anniversary.

Not just standoffish, but.

A little aggressive? Sometimes.

...and so the 26th rolled over, and even though Tommy seemed to be pretending it was a normal day, the rest of their dorm room woke up with stale, held breath.

Bruce avoided people. Avoided radios and TVs playing the news.

But somehow, he didn't manage to avoid the newspaper, and did a double take when he saw the headlines.

Finally, something had overshadowed him a little.

On the front page was the picture of a grisly murder. Open-eyes, holes in his face--

“REAL ESTATE SUPERSTAR FOUND DEAD IN PENTHOUSE SUITE; DEATH OF A THOUSAND CUTS!”

--

Clark tried to keep it in mind. Unlike the other two he didn’t treat it like any other day because it wasn’t. They still all went through the motions of course, but he talked to Bruce a little softer. A little gentler. Not because he wanted to walk on eggshells, but because he knew for Bruce that this wasn’t just another normal day, and acting like it was felt like almost a slap in the face of what he had to go through.

Maybe it hadn’t occurred to him that Bruce would want to avoid the papers. It was hard for him to wrap around the fact one of his roommates was so rich that his parent’s death made it into the news every single year somehow, so maybe it was his fault that Bruce saw the headline. He read the paper almost every day if he could. He wanted to be a journalist, after all, and they didn’t have TV in their room. Sometimes the common room TV wasn’t even on.

But he saw the murder too and, at this point, didn’t think much of it. Read the article and moved on.

Gotham, he had learned very quickly, was just as bad as everyone said.

--

It made sense, why Gotham Academy reassured all their parents that they would keep the children safe.

And maybe that was Bruce’s fault, he thought. Because it wasn't as if he was expecting papers to talk all over again like the day it'd been, but--

He'd expected a talk piece. An opinion article.

One Year Later: Flowers Left At Wayne Memorial Event as Investigation Dies

Two Years Ago, As Martha and Thomas Wayne Laid to Rest, Crime Began to Rise

Three Years Since Gotham’s Kennedy’s Mown Down: Park Row Died with Them?

A Reflection on Gotham’s Economic Fall: Wayne Fortune Locked Up as Charities Run Dry

(Sole Survivor Wayne to Attend Gotham’s Most Prestigious Academy This Fall with Luther Heir)

Five Years Ago Today: How the Wayne Deaths Marked the End of a Safe and Glorious Gotham

…

He could imagine what the headline should've been. What it should've been.

Instead, Six Years of Sorrow: Wayne Murders Still Shadow Upper East Side and Wayne Murder Theater Announces Close on Anniversary of Deaths, citing ‘Unrecoverable Reputation’ of the Area had been pushed down the page to make room for the new murder.

...and Bruce took a look at it and snatched it up to stare at the grisly photo and start to read.

--

It was a good thing that Clark had a loose grip on it as it was yanked from his hands.

“O-kay. You coulda asked.” He said, but didn’t sound angry. Still being soft around Bruce due to the day it was.

He feared he might’ve done something wrong.

--

Bruce managed to give him a hum of some sort of acknowledgment, but didn't really give much of a response.

He went to his bag, grabbed a pen, and sat right down on the floor, tracing the bottom of the words in the paper to keep his place.

Tommy leaned out from his bunk to try and watch over Bruce's shoulder, but his eyes looked uninterested. “Saw somethin’ ya liked?”

(Bruce shot him a disgusted look, a “what?” but otherwise ignored him.)

--

Clark leaned over too in order to watch him. “Or somethin’ ya didn’t like.”

--

…

Bruce glanced up at him, too, but looked more self-conscious than anything at that.

…

“The way they're talking about the thing just reminds me of the claw marks they found at the Lansing murders…”

“Oh my god,” Tommy said in a familiar kind of disbelief for this specific topic. “It was a dog claw, Bruce.”

--

Clark, however, was interested.

“Lansing murders?”

--

Bruce shrank down under Tommy’s criticism, but… looked up again, and quietly answered Clark’s tone.

“...the Lansings were a business couple,” he said. “They were murdered in their home the summer before last by stabbing a, so not… like this.”

For a moment, he backed up again, and let Clark see the slashes of the man on the page.

“Something left a big claw mark on the door, and their dog--”

“Ran away from home and wasn't seen again,” Tommy said dully. “It obviously hit the front door. Broke the hinges. Ran off in fear. It was a hundred pound dog.”

“...” the look on Bruce’s face said he didn't believe it all the way.

But he didn't lift his head to argue this time. He just stared down at the paper.

“...Bruce, hey, I'm not trying to make fun of you, I'd never do that,” Tommy said, rolling a little closer to the edge of the bed. “But just because claw marks happened once or twice at a murder doesn't mean the Court is real. What, did your dad have a gash on his face when he died?”

…

And Bruce shook his head.

“See? It's not real.”

--

“Well that don't mean you can't look into it.” Clark offered, looking up at them. “What's the harm in connecting a few dots? And just because there ain't proof they do exist doesn't mean they don't.”

--

Tommy gave Clark the kind of flat look he never gave Bruce. Like he was saying the dumbest thing.

“You didn't even know the story when you showed up and now you're trying to do this? Really?”

...Bruce stared up at Clark, face unreadable.

And he started to pick up the newspaper and fold it again.

--

“Tryin’ to do what?” Clark frowned. “If there's a story here I'm interested! Y'know--” he gestured to himself, “journalism?”

--

“To drag him down again!” Tommy said, rolling off then bed and standing, defensive behind Bruce. Above him.

For the moment.

For the moment before Bruce stood, pencils and notebook in hand, and paper carefully folded under his arm.

He looked at Clark.

“Let's go.”

--

Clark glared at Tommy, but he said nothing.

He grabbed his own notebook and pencils to leave with Bruce.

--

“Bruce?” Tommy said, but Harvey was the only one still listening. “Bruce!”

Bruce closed the dorm door behind him.

“Library has old papers on record,” Bruce said softly. And he began to walk.

--

Whatever history was repeating here, Clark knew nothing of it.

“Okay,” he said, and started heading that way.

“... Tommy said I was ‘dragging you down again’. What’d he mean by that?”

He sounded annoyed. Offended. Like he would do that to someone intentionally.

--

Bruce pursed his lips, buying time for a response, but not sure what to say. Or, he knew what to say.

But he didn't like to say it.

“...I tried to find the man who killed my parents,” he said finally. “...I couldn't.”

--

…

“You think they’re all related to that Court?”

--

…

Bruce hung his head.

Stared at the ground.

Didn't… want to look Clark in the eye when he admitted his stupid, idiot theory.

“...they’re all building developers. Or owned lots of property. And were trying to change it…”

--

But Clark didn’t call it stupid.

“Okay, something to start with. And, hey--”

He reached out slowly to touch Bruce’s shoulder.

“Worst case scenario is we’re wrong and nothing changes.”

--

Bruce twitched a little at the contact, but…

Mostly, he just turned his head up a little, and stared at Clark’s face.

(He was sixteen and he'd stopped believing in a just world long ago.

But somehow, he was stupid, and still believed in fairy tales.)

…

“Okay,” he said, voice cracking.

And he led Clark to the library.

...the newspapers were all in the bottom floor, the basement. In the archives. The indexes were massive, but well organized and maintained.

And Bruce already knew where to start looking… to a point.

But the first place to start, was writing down a scrawled poem on a blank sheet of scrap paper. Hesitating.

“...we’re doing this backwards,” he mumbled. “Not supposed to go in with a theory…”

But he wrote it out, all the same.

Beware The Court of Owls, that watches all the time,

ruling Gotham from a shadow perch, behind granite and lime.

They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed,

speak not a whispered word of them or they'll send The Talon for your head.

--

Clark followed him down.

“No?” He asked, setting his notebook on a desk close to the archives they would need to look through.

“How do you think we should go about it then?”

--

Bruce swallowed and stuffed the paper in his pocket.

“...supposed to go in and look for patterns and connections,” he said. “...if you already have a suspect, you… only look for things that point to them.”

--

“... Okay. How much can you tell me about this ‘Court of Owls’?”

He was sitting down and opening his notebook to a new page. He didn’t have the knowledge of them Bruce did. This wasn’t his home. These weren’t his urban legends.

--

Looking for them directly was exactly what Bruce said they shouldn't be doing, but…

It still thrummed inside him, on some silly, stupid level.

Maybe it hadn't just been a coincidence murder. Maybe it had a purpose. Anything other than random events. Anything.

“...” he handed Clark the paper. “...they have at least one assassin. They… Have an architecture motif. They're watching from the buildings.”

With the kind of architecture in Gotham Academy not being uncommon to the rest of Old Gotham, it maybe wasn't surprising the buildings themselves were the boogeymen’s hiding places sometimes.

But he didn't know if Clark would make that connection to a real estate building mongle--

--

“Ties in to your theory about them targeting building developers.” He said, writing something down before he got up so he could look into those Lansing murders Bruce had talked about earlier.

He needed to play catch-up. This wasn’t his turf. He didn’t know as much as Bruce did.

…

He planned to dig up the papers about the Wayne tragedy too, but… not now. Not with Bruce in the room.

Clark could do that later on his own time.

--

Tommy had seen the connection, and rolled his eyes, and Bruce half expected Clark to just-- not see it at all--

…

But he swallowed something down, and his stomach stopped roiling quite so much, and he nodded again.

“Yeah. Just. Anyone who changes the architecture.”

And he dove in behind Clark.

He looked for the more recent murders. The ones he hasn't read about or studied like this since he was twelve and finally gave up, run off from his last scraps of energy.

…

And finally, someone was beside him, willing, even for just a moment, to believe him.

--

While Bruce looked at the more recent murders, Clark went for the old. The ones Bruce already knew about. He asked him which ones he had connected before, if any, and he would take a look at those.

(“I’m a new perspective. I wanna go over things you already know about. We don’t think the same, so who knows. Maybe I’ll see something different.” Is what he would say.)

The Lansing murders. What they did before the murders. The other ones that Bruce had tied together when he was 12--

Before they knew it the library was closing. They would need to come back.

And they would.

--

(A new perspective. A new reading level, honestly-- from twelve to sixteen, the change in things he understood--)

They would come back.

Absolutely.

Bruce went to bed and slept the whole night, and woke with impatient fire in his eyes.

Tommy gave Clark a sour look as Clark headed out the door to change, and once again as Bruce flew out of his last class, tossing his bag into their dorm and making a beeline to the library.

“Bruce, but, homework--!” Tommy called.

“Don't bother,” Harvey sighed, sitting down with his own book bag to get started “It’s not like his grades will get him kicked out.”

….and on the weekend, Tommy barely had time to pull on a matching hoodie and jeans, before Bruce was out the door for early breakfast and back to work.

(“Nice to see him care about something,” Harvey said.

Tommy threw a pillow at his head.)

[prettyyoungandbored]

Becoming Mrs. Wayne [The Dark Knight] Two

Pairing: Christian Bale!Bruce Wayne x OC

Summary: Demetria Gallagher knew her cozy life would change the second she became engaged to Bruce Wayne. But what she doesn’t know is she’s getting more than what she agreed to. (I am trash at summaries.) 

Taglist: @dragonballluver 

Warning: Semi-smut, dirty talking, etc.

Previous chapter 

Demetria removed her coat, throwing it over her arm as Bruce spoke to the host. She could feel the eyes of other patrons glancing over at her as they leaned over to whisper to one another. She flashed a small smile, hoping they’d get the hint that either a.) she was well aware of their staring and felt deeply uncomfortable by it or b.) she was just waiting for her fiancé to finish up talking so they could sit and eat. 

She then felt Bruce take her hand, her eyes shifting to him. 

“Shouldn’t we wait for the host?” she asked. 

“They know where we’ll be.” 

He led her through the restaurant, eyes of other patrons following their every move. Demetria pulled back her lips as she quickened her pace a bit to walk by her fiancé’s side. 

“Rachel, fancy that.” 

Demetria looked over to find Rachel and Harvey sitting at a table. Her eyes lit up at the sight of Harvey.

“Yeah Bruce,” Rachel responded ever so cooly. “Fancy that.” She stood up and hugged Demetria. “Good to see you as always.”

“You too and I love this dress,” Demetria said, taking a step back to admire it. She then turned to Harvey.  “I see you changed your shirt after your soy sauce debacle.” She turned to Rachel. “I tell him several times not to open the damn packet with his teeth--.” 

“He doesn’t listen,” Rachel finished, nodding her head. She turned to Bruce. “Bruce, this is Harvey Dent.” 

Harvey got up and shook Bruce’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“You as well. I’ve heard a lot about you from Rachel and Demetria.” 

“Demetria’s told me a lot about you.” 

“Well I certainly hope not everything,”Bruce laughed. “What do you say we push some tables together?” 

“I don’t know if they’ll let us,” Harvey responded.

“Oh they should,” Bruce assured, motioning to the waiter. “I own the place.”

Demetria whipped her head. “You own what now?” 

Bruce smirked at her. “I told you it was a surprise.” 

After the waiters moved the tables together, Bruce took the seat next to Rachel while Demetria took the seat beside Harvey.

“So Demetria, Harvey introduced me to your mom over the phone,” Rachel spoke up. “She sounds like she’s over the moon about the engagement.” 

Demetria nodded. “She’s flooding my emails with ideas for the wedding decor when we haven’t even set a date.” 

“Bruce, have you met Olivia?” Harvey brought up, taking a sip of water. 

“I did,” Bruce nodded. “When she came up to the city for the weekend a few months back.” 

“How’d you guys manage that?” Harvey asked Demetria. 

“We had dinner at my place,” Demetria answered. 

“Oh, you mean you ordered take out?” 

Demetria shot Harvey a glare. “It was from a nice restaurant.” 

He smirked. “I’m sure she had a lot to say about it.” 

“She actually loved it.” 

“What did she think of Gotham City?” Rachel asked. 

“She has her reservations, but really she’s just nervous because of all the crimes and whatnot. She keeps asking me if this is a place I wanna raise kids in.” 

“Well I was raised here and I turned out ok,” Bruce remarked.

Demetria smiled at him, patting his leg with her hand. 

“Is Wayne Manor in the city limits?” Harvey questioned. 

Bruce let out a wry laugh. “The Palisades? Sure. You know, as our new DA, you might want to figure out where your jurisdiction ends.” 

Harvey sat back in his chair as Demetria, uncomfortable at the scene that was playing out in front of her, changed the subject. “If anything, she’s just weirded out by Batman and how, as she puts it, Gotham City looks up to a guy in a mask.” 

“Gotham City is proud of an ordinary citizen standing up for what’s right,” Harvey defended. 

“But who appointed the Batman,” Bruce joked. 

“We did,” Harvey answered. “All of us who stood by and let scum take control of our city. When their enemies were at the gates, the Romans would suspend democracy and appoint one man to protect the city and it wasn’t considered an honor, it was considered a public service.” 

Rachel leaned toward him. “Harvey, the last man that they appointed to protect the republic was named Caesar and he never gave up his power.” 

“Ok fine. You either die a hero or you live long enough to see yourself become the villain.” 

“I actually find him fascinating,” Demetria spoke up.

“What do you mean?” Harvey questioned.

“Think about it, most people who do heroic things do it because deep down, they secretly want to feel good about themselves, right?  Everyone wants to achieve some sort of glory, even if they don’t want to admit. Here comes this guy who’s actually going out and making some sort of a difference, and he's doing it without giving out who he really is.” 

“Well he’s giving some sort of an identity,” Bruce corrected. “He just works under a different name.” 

“But still, it’s someone who is actually going out there and is taking care of the problem without abusing their power like most police officers do,” Demetria went on. “He doesn’t even give any kind of hint to who he is. He could be anybody. I mean, even Harvey, you could...” She paused, before waving her hand. “Actually, you couldn’t be the Batman. You got your ass beat in intramural football in college too many times.” 

Rachel nearly choked on her drink, excusing herself as she tried to fight back laughter. Bruce smirked, eyes down on the ground. 

Harvey tilted his head. “Hey, while we’re on the topic of embarrassing college memories, remember the time I walked in on you and that guy from Student Government at that party senior year?” 

Demetria’s eyes widened while Bruce lifted his head up, intrigued. “I’d like to hear more about that.” 

“It was a one time thing,” she said, clenching her teeth.

“Look, whoever the Batman is he doesn’t want to do this for the rest of his life,” Harvey continued. “How could he? Batman is looking for someone to take up his mantle.”

“And you think that person could be you?” Demetria asked. 

He shrugged. “If I’m up to it.” 

She folded her arms across her chest. “Do you honestly think Batman is gonna come up to you and say, ‘Hey, I don’t wanna do this anymore so can you handle this?’” 

“Not like that no.” 

“Then how the hell do you know what he wants?” 

“At the end of the day, no one wants the sole responsibility of carrying the safety of the entire city on their shoulder.” 

“Except you, and to be fair, that’s what makes you a great District Attorney.”

Harvey and Demetria exchanged smiles. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all night, Dem.” 

She shrugged her shoulders. “I have my moments.” 

“Well I’m sold, Dent,” Bruce chimed in. “I’m gonna throw you a fundraiser.” 

Demetria whipped her head to Bruce. “You’re what?” 

“That’s nice of you, Bruce,” Harvey chuckled. “But I’m not up for reelection for three years.” 

Bruce shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. One fundraiser with my pals, you’ll never need another cent.” 

“It’s a kind gesture-.” 

“You can also think of it as a thank you for bringing my future wife to Gotham,” Bruce cut him off, looking to Demetria. “Without your persistence, I wouldn’t have found her.” 

She smiled as he took her hand in hers. 

“I guess I can’t say no then,” Harvey remarked. 

_________________________________________________________________

Back at the penthouse, Bruce undid his tie as Demetria sat on the edge of the bed kicking off her heels.

“So, you’re really gonna throw a fundraiser for Harvey?” she asked. 

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Yeah. Why?”

 “Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great you support him and the offer is so generous but...I mean, you just met the guy.” 

“I think he deserves one,” he shrugged.   

“But why now? Like he said, he’s not up for re-election for another three years.”

He put his tie in the drawer. “I think he’s what the city needs so why not garner future votes to keep him in office?” He turned to her. “Besides, it gives me an excuse to show off my gorgeous fiancé.”   

Demetria blushed as she tried reaching for the zipper on the back of her dress, struggling to latch on to the zipper. “Well, I’m sure your support will really...” She grunted. “Can you please help me?” 

Bruce went over to her and slowly zipped down the back. Demetria inhaled sharply, the cool breeze slowly hitting her bare back.

She glanced over her shoulder, a small smile on her lips. “Thank you.” 

When she went to step away, Bruce quickly grabbed her and tossed her on the bed, before climbing on top of her.

“Jesus, you could warn me next time,” Demetria giggled. “Not all of us spend our nights training like you do.” 

“But it’s so much more fun to surprise you.” 

His lips hovered over hers as she cupped his cheek with the palm of her hand.

“Tell me, did the guy from Student Government turn you on like I do?” Bruce whispered.”

“Oh my god,” she groaned, her cheeks flushing. She threw her hands over her face. “I’m gonna kill Harvey for telling you that.” 

Bruce moved his lips to her neck. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Demetria lifted her head up, removing her hands from her face. “I don’t remember! It was years ago!”

“I bet he didn’t make you cum like I do.” 

She made a face, pretending to think about it. “Well now that you bring it up, I think he did.” 

Bruce pulled back, fighting the playful smile on his lips “Wow.” 

She pointed a finger at him. “You started it!” 

“So that’s how we’re gonna do this..” 

“Are you going to fuck me or not because I don’t remember him taking this long to-.” 

Bruce shut her up by crashing his lip onto hers. He made damn sure she was gonna scream his name loud enough for the kid from Student Government to hear wherever he was.

_____________________________________________________________

She woke up to find herself alone in bed, curled up on her side as the sating sheets wrapped tightly around her nude body. She sighed and laid on her back, knowing Bruce was probably training at the gym.

As much as she loved him and was proud of him for being so dedicated, she wished some nights she could wake up and find him still there, still holding her. She wanted to see the way the moonlight reflected off his body as they went off in one of their deep talks.

But he was dedicated to what he did and she respected that. 

She grabbed her glass of water from the nightstand to find it empty. Tossing, the sheets off her, she made her way to the set of drawers Bruce bought for her and grabbed a pair of black yoga shorts and her old Gotham University hoodie. 

She then walked into the kitchen area and quietly filled her cup with water from the kitchen sink. Turning off the water after filling up, she took a quick sip before looking over her shoulder at the twinkling lights from other building lights. 

She wandered outside, gently closing the door behind her. Setting her glass on the ledge, she leaned over the railing and gazed as the city in front of her. 

While she never cared about Bruce luxurious lifestyle, she did love how his balcony had the best view of the city. She could get used to spending some quiet nights out here.

It was a fact that Gotham was its most dangerous during the nighttime, which Demetria found to be waste because in the right light, like the one she was currently looking at, the city could be absolutely breath taking at night. 

“You should be inside.”

She jumped, her arm flinging and knocking over the glass of water on the ground. 

“Fuck me,” she whispered. She then turned to her side to find Batman standing there. Her mouth hung open a jar, as she took in the sight before her. “Wow...”

“What?” His voice was rough, calloused, and almost hushed. 

“You’re just...bigger than I thought.” She folded her arms across her chest. “You’re also a lot more intimidating in person.” 

“I scare you?” 

She chuckled nervously. “Well, considering you show up and beat the shit out of people, I mean yeah. You are.” 

Silence fell as she waited for him to respond. “So are you gonna beat me up or...?” she joked, half-heartedly. 

Once again, no response. Her smile fell as she nodded her head awkwardly. “You’re not much for conversations, are you?” 

He didn’t respond, again. She pulled back her lips. “Well then, I’m going to get a broom and clean up the glass.” 

She went to turn around when she heard, “You’re the billionaire’s wife.” 

She turned to face him. “He has a name and so do I.” She paused. “Also, I’m his fiancé.” 

“But you’re going to be his wife.” 

“If you don’t kill me tonight, then yeah.” 

He made one step toward, causing her heart to drop to her stomach. She took a couple steps back. 

“I won’t hurt you,” he told her. 

“Then can you tell me why you’re here so I can go about my life and you can go take out some member of the mafia?” 

“Your life is valuable. Stay inside.” 

He then grabbed the railing and jumped off, Demetria leaning over to watch him soar off into the night. 

Running her hand through her hair, she let out a long sigh. “Jesus fucking christ.” 

She went inside and quietly went back inside to grab a broom and the garbage can. 

She cleaned up the glass, throwing the pieces in the garbage can. Putting the broom back in the kitchen closet and the garbage can away, she went back into the bedroom and closed the door. She turned on her bedside lamp and grabbed the remote, turning on the TV, settling on an old episode of “I Love Lucy.” 

_________________________________________________________

Bruce entered the apartment quietly, as though not to wake anyone. He quickly glanced over to find Demetria was no longer out on the balcony, a small wave of relief crashing over him. 

He’d made a promise to himself to keep Demetria away from Batman as best as he could; however, between the constant coverage the press was giving her and the copycats and the mob and their affiliates running around at night, he had to do what he could to protect her. 

He entered their bedroom to find the TV on and Demetria lying awake in bed. 

“What’re you doing up?” he asked, laying his gym bag on the floor. 

She pulled her knees to her chest. “If I told you, you’d think I was crazy.” 

He got into the bed and wrapped an arm around her. “Try me.” 

She sighed. “I met Batman.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Really?”

“I was out on the balcony and he just showed up and, I don’t know, he just...he was strange.” 

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” 

 “No, no, no. He just told me I should stay inside because I’m apparently valuable.” She leaned her head against Bruce’s chest and sighed. “God, this city’s so fucking weird.” 

He chuckled. “It’s not all that bad.”

Her fingers gingerly ran through his hair lazily. “How was your workout? Any more injuries?” 

“It was fine and no, not a scratch on me.” 

“And last night’s scratches? They’re ok?” 

“Perfectly so.” His smile softened. “Thank you.” 

“For what?”  “For being you. For taking care of me.” 

She smiled. “Happy to help.”

“What would I do without you?”

She lifted her head up. “Fuck half the Moscow ballet?”

Bruce shook his head, laughter escaping his lips. “I love you, Demetria.”

“I love you too, Bruce.”

He kissed her forehead before turning his eyes to the TV. “ ‘I Love Lucy’?” 

“I couldn’t go back to sleep.” 

She reached over for the remote on the bed when Bruce grabbed it first. He turned up the volume a bit, pulling Demetria closer to him. She threw one arm over him as they watched the show together.

Bruce knew his days as Batman would eventually end and when they did, he couldn’t wait to spend a normal night curled up with his wife watching a mindless show. 

Those days were coming soon, at he least hoped they would. 

[artxyra]

If your ever bored, (I'm sending 2 requests because they were too long) can you do one of my requests? The class goes to Gotham for whatever reason. Marinette and Lila have an argument when Two-face comes in. Mari is tired of Lila and grabs him to be her lawyer, the bats as judges, and some random people on the street as the rest of the 9 judges. Can have a ship but isn't necessary.

@i-is-mysterious, so I did this instead of doing my Japanese homework.

“Well, some of you wouldn’t believe this but somehow, a French exchange student managed to capture the attention and the hearts of many Gothammites today.” The News reporter states at the desk. In an OTS next to her, there is an image of what looks to be Marinette Dupain-Cheng sitting in what looks to be in a courtroom setting and next to his Harvey Dent, better known as Two-Face. “Let’s just say stay tone as I tell you about this extraordinary tall tale.”

Marinette Dupain-Cheng could not take Lila’s bullshit anymore. At first, it was fun and dandy, humoring the poor Italian native as she goes on with her day-to-day life, but for some reason, today was not the day to tolerate the liar.

“Will you shut the heck up!” Marinette screeches to the horrid hairstyle that is on top of Lila Rossi’s head.

Lila stares at Marinette, tears swelling her eyes as if on-demand rather than genuine. “How could you say something like that to me, Marinette. I’m only trying to explain to our friends that I know Batman personally and have helped him saved Gotham a few times in the past.”

The class looks between the two teens as if waiting for something huge to happen. Well, that didn’t take long…

“No, you’re making this a bigger mess than it needs to be. The only people Batman work with are the Justice League and whoever the hell is the current and former Robins. What you’re declaring to our class is nothing but a load of shit.” Marinette seethes gesturing to the class and the number of confused pedestrians.

Well it is at this moment when Nino decides that listening to this problem was only going to lead to a larger mess and turns up the music playing from his phone into earphones.

“Well it’s true, it not my fault that your jealous, Marinette. I can’t believe you think that I am lying about stuff like that.” Lila places a hand over her chest and tries to look for sympathy.

“Yeah, right, and I’m Ladybug.” Marinette sarcastically retorts.

Just then the doors blast opens. Goons of all heights swarm into the room, with guns blazing. Everyone not apart of the shutting gets down onto the floor. Lila begins to squirm saying all sorts of nonsense about the Bat-family and how they will save her. Marinette rolls her head and examines the room.

The goons, now forcing those into a concern talking into an earpiece, all of it was something that Marinette could understand nor hear. She sees that Nino’s was fumbling with his phone as Alya tries to take it away to film this drastic situation. Only for the earphones to unconnected from the phone. Loud music burst out from the speakers. It’s Teeth by 5 Seconds to Summer.

Marinette, feeling the beat, gets up. The goons turn to her aiming their guns at her. They yell at her to get down on the floor, sending a warming shoot, it misses. Her classmates call for her to get back down, but Marinette was already dancing to the music.

“Fight so dirty, but your love’s so sweet.” She winks at the goons before sending one to the ground by a kick in the stomach. The gun goes off, sending bullets into the ceiling. She shrugs her shoulders, before twirling to the next goon. Three bullets fly past her, not even one hitting her but the wall behind her.

“Late night devil, put your hands on me.” Marinette sings another line of words. More goons’ advances on her.

Nino seeing what she was doing grabs his phone back and turns the volume up. Marinette’s feet tap to the beat as she song continues so does the speed of her defensive attacks.

Another goon down.

Marinette dives low before swinging her feet into another goon’s legs.

“Blood on my shirt, rose in my hand. You’re looking at me like you don’t know who I am.” The song rears closer to the end, when everything suddenly stops.

There standing at the large opening of the newly made entrances stands Two-Face with his hand on a cigarette. He puffs out the smoke.

“You girl.” He calls out.

The music comes to an abrupt stop. Marinette’s body staggers with the sudden loss of rhythm. She turns around and points to herself. Narrowing her eyes, she purses her lips, before a smirk sneaks its way onto her face.

She stalks towards him before roughly grabbing his wrist.

“You’re a lawyer, right?” She asks motioning for her classmates to get up.

Two-Face is taken back, he stares at the teen girl before him. “What of it?”

“I have a problem that doesn’t want to go away and seeing as we’re in a courthouse…” Marinette’s eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Two-Face, let the students go…” There you have it, people, the Batman himself and the rest of the family have arrived. Just a little later than normal.

What happened next, no one knows how a small teen from France manages to get everyone inside a courtroom with Batman as the judge and the rest of Bat-family being the jurors. Lila stands shitless with Mlle. Bustier as her supposes lawyer.

“Order in the court. This evening we will be going off the case of the plaintiff Marinette Dupain-Cheng and the defendant Lila Rossi. Today’s trial is about slander and defamation. Overseeing this case is Judge Batman.” Nightwing states to the court.

Hush whispers echoes within the room as the views watch in anticipation.

“Your honor, my student is not at fault with any of these charges.” Caline Bustier says, pleadingly.

Batman’s response to that was a grunt, nothing more, nothing less.

“As you can see, B-man, my client has documentary proof that the defendant Ms. Rossi has claimed to in contact with various amounts of celebrities and superheroes, you included on that list.” Two-Face states pulling out a large file that magically appeared from nowhere. Let’s not talk about where.

Two-Face hands the Judge the file. Batman looks over the file. He sees names that he too is personally familiar with such as Jagged Stone and his own sons’ names.

“Objection, your honor, my student as a lying condition. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.” Caline cries out as Lila grips the edge of her seat.

“Your honor, I would like to call Lila Rossi to the stand.”

“Objection.”

“Overruled.”

Lila takes her place on the stand. She could have sworn that Nightwing was smirking at her as she lied her way through the bat-a-rang. Yes, a bat-a-rang was used instead of a bible, where’s in Gotham here people. That and this is no regular court appearance.

“Lila Rossi, was it? Don’t answer that, you claim that Marinette has been bullying you since your return to school.”

“Well yeah, Marinette threatens me in the bathroom, she even slapped me in the face. Then it started to go all downhill from there.”

“I don’t believe you, seeing as there are no health records stating that you had any physical injuries to your being. My client, on the other hand, has multiple claims about being injured on school property. Why is that?”

Two-Face then hands Nightwing a different file containing evidence regarding medical information. Once again don’t ask how they manage to obtain that information.

“Objection!” Mlle. Bustier calls out. “This information was never made public. How did they even get their hands on it?”

Once again Batman only grunts.

“Hey B-man, this information is legit, Ms. Rossi never had any claims of a physical injury only Miss Dupain-Cheng,” Nightwing whispers to the judge.

Batman turns to his jurors and raises the gavel.

“I have heard enough. Miss Rossi, you claim that you have helped me and my partners when you have never set foot in Gotham before this trip. Jurors, you have less than five minutes to decide her faith.”

Lila begins to protest. She calls to her teacher for help. The class, bless their naïve little minds, only sit down with popcorn in their hands.

Marinette turns to Two-Face with a smirk on her face and holds out her hand. Two-Face hits it, causing the teen’s hits to widen as she tries to hide her discomfort.

Five minutes later, Red Robin stands to the judge with a piece of paper in hand.

“We,” he yawns, “the jurors have decided that Lila Rossi is guilty of all counts of charges against her.” A random person hands the vigilante a cup of coffee. He sips it longingly.

Lila screams in shock. She tells them that she has immunity only for her claims to go on death’s ears.

The day ends with Marinette sitting on her balcony with a cup of coffee in hand with Adrien beside her.

“Did you have to dramatic today?”

“It was fun, wasn’t it? Watching her dig her own pit, but little did she knew was that the class was only humoring since her return. Everyone knows that I’m the queen of the school.” Marinette proceeds to drink her drink all while Adrien stands there eating a croissant.

[maniacwatchestheworld]

Scarred for Life: The Harvey Dent Story

[From Batman: The Audio Adventures, Season 1 Episode 2 "The Skylight in the Nursery"]

Here is a version of Harvey Dent's backstory (specifically from Batman: the Audio Adventures aka probably my personal favorite iteration of the character). I figured that for anyone newish to Batman fandom, that this might be useful to see! Or well... Hear in this case. Though usually it isn't Penguin who puts him through this, but rather one of Gotham's many, many crime families are usually the ones to disfigure him. Regardless, I hope you enjoy! Personally I just REALLY like Harvey's voice actor here and could listen to him talk all day. ૮⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝ა

Also reading through the transcript now and thinking about it... I wonder if the Penguin paid Mr. Pratkins extra to compliment him and say impressive things about him and his casino and lounge to the jury, and more importantly to his crush (Harvey)... Probably, let's be honest.

Video transcript under the cut

Announcer: And now it's Gotham City One's award-winning documentary…

Robin: Aw, yes!

Announcer: Series "Ghosts of Gotham" with your host Jack Ryder. Tonight's episode, "Scarred for Life: The Harvey Dent Story."

Jack Ryder: It's one of Gotham City's most tragic tales. A lion-hearted litigator becomes a fractured fiend. Once a beacon of hope for a brighter Gotham, former district attorney Harvey Dent is now one of the city's most erratic public enemies. As Two-Face, he's believed to run a vast criminal empire within Gotham City. But a canny combination of legal genius and vicious intimidation has thus far allowed him to evade arrest. Harvey Dent was born to a modest household in the Gotham Narrows. His father was a domineering--

Robin: Hey, let's fast-forward to the--

[fast-forward whirring]

Jack Ryder: But all that hope and promise would come to a violent end.

Robin: Yeah, to the that.

Jack Ryder: The date was February 2nd. The place was the old Gotham courthouse. Harvey Dent had shocked the city by finding a witness willing to testify against a prominent Gotham businessman and suspected crime kingpin, none other than Oswald Cobblepot.

[cackling]

Jack Ryder: Some call him the Penguin, though rarely to his face and never more than once. It would have been the biggest conviction of Harvey Dent's storied legal career. Instead, it was the last case he ever tried.

[crowd chatter, gavel thuds]

Harvey Dent: Can you please state your name for the record?

Jackson Pratkins: The name's Jackson Pratkins.

Harvey Dent: Jackson Pratkins, are you also known in the Gotham underworld as the contract killer called Jack Sprat?

Jackson Pratkins: Yeah, that's me. Jack Sprat, by baseball bat, by knife, or gasoline.

[crowd murmurs]

Jackson Pratkins: That was my gimmick. But that's not me no more. I done some bad things, but I want to make it right.

Harvey Dent: That's what we're here to do today, Mr. Pratkins. Now, when did you first accept payment for illegal activities from Oswald Cobblepot?

Jackson Pratkins: I'm sorry, Cobble-who?

Harvey Dent: Oswald Cobblepot. You may know him as the Penguin.

Jackson Pratkins: Oh, the casino man, impresario extraordinaire Oswald Cobblepot. I never met him.

Harvey Dent: You nev--[chuckles] Mr. Pratkins, I remind you you are under oath and in your sworn statement, you detailed numerous criminal transactions initiated by Oswald Cobblepot.

Jackson Pratkins: Oh, you misunderstood. Sure, I said Mr. Cobblepot oughta be in jail 'cause he robs me blind every payday at that socko casino of his. You know Stoveplate Sullivan plays there every Saturday night? Exclusive engagement.

[laughter]

Jackson Pratkins: Beat that, folks.

Harvey Dent: Mr. Pratkins, you are gonna be charged with perjury, and your plea deal will be void unless you tell this court the truth. Isn't it true that you…

Jackson Pratkins: [muttering]

Harvey Dent: Murdered Gotham City Councilman Hubert Wainwright on orders from Oswald Cobblepot?

Jackson Pratkins: [sighs]

Harvey Dent: And isn't it in fact true that Oswald Cobblepot himself was present at the scene of the crime as evidenced by this article of his personal property recovered by the police? This very distinctive custom-made umbrella. One more chance, Mr. Pratkins. Can you testify that this umbrella belongs to the Penguin?

Jackson Pratkins: Well, since you put it that way, hand me that, uh, um-brella, so I can get a better--yeah, thank you, counselor. Oh, yeah, it seems I do remember something about Penguin's special umbrellas. I remember there's a little secret button here on the handle, hard to see, so take a real close look, handsome.

Harvey Dent: What are you--

Jack Ryder: We pause for a moment to warn our viewers that what you are about to see is extremely disturbing. Parental guidance is strongly advised.

Jackson Pratkins: Have an acid spritzer, Dent!

Harvey Dent: Ahh!

Jackson Pratkins: Courtesy of the Penguin!

Woman: Oh, my heavens! The umbrella was booby-trapped.

Man: The district attorney's been--oh, God! Mr. Dent, your face!

Robin: Video pause.

Narrator: The Boy Wonder, wise beyond his years, takes a moment to reflect.

Robin: And just like that, his mind broke clean in two. Makes you wonder if we're all held together on the inside by what we're made of on the outside.

[kneamet]

Angel of cards (7/16)

Trigger Warning: yandere, obsession, obsessive thoughts.

Summary: Joker, Mr. J, anarchist psychopath, Tom Hiddleston. He had many nicknames. Joker was Gotham’s most dangerous and insightful man, with sharp makeup and horribly memorable scars on his face in the form of a smile. He was absolutely crazy and deadly. No one knows his real identity and everyone is afraid of his cruel jokes. But what happens when he becomes obsessed with an ordinary girl?

She belongs to him. No one can take her away from him. Even The Batman.

Chapter seven: unexpected guests

Harvey just couldn't think rationally the last day. Blake. His beloved niece, whom he had so fiercely protected and so passionately cherished. She was his favorite relative, the only person who supported him in what he was doing now.

And now, he was standing in an elevator with an equally beloved man, a beloved woman, Rachel Dawes, who was the most beautiful person in his life. The love of his life. Rachel had always been sympathetic and untruthful to him, and there was nothing he could do to repay her. Except to propose to her.

Harvey, as well as his Rachel, were now at a" party " with Bruce Wayne, with whom his beloved had known since childhood. And that's fine, even when Bruce, with his pretentiousness, infuriated him. But that was just a small thing, given that he'd called him this afternoon to let him know that he'd do everything he could to find Blake.

Dent looked at Rachel, who was biting her lip in her usual way and looking a little worried. He knew that his beloved, as well as he himself, did not particularly like all these social events, and they liked an ordinary evening with delicious wine and an old movie more.

Suddenly, the elevator stopped and opened its doors, giving Harvey and Rachel a view of the rich people standing around each other drinking champagne.

"Harvey Dent, scourge of the underworld... Rachel suddenly began, beginning to circle slightly around Dent and look at him with what Harvey, and probably Bruce, thought were beautiful eyes. "...scared to death of the powerful, " she said ironically, but she still understood that Harvey was having a hard time, which he basically appreciated. Suddenly her eyes caught on something, and she smiled and looked back at Harvey. "I'll be back soon."

"Rachel," Dent said softly as she left, and suddenly a familiar voice came from the left side.

"Would you like some courage, Mr. Dent?" said a man who looked very familiar, but Harvey had some doubts that this was the man Rachel had told him about.

"Thank you. Alfred, right?" Harvey decided to make sure as he accepted the glass.

"That's right, sir," the older man replied with a polite smile.

"Rachel talks about you all the time. You've known her all her life," Dent knew that Alfred was one of the only people who cared about Rachel. She always praised him.

"Oh, not really, sir," Alfred corrected quickly, shifting the tray to his other hand.

"Should we be wary of her crazy exes?" Harvey looked away and looked into the crowd, looking for Rachel.

"Oh, you have no idea how much," Alfred advised and disappeared into the crowd, disappearing unnoticed and smiling cunningly. Harvey looked up at him in surprise, his mouth slightly open.

But no, I need to find Rachel now.

***

The social gathering, as the rich people called it, or the simple party, as Rachel, Bruce, and Harvey would have called it, was going well. People were drinking champagne and wine, and the music played in the background in a quiet background, only adding to the charm.

Everything was fine. Bruce Wayne, surrounded by a crowd of Russian ballerinas, arrived in a private helicopter, saying that he was a little late. He even thanked Harvey for his contribution.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," a loud and drawling baritone voice suddenly rang out, drawing the attention of people who turned their drunken eyes toward those who had arrived, until they noticed his makeup and heard the sound of a cracked lamp somewhere above.

Shouts were heard from the sides. The Joker grinned. That was exactly what he wanted. It was so nice to see their frightened faces. He took a step forward, stepping out of the elevator and passing on, looking for the people who were now looking at him in pitiful fright.

He felt like a God now. A God who can control people's feelings and make them do what he wants. Oh, how he wanted his angel to listen to him. His lovely, frightened little angel, probably begging hard for help right now. She was glad to be with him, though.

"Now we'll entertain you," he said again, grinning at the people around him. "I have one question:" he drawled, walking slowly towards the people and even slightly dancing and jumping up and down. His usual manner, no wonder. "Where's Harvey Dent?" he shouted loudly to the entire room, taking a glass of champagne and spilling most of it as he stared at the man. "Do you know where Harvey is? Do you know him?"" he turned to the other man, placing a glass of unpleasant alcohol, which he did not particularly like, on the snack table.

The Joker slowly surveyed the people. He saw in them the whole spectrum of negative emotions, ranging from anger to contempt with horror. How ugly they all are. And no, not physically, like the Joker, but morally.

"You know, me and his family will be fine," the Joker said to no one else, making his usual smacking lips.

"We can't be intimidated by bandits," the voice said. It seems that someone was very brave, Joker thought, and turned to the owner of the old voice.

That's right, there was an elderly man standing next to him, raising his head up and up. It seems that someone wanted to show their superiority.

"Listen..." the Joker muttered, pulling a small pull-out knife from his nearest pocket and sliding it up unnoticed, his other hand shaking as he straightened his hair. "...you look like my father, " the man said with disdain in his voice, literally running into the older man with quick movements and putting a knife to the corners of his mouth. "I hated my father," he said with hatred, only pressing harder and feeling the indignant and frightened feeling in the man.

"Okay, wait," came a sudden voice from the left side. Voice. Female. Slightly squeaky, but quite pretty. Such voices do not wish you well. They will surely only be able to do harm.

The Joker turned his head and lowered his hands to look in the direction of the voice. A woman was looking at him, hands on her hips. A pretty woman. Brown hair, softly tied up in a bun, and blue eyes. She was really beautiful.

But the Joker had always known that beautiful girls were equal to loss and suffering. So no, especially since she reminded him too much of the woman he hated so vividly and despised so fiercely. His mother.

And even more so, this woman was no more beautiful than his angel. No, his angel was perfect. She was simply incomparable and he must protect his angel. Definitely should.

"Hello, beautiful," the Joker said gently, as some might think, and very mockingly, smoothing his hair with the hand that held the knife. "You must be Harvey's chick," he said gruffly, pointing at the woman with the knife as people backed up around her. But no, although he allowed himself to communicate with other women in this way, he would not allow himself to communicate with his angel in this way.

Joker could see the contempt on the face of the Harvey woman, who was looking at him with defiance and a little fear. Really brave.

Finally, the Joker moved even closer to the woman who came up to his chin. How low. He looked down at her and lifted his hand, smacking his lips lightly. "You're so nervous. Is it because of the scars? Tell me where they're from?" he asked her, asking impossibly stupid questions. She turned away and looked away as the Joker quickly cupped her face in his hands, pointing the knife at her mouth. "Hey," he said, treating her very roughly. "Look at me," he advised, leaning closer to her father and creating a dangerous effect. "I had a wife. Beautiful as my angel, " he saw her surprised and frightened look, felt her gears turning with her brain. "She told me I was too sad..." he put the knife in his mouth."...that I need to smile more often. “She was a gambler, and she owed the sharks a lot. Hey, " seeing her not looking at him, the Joker took offense and only pressed harder on the knife. "They cut her face once," he continued, only squeezing the woman's face harder, which only made her wince. "We had no money for the operation. It was killing her, " he whispered softly. "I just wanted her to smile again. I wanted her to know that I didn't care about the scars. 'So...' He only paused, as if amplifying the effects of the silence. "...I put the blade in my mouth and did it... he explained, tucking a curl behind his ear with his free finger. On the one hand, it might seem that he was just flirting with her, but no. He is faithful, and will always be faithful only to his angel. "...by myself. And you know what? She couldn't see me," the Joker said in mock bitterness, raising his eyebrows and continuing to press with shaking hands. "She's gone. Now I see the irony. I'm always smiling now, " he drawled, when suddenly Rachel felt a kick in the balls.

Oh, he covered it with his hands, but also quickly removed them. The Joker looked at the woman and shook the knife slightly.

"You like to fight. I like it, " he remarked, and was about to move closer to her when a painfully familiar and filtered voice came from behind.

"Then you'll like it."

Batman. The Joker smiled, not even turning to look at him. It's time for a great game.

***

"What have I done," a small boyish voice whispered. The guy opened his eyes in amazement and fell to his knees in surprise, continued to look at his hands full of blood. The red blood that had oozed from his mother earlier.

He looked at his mother's corpse, still not believing what was happening. What's happening?

"You did the right thing," the voice said. Such a familiar voice in my mind. The joker. He mentally patted the main person on the shoulder and roughly kissed his forehead, which was lowered down. "You've done well, but I'll take your place now, my dear boy Tom."

[ellewritesathing]

Ten Things    V

Summary: If there’s one thing you have to know about Harvey Kinkle, it’s that he rarely thinks things through. So when he meets (and falls for) Sabrina Spellman on his first day of Baxter High and finds out that she can’t date anyone until her tempestuous sister does, it seems like the obvious solution is to get someone to date her so he can go out with Sabrina. A not so obvious choice for the challenge is Caliban, but, hey, it’s not like Harvey thought that far.

Masterlist  Prev. | Part 5

Word-count: 3.1k+

A/N: sorry for the delay girls and gays (and nonbinary pals) but i finally got accepted into uni so i left the house yesterday for the first time in three months lmao 💕

Harvey had been on cloud nine ever since he dropped Sabrina home after that party. Sure it had only been a few hours ago, but still. He was so incredibly, idiotically happy that nothing could ruin his mood. His dad being pissed at him for coming home late rolled right off his back. Tommy needing the truck and him having to walk to the diner just didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Sabrina kissed him. 

Even waiting for Caliban when he was fifteen minutes late didn’t matter. Harvey just replayed last night in his head and the time flew by. 

Caliban threw his stuff down in the booth before collapsing in. “Why are you doing that with your face?” The fact that he bumped the table and almost spilled Harvey’s drink didn’t bother him. Neither did the scowl on Caliban's face.

Harvey frowned slightly. “What am I doing with my face?”  

“Well, it’s a bit better now,” Caliban said, stealing one of Harvey’s fries and munching it with a fury. “You were smiling.” 

“Is smiling bad?” 

“When it makes you like an idiot, yes.” 

“Oh.” Caliban’s horrible mood didn’t matter. Harvey told himself that Caliban just wasn’t a morning person. Or an afternoon person. Or even really a night time person. But Harvey persisted. “It’s just ‘cause I had a really good night.” 

Caliban rolled his eyes ever so slightly as he reached over for Harvey’s milkshake. He took a slurp from the straw before saying, “You and Blondie made up, I take it?”

“She asked for a ride home,” Harvey said before Caliban had even finished his sentence. “And at first I didn’t want to help because I was so mad but you should have seen her, man. I couldn’t not help her. So, I drove her home and then we stopped and I just started telling her about how shitty it was to be used and all this other stuff and then she kissed me.” 

Caliban didn’t say anything as he stared at a baby a few tables over who was stuffing their face with mashed apples. When Harvey didn’t say anything for a while, Caliban eventually looked over at him. “Where'd she kiss you?” 

“In the car!” 

“No, I meant-” Caliban sighed and shook his head. He held up a hand and gave Harvey a tired smile. “Never mind. I’m happy for you Harvey, truly.” 

“Thanks, man!” Harvey said cheerily before ordering another milkshake from the waitress and Caliban asked her to make it two. He turned back to Caliban with his almost permanent smile and asked, “So how did your night go?” 

Caliban snorted and finished what was left of Harvey’s original milkshake. When Harvey didn’t respond again, he sighed and said, “She hates me because I didn’t want to make out with her in front of her house when she was a drunken mess.”

“What? You can’t know that she hates you,” Harvey said quickly. He scurried to sit up straighter and reached out to Caliban. 

Caliban dug his phone out of his pocket and slid it over to Harvey, open on the chat between the two of you, with your last text being sent at 2am and reading: YOU’RE A REPUGNANT ASS AND I DIDN’T WANT TO KISS YOU ANYWAY. 

“Oh,” Harvey said softly, locking the phone and sliding it back over to a very dejected-looking Caliban. “I mean, she didn’t say exactly that she hated you.” 

“Harvey, I’m pretty sure that her calling me a repugnant ass means that she hates me,” Caliban said, rolling his eyes and reaching for where his cigarettes used to live. He cursed when he realized they weren’t there.

“Well, she called me the dumbest boy scout in the troupe but she punched Billy in the mouth when he said I was stupid,” Harvey said with a shrug after he thanked the waitress for the new milkshakes. “So maybe calling you a repugnant ass means that she really cares about you but doesn’t want to admit it.” 

Caliban was quiet, seemingly mulling it over. Then, with no warning, he snatched up his new milkshake and angrily started drinking it. 

“But, uh-” Harvey shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It felt the moment for asking had passed but he couldn't help himself. “You’re still gonna ask her to prom, right?” The glare Caliban shot at him blew Harvey straight off cloud nine. “It’s just that I really wanna take Brina to prom, you know, and she can’t go if her sister doesn’t and-” 

“If I say that I’ll try, will you stop talking?” Caliban asked. Harvey didn’t want to risk it, so he nodded quickly. “Fine then. I’ll ask.” 

“Seriously? Dude, you are the best friend I’ve ever-” Caliban threw a fry at him and Harvey stifled a laugh. “Okay, okay, no more talking. You got it.” 

Caliban seemed content and went back to glaring at the very messy baby across from him. 

“But, uh, one last thing?” Harvey asked quietly. He held up a napkin that he’d fastened to a straw to show surrender. “A wise man once told me ‘people eat that cute affectionate shit up.’ I think you should keep that in mind?” 

“Is that all, oh wise one?” Caliban asked. Harvey nodded and took a sip of his milkshake. “Fine. I’ll take it under consideration.” 

--- 

Caliban had already made up his mind about fixing things with you, but - now that Nicholas Scratch had found him in the street and started harassing him - he had second thoughts. Not about you (you were a perfect pain in the ass; nothing could change his mind about you) but about the whole situation. He didn’t want to ask you out if it meant Nicholas Scratch could benefit. 

“Come on, man, you’ve gotta do this,” Nicholas said for the millionth time. “You’re the only person that can stomach her.” 

Caliban wondered how many times he’d have to hit Nicholas’ head before it made a dent in his hair gel. His skull seemed more malleable.

“Better yet: You’re the only one that can make her act like a human being,” Nicholas said. He let out a long breath when Caliban’s only response was to glare at him. “Fine. How much is gonna take?” 

“Excuse me?”

“How much money is it gonna take for you to do this?” Nicholas dug his wallet out of his pockets. “You said three hundred a few weeks ago but that was before you knew she's literally Satan incarnate, so I’m guessing you want more?” 

“Listen here, I don’t-” 

“I’ll give you five hundred dollars right now if you agree to take her to prom.” 

Caliban’s resolve faltered. Five hundred dollars was a lot of money. It could really help out with his uncle’s medical bills. Caliban’s jaw tightened as he thought about it. If he was already planning on asking you out, was the added money really that bad? 

Nicholas patted Caliban’s arm as he handed him the money. “Don’t feel bad, man. Everybody’s got a price.” 

---

You spent most of the day after the party being in an even worse mood than you usually were, alternating between throwing up and eating anything and everything that Hilda baked, and Sabrina constantly bubbling over with stories about her and Harvey didn’t help your mood. Seeing as you’d thrown up more than you’d like, you locked yourself in your room until you had to leave for school on Monday. 

You left while Sabrina was still asleep so you didn’t have to listen to her perfect stories about her perfect life on the decidedly not perfect drive to school. With the music turned all the way up and empty streets keeping you company, it was easy to drown out most of your bitterness. Your more-or-less of a good mood soured when you saw Caliban in the parking lot.

He was just as annoyingly good looking as he was at the costume party, just not in the flowy white shirt anymore. Today he was dressed in a yellow ringer shirt with gray accents, his practically permanent leather jacket, beat-up converse, and a pair of irritating black jeans. To top it all off, he didn’t look like he’d spent the weekend throwing up or like he had a pounding headache. The bastard. 

Ordinarily, you would have tried to hit him with your car, but Caliban was already safely inside the school doors by the time your engine had switched back on. After some light profanities, you gathered your things and prepared yourself for yet another mundane day at Baxter High. 

Luckily, everyone must have sensed the thundercloud over your head because they stayed out of your way more than usual. Thanks to the added space, things were actually looking up by the time you got to the library for lunch. 

And then came the first flower. 

“Harvey-” 

He cut through your warning with his winning, boy-next-door smile and set a single red carnation on your table. “Chill. It’s not from me,” Harvey teased. He seemed caught off-guard by your silence. He drummed on the table. “See you around.” 

As if that wasn’t suspicious enough, Harvey disappeared just as quickly as he’d arrived, and you barely had time to pick at the carnation’s edges before the next one showed up. The guy bringing this one was smaller, more unsure, but just as cute as Harvey was. And he had better hair. 

“It’s Theo, right?” you asked, looking up from the red carnation in his hand. 

“You know my name?” Theo asked. Oh man, if messing with Harvey was fun then this adorable kid was going to be something else.

“Only if I’m right.” You reached out to take the carnation from him before he combusted. “Are you going to tell me what all this is about?” 

Theo tilted his head to the side as he took a few steps back. He had some nerve. “Are you gonna beat me up if I don’t?” 

And he was gone before you had a chance to come up with something witty. Clearly, all the alcohol from the party had rotted your brain cells and made you lose your touch, and it was pissing you off. Just like the string of nerds who kept coming up to your table and leaving you with more and more red carnations. 

You’d made up your mind to kick the teeth in of the next person who gave you a flower when a very familiar voice took over the PA system and tv screens. 

“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Caliban and I really, really messed things up with a girl.” He was sitting on his usual bench near the soccer fields, squinting slightly in the sun. He scratched his forehead for a moment. How did he hijack the systems? “She won’t take my calls or answer any of my texts, so I had to get creative. Apologies for those of you who really buzz one off to lunch-time announcements but- oh shit.” Then, to the person behind the camera: “Can you follow me?” 

Whoever was behind the camera must have said yes because soon they were both running for the bleachers. Judging by shoes and laughter, the cameraman was Harvey, and - judging by the blurring shots behind them - they were being followed by Hawthorne and the basketball coach. Despite your best attempts not to, you felt yourself smile.

“I’m afraid I have to cut my monologue short and get straight to the embarrassing crap- No, that first bit wasn’t embarrassing, you piece of shit. At least I don’t kiss people on the top of their fucking-” 

The video cut off briefly and when it returned, Caliban and Harvey were running again. 

“We’re back? Great.” Caliban stopped for a moment and turned, grabbing onto the camera and steadying it for a moment. He had bits of gold in his eyes. Asshole. “I’m sorry. Here goes my attempt at making it up to you, princess.” 

Caliban paused briefly, taking a breath, and then launching into a rendition of Frank Sinatra’s I love you. You had to admit, it was pretty impressive how he kept singing despite simultaneously outrunning the authorities chasing him down. But still, you were pissed. A song didn’t change the fact that he- 

Oh, no. Harvey went down. Caliban helped him up but it slowed them down too much and now Hawthorne and the others right on top of them. The camera shut off right after Caliban told you to call him (with an annoying, butterfly inducing wink) and Hawthorne told him to shut up. 

You were laughing before you could stop yourself, and you were still smiling embarrassingly when Sabrina slid into the seat across from you and placed another red carnation on your table. She smiled sweetly and gave you a moment to settle into your familiar scowl. 

“So are you going to forgive him?” Sabrina asked. 

You crossed your arms and leaned back in your chair. “Because he gave me some flowers and sang me a song?” 

“Because he got you an entire flower shop and got detention for the rest of the semester,” Sabrina said in her ‘you know I’m right so just listen to me’ voice. If she wasn’t your sister, you might have punched her. 

Still, you considered it. The punching, not the forgiving.

“He didn’t actually say he was sorry,” you said lamely. 

“Sorry for not kissing you after you got drunk out of your mind and threw up on him?” 

No, for leading you on. For being there while you were sloppy and vulnerable and then rejecting you. If that wasn't enough, he rejected you after you spilled your guts to him in that god-awful car of his. 

“Caliban seems like a pretty good guy underneath that leather jacket,” Sabrina said in a more gentle voice as she reached out for your hand. When you didn’t meet her halfway, she settled for picking up one of the carnations and standing up. She walked around the table to stand in front of you. “And, believe it or not-” she tucked the carnation behind your ear and smiled “-I think you deserve a good guy.”

You tightened your jaw and looked at the table. “You just want to go to prom with Harvey.” 

“That too,” Sabrina said with a smaller smile. She patted your shoulder and disappeared into the depths of the library, leaving you alone with your two dozen red carnations and even more staring teens. 

---

After being berated for his lack of respect for authority and blatant abuse of school resources, Caliban was forced through the rest of the school day and locked in a classroom with about fifteen other ‘hoodlums’ and Wardwell. The hoodlums were told to keep to themselves, and Wardwell typed away at her computer. 

As boring as it was, the thought of you chewing out each and every kid he had deliver flowers to you was a comfort. He wondered how you took the broadcast, if you even saw the broadcast. You had to have seen it though, right? It was everywhere. And it was pretty hard to ignore. But if you were still mad at him, you definitely would have left after five seconds. 

Although Caliban still had an allotted hour and twenty-three minutes to wonder if you’d given his little stint the time of day, he was snapped out of his thoughts by the door creaking open behind him. He turned slightly to see you, very awkwardly, making your way up to Wardwell with a red carnation in your hair. 

Caliban smiled.

“Ms. Spellman,” Wardwell said with her usual empty smile. “You’re late.” 

“Oh, no. I don’t have detention,” you said. As Wardwell checked something on her computer, you turned to Caliban and nodded your head towards the window. 

Caliban frowned slightly, tilting his head. Were you organizing a jailbreak for him? Uncharacteristic but charming. 

“Then why are you here?” Wardwell asked, turning her attention back to you. 

“I, uh-” You scratched your head and nodded towards the window again. “I had some questions about the English assignment.” 

“Which are?” 

If it wasn’t so painful watching you blunder through this, Caliban might have actually enjoyed this. Nevertheless, he started sliding out of his seat and heading for the window. 

“Uh, I don’t get why everyone thinks Elizabeth is a jerk for rejecting Darcy the first time,” you said. “I mean, he was just a total ass- jerk. He was a jerk to her and then basically called her an idiot for rejecting him.” 

Wardwell started turning back to the computer - where she would clearly see that Caliban wasn’t where he was supposed to be when you slammed your hands on the desk. Wardwell looked like a deer caught in headlights and Caliban stifled a laugh. 

“But that’s not what I’m here to talk about!” You grabbed Wardwell’s arms and pulled her to her feet. “I’m here because of some really nasty graffiti in the girls’ bathroom. Like really, horrendous stuff. Like, okay, yeah, some of it is quotes about stuff I’ve said to Billy, and I’ll admit that they’re a bit graphic but I didn’t write them on the walls, you know? I just say them-” 

Caliban wasn’t sure how long you kept going on after he snuck out the window, but it certainly took you a long time to meet him in the parking lot. And thanks to him being new and reformed, he couldn’t even smoke to pass the time. 

When you eventually did meet him, you didn't look quite as pissed off as usual but you were definitely still annoyed. You poked Caliban in the chest as you stormed up to him, the flower wobbling slightly as you did. “You owe me,” you told him. “Wardwell made me show her the graffiti in the bathroom and asked which quotes were mine.” 

“It’s not my fault the people find your witticisms endearing,” Caliban said with a smile. You didn’t say anything as you huffed and leaned against the bike rack next to him with a huff. “But thank you for the prison break. It was appreciated.” 

“It better be goddamn appreciated,” you mumbled. 

Caliban laughed and turned to look at you. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t even sure if I could expect you to call me.” 

“I didn’t have a pen,” you said with a shrug, not looking at him. 

"You didn't have a pen?" Caliban asked. 

"I may have deleted your number after calling you a repugnant ass and you responded with 'so you're still thinking about my ass?'" You looked over at him with another shrug. "Not my fault."

Caliban smiled down at you. "No, definitely not."

You clenched your jaw slightly and pressed yourself off the bike rack. “You wanna get out of here before they figure out you’re gone, Sparky?”

Part 6

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[typinggently]

More about Feral/Thot Bruce and his relationship with his villains, please~ <3

Ahhhhh yes of course!!!!! ❣️❣️ I’ve taken this to just brainstorm a little, so it’s a bit messy! (sorry 🌹)

I have to say, for quite a while I had this strict division in my mind between Thotty Bruce and Feral Bruce but I’ve come to realise - “crazy and perverse”, right?! So??!! I really think Feral Bruce would have every reason to start something with his villains. Good for him, honestly. (And we KNOW he likes bad girls so you can’t tell me that he doesn’t like bad boys too. You can’t. It’s practically canon that he’s into it)

But all my justifications for horny bs aside -

Firstly I once again have to bring up Lil Kim? How many Licks?! The fact that “startin’ fights in your yard” wasn’t just her ego talking but, according to genius, there was a problem in the 90s with inmates legit starting fights over who got to jerk off to her magazine shoot?! I- Hello?! That’s the energy we want for the villains.

(That got me thinking whether the Gotham underground is as hot for Brucie as they are for The Bat, considering Brucie is much more...out there. But I think that wouldn’t be very public since it’s known that Harvey Dent will hurt you if you talk badly about Brucie)

Now. What’s Bruce into?

For one, there are people he genuinely has connections with in real life and who he just genuinely crushes on - which is basically just Harvey, isn’t it? Those two have a very complicated relationship, there’s a lot of angst and all that, of course. But we can’t deny the fact that back in the day they had incredible chemistry. I still really like the whole Matthew McConaughey idea for Harvey, which would mean he’s a whole 10 years older than Bruce, but...man that’s sizzling?! 20somerhing Bruce at the beginning of his HottieThottie Brucie phase making absolute moon eyes at this serious-friendly lawyer?! I could talk about it for ages. If we go with the idea that Harvey knows who he is (which just seems very likely to me), I wonder how that translates into their villain-Bat relationship. There’s a LOT to be explored here.

So. There’s another group with villains who Bruce most definitely could (or did) fuck around with, such as Slade, Bane or Croc. Mr Freeze, too, for that matter. Also I’m putting Ra’s into this category. :). Powerful people who have a relationship with him that goes beyond schemes and fights, or who are intelligent and mayhaps compassionate at times, who Bruce may not agree with but nonetheless respects. And who are hot!!!! I have to say it!!!! Bruce has to sit in his cave and listen to recordings of Bane’s speeches or watch Croc in confinement just tear through metal and ??!!! He’s just?! Not supposed to drool all over that?!

Absolutely ridiculous to expect that of him. Instead, we should all applaud him that he manages to keep his cool and actually fight those people?! Most of them can definitely tell that there’s chemistry there (And by that I mean anyone but Bane honestly. I love him and I love the “what do you MEAN ‘suck my cock’ I’m here to crush your skull” vibe for him so much).

Just like good guys can get a bit hot for the bad guys, bad guys can have a very intense reaction to guys who’re just...good. You’re going to try to stop me? You think you can just put on your tight little suit and punch me? Oh that’s cute, that’s hot

Additionally, The Bat has something very irresistible about him. It’s the feral energy, it’s the black outfit, the sexy claws, the weirdly acrobatic fighting style. Even people like Penguin and Mad Hatter, Scarecrow and Riddler aren’t really immune to it. It’s not like they would actively pursue anything like Slade might, but they can feel a certain pull. The Bat to them is what those sexy villanelles and femme fatales are to detectives. Danger, someone you want to avoid, but also incredibly appealing.

So when I say that The Bat’s got their dick’s hard, starting fights in their yard, I don’t just mean that Croc and Slade get into an argument about wether the other is lying about making the Bat come untouched (neither of them is lying btw), or Harvey breaking some crook’s nose because he said The Bat is nothing but a guy in a slutty costume. I mean that when someone brings that guy up, there’s an immediate tension. Silence falls.

Unfortunately, there’s no photo shoot with Bat in an aqua green wig, playing around in a foam-filled bathtub, but the memories of a rough voice, sharp nails, a flash of a trim waist are MORE than enough to have the villains foaming at the mouth.