#and they left out the Catherine

[monster-noises]

so I finished my last book/series and had my day off and now I'm reading a non-fiction book about Fantasy Art and oh my goooooood this book is written like the final thesis of a college freshman who has Way too much unfounded confidence in their abilities to write a grounded, engaging, and informational essay about the history of pulp fantasy art. I"m gunna read the whole thing, because it appears to be a series of essays and ancedotes by various authors and the artists themselves, but hooo my Goodness Gracious it's so... it's sO.... it's SOOOOOO.... every like Four lines you can hear the author go 'ohohoho, isn't This a clever little sentence' but it's not, it's not a clever little sentence and then it's like a chunk of text that's all names and dates and then it's back to weird non-informational prose-ing like they just "covered" the part of modern sci-fi/fantasy history centered around the Comics Code and they didn't... explain anything about what it was. They just said it was There.. and then listed a bunch of names and dates that things either shut down or got published. There's no Narrative, there's no Pull, there's no details, it's not a compelling History of Fantasy Art; it's 90% fluffy pontificating and like 2% actual information and the other 8% is the author making weird horny references to the way women are usually depicted in this genre of art.... (I'm not generally one to rag on someone being Horny, even in a professionally published non-fiction book, and Hell the way women are and have been depicted in Fantasy is Something to Talk about, but if I have to read the sentence 'Supple Flesh' in a cheeky reference to a woman's ass One More Time I'm going to start Biting)

They said 'Heironymous bosch -often considered the first Fantasy Artist" and then made it clear they Disagreed like two pages later because Mr. Bosch didn't draw any fucking Dragons like hhhhwhaT? Again interesting debate to be had: where does the turn from mythological/religious iconography to Fantasy happen? how do you apply modern labels to things from the past? should you? what level of content or Style will/does/did define something as Fantasy, as opposed to other possible labels? but this author pushes all that aside and is just like 'it's about the DRAGONS' and it continues to be a running theme like every second paragraph they have something to say about Dragons as the leading Icon of Fantasy Art (I would argue if you were going to give that label to anything it would be Wizards but perhaps I am Biased.)

It's not the kind of Bad writing that makes one Genuinely angry, but is more just...comically Flabbergahsting. Makes you sit there and go; What are you Talking About???? Not to mention the illustrations on each page don't... fucking match the text at all, the author is talking about the works of fantasy artists around world war 2 and the accompanying image is a japanese wood block print from 1 8 3 5 this essay has said 0 words about japanese wood block prints. I am astounded, and frankly, astonished.

[expelliarmus]

[calirph]

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐀 𝐃𝐎𝐘𝐋𝐄 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐘 as 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍

The Tudors. Season 1, Episode 2.

[veruca4seether]

some ppls inclination to villainize or erase entirely jason todd’s parents and their role in his life says a lottttt more than you mean to

y’all ran with the nu52 versions real fucking fast

[chippdhearts]

@frostysfrenzy requested - CSI + Favourite story arc ↳ Catherine's leaving arc

[halsaph]

Estrogen wouldn't save her but it would make her issues present in new and fascinating ways

[charlotte-of-wales]

what do you think of the Chanel thing? RFP is making a big deal out of it

in hindsight should someone have caught it and have her leave the chanel at home and grab one of her 57 other black purses? sure. but most haute couture houses from that time have some dark history + I doubt anyone attending the event noticed or gave a f which is what matters here.

[decepti-geek]

i keep seeing tendrils of wider fandom discourse crossing my dash about who's a better fit for Lizzie or Darcy in Pride and Prejudice but HONESTLY

i'm currently very wrapped up in and entertained by the idea of a Northanger Abbey au - ie, Aziraphale as Catherine Morland and convinced he's living through a gothic novel surrounded by rakes and villains at every turn, meanwhile Tilney!Crowley is just hanging about like 'i would not be a real gothic hero if you PAID me but sure i can pretend if you're into that in the interests of taking the piss'

[aq2003]

AND WHAT IF I DIE!!!!!! WHAT IF I EXPLODE THE EARTH OVER THIS LINE

[dmaorg-info]

dinnertime, a very short thing about two of my ocs

Catherine hadn’t moved from the couch in hours. She had spent most of her day watching whatever mindless segment Good Day Dema had on, but now she was lying there in silence. The sun had set hours ago, leaving her in complete darkness. 

The light above the apartment’s small kitchen was turned on by her roommate and best friend Sam. Catherine had almost forgotten she was still there, as Sam had mostly stayed isolated in her bedroom all day to give Catherine some space. To her knowledge, this was the first time all day Sam had left her room.

“Catherine? You still alive?” Sam said, taking a kettle out of their cabinet and filling it with water.

“Mm..” Catherine hummed, slowly sitting up. Her head was pounding after lying down for so long. “Would take a lot more than a slow day to kill me.”

“I’ll make dinner tonight. Don’t want you to push yourself at all today.” Sam set the kettle on the stove and turned it on, the sound of the stove clicking cutting through the air like bullets.

A few minutes later, Sam sat down on the couch next to Catherine. She handed her a ramen cup with a plastic fork sticking out the top. Her hand was carefully positioned so she could avoid Catherine’s fingertips. “Be careful, it’s still very hot.” Sam said, smiling.

“Thanks.” Catherine took the fork out of the cup and started halfheartedly stirring the ramen around.

Sam glanced at the turned-off television. “Anything good on TV today?”

Catherine shook her head. “Just the same type of things Good Day Dema runs every day. Weather. News. Show for children. Public service announcement. Repeat.”

“If it ain’t broke don’t fix it, I guess. Would like a change of pace every once and a while though.” Sam said, laughing while taking a bite of her ramen. “Maybe one day you could change that.”

Catherine sighed, looking down to her lap. “Yeah, sure.” she said quietly.

“Did something happen yesterday?”

Catherine lied back against the couch and returned to mindlessly stirring her ramen. “A lot of things happen. Don’t worry about it.”

“I worry about it because you worry about it.”

Catherine turned her head towards Sam. “I’m not worried about it.”

“The look on your face says otherwise. Sacarver isn’t being hard on you, is he?”

“No. Don’t worry about it. Seriously.”

Catherine abruptly stood up from the couch and briskly walked away. She set the now cold ramen cup on the kitchen counter and went into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her and leaving Sam alone in the dark. Heavy silence fell back upon the apartment, now with a tangible tension hanging in the air.

[throughpatchesofviolet]

After 48 hours of agony, I have secured the newest official Heathcliff acrylic stand for myself ...

Look at him ... my boyfriend ...

[sakuravalelp]

Phantom letters - DPXDC PROMPT

The bats wake up one day to the internet going crazy; people around the world were getting letters from they're diseased loved ones. The reactions are mixed, from people being outraged for the "prank" to people crying in melancholy at getting closure.

All the letters have something in common: They're closed with a green sealing wax that had an stylize DP and the name Phantom beneath it. Posts about the cards were using the # Phantom Letters.

The bats are discussing the viral posts in the cave when Alfred comes holding a basket filled with letters, announcing they were left at the doors. The letters had the sealing wax that they recognize from the posts. Checking the cameras they can see how they glitch before the basket appears.

Alfred starts to distribute the letters that had only one destinatary. Letters from each Thomas and Martha to both Bruce and Alfred. Letters from each John and Mary to Dick. A letter from Catherine to Jason. A letter from the Drake's to Tim, and another one to Bruce.

Once they had calmed down enough from the shock, Alfred proceeded to read the shared recipients. From Thomas and Martha to "The grandchildren we never got to meet." From John and Mary to "the family that took our little Robin in." Letters from Catherine to "My little boys family." The letters were directed to people the deceased didn't get to meet.

As much as the mere existence of the letters tugged at their hearts, they decided to not read them until they verified that the handwriting actually belong to the ones it claimed. They checked each letter, and in the end confirmed the letters were in fact from they're lost love ones.

After much discussion, each person makes the decision to read they're own letters later in private, and they proceed to read the ones that shared recipients out loud. The letter mentioned specifics like names and events that the deceased shouldn't have been able to know, including they're vigilante abilities, which had them pause each time to panic a bit. But what was more interested were certain pieces of the letters that mentioned a Prince Phantom.

"Prince Phantom said to don't mention things past our death, but it wasn't a command, so we're hoping this won't be much of a problem." - John and Mary

"I still can't believe Prince Phantom is letting us do this, but I'm so glad." - Catherine

It finally paints the mystery in a more concerning light when at the end of Thomas and Martha's letter there is a call for help.

"We're sorry for ending the letter on a serious tone, but seeing the kind of job you all get involved in, we wanted to ask: Could you please help Prince Phantom? Phantom had asked us to not give information about this, but he's so young, and has already been hurt so much. Please, check on Amity Park, Illinois."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Meanwhile, team Phantom has decided that they needed to get the news about the GIW out of Amity and ask for help. Two problems:

the GIW blocks any technological attempt made.

People might be afraid to learn that ghosts exist and side with the GIW.

As a way to deal with the public image, Phantom opens a possibility that the death have never had:

"All afterlives are open to write letters to their love ones that are still alive today. Nothing that includes threats, and don't go talking about the anti-ecto acts or Amity Park yet, we're trying to ease people into our existence first. Also, I know you all check on your love ones when the veil is thin, but please keep the things you shouldn't know out of the letters if possible. If you want your letter to be sent in the first batch, make sure to deliver your letter before the week ends."

Letters are a good way to reconnect people with the death, they aren't digital, and the GIW won't be able to intercept letters if they're send through inter-dimensional portals. Two birds in one shot.

[immediatebreakfast]

It's so tragic to read how Jonathan's writing changed so much to the point that it feels as if another person took his hands, and erased his literary identity. In an epistolary novel where all of the characters have such distinct writing styles, and quirks this writing change is the only reflection of the amount of trauma Jonathan has gone through.

From early may:

Before us lay a green sloping land full of forests and woods, with here and there steep hills, crowned with clumps of trees or with farmhouses, the blank gable end to the road. There was everywhere a bewildering mass of fruit blossom—apple, plum, pear, cherry; and as we drove by I could see the green grass under the trees spangled with the fallen petals. In and out amongst these green hills of what they call here the “Mittel Land” ran the road, losing itself as it swept round the grassy curve, or was shut out by the straggling ends of pine woods, which here and there ran down the hillsides like tongues of flame.

With the heart, and soul of a curious poet trying to capture the beauty of their surroundings.

To today in october:

We left Charing Cross on the morning of the 12th, got to Paris the same night, and took the places secured for us in the Orient Express. We travelled night and day, arriving here at about five o'clock. Lord Godalming went to the Consulate to see if any telegram had arrived for him, whilst the rest of us came on to this hotel—"the Odessus." The journey may have had incidents; I was, however, too eager to get on, to care for them. Until the Czarina Catherine comes into port there will be no interest for me in anything in the wide world.

It's simple, technical, to the point, and nothing at all like the Jonathan we knew. There are no more heavy descriptions of the landscapes, no more curious details to study later, nor recording the kind of people to meet, all is left is the focused hatred that Jonathan has for Dracula, and his eagerness to either kill him with his hands or see him dead with his two eyes.

It's a reflection of the kind of mental state Jonathan is in right now, and the kind of expression that Mina must have noticed by now.

[finelinevogue]

Hi i was wondering if you could write an aaron hotchner fic where the reader gets really bad anxiety and Hotch is always there for them? Maybe like established relationship?

“drop the sir”

yes yes yes - my new loml aaron hotchner <3

cw: i guess this is shy!reader | anxiety | reader scratches their hands | she/her pronouns used | no established relationship sorry! i wanted this to be a developmental thing

word count - ~1.5k

The first time that Aaron noticed your anxiety was on your first day at the BAU.

He had remembered you from the internship programme where he had shown you around the place. One afternoon with you and he had known that you deserved a place amongst the team here. It was no surprise that 6 months later - after your internship - that you were hired full-time.

You had walked into the BAU, bag hanging on your shoulder and you had clasped it like it was your lifeline.

Aaron had noticed you all the way across the room from his office. He had been speaking to Reid, but soon paid no attention to what the genius was saying as he watched you nervously look around the room like you were out of place.

He'd gone over to you instantly, wanting to be the first person to reach you.

"Y/N?" He had asked, holding out his hand for you to shake.

It didn't go unnoticed the slight tremble to your hand as you reached out to give his a shake, accompanied with a nervous smile.

"Agent Hotchner, Sir." You nodded.

"You might wanna drop the 'Sir', it'll go straight to his head otherwise." Garcia said in passing as she walked past you both.

You chuckled as you shook your bosses hand. He had a firm grasp. They were firm and calloused, but somehow made you feel like you were in safe company. After he let go you felt disappointed, although you still had the pleasure of looking at him - standing in front of you in a clean suit and his hands in his trouser pockets.

"She's right." Aaron smirked, before resetting to his normal stoic face.

"Am I in the right place?" You asked.

"If you're asking that question then I'm afraid we might've hired the wrong person."

"O-oh, no.. I-"

"I'm joking." He gave a small smile, making you breath out a sigh of relief. You really hadn't wanted to get fired on your first day.

Luckily for you, Aaron had caught onto the fact you were nervous and made sure you knew he was only teasing you. The last thing he wanted to do was make you feel uneasy. Starting a new job was difficult, he knew that, and nerves were high - he wanted to make sure that you felt as comfortable as possible whilst settling in.

"Didn't realise you made those." Garcia said, walking passed again.

"Garcia, don't you have a job to do." Aaron said, using his usual frowny face unlike the one he'd been using with you.

"Yes, Sir." Garcia said, walking away with a smirk.

"Welcome to the BAU."

💼 . 🎞️ . 💼

It wasn't until someone brought you up in conversation that he thought about your shyness for the second time.

"So what do you think of the newbie?" Morgan asked, making a coffee. Aaron seriously questioned whether Morgan actually did any work around here seeing how often he caught him hanging around the coffee machine.

"Y/N?"

"Yeah."

Aaron looked out of the break room kitchen and across the room to where you were sat at your desk.

It had been a week since you've joined and you'd been really involved with helping with paperwork so far. Your supervisor had been teaching you various bits of information throughout the week, but Aaron was wondering whether they were wasting your capabilities by having you stuck at a desk constantly.

He'd also noticed how quiet you were.

You never initiated conversation at someone else's desk, only ever if they came to you first. You never left your desk for random breaks, you just kept your head down and did your paperwork. He'd seen you in the break room maybe once and that was only to make a drink.

"Shy." Aaron responded. "Quiet."

"Reid said she's done twice as much paperwork as Catherine and she's been here 5 weeks less than Catherine."

"Well, Catherine is a waste of space." Aaron said honestly, causing Morgan to choke a little on his coffee from his bluntness - not that he disagreed.

"Well what do you think?"

Aaron turned from watching you chew on the ends of your pen to face Morgan, who had been watching him the whole time instead of you.

"I think she'll be interesting." Morgan smirked into his coffee.

"For what?"

"No, buddy." Morgan patted Aaron's back. "For who?"

Morgan left the room with Aaron frowning in confusion.

You'd be interesting for who?

💼 . 🎞️ . 💼

Aaron was known to have a quick temper, but no one had seen him quite like this.

"Missing files!" He shouted around the room. "No one is leaving this building until someone can tell me where they are."

Aaron ran a stressed hand over his jaw.

The room was silent except for the humming background noise that the air conditioning was making. People were nervous to look at their boss, much less look up from where they were hiding against themselves.

You in particular were shaking like a leaf in the wind.

You had covered your sweater over your hands to stop the urge to scratch away at your hands - as you often did when your anxiety spiked. Your hands were often scabbed, scarred and quite frankly... ugly from where you'd subconsciously scratched away at your skin. A habit that had stemmed from younger years.

"Who was working on the New Orleans case last?" Aaron asked.

Everyone was silent - no one dared to speak up.

A pit dropped in your stomach. You had been working on those files a couple of weeks ago, maybe even in your first week of the job. Catherine had been helping you organise a bunch of files and you'd spotted a mistake in the paperwork for the New Orleans case. She had said to leave it to one side and that you could come back to it later. You'd assumed the paperwork had been changed, corrected and put back but now you're not so sure.

"Anyone? Someone must have?" Aaron asked again, his patience wearing thin.

"Y/N was, Agent Hotchner." Caroline spoke up from where she was stood near you.

Your heart went then, pounding against your chest. Your mouth went dry and you could feel your body start to heat up.

There was a part of you that wanted to bring Caroline down with you, but you were only new here and you were terrified of stepping on anyone's toes. You hadn't even chatted with anyone in the break room yet in case you started chatting to someone who didn't want to talk to you.

You looked around the room, lots of faces staring back at you.

You felt like you were going to stop breathing. The situation was far too overwhelming.

Worst of all was when you looked at your boss. He sighed as he looked up at the ceiling in stress before he returned his gaze to you.

"Y/N. My office, 5 minutes."

As soon as Aaron walked off and back to his office the rest of the room started up with hushed conversations. You could feel people looking at you, probably for the last time since you were no doubt about to be fired.

It was embarrassing.

You didn't dare sit back down at your desk, afraid you'd get told off for that.

Caroline gave you a pitying look as if to say 'should've-been-more-careful' and in the deepest of your heart you really wanted to call her out on it. It was her mistake too and she'd been training you. It seemed a little unfair to pin this all on you.

Nevertheless you walked your way slowly towards Aaron’s office.

Your hands unwound themselves from your sleeves and your right one started scratching the skin on your left one.

You only notice when you start scratching, not the continuation of it so it quickly dropped out of your mind that you were doing it.

You knocked on Aaron’s door twice.

“Come in.”

You made your way inside, shutting the door behind you and coming to stand in front of his desk.

He was sat in his chair behind his desk, paperwork everywhere. It looked chaotic and disorganised - much like he was probably feeling.

Aaron looked at you with his piercing eyes, no doubt profiling his way through this situation.

You tried to maintain eye contact but you lasted all of three seconds before your eyes turned to your hands - which were now red raw from the scratching.

“I need you to quit that.” He spoke in a neutral tone.

You looked up at him, eyes a little blurry from where the tears wanted to fall but you refused to let them. You nodded in understanding.

“Sure.” You swallowed the hard lump in the back of your throat, “Would you like be gone by the end of the day o-or, like, in ten minutes time, because I can pack my stuff up in –.”

“Y/N.” Aaron tried to cut in.

“—a few minutes. I just need to…”

“Y/N.” Aaron stood up.

He rounded the desk and stood a mere metre in front of you. You braved to look at him and noticed how sad his eyes looked. Those sad brown eyes looked at you so softly, whilst his eyebrows couldn’t decide whether to furrow or stay straight.

That’s when you noticed his hand outreaching towards yours, ever so slowly with an almost hesitation.

“Stop, please.” He said very quietly.

You looked down to where his hands were meeting yours and you understood what he had meant now. He hadn’t meant quit quit, he had meant quit scratching your hands.

“Sorry.” You quickly held your hands down by your sides, refusing to draw more attention to it.

Aaron’s hand retracted, but some part of you wondered what it would have felt like if his skin had touched yours again.

Would it have felt as warm as you remembered? Or would it feel more electric this time?

The room was quiet but you knew Aaron was waiting for you to speak.

“Agent Hotchner, um.. Sir.” You cleared your throat before looking at his eyes, so he could tell you were speaking the truth, “I didn’t lose those files, Sir.”

You stood your ground, not allowing your anxiety to take over this conversation.

Aaron nodded his head.

“I know.” He said with a small smile.

“You do?”

“Dr Reid messaged me somewhat 30 seconds before you came in here, notifying me that the files were found in the paper bin closest to Caroline’s desk. They’d been filled out and filed incorrectly, am I right?” He waited for you to nod before continuing, “And you spotted the mistake? Caroline pulled the files to the side, I assume and made it look like you’d messed up.”

“Yes. Sorry, yes Sir.”

Aaron nodded his head.

“Y/N, why did you let Caroline use you like that?” Aaron asked, crossing his hands over his chest.

You looked down, ashamed with yourself.

“I don’t know, Sir. I guess, maybe it’s because I’m still new here?”

Aaron made his way back around his desk, allowing you to breathe without his shadow enveloping you. It was a weird thing to note that you sort of missed his near presence though.

He made his way to sit back down, leaving you standing with nothing to say or do.

Aaron picked up the phone and dialled in his assistant.

“Hi, yeah. Could you let Caroline know I want to speak to her in my office in ten minutes. Mhm. Yeah. Yeah, no, tell her it’s to do with her redundancy.”

You tried not to gasp or looked shocked when Aaron put down the phone abruptly, but hearing that Caroline was being fired for her mistake was quite the turn of events. She was no doubt going to think you tattled, too, when actually in fact Aaron is just a damn good profiler.

“You’re free to get back to work, Y/N.” He gave you a curt smile.

“T-thank you.”

You gave him the best smile you could, before you turned to walk out of his office.

You could feel his gaze on you but you didn’t turn until he called your name a final time.

“Y/N?”

“Sir?”

“You’re doing a good job here. Keep it up, just drop the Sir - It’s Hotch.”

Both you and Aaron were smiling as you left the room.

💼 . 🎞️ . 💼

[BONUS]

You started the day by finding a gift bag on your desk.

Looking around the room you tried to catch someone’s attention to figure out who was behind this. Was it some cruel prank or was it a real gesture? Ever since Caroline had been fired people had been nicer to you, almost thanking you for initiating her leave.

Before unpacking your bag or even taking off your coat you removed the tissue paper from the bag and unwrapped the small box inside.

You came across a small white box, rectangular in shape with cellophane wrapped around it.

You turned the box over until you noticed the name and contents; ‘Smoothing Hand Cream - Sensitive & Kind to All Skin Types’.

There was only one person who could have bought you this.

You quickly turned to Hotch’s office and saw him standing at his door with a coffee in hand. He nodded at you and gave you a smile with teeth - something that was very rare.

Something that was more meaningful than a tube of hand cream.

[fanonical]

one thing that continues to impress me about catherine tate's performances in doctor who is that she isn't, strictly, an actor?

or at least, she wasn't really a dramatic actor until she did doctor who. i remember there were so many people before series 4 saying that the show was going to be all comedy now and saying that it was going to be awful, but then fires of pompeii and planet of the ood and turn left happened and blew everyone away

and she's still continuing to knock it out of the park with the dramatic acting - and nailing the comedy too, of course! - and i can't help but be stunned by her understanding the assignment perfectly

[haveihitanerve]

Gotham Protects Her Own

“Gotham protects her own.” Bruce had whispered to him once, in a, at the time, not so rare moment of affection, cradling dick to his chest as they looked over his city. Their city. Batman and Robin. Dick had believed him, of course, but he hadn’t really felt it. Not until he had stood at the bats side for the second year in a row, and his cape had fluttered. Dicks cape had never fluttered while he was standing. Running across the rooftops? Sure. Jumping over a chimney? Most definitely. But just standing still, no movement? It had never happened. Bruce’s did, from the very beginning Bruce’s cape had flown behind him, flapping with grace in the wind that was not there. But dicks hadn’t. But now… Bruce smiled down at him, pride lining every line in his face, before he took off across the roof, a challenge and a test at the same time. Dick chased after him, and for the first time since he had become Robin, he flew. His feet barely touched down, cushioned by the roofs, by shadows, and he laughed, wild and bright and free, and Bruce joined him, laugh deep and rich and full. Dick belonged to Gotham now, the city had laid her claim on him, and as Batman and Robin flew across the city, Dick could hear a new laugh join them, light and happy and feminine, delighted by their delight, their acceptance. Gotham protects her own, and Dick Grayson-Wayne, the first Robin, had earned that right, that protection, with his leaps and jokes and belief in Batman, in a belief in the city, in the belief that it could be better. 

Gotham protects her own. Catherine Todd had murmured to him once, late one night, a bruise blossoming on her cheek, eyes heavy from drugs. She was close to death, Jason could feel it practically wafting off her, and he didn't think much of her last words, a hazy drugged hallucination, slurred speech. But then she had passed and Jason had left, choosing the street over his father and then he had understood. People came looking for him, naturally, even his father ventured out, but shadows seemed to envelop him, the streets opened to his footfalls, and he always found a safe place to sleep, never waking with his things stolen or suddenly kidnapped. Jason could feel the city, his very lifeblood, could hear her music in her traffic, felt her song in the earthquakes. Gotham cradled him, sheltered him, and when the time came, pushed him to a left unattended Batmobile, tempting him to steal the tires. For the first time, Jason doubted his city, hated her for sending him into a trap. But then he became Robin, and Gotham squealed in delight, and Jason watched in awe as Bruce flew, as Gotham made his cloak billow, as she nurtured her prodigal son. Batman had gotten injured, once, badly enough that he had struggled with his grapple line, and it had snapped. Jason had screamed, lunging for him, but it was too late. Before he could cry over the dead body of his mentor, he found Bruce at the bottom of the building, not much worse for wear at all. Gotham had cradled him, shadows leaping to cushion his fall. Jason had laughed with glee, rushing Bruce home as quickly as possible, and something had brushed his cheek, a faint kiss against his forehead. Gotham protects her own and Jason Todd-Wayne, the second Robin, had been born into that right, that protection, and felt her city pound through his body like blood, feeding his soul. 

Gotham protects her own. Tim had seen the slogan on a Wayne Enterprise billboard once, when he had been seven, an ad campaign promoting insurance and helpful housing. It had become a sort of mantra for him, something he whispered under his breath every time his father made a snide comment about Tim lacking proper talent or social skills, after every call his parents declined, after every fight that had him biting his lip to stop the tears and debate running away. Gotham protects her own. Became his lifeline, his mantra, a promise of a better life. It wasn't anything he ever believed, until he finally worked up the courage to approach Bruce Wayne about the secret. Tim slipped on the Robin uniform for the first time… And something inside him settled. A woman's voice in the back of Tim’s head squealed. But as he raced over the rooftops, finally at Batman's side as he always dreamed to be instead of a few feet behind, snapping pictures, his cape dancing with the wind, his feet hardly touching down, that mantra, that false belief of hope, of a better life, became truth. Gotham protects her own, and Tim Drake-Wayne, the third Robin, had believed in that truth his whole life, wishing with every fiber of his being that she would protect him, and she finally had. 

Gotham protects her own. David Cain had warned her once, telling her great stories of the city with air of midnight black, of water a putrid green, and of a people a hardy and tough. It hadn't been a compliment, just another obstacle she would need to overcome to fulfill her future missions. She had believed him, of course, but… she had never truly known what it meant. Not until she had stumbled into the city, hurt, bleeding, afraid, and she had felt that… otherworldly power. Reaching for her. Its tendrils soft and kind, like a mother, shadows stretching across her, shielding her, as the League prowled the streets. It wasn't until she saw him. The Bat. And his little Bird, brutal efficiency and yet mercy in every action, wasn't until she saw how Gotham cradled them, lifted them, helped them to fly. Gotham had been more accepting to her than she had thought. Maybe because she hadn't hurt her children. Maybe because she knew her pain. Maybe because Cass had been so afraid. But whatever the reason, when Cassandra Cain-Wayne took to the streets, a proud, blazing Bat on her chest, her cape billowing behind her, Gotham sang. 

“Gotham protects her own!” Arthur Brown had screamed once. It had been in a fit of rage, followed by the sounds of windows crashing and tables smashing against the wall. He had been angry, livid even, the sound of his footsteps heavy and hard on the floor as he stormed around, pissed that Batman was unreachable for him, untouchable, protected by the city he claimed to do the same to. Steph knew the truth in the words, had been protected by them her whole life, finding a window open right when her father got home, the closet door unlocked miraculously after her father had locked her up, alleyways opening for her to escape through when bigger kids picked on her, or the cops chased her. And it happened now, as Arthur Brown came storming for her, rage and malice and every evil intention written across his features. Steph could feel that tug, that indescribable feeling of home, and she took a step back, melting into the shadows as she fled, fled her home, fled her father, fled his wrath and everything wrong with the world. She settled on the roof, the way she always did when he got like this, and waited, as she always did. For it to end. For him to stop. It was that night that she saw him for the first time. Steph had heard of him, of course, the Batman was infamous throughout Gotham by now, but she had never seen him in person. Never watched his work. It was at Bethany’s house. Bethany’s father, Vincent, was screaming again. The way Arthur was. But Gotham, Gotham didn't protect Bethany the way she did Steph. Or maybe Bethany just didn't listen. But Batman.. Batman listened. Batman protected. Steph watched, wide eyed, as he jumped through the window, as he grabbed Vincent by the throat and slammed him against the wall, snarling in his face. Steph watched, hands clutching her teddy, wondering whether she would rather risk her father than this demon. But he stopped. Paused. Threw Vincent to the ground in disgust, unconscious, and turned to Bethany. Beth had stopped moving, the way she always did when Vincent got the way he did, dissociating so she wouldn't feel his hands on her. Steph didn't think it worked, but it was something. Batman bent down, gentle, slowly, a few feet away, extending a hand to Beth. Steph couldn't hear what he said, couldn't see his face, but Beth blinked at him. She blinked, and she walked closer, slowly. And Batman… Batman held her, held her until she was crying, held her through her tears and wiped her eyes and rubbed her back, held her until she was asleep without nightmares, and carried her to bed, tucking her in gently. Steph didn't know how long she sat there, watching as he cared for this little girl, forgoing the Bat Symbol in the sky, and his anger, for her. Gotham protects her own, Steph swore as she watched him drop from the window the same night, flitting away on shadows only she could see. Gotham protects her own, and she would protect Gotham. She would mold herself after the Bat, and help.