#anyways live laugh lexcorp right

[timblrdrake]

i was going to say that you should send this to luthor but … with his company’s track record….

[lady-literature]

Found Family

holy shit did this one get way out of hand. Don’t expect them all to be this long because hot damn this is a monster compared to literally everything else but it just wouldn’t stop

(should I have expected this? probably. we all know how I am about found family.)

anyway enjoy 4.5k words ig

based on this post | @maribatmarch-2k21 | find more here

***

When Marinette had been chosen to intern with Monsieur Wayne’s PA, she hadn’t been expecting anything special. Sure, the Waynes were an odd breed and generally considered strange, but Marinette hadn’t actually expected to have much contact with them—if any at all.

She was here to earn credit for her business degree.

Instead, she has… well. She thinks she’s been somehow inducted into the Wayne family, mostly on accident and kind of as a joke.

That is, until it very much wasn’t.

***

Her first mistake, she supposes, was being too good at her job.

Marinette is an old hand at keeping track of multiple moving parts and riding herd on stubborn people who’d otherwise be too distracted or goofing off. (She was the Court’s leader for more than just being the latest in a long line of Ladybugs, after all.)

After the first two days shadowing Selina—“please, darling. Ms Kyle is so formal”—and learning the broad strokes of the job, Marinette felt confident enough to dig her nails in and get to work. Selina spent most of her time dedicated to international tasks and arranging Monsieur Waynes’ private affairs—all of which was highly classified and not discussed with Marinette—so she turned her attention to inter-company affairs.

Her first order of business was personally meeting with as many people in managerial positions as she could get. Not a requirement for the job per se, but these were people she’d have to interact with often and Maman had always stressed the importance of building connections in the workplace.

“People,” she would say, “are far more willing to do what you want them to when you’ve endeared yourself to them.”

So Marinette takes that advice and spends her breaks and lunches charming employees and giving baked goods to security guards and learning the names of the cleaning crew. She doesn’t speak to the department heads, because Selina handles their correspondences, but everyone else is free game as far as she’s concerned.

She becomes a well-recognized face astoundingly quickly.

***

Marinette probably should’ve seen the rumors coming.

It’s common practice in not only the Wayne family, but in most business conglomerates, for the children to quickly rise through the ranks of their company—if not just handed a high position right off the bat.

It took barely a month before the eldest was all but running Human Resources, and the second was placed as Head of Security practically out of nowhere. Monsieur Drake is the youngest (and most terrifyingly calculated) CEO to ever hold Wayne Enterprises, even if he does share the title with his father.

The other three are still too young or have yet to express an interest in the company, but people say it’s only a matter of time.

The track record speaks for itself, even if Marinette wishes it didn’t.

As a girl who’d come mostly out of nowhere and found herself with far more divisive sway in the company than she had any right to, it’s no wonder everyone thinks she’s some sort of secret Wayne finally coming out of hiding.

Marinette had nearly choked on her coffee when Selina dropped the bomb of that particular tidbit of company gossip.

“Most think you’ve been unofficially adopted,” Selina tells her, looking far too amused for Marinette’s liking. “Seeing as you’re too old for official avenues now.”

Marinette looks up warily from the schedule she’s rearranging. Selina had all but shoved the thing at her a month ago when she started suggesting more efficient ways of managing the CEOs’ valuable time.

“Only most? Does that mean the rest have common sense?”

Selina’s grin widens even further, if that’s possible, and Marinette regrets her question even before the older woman starts speaking.

“Oh, of course not!” she laughs delightedly. “The rest are hoping to hear news of wedding bells. It’s high time someone swept a Wayne off the market, don’t you think?”

***

“So you’re the new little sister I keep hearing about.”

Marinette stares up through narrowed eyes at the brightly smiling Dick Grayson. In her stomach, there are already the beginnings of resignation starting to form. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you!”

This man is going to bring her nothing but trouble. She can tell.

***

Dick takes a liking to her. And she, against her better judgment, finds herself doing the same to him.

It’s a little hard not to, if she’s being honest. He’s bright and bubbly and brings her bagels during his morning break without her ever having asked.

It takes practically no time at all before Marinette considers him a friend, relaxing when he’s near and laughing openly at his ridiculous jokes. Despite being the head of HR, he’s not great at the whole ‘professional’ thing and often employees will walk by to find him draped across a chair or balancing precariously on the edge of her desk while she tries and fails to get some work done while he’s around.

It really doesn't help all of the ‘Marinette is a Wayne’ rumors running around. Especially when Dick starts pointedly calling her every variation of ‘little sister’ that he can think of just to annoy her (and, she knows, because he thinks the entire situation hilarious).

***

Three weeks after befriending Dick, Selina all but shoves her into Monsieur Drake’s office and, in no uncertain words, says, “He’s your problem now.”

Marinette blinks at what she can describe as nothing other than a disaster area and just… sighs.

Tim blinks back at her.

The motion is somehow both completely blank and filled with an uncomfortable amount of knowing at the same time. There is also, she notices, a frankly ludicrous amount of concealer caked beneath his eyes and more coffee cups scattered on every flat surface than Marinette has ever seen in her life.

She knows his schedule like the back of her hand seeing as she spends hours of her day pouring over it to make sure everything runs smoothly. He has no prior engagements for the next three hours.

“You’re not going to take a nap just because I ask, are you?”

He snorts. “Absolutely not.”

She nods, having expected the answer; her phone was already at her ear before he even finished speaking. “Hey, Dick!” she greets, sounding brighter than she feels at the moment, and watches as Tim stiffens in front of her. “Yeah, no. I was just wondering if you’re busy right now.” She pauses. “Oh, good! Can you come up to Tim’s office for me? Yeah, I need you to knock him out so I can fix his dumpster fire of an office.”

Tim has since started waving his hands frantically at her, panic setting in behind his eyes.

Marinette stares at him, unmoved. “Thanks, Dick! You’re the best!”

The silence after she hangs up is deafening.

“I don’t know if I should be impressed by the ease you’re manipulating me or pissed off that you’re doing it in the first place.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Does your decision have any bearing on my future employment?”

His eyes squint. “…No.”

Marinette shrugs, mind already whirling with what she’ll need to get done first and calculating how long she’ll likely have to get it done. “Then I think you should skip right over both of those and land on resignation as quickly as possible, Monsieur, because you’re going to have to get used to it regardless.”

It’s silent for a long moment, and she worries for just a second that she’s severely crossed some sort of line. Then Tim bursts out laughing instead of, you know, firing her like he probably should have.

“Oh, yeah. You’re going to fit right in here.”

Marinette doesn’t ask where the ‘here’ is. She’s pretty sure she already knows.

***

It takes ten days for Marinette to wrangle Tim’s life into something resembling order. His office is clean and organized to his liking. She’s developed a system of filing so that all paperwork goes through her and is quickly sorted into ‘can be handled by Marinette’, ‘forge his signature and tell him about it later’, and ‘actually important enough to have Tim read through’.

His schedule is the most efficient it’s ever been and Marinette is quickly honing the skill of getting him properly dressed and out of his office in under thirty minutes. (Dick is, thankfully, a great teacher and has little to no qualms about giving her the key to all his little brother’s weaknesses.)

Selina stares at her when Marinette all but drags Tim from his office, a folder tucked neatly under his arm and the sugary monstrosity of a caffeinated beverage she’s bribed him with in her own, with a whole ten minutes to spare before his meeting with the Board.

“My dear,” she says solemnly, “you are positively magic.”

She doesn’t even look up from where she’s simultaneously wrangling Tim’s hair into submission and laying his tie down flat. “You have no idea.”

***

She knows Tim is capable of professionality. She’s seen the cool facade he pulls up in front of the Board members and the kind but impersonal smile he uses on the employees of Wayne Enterprises. (He is not the Ice Prince of the Wayne family, but Marinette believes he should have some equally ruthless sounding title.) He is aloof and sharp and every inch the businessman people praise him to be.

She’s seen it. And yet… 

“Monsieur. Why are all the Lexcorp contracts I gave you done in crayon?”

Tim doesn’t stop messing with his Rubix cube or even look up at her when he says, “Cause deadbeat fathers don’t deserve the respect of a pen.”

Marinette is very tired. She does not have time for this. “What are you talking about?”

“Lex is a bitchass absentee dad and I live to inconvenience him.”

“What about inconveniencing me?” she all but whines. “I can’t hand him these!”

That does make Tim look up at her, eyes wide with false innocence and mouth pouting up at her. “But sister dearest, I’m your little brother. It’s my job to inconvenience you.”

Growling in frustration is probably an inappropriate reaction to the situation.

But, Marinette thinks, so is the fact that both of the Waynes she associates with regularly seem hellbent on convincing the world that she too, is a Wayne, so.

(Is this how Alya felt dealing with the twins? Cause if so, Marinette takes back every joke she ever made—little siblings are a bitch.)

***

She meets Damian without warning.

Honestly, she never really expected to meet him at all but, well.

She finds him in Monsieur Wayne’s office, sitting at his father’s desk and doing something that she thinks is vaguely illegal, but she’s not about to tell her Boss a dozen times over how to parent his children.

Damian is a near-perfect copy of his father with darker skin and calculating green eyes. There’s also a more potent aura of danger around the child than there is around his father, like Damian hasn’t yet learned how to hide behind his public persona as his father had.

Or, Marinette looks at the teen thoughtfully, perhaps he just chooses not to.

“Monsieur Wayne,” she greets. Children like to be treated like adults, she knows, and Marinette doesn’t think this one is any different. “Selina hadn’t told me you’d be in the office today.”

“I don’t run my schedule by her,” he says flatly. A response she expected considering Dick’s stories.

“Of course not,” she agrees.

He finally deigns to look up at her and something flits across his expression, too fast for her to pick up on it. “Are those for Father? Bring them here, I’ll deal with them in his absence.”

Marinette raises her eyebrow. “I’m not sure that’s wise Monsieur.”

Damian scowls and sticks his hand out. “I’m perfectly capable of forging Father’s signature. Give them here.”

She does not move and, instead, lets her lips quirk up into the smile she’s been fighting since she stepped in here.

“I don’t doubt it,” she tells him, and she doesn't. Forgery seems exactly like the kind of skill a child who broke into the CEO’s office of a multi-billion dollar company would have. “But you’ll find that all forging of signatures has been finished for the day and that these,” she shakes the sheaf of papers lightly, “actually require your father’s attention.”

He snorts disbelievingly and it says a lot about Marinette’s life up until now that the blatant display of disrespect doesn’t piss her off but instead reminds her of Chloé and of the fact that she still needs to reschedule their spa day. It's been too long since they spent time together in person.

“Well,” she pauses and eyes the papers thoughtfully. “‘Requires’ in the sense that its information needed to trounce the Board when they start spouting off greedy bullshit about cutting corners on our humanitarian efforts. I’m not sure how much of it is actually useful for anything besides that.” She shrugs. “But homework is homework, yes?”

That gets her a thoughtful once-over. His hand lowers and he then turns back to whatever he’s messing with on his father’s computers.

“Very well,” he concedes. “Father will be back in approximately thirteen minutes. You can leave the papers and I’ll inform him of their… importance.” He smirks, but it’s more like he’s letting her in on a joke than anything else.

Marinette smiles back as she sets the folder on the desk, feeling, oddly, like she’s passed some sort of test.

***

The day after, both Dick and Tim are waiting for her with what looks like an entire bakery laid out in her workspace.

“Uh,” she says eloquently, setting her purse down on her chair because there’s not a single open space on her desk not filled with some kind of pastry. “What’s all this?”

She looks up to find neither Dick nor Tim has stopped staring at her since she walked in. “We heard you met Damian yesterday,” Dick starts warily, like he’s scared of her reaction.

The response does not abate her confusion. 

“Yes, I did,” she says slowly. “That does not explain all… this.” She waves a hand, trying to encompass them as well as the state her desk is in.

The two brothers share a look.

“It’s a bribe,” Tim tells her simply and Marinette is taken aback for all of a second before her eyes suddenly narrow.

Dick cuts in hastily before she can say anything. “It’s more of an apology, really. For Damian’s behavior.”

But Marinette is confused and frustrated and just a bit offended by the apparent not-bribe at this point. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, but it only does so much.

“Damain’s behavior was fine,” she tells them with measured neutrality. “You two, on the other hand, are being weird and it’s freaking me out.” She crosses her arms expectantly. “Seriously, what’s going on?”

Appearing from out of nowhere, Selina drapes herself along Marinette’s shoulders and snags a raspberry scone. “I do believe,” she says as if sharing a secret, “That they are trying to keep you from quitting, kitten.”

Marinette wrinkles her nose. “Why would I quit? I like this job.”

She also likes the Waynes (in general, if not right then) and she likes Selina. The woman was a good mentor who didn’t shy away from the dirtier parts of the job and taught Marinette all she knew. (Even the bits, she noticed, that had little to nothing to do with being a personal assistant and were more likely to be found in the repertoire of a thief.

But, Marinette is in possession of her own sticky fingers and knows how to not ask questions, so. You know—curiosity killed the cat and all.)

She doesn’t voice any of that, but Selina, at least, knows it anyway. Marinette isn’t quiet about her gratitude after all.

“First meetings with the youngest Wayne don’t often go well,” Selina tells her. “In fact, I think he has a habit of making the interns cry.”

Dick makes some kind of offended noise. “Hey! He hasn’t done that since he was twelve!”

Tim elbows him in the ribs and Marinette makes a vaguely skeptical face at all three of them before deciding it wasn’t worth it. She has actual work to get done today and pastries to get rid of before she can even start.

She pats affectionately at Selina’s hand before grabbing as many boxes as she can hold. “Come on you two,” she says to the brothers. “You’re going to help me hand these out to the rest of the company.”

Dick immediately starts doing as told but Tim hesitates, humming thoughtfully. “You know that’s not going to help your whole ‘I’m not actually a Wayne’ thing, right?”

She glares at him. It doesn’t stop Tim from grinning like the utterly unrepentant little shit he is.

***

Things are quiet after the Damian Incident for a whole two weeks. It’s the longest lull Marinette has had since she first started and became somehow involved with the Waynes.

It ends because Dick finds out about the crush Marinette has been nursing on the Head of Security for three months now.

The Head of Security who is Jason Todd: second eldest Wayne sibling and Dick’s brother.

He takes it better than expected.

(Almost, she thinks later, a little too well.)

***

Despite her friendship with Dick and Tim—or perhaps because of it?—Jason had never seemed very interested in her. At first, Marinette had shrugged and counted it as a win; there was one Wayne, at least, who neither found her situation funny nor used it to poke fun at her.

They were on friendly terms, she supposed. Security has always been one of her more regular stops in the building, so she’d spoken to him often enough. He liked complaining that she spoiled his team rotten with all her treats.

But she also noticed that he likes her cherry danishes, so.

And then she noticed how crooked his grin was when he smiled. And how he seemed to have an arsenal of nicknames for everyone he knew. And the small collection of classic romance novels filled with sticky notes he tries and fails to hide in his desk. And, and, and.

It was around the time she began unconsciously memorizing his schedule based on when he was and was not there for her pastry deliveries, that she realized she may have made a misstep somewhere.

Jason was stubborn and passionate and flipped between overly proper and crass light a damn light switch. He was also, as stated, very much not interested in her.

Not that she would’ve pursued him anyway. He was a coworker as well as her friends’ brother.

Now if only one of said brothers could understand that.

“You should ask him out,” Dick suggests not for the first time and Marinette sighs, also not for the first time.

She loves Dick—she truly does—but he has been an aggravating level of unhelpful since he found out about Marinette’s latest romantic disaster.

“I’m definitely not doing that.”

Dick groans, like she’s being the unreasonable one. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Because I don’t like embarrassing myself?” she asks rhetorically. “Not everyone can have a fairy tale romance like you and Wally.”

He throws his coffee stirrer at her. “We are not a fairy tale.”

She shoots him a flat look. She’s heard Dick talk about Wally and Tim’s told her all the stories and she was there when he and Wally finally got their shit together. Dick was unbearable for an entire week with his gooey, lovestruck new lease on life.

“You two are the definition of fairy tale. You two make fairy tales look like trashy romance novels.”

He opens his mouth to argue the point before forcibly cutting himself off. “No. Stop distracting me. We’re not talking about that; we’re talking about you and Jason.”

“There is no ‘me and Jason’,” she reminds him through her clenched teeth.

“Not yet,” he says optimistically. Like it’s a fact, like he knows something she doesn’t.

He makes her want to slam her face into a wall. Truly, he does.

***

Dick stops running his HR papers up to her office. Instead, he’s somehow convinced Jason to play errand boy for him even though he literally never looks happy about it. What used to be a flimsy excuse for Dick to slack off for a few minutes and gossip with her has now turned into awkward silence as Jason drops off the papers and leaves without even a ‘hello’.

During their shared breaks, Dick takes to orchestrating ‘chance encounters’ between her and Jason, all but shoving them into each other (and even actually shoving that one time).  She catches Jason shooting dark looks at Dick every time he does it, and if she’d been holding any iota of hope at this point, it’s been smashed to dust. Jason obviously knows of his brother’s meddling and isn’t happy about it.

But Dick just can’t take the hint.

Every failed plan of his makes him steadily worse about it all—more frantic and frustrated and like he wants to strangle her for her stubbornness. (The last feeling being more than mutual.)

Dick’s meddling starts to make her and Jason’s previously friendly, if distant, relationship awkward and embarrassing. With every pointed comment, she gets closer to just punching Dick in the face. Or, maybe, she’ll just tell Wally who really ate all the chocolate strawberry macaroons she made; it’d certainly be more devastating.

***

It all comes to head on a Thursday, after most employees have left for the day. 

They run into each other in a breakroom, and she watches as Jason suddenly goes stiff, eyes flicking over her shoulder to no doubt scan for Dick. That single action makes her expression sour and she slams her empty mug down with more force than was necessary.

For Kwamis sake, he looks like a cornered animal. An image not helped by the way he jumps a foot in the air and stares at her like he’s worried she’ll suddenly lunge at him.

“Can we agree this is ridiculous?” she says abruptly. “I don’t know what Dick is trying to accomplish with his wingman schtick, but we both know it’s not going to work. Can we just… agree that he’s an idiot?”

A complicated look crosses Jason’s face before he snorts wryly. “Yeah, we can agree on that. Dickie-boy has always been a few sandwiches short a picnic.”

“I know things have been awkward between us lately, and I’m sorry about that, but I hope we can keep being friends?” she says hopefully.

“What in the world do you have to be sorry about?” he asks before she can start catastrophizing about the bewildered expression he makes at her words. “It’s not your fault.”

The smile she shoots him is rueful and she shakes her hand in an ‘ehh’ type gesture. “Kinda is. And I understand if the-” she makes a vague gesture between them that she hopes properly conveys ‘my giant, stupid crush on you’, “you know, is too much for you. Just say the word I’ll try and keep out of your way.”

She’s trying to be comforting or understanding or something like that, but all her words seem to do is make him upset. “Absolutely not,” he insists. “Sunshine, you are not going to change your routine just to make me feel better.”

Marinette crosses her arms, frowning up at him. “Why shouldn’t I? If I’m making you uncomfortable-”

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Uncomfort- Marinette. ” She jolts a bit at the use of her name. She doesn’t think he’s used it since her second week at W.E. “I’m not sure who made you think otherwise—and if it was Dick just tell me cause I’ll kick his ass —but barring the fact that I still enjoy your friendship regardless of any… feelings-” Marinette concentrates very hard on not showing emotion when he says that, “-it’s not your responsibility to deal with it.”

Okay, but… that makes no sense. Of course her feelings were her responsibility, that’s the whole point of them being hers.

“If it’s not mine, then whose responsibility is it then?” she asks, wondering where the hell his train of thought is running.

“Mine, obviously.”

She gives him a look, complete with narrowed eyes and thinly veiled judgment. “What? Is this some kind of gentleman’s martyr complex? Is that what’s happening right now?”

Jason huffs a laugh, but there’s no humor in the sound. “If me taking responsibility for my own damn feelings is a martyr complex then sure,” he snarks, not unkindly. More like he’s trying to protect himself by retreating behind a sour attitude.

Her mouth is halfway around a retort when his words catch up to her brain and she freezes.

“Your feelings?” she repeats. “Your feelings for… me?”

His voice is carefully neutral when he says, “Those would be the ones.”

Her mouth opens and closes and opens again. “You like me? Seriously?”

His face spasms at the question, starting at anger before he properly looks at her and the surprised expression on her face. He pales.

“You didn’t know?”

“No!” she squeaks, something she hasn’t done since she was fifteen. “Well Dick said but I didn’t believe him!”

And fuck, she thinks. This means Dick knew the whole damn time, didn’t he? Oh, she is so going to kill him the second she gets the chance.

Jason runs a hand down his face, covering his mouth as he gathers his bearings. Suddenly, his eyes shoot back open and land on her. “Wait. If you didn't know, then what the hell were you talking about just now?”

She blushes to the tips of her ears and buries her face in her hands so she doesn’t have to look at him. It was easy when she thought he’d figured it out himself. It’s harder now that she has to tell him. “I- I was talking about my crush on you.”

He’s quiet for so long that she gets antsy and peeks out from behind her fingers to see his expression. He’s still looking at her, but now there’s a wide, crooked smile on his face. The expression softens something in her chest and she lowers her hands.

“Really?” he asks, leaning closer.

Marinette nods, feeling a small smile spread across her lips.

He jolts forward, hands reaching for her before suddenly stopping just shy of touching. She startles a bit at the motion but doesn’t move away.

Jason licks his lips, smile smaller but no less bright. “I- can I?”

She blinks. “Can you what?”

“Kiss you.”

The blush returns full force, but with it also comes a smile, giddy and bright. She nods and no sooner than she does, is he swooping down to pull her into a toe-curling kiss. His hands cup her face with a tenderness that makes her smile, makes her giddy, and it’s not long before they’re both smiling too wide to actually kiss and are forced to break apart.

His hands fall to her back, practically engulfing her, and his chin drops onto her head. It’s warm and cozy and she thinks she could so very easily get used to this.

Later, they’re going to have to deal with Dick and Tim and Selina and the teasing they’ll no doubt have to endure—not to mention how much worse the rumors are going to get—but right now? Right now Marinette pulls Jason back down for another kiss and very pointedly doesn’t think about it.

[thevindicativevordan]

On Lois Lane

Figured it well past time I got to the matriarch of the Superfamily, especially since I already wrote about the other major "LL" in Superman's life.

Hardest part of writing about Lois is what more can be added that hasn't already been said? She's The Love Interest when it comes to female supporting characters, so iconic and successful that like Superman himself, she's inspired countless copycats: Iris West, Vicki Vale, the current video game version of MJ Watson, if your hero has a love interest who is a reporter, they're drawing on the archetype that Lois established. She was there from the very beginning, before there were Krypton, Smallville, the Kents, the Rogues, before Superman could even fly Lois was there.

And my God is she such a fantastic character in her own right.

Whereas Clark himself is pretty damn different if you compare and contrast his Golden Age incarnation with his modern incarnation, Golden Age Lois is pretty recognizable as Lois Lane. Feisty, independent, scornful of danger and of cowardice (especially in a "peer" like Clark), a bit in awe of Superman while also eager to press him for information about himself, willing to throw herself into danger if she can get that exclusive scoop. Her personality in the early comics is much more like her modern incarnation than the lovestruck wanna-be housewife she became in the Silver Age. Lois is one of the few characters who basically came into comics perfect from Day 1.

I love the Rucka idea that she somehow has everyone's number and can call up anyone from the lowliest criminal to the highest politicians. I like when writers show that she herself is able to wear a variety of disguises, something I'm sure she and Clark can bond over once he reveals his identity to her. And I love that she is basically waging a one-woman war against corruption and evil in Metropolis long before Superman shows up, something the Superman & Lois show highlighted.

It's easy to see why Clark would fall for her. Even putting aside that Lois is hot as hell, she's a great foil to him personality wise. They both are committed to rooting out social ills and taking the fight to crime and oppression wherever it rears it's head, from the Lexcorp boardroom, to the darkest underbelly of Metropolis. They both are kind and compassionate, but have explosive tempers if you piss them off. They both love to snark, although Lois has more bite whereas Clark is more deadpan.

The biggest contrast, and honestly the biggest turn on for Clark, is that Lois is free from doubt. Clark is constantly second-guessing himself, worrying about how others see him, worrying about whether he's making the right choices or if he's approaching his heroics/journalism the right way. Lois? Lois never second-guesses herself, never allows the doubts or opinions of others to affect her course in life. She knows her dad is disappointed and upset with her and she couldn't care less. She knows others think she's a bitch and that only amuses her. She's confident and self-reliant and those are attributes Clark wants desperately to posses himself. How could he not fall head over heels in love?

Why Lois would fall in love with Clark is a bit trickier. It's easy to see why she would love Superman, which is part of why Clark wants her to love the "whole" of him and not just the public persona. Superman is confident, Superman is powerful, Superman kicks ass, he's kind and intelligent, he's a huge celebrity, who wouldn't love him? Clark? Eh he's easy on the eyes but he doesn't really have much of a presence. That's how everyone else views Clark. Lois, I think, would start off viewing Clark as a dweeb who will be gone in a week, the big city too much for him. That he sticks around and toughs it out impresses her. That he manages to outscoop her multiple times infuriates and intrigues her. That he manages to live in Metropolis and see how rotten it can be beneath the shiny gilded exterior, yet doesn't lose his sense of optimism, his faith in other peoples inner goodness, his "naivety" so to speak? I think that's what would make her fall in love with him.

Lois is at heart a "cynical idealist" in my estimation. The cynical side is she's someone who will always fight for the truth, for justice, but I don't think she believes that peoples inherent goodness will win out in the end most of the time. She's seen how selfish people can be, how uncaring, and I think before Clark shows up there's a part of her that thinks she's just bashing her head against a wall trying to change things. The idealist part of her is that she will continue to bash her head against that wall of public indifference anyway. Lois will always fight even if nobody else will fight alongside her, she'll keep writing articles and investigating long after a lesser woman would give up, because it's the principles that matter damnit, even if only to her. That Clark is someone who will join her in that fight while still believing that the rest of the public can be swayed to join them is what I see as the reason why she finally gives him a chance, that optimism remaining in Clark is refreshing and uplifting to her. That he's also hot and can trade banter with her doesn't hurt his chances any.

Lois becoming a mom has been really interesting, even if I haven't always been wholly satisfied with how they've handled the relationship between her and Jon. I haven't seen enough of Lois traits in Jon to really buy him as her offspring, I hope that changes. While I'm not the biggest fan of Tom Taylor to put it mildly, I liked that he emphasized Lois' importance with regards to Jon becoming Superman in interview leading up to the first issue, and I hope we get lots of Lois/Jon interaction in Superman: Son of Kal-El that really flesh out their relationship. At the very least I want to see Jon get some of that Lois patented verbal bite to him.

One last thought with regards to Lois: how the hell was Tom King the first one to realize that Lois and Selina would immediately hit it off?

They're both so similar when you think about it: Brunettes who are willful and independent, who flaunt the rules to get what they want, who outright laugh when their male significant others try to order them around, yeah I totally can see the two of them becoming friends. I really hope that gets continued under someone else, since I don't think anyone other than King has really played with it, but I love the idea of Lois having a "gal pal" that's also caught up in the insanity of life with a superhero.

If not Selina I'd like to see Lois being shown to have a friendship with her copycats such as Vicki or Iris or the rest. Definitely with Cat (even though Cat Grant can drive her up the wall sometimes). More girls' nights out/double dates for Lois, that's all I'm saying.

[gaitwae]

The Blessings of Damsels [|] Batman x OC

read on AO3!

Warnings: Slightly open-ended, hinted love triangle. 

Length: 8.4k

Summary: A short timeline of how Charlene Park got over Clark Kent and set boundaries with Bruce Wayne.

=-=-==-=-==-=-==-=-==-=-=

=-=-=

The wind felt exquisite on Charlene’s skin, calming her racing heart. It wasn’t every day where her life flashed before her — she had been left under a pillar near LexCorps, then saved by an angel named Superman. Her eyes, shut tightly and pressing away tears, helped her forget exactly why you couldn’t go back to Metropolis. It had been a week, and, yet, here you were. She was hiding from someone too important to her. Charlene was hiding from shaking buildings and crumbling roads and screams and glowing rocks and a reporter who kept disappearing every time that Superman kept showing up. 

She was done with the lying and the rejection.

She didn’t plan on jumping from the rail where she was standing. She didn’t want to hurt herself. She just wanted to see something else. 

So, in search of new scenery, of something alien to her, Charlene went to the most dangerous city in America. Albeit, it wasn’t the smartest thing to do, it was something that at least distracted her. Central City was just too far to drive, and Gotham was supposed to be the sister city of her home. She could just forget about this man who had worried her sick, she could just relax and listen to the cars run and the flags flap and smell the sulfur and petroleum and the flowers in the box on the building beneath her. Way up on this rooftop, she let her surroundings melt away her fears.

Char sat on the ledge of the roof, setting her fingers under the concrete lip.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” a deep voice said, startling her. The stranger set a sleek, covered hand on her shoulder to secure her. “People jump all the time. I hope you’re not looking for an escape that way.” 

“Um,” Char started, trying to find her voice, “I wasn’t going to jump. I was just trying to get over someone.” She cleared her throat and dusted her clothes off. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Not that it’s important… but he’s kind of important in Metropolis. I had to leave.”

There was a hum from the man who was behind her. Char looked up, seeing a black cowl and stubble dotting a square jaw and set lips. There was a familiarity to him — not that she knew him, but that she had seen him somewhere before. Charlene felt… well, not safe, but there was something comforting about him. As she looked closer, she noticed a large silhouette of a bat was weaved into the fabric on his breast.

Batman.

“How important can he be? He’s not Lex Luthor, is he?” the vigilante asked. He sat down next to Char, setting his cape underneath his legs so it flowed beneath him. His lips twitched upwards, but not quite. 

“He’s one of the biggest writers for the Daily Planet newspaper,” she said, laughing sadly. She felt like an idiot. Why was she spilling her guts out to this stranger? “Clark Kent, such a dork, but he’s always in the building. I work with him. I’m a newscaster —”

“Charlene Park,” he filled in. He turned to look at her, bright blue eyes gazing into her own orbs.

Charlene blushed. She wasn’t surprised. This was the Batman. He was crazy smart. Who knew how much he knew about anyone at the Daily Planet. Rumor was, Superman worked there, so of course, he might have known something about it. “You know my name. Creepy.”

He gave a slight nod as if agreeing with her. “You said it yourself. You’re a newscaster. I make it my job to watch the news.”

“For Metropolis, too?”

What a stupid question, of course for Metropolis too —

“Yes,” he said, patient and friendly. “Superman lives there. I have to know if I ever need to interfere. If he was ever mind-controlled, I need to be able to step in and save the world. The other members of the Justice League aren’t capable.” Each word that came from his mouth didn’t seem arrogant or rude at all. Batman was almost… melancholy. 

“So… you’re all by yourself?” she asked.

“I have my kids. They’re trained pretty well,” he replied. He turned his gaze out to Gotham City. He had a firm stare, unwavering and determined. Her heart dipped, sorry for him, impressed by him, and so… so weirded out, too.

Charlene looked out at the city, too. “I don’t have kids. I don’t have anybody. My parents died when I was young, I was never adopted, and I don’t have siblings.” She scratched the back of her neck. “Clark was my friend back in Smallville. It’s just been so odd, recently. He hasn’t been around as much, he’s been tailing Lois Lane, and I’ve been breaking my own heart over and over.” She sighed. “Don’t get me wrong — Clark’s a great guy! But…”

“That’s why it’s hard to get over him,” the Batman supplied. He bowed his head. An understanding was hidden beneath layers of quiet. “I don’t know what it’s like to be in love with some kind of Clark Kent, but I know what loneliness is, Miss Park.”

“Char.”

“Char,” he corrected himself. 

She cleared her throat, unsure of what to say. “Do you still feel lonely? With your kids?”

He shook his head a little. “Not as much, no. There are times I feel lonely, but I’ve been blessed. Your blessings will come, Char.” He turned to look at her. “I hope that helps.”

“It does,” she said, smiling. “What makes you so sure I’ll have blessings? I mean, you coming to talk to me seems heaven-sent, but that’s not a guarantee.” Charlene twisted her hands together, now restless. The Batman took his time to collect his answer.

“You’re a woman in her mid-thirties who still pines over her high school sweetheart,” he started. “You had one good thing, and it either ended or you grew apart. You built others up instead of yourself. You’ve waited patiently for what you want — but not for everything. You let some things go for others. You fought for everything and you’ve sacrificed it all. The foster homes were nothing, and yet it was the worst thing to live through. A kid with no one made herself into a someone, even if it was half of a someone.” The Batman rested on his elbows. “You’re too scared to let people go, but you’ve accepted people letting go of you or setting you aside. Char, you’ve got to have something coming to you.”

Charlene was stunned. How did he know all these things? Was she that obvious? Was she an open book? Or was that the hero of Gotham doing his job, once more? Oh, she couldn’t tell. Her skin prickled from both his sheer guesswork and the chilling night air. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Wow. You got all that just by listening to me for a few seconds?”

“And from feeling it myself or seeing my kids struggle with it.” He unclipped his cape, standing up. He wrapped it around her shoulders. The Batman stood close, but not too close. This was all too surreal. Charlene didn’t know how to feel. This stranger was becoming less and less of a stranger. She knew he wouldn’t want to be too close, and it was foolish to think that they would be close. This was just a weird talk about Clark Kent on a Sunday night, on the ledge of a rooftop. Being in love with Clark Kent was the least of her worries, anyway.

“Can I ask you something?” she whispered. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t protest. She waited about thirty seconds before saying anything. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Her larynx didn’t want to cooperate. 

How to phrase this?

He set a hand on her head, signalling for her to continue. 

“If I wanted to talk to you again, how would I be able to do that?” she whispered. “I feel as if you’ve understood me more in ten minutes than my shrink has in years. Not to mention, you might be able to relate to me more than my shrink can. You said you felt some of this stuff yourself. Are you an orphan, too?” 

“That’s more than one thing,” he said. He looked down at her with a glint in his eyes. “Just go back to Metropolis. You’re needed there.”

Charlene stopped. Of course. Right. She put her palm to her forehead. “You’re right. I’ll have to just face Clark like normal.” She barked a laugh. “You’re a hero, Bats.”

“Good to know.” 

Char stood up. “You might want this back, won’t you?” She flapped the cape around her shoulders. She felt silly. She didn’t know this man. She knew nothing about him, and she was talking to him like she was talking to Clark. She wasn’t a writer; she wasn’t an interviewer; she was a reciter. This was all new to her. 

The cowled detective hooked a thumb in his belt. “I’ll walk you back to your hotel room — you can return it then, Char.”

=-=-= “The Batman Incident” was what Charlene came to remember that night as. It was fresh in her mind for weeks, as fresh as the minutes she had lived through it. Any time she felt crisp cool air on her neck, any time she was alone at night on her balcony, she was instantly reminded of the interaction. Charlene didn’t ache or wish or anything like that, but it didn’t stop her from trying to figure out why the moments felt so real compared to anything else she had been through. Out of all that, she had been now, instead of Clark’s hurt bothering her the most, it was the Batman’s words ringing in her ears. 

Char was sitting at Clark’s desk with the writer himself, now. He was leaning against it, scratching his head and playing with his glasses. Kent was antsy. He groaned, turned, then slapped his hands against the desk with a deep, deep sigh. “I can’t believe Lois caught an interview with Bruce Wayne. Wanna know the weirdest part?” he asked. He looked into Char’s eyes, pure confusion dressing his face.

“What’s ‘the weirdest part’?” she asked, repeating what he said exactly how he had said it. “She’s gotten interviews with the president of McDonald’s, before, Clark, I’m not exactly surprised. Lois is talented.” Char reached over the desk and grabbed a cup of coffee that had been nearly emptied, though had enough for her pleasure. She didn’t need to be an anchor, today. It was supposed to be her day off. She wouldn’t have even come in at all if Clark hadn’t asked her.

Charlene really needed to stop doing things because Clark asked. 

“The weirdest part was how he never accepts interviews. In fact, he asked if Lois still worked at the Daily Planet.” He shook his head, pinching his nose. “He asked if we could hold the interview here, otherwise it wouldn’t happen… oh, sometimes I think billionaires hate me…”

“Makes sense,” Charlene agreed. She propped herself up on her elbows. “Why wouldn’t they hate reporters and journalists? They could be talking with Superman or Batman or Wonder Woman.” 

Clark laughed dryly. “You have no idea how much I wish I was having an interview with Batman. Instead, I have to deal with Bruce Wayne.”

“Lois is having the interview with Wayne, Clark. Calm down. It’ll all be okay.” Char stood up, patted his back, then sat back behind his desk and took a long sip of his coffee. “Besides, Bruce Wayne can’t be that… scary…” She trailed off. She saw the elevator to the writing room open.

The man walking out of the elevator and toward her was not who she was supposed to be seeing. She might have been bad at recognition in general, but she remembered that square jaw, those blue eyes. She hoped against hope she was seeing things. “I take it back,” she whispered to Clark. Her old friend kept shooting his eyes back and forth between her, Wayne, and Lois Lane, trying to put the pieces together quickly. Charlene stood up, a smile tugging up her face at the sight of the man she wasn’t supposed to know. “He’s terrifying.”

“Charlene —”

“Mr. Wayne,” she greeted, speaking louder than Clark intentionally. “Welcome to the Daily Planet. How are you, this morning?” She extended her hand outwards to take his. Mr. Wayne took it, gave it a firm shake, then smiled broadly at her. 

“Charlene, right?” he asked, squinting his eyes and setting a hand on her upper arm in a friendly manner. His suit was about as straight as wrapping paper; shiny like it, too. He was just missing the Christmas bow.

“Yes!” she grinned. She set her hands on her hips. “Charlene Park: a lowly newscaster. I hope you like the Daily Planet and find some friends, here.”

Bruce smiled. “Then I suppose we’re friends already, Miss Park.”

“I guess we are,” she said. “Friends are life’s greatest blessings, aren’t they?”

“They are, I agree.” Bruce Wayne let go of her, moving back to Lois Lane. He kept his eyes on hers. He clapped his hands together lightly. “I have an interview to complete. It was nice meeting you, Char. I hope to see more of you.”

“Best of luck, Mr. Wayne.”

When Bruce Wayne walked away, Clark folded his arms tightly over his chest. “That was the strangest thing I’ve ever seen — and I’ve seen my dad in daisy dukes.”

Char cocked her head, trying to stifle a snicker. “Clark, c’mon. It wasn’t anything. I’m fine, really.”

The man fixed his tie, taking the empty coffee cup from his desk over to the office kitchen. As he walked past her, he said, “I’ll believe it when you don’t giggle at the billionaire.”

“Maybe he looks funny!” Charlene offered. 

“Har har!” Clark called. “I’m sure that’s it.”

=-=-= The interview with Bruce Wayne was done and over within record time. Charlene had never seen Lois so happy before. Bruce, on the other hand… Charlene had no idea someone could hide such a smile behind two eyes. 

She was shaking. She didn’t know if she was happy, mad, excited, or scared that she knew the man behind the mask all the way back in Gotham City. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what emotion she was feeling… or if she really wanted to know the man behind the mask in Gotham City. She kept replaying the Batman Incident in her head. She didn’t want to relive it. She didn’t want to have a vigilante smile at her and know exactly who she was pining for. 

Yeah, she still hurt for Clark. It wasn’t going to go away so quickly. But billionaire Bruce Wayne didn’t need to know that. 

She let her mouth run twice. She needed to keep a lid on it the next chance she got. To make sure she didn’t even risk it, Charlene packed up and left early. She was at home without another run-in with Bruce. 

Boy, did that make her feel worse. She felt terrible, cowardly. Running from her problems was just another thing Char found herself doing constantly. She had made herself some pasta, wrapped herself in a bathrobe over her T-shirt, and sat with a mug of sweet tea in her lap. 

Her newspaper clippings of the Batman littered her coffee table. Every award-winning article written by Clark was framed up. Her old dog was sitting next to her, chewing on his toy without a care in the world. For being a coward’s safe space, it was very comfortable.

“Real brave, Charlene,” she mumbled into the ceramic as she took a sip. She switched on the TV, hoping for white noise. “Just hope I was wrong about Wayne…”

“That depends on what you think you’ve found,” said the last voice she wanted to hear. Char exhaled through her nose.

“Come in,” she called. “Don’t just hang around in the shadows.”

The Batman slipped out of her bathroom door, cowl on and frown deep. He was regal and knightly, feet apart and shoulders taught. “Char,” he greeted.

“I was hoping you could tell me if I was wrong, actually.” Charlene sat up, putting her mug aside. She beckoned him over. He sat down next to her. “I just never noticed how similar the Batman is to Bruce Wayne.”

“Similar?”

“Like your eyes are the exact same shade of blue,” she reasoned. “And you wear the same aftershave, too.”

“Charlene,” the Batman said quietly, “anyone can have similar aftershaves and blue eyes.”

“Not everyone in Gotham knows who I am.”

“Not everyone in Metropolis knows who I am, either,” he countered. “Do you really want to know who I am?”

“I know Clark is Superman. Part of the reason I’m furious with him is that he lies to me.” Char made sure her emphasis was on lies. “The allegations would be too crazy for anyone to believe, trust me.”

“There are too-crazy people in Gotham that can’t know,” he answered. “I’m sorry. Even if I trusted you above everyone, your position makes it hard for me to tell you.”

“My position?” she repeated.

The dark knight looked at her as if it were obvious. It was, but she didn’t understand why she couldn’t at least hear the truth from him. “You’re a friend of Superman’s and a newscaster. I have responsibilities, a lot of them. My kids, my city, my assets.” He said assets, not money. He was a businessman at his core, even if he had the heart of a lion there, too. 

“Just tell me if Bruce Wayne can answer me, then.” Charlene stuck her hands under her arms. “Since the two of you already know I know.”

“Charlene,” he said quietly, roughly. She turned her head away. She felt insulted. 

It took her a second to realize it, but the Batman was pleading. He didn’t do it the same way Clark did. Clark would soften up, not set up defenses. Clark would take her hand, not give her space. Clark wasn’t anything like the Batman. He just sat, frozen, waiting his turn patiently. 

She had to be patient with him, too. She wasn’t a superhero. She didn’t know what this was like for him, but she could still be patient. So to help, Charlene waited, too, for what seemed like forever. She took his hand and squeezed it. He didn’t squeeze back, but he didn’t recoil. The hand was limp despite her grip and she couldn’t say that she blamed him for it; she was thankful he didn’t rip his fingers away so soon.

“Why did you agree to an interview?” she whispered. “And… and don’t say it wasn’t you. Lois doesn’t talk about me, I wasn’t wearing a nametag, and Bruce Wayne has no reason to be watching the Metropolis Daily Planet Newscast outside of the financial updates.” 

“I figured it was time for an interview,” he answered. The Batman didn’t deny it. Bruce didn’t deny it. He kept his eyes away from hers. “I remembered that you worked there. You owe me after that talk, so I came to collect.”

“You think you’re funny,” she said with a smile. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness… Lois will be grinning ear-to-ear for weeks because of you.”

“I was supposed to be meeting Clark, anyway. I figured the pitstop might be worth it.” Bruce’s lips twitched again. Char grinned broadly. He removed his cowl then faced her. “You could really tell it was me because of the eye color?” 

He seemed more at home in his bat armor. He was comfortable in this grey/black getup. When he wore the crisp suit, he seemed fidgety, but when he was sitting next to her, his muscles weren’t so tense. His eyes didn’t dart all over. He was at rest as the Batman.

“You do a good falsetto, but yeah, it was the eye color.” She stood. “Can I get you tea? Or are you going to disappear?” 

Bruce pressed his lips into a line. “I don’t know how long I can stay.  I have to drive home tonight… and I’m not the type for this sort of domesticity.” 

“I won’t tell anyone you’re docile,” Charlene promised, crossing her heart. She took her cup and went into the kitchen. “As long as no one knows about me, no one can hurt me or my family — there is no family to hurt.”

“You’ve thought this through?” he asked, footsteps not far behind hers. He stopped in the doorway. “May I?” He pointed to the kitchen wall lined with the cupboards and appliances. Charlene nodded. Bruce poked around her cabinets and her drawers, casually picking something up every now and again. She didn’t mind — he was getting to know her. He was a detective. She had nothing to hide, and he had everything to see. Win-win. “Impressive.” 

“I’ve been dying to see you, again,” she teased. “You could say I’m crazy for you.”

“Not really my type,” he mused. Char could hear items jangling around behind her. “Desperation isn’t my style.”

“But stopping a girl from jumping — when she wasn’t — is?” She poured another cup of tea, looking back at the dark knight. He was holding a spatula and studying it carefully. He pretended as if he hadn’t heard her.

“My son, Damian,” he started. He set the spatula down, digging for something else. “He wouldn’t admit it, but he would love to rescue a damsel in distress. I think he would like you.”

“I’m a damsel in distress?” she laughed. She set a teabag in the cup, doing a one-eighty to face Bruce. “Who are you? Some kind of prince charming?”

“The term is ‘knight in shining armor,’” he corrected. He closed the drawer he was meddling in. “The prince is the kid from Smallville, Kansas.”

“I’m from Smallville, Kansas.” Charlene walked over to him. Bruce was still standing rigidly. She didn’t know if he knew how to relax. Could he relax? Was it even physically possible for Bruce “the Batman” Wayne to relax?

“I’m from New Jersey.” He crossed his arms, rubbing his fingers together. 

“Hey. You don’t have the Jersey accent,” Char pointed out. She pulled his gloves off gently, setting them on the counter. She went to get his tea. “Let it steep for about thirty more seconds.” She set the mug in his hands. They were so large that the orange cup seemed like a plaything compared to a real item.

“I never said I interacted with New Jersey,” he said dryly. “I just lived there. I was raised by my butler.” 

“Does Detroit have any superheroes?” she wondered aloud. Bruce waved the tea under his nose, scrunching his nose upwards. He took a sip without glaring at the tea again. “Your butler sounds like a wonderful man. He raised you well.”

“I’m lucky.” He paused for a moment. “Aquaman, the Green Lantern, and Amazing Man live in Detroit. Why are you asking?”

Charlene patted his shoulder, throwing away everything he had just said. Truth be told, she just wanted to hear Bruce’s voice. “Not many kids are lucky.”

“Three of my boys are adopted,” he said quietly. He rubbed the mug that she had given him. “I give to adoption centers. It’s important to me to give kids homes where they’re loved. Clark Kent’s only known family’s love, and that’s what drives him. What drives me is the chance to make sure all sorts of people never have to worry about losing it.”

“I admire that,” Char murmured. “I wish I had a family of my own, but I just don’t have the time.”

“Someday, you’ll find the time.” Bruce gave her a smile. “I promise.”

Charlene smiled back. His small smiles were infectious. “I’ll hold you to that, Bats.”

=-=-= “Hey, Charlene?” Clark called from the living room. She was too busy combing her hair out and fixing her gown. She had received a letter in the mail (honestly, who does that anymore?) from Bruce, inviting her to a charity gala with him. She almost gave Clark a heart attack when she started laughing triumphantly at some paper. He wasn’t particularly happy that Charlene was going for a night on the town with Bruce Wayne, billionaire bachelor supreme. “Are you okay up there?”

“I’m fine, Clark!” she called back. “I’m just seeing a friend, tonight. Tell Martha and Johnathan I won’t be able to come to dinner tonight. I’m going to a foster care fundraiser with Bruce Wayne. I’d think you’d be coming to interview some of the guests there since you were adopted, too.”

“I can’t! I don’t have any way to get in. It’s private, Char.” Clark was starting to sound impatient. “Are you going to meet him or is he going to meet you?”

“He said he would pick me up!” she answered, finishing her eyeliner and walking downstairs. “Does that bother you, wonderboy?” She gripped the rail, fanning out her yellow skirt around her legs. She wore simple copper chains and glass earrings — nothing expensive, but classy enough that she didn’t look like a bum. Charlene knew Bruce liked his reputation (not a lot, but still) so she thought she would save him a few steps. No jewellery, no dresses. He would just have a friend tonight.

Clark’s eyes flew open wide. His cheeks colored. “Wow… you’re going like that?” He puffed his cheeks and took off his glasses. “You look…”

“Terrible?” she fretted.

“Like an angel. Like Wonder Woman,” he said quickly. He looked down at his lenses and quickly wiped them with his shirt like they were going to melt off his face. “You’re gorgeous. Wayne is going to love it, Char.”

“Thanks, Clark.” Charlene walked over and kissed his cheek. The writer wrapped his arms around her, pressing her against his chest. He felt warm, he felt like home. She never had to worry about being something more than she was around Clark. But Bruce knew how to take her walls down. Charlene was better off with a friend than with someone who had never noticed her. Suddenly, she got an idea and pulled back to see Clark. “You should ask Lois out! I heard she likes the boys in blue.”

He stopped. “‘Boys in blue’? She knows?”

After meeting Bruce a few more times, she finally gained the courage to confront Clark about the whole Super-gig. She made sure she wasn’t going to be blown off — so sure, Char almost confessed her years-old feelings to him. She couldn’t have lived through that, even with Bruce’s support. They had talked through the deception and somehow managed to build better trust between themselves. She almost forgot why she had originally left Metropolis for that fateful encounter with Bruce Wayne.

“Clark,” she scolded gently. ���You haven’t told her?”

“Listen, I’m working on it —,” he started, holding his hands up in defense. His feet slowly removed themselves from the floor. Charlene set her hand on her hip, pinching her nose. 

“You promised she would know before she kissed you, again.” 

Another reason why Charlene absolutely could not tell Clark she liked him. Lois, caught up in the rush of being a damsel, kissed her rescuer unabashedly in front of half the staff of the Daily Planet. Charlene’s heart didn’t break for the first time; it didn’t mean it didn’t crack a teeny, tiny bit. 

“I know I did —” There was a knock at the door. Clark’s face fell into a scowl. He tucked his knees up to his chest, silently moving toward the door, and straightening his clothes out once he reached his destination. “Wait there for a moment, Char.”

Charlene crossed her arms. “Clark.”

Clark opened the door. Bruce was standing on the doorstep with a single pink rose. “Hi,” he said, giving his signature subtle smirk. “Is Charlene ready? Tim’s not too patient behind the wheel.”

“Hi,” Clark greeted warily. He kept his fingers curled around the door. His gentle manner was nearly nightmarish. Every breath was a slow calculation of how to kill a billionaire and get away with it. Charlene sighed deeply into her hand. Clark continued despite her wordless sass. “She’s ready. You better know that if you hurt her —”

“I wouldn’t do it without a positive benefit,” Bruce swore. “Besides, I’m not the one who’s dancing between two ladies. Save the shovel talk.” He pat Clark’s shoulder, pushing him aside and out of the way. When his eyes hit Charlene, his jaw dropped. She had never seen that reaction before, so her temples tingled from slight self-consciousness. “Char, you look beyond stunning. You’re shining.”

A nervous laugh bubbled up Charlene’s throat. “I bet you say that to all the girls.” She grabbed her clutch on the side table where Clark was standing. Quickly, she hugged him in a farewell. “Bye, Clark.”

Clark released a big breath, hugging her back once more. He set her back next to Bruce. “Bye, Charlene. Bruce.”

“Clark,” he responded in kind. “I’ll take care of her, don’t worry.” Bruce put his arm around Charlene’s waist. “There won’t be any need to play hero; if there is, I’ve got all I need within reach.” With that, Bruce took Charlene out of the foyer and into his limousine. 

“That was weirdly intense,” Char commented. With the knight’s help, she sat next in the back of the cab. “Did he make you uncomfortable?”

Bruce took her hand and set the rose in her grasp before sitting down next to her. “No. He doesn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“Okay. Clark is very protective; I didn’t want you in the hospital for saying the wrong thing.” Charlene played with the rose in her hands, resisting the urge to breathe in the sweet aroma. The cab of the limousine was warm, spacious, and smelled comforting. It took her a second to realize it smelled like Bruce: his aftershave, his cologne, and a hint of something metallic. Her cheeks heated at the realization. 

How close had she and Bruce become? So close she knew exactly what Bruce smelled like? So close that she wasn’t nervous about the speculations tied to being on a billionaire’s arm? She looked at the rose petals. The color always meant something — Bruce always meant something. Pink… Why couldn’t she remember its meaning outside of being her favorite color? Why? Did she just forget everything the minute Bruce smiled?

“Char?” 

“I’m fine,” she said, snapping out of her thoughts. She set the rose down next to her, clasping her hands over her lap. “I guess I got so swept up in the idea of an adoption charity… I forgot who I was going with.” She looked at Bruce with a half-smile. “Thank you for taking me to this. I have as much as I can give on me, tonight; I even sold some of my old pieces of jewellery for these kiddos.” Charlene laughed nervously. “It seems so little compared to what you have… will it even be taken? I’m not an elitist. I’m not even close to well-off.”

Bruce’s eyebrows drew together. Something in his eyes softened, but she couldn’t pin what. He held her hand. “It’ll be taken. It’ll help someone, and any help at all can go a long way. You don’t have to worry about earning a position to give.” He tilted her head upwards, locking eyes with her. “You don’t have to earn anything. Not with me.”

She laced her fingers with his to signal her acknowledgement. Char couldn’t form words. She kept opening her mouth to protest but no sound came with the action — she felt helpless, yet all the same, she knew Bats would understand. Bruce let go of her hand to favor her face, instead. She leaned into the touch with a shaky breath.

“I’m not Clark, Charlene,” he whispered. “I’m not going to keep stringing you along; I won’t compare you to anyone or make empty promises. You’re more than a comparison.” Bruce brushed her hair out of her face, keeping those electric blues trained on hers. “You don’t have to earn anything from me. You don’t have to earn me.”

“I’m not…” Charlene stopped, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to talk about this; she didn’t want to beat around the bush, either. “Gosh, how do you know this stuff? Is it all estimation?”

“Observation,” he admitted. He kissed her forehead. “Cheer up. We don’t want your mascara to run just yet, do we?”

She nodded, taking a deep breath in to calm herself. She hadn’t realized her eyes were quite that full. “Bruce.”

He hummed, arching a brow. Yes?

“You don’t have to earn anything from me, either.” She kissed his cheekbone. The corners of his eyes crinkled, which made her smile. She rested her head on the dark knight’s shoulder. “You’re a good man.”

“But?”

“No ‘but,’” she hummed. “You’re a good man, and that’s all.”

=-=-= Saturday morning, three weeks after the gala, Charlene’s heart felt heavy and light at the same time. She couldn’t put the gala out of her mind: the party; the guests; the smiles on the Wayne boys’ faces; Bruce’s kindness. She was trying her best to think it all over. The waiters kept offering her champagne, but she declined every time. She didn’t drink out of anxiousness, yet the whole ordeal was a blur. Blurry, except the speech about the children, and the way Bruce’s smile widened every time she smiled back.

She was sitting at the window, holding a water bottle and gazing out into the street. It was raining. She had a few pink roses in a vase, all from Bruce. A note was attached, something like “Thank you for your support,” but it didn’t really matter to her. He was gentle in his own way. That was just the way the Batman was: gentle and swift, yet blunt and cold at the same time. How had she managed to stumble into his good graces? What if she brought down his reputation? What if she did the wrong thing?

The Wayne boys were very polite. Dick was making her laugh all night long, Jason knew how to talk old-money downlookers away, Tim was a good conversationalist, and Damian asked all the good questions. All the right questions. Questions like, “What’s your relationship with my father? Do you believe in this cause? Are you using my father? Do you know how to play Mario Kart?”

She almost couldn’t answer some of the questions. Were she and Bruce friends? Were they something else? Were they acquaintances? Was she being kept around because she knew who Bruce really was? When it came to Mario Kart and the adoption cause, she couldn’t say anything but “Yes!” enthusiastically. Every now and then, Bruce would come over to recharge. He seemed tired with all the interaction. 

Then there was the turn of the night.

The most vivid part.

Dancing with Bruce Wayne.

Charlene stopped herself from clawing over her heart. It was sinking deeper as she recalled the moment.

“You’re nervous, Char,” Bruce whispered into her ear. “Why?” The question was innocent, concerning. He kept a steady hand on the small of her back, swaying to the beat of the soft jazz band. He was a natural at it. Charlene did her best to hold onto him, gripping his shoulder and his hand. 

“I’ve never been to anything like this, before. Not even some kind of prom,” she laughed quietly. She looked down at their feet. Bruce was leading, but what else was new? The floor gleamed… Bruce’s shoes were worn, despite his money and status… Worn shoes said a lot about how he spent his money on himself. Oh! Beneath the suit, it was clear that he wore a compact utility belt — at least, it was after learning he wore one everywhere. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing, at all,” Charlene continued. “After talking with your boys, it just made me realize how scared I was to be jumping into this life with you.” She cleared her throat as she prepared to tell him exactly what was on her mind. “I know I’m just on a leash to keep you guys safe. You really don’t need to worry about me.”

The dance halted. No one paid any attention to them, keeping up with the music and circling around them. “Is that what you think?” he asked. Amusement lined his words, as well as a vague hint of hurt. “You’re just a liability?”

“I don’t know what to think,” Charlene had answered honestly.

As of right now, she still felt like a liability. Even though Bruce had promised her she didn’t have to earn anything, her heart was having difficulty believing it. She looked over at her vase of roses. Were those flowers from him? Or were they a product of manners?

Was she seeing things that weren’t there?

Bruce had been so quick to answer her when she admitted her insecurities. He had taken his hand out of hers. “You’re not a liability.” He ran his hands through her hair, pulling her closer. “If you were a liability, I would have used other ways to keep an eye on you.”

Char’s heart was racing faster by the second. “Ba… Bruce…” She wanted to call him Bats. She wanted to say so many things, just then. She wondered if Bruce could feel her pulse through that utility belt he had under his suit. His eyes fluttered shut before she realized what was happening. She didn’t want to believe it was real.

With a never ending, agonizingly slow quickness, lips met hers. Moving, soft, warm lips met hers and drew a gasp from her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, trying to reciprocate the best she could without losing her cool.

Now, three weeks later, she hadn’t talked to Bruce about it. She hadn’t brought it up. He didn’t verbally acknowledge it, so neither did she. A kiss with Mr. Wayne meant nothing. Not in public. Not when he had a false reputation of being a playboy. A kiss between them would have meant the world… but that was in the middle of a gala; in the middle of a party filled with people Bruce was supposed to impress. 

So, even though she loved that kiss, she was still confused about Clark and she was miserable about the manner it came about. She wanted to know the truth. She knew if she asked he would have an obvious answer and call her a fool for believing him. 

“Hey, Charlene?” Clark called. Her ears pricked back at the sudden noise. She stood up and walked downstairs, rubbing under her eyes to make sure there weren’t any tears. She hadn’t cried, yet, but she didn’t want to start crying over it, either. “Come here.” 

“What, Clark? Can’t you see I’m busy moping about — …what is that?” she yelped. Clark was standing with his writing tablet facing outward, a glower painted over his features. She could hardly care about his nasty expression, however. There she was, her yellow evening gown and Bruce’s hands laced in her hair, plastering the first article of the month. Big, bold words read: 

“Bruce Wayne Finds New Lover — Will It LAST?” 

“Who took that picture!?”

“You’re saying this is real?” he asked angrily. He took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. “Charlene!”

“I’m sorry!” she apologized, not really sorry. “We’re not lovers, anyway — it was one kiss. Who wrote the article?”

“You never kiss people you don’t know.” Clark turned the screen back to his face, scrolling down and shaking his head. “Jimmy wrote this one, I think, I recognize the alias. I should have known something was going to happen when I told him to follow you…”

“For the record, Clark, all I’ve ever wanted was to kiss you,” she snapped. “Bruce is just differe— you sent Jimmy to follow me!?” She was so engulfed in her defenses that she forgot she had just told Clark she had feelings for him. She didn’t even register the implication that they didn’t matter anymore. She was angry at Jimmy, and at Bruce, and at Clark. She grabbed a throw pillow and fluffed it furiously. She needed an outlet. “I can’t believe you.”

“It’s Bruce Wayne, Char,” he said. He set his tablet down on the coffee table. “He’s not exactly the safest guy to get involved with.”

“And neither were you! I appreciate the worry, but it’s misplaced.” She spun around to stick her finger at Clark accusingly. “For ten whole years I tried to tell you I was in love with you, Clark, so don’t even try to talk to me about what’s good for me! You hear? I can kiss Bruce Wayne if I want to.”

“You tell him, Char,” a small voice came from behind the TV stand. Charlene and Clark both froze. Charlene knew who that was. She did her best not to sigh.

Muffled, a much bigger voice complained, “Look what you did! Now we’re caught. Bruce is gonna —”

“Shh!”

Clark moved over and gently removed the TV stand. “Damian I expected, but you, Dick? That’s low. Spying on Charlene?” 

“She’s a friend of Father,” the young boy answered for his big brother. “After the gala, he went to brood in the Bat Cave and when he came up, he said she was going to be more involved.”

“I think he’ll be happy to hear you like him, Charlene,” Dick smiled. He extended his legs and sat like a toddler on the floor. “We came here on our own, by the way. We wanted to surprise you by picking you up and surprise him by bringing you to Gotham. We racked his schedule up with business meetings so that we could pull this off. Think of it as a rescue.”

“Surprise me,” she regurgitated. She wanted to cry, laugh, scream, and fall over all at once. “You wanted to surprise me.”

“Sure. Why not?” Damian shrugged. “But your friend, here, got in the way with all his mumbling and weird comments about our father. He’s scary but I could take him.” That comment made her smile. Damian taking on Clark. Dangerous, but it still tickled her mind.

“They were not weird —”

“Yeah, they were.” 

“Guys, guys,” Charlene interjected, “Bruce and I aren’t much more than friends. He’s just my knight in shining armor.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “If anything were to happen, it would be very slow.” She made sure each male looked at her. “Very, very slow.” 

“So he does make you happy?” Clark asked quietly. 

“He does,” Charlene confirmed. “It could be more with work. Relax, Clark. You’re not going to be walking me down the aisle so soon.” 

He squeezed his eyes tightly, confusion coloring his face. “So when you said you used to want to kiss me…”

“It’s mostly ‘used to,’ now, yeah.” Charlene’s mouth moved before she even filed how truthful the statement was in her brain. She sat down on the couch, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I hope that’s not an issue — I know you don’t approve of Bruce.”

Clark pursed his lips. He set his hands on his hips and looked at the two delinquents on Charlene’s floor. “The gala with you and Wayne wasn’t a full-on date. Was it?”

“He and I went to sponsor the same cause and spend time together as friends. It couldn’t have counted as a romantic date, anyway,” she said. “The boys spent more time talking to me than Bruce did.”

“I saw him kiss you, though —”

“Dick, shut up,” Damian hissed. “You’re not helping.”

Clark tried for a smile. “I just want you to be safe and happy, Charlene.”

Charlene nodded, feeling much better since the gala. She had made an impression on the Wayne family? “I know I will be.”

=-=-= Charlene, in the end, told the boys she wanted to stay at home and sent Clark back to the Daily Planet to do his work. She had a lot to think over. She took a seat in her loveseat and got comfortable. She had to sit there for a long while. A kiss with a billionaire, a concerned Kansas Chiefs fan, four young men who already looked up to her, and a melting pot of feelings. If this were a young adult novel, she would have already picked someone by now. She had roses in a vase that called her name. She had a heart that wanted her attention, too.

Her whole past screamed for her to let go of Clark Kent — she was learning to set those unrequited feelings aside. He had always looked out for her and been her friend. Sometimes friendship, in the end, was just friendship. Clark was in love with Lois Lane. By the looks of things, he was starting to grow closer to her. Stepping away from that, Charlene could see he was happy; for the first time in years, that didn’t sting as much as it had before. 

Then there was the new friendship: Bruce Wayne. He was more than a friend, but less than a romantic partner. His affection was a different brand than Clark’s in all the good ways. He brought some kind of freshness, a sense that she never had to pretend to be pulling herself together. She knew deep in her heart that Bruce would have a hard time being with her — she would find difficulty being with him, too. They had much in common, as well as a lot of differences. He saw through her, she saw through him. Charlene needed some kind of stability. She needed a friend that offered their hand instead of shared reliance. 

Clark was the bright summer’s day that you longed for in the winter; he was the smell of newly cut grass and the way a paintbrush head felt between someone’s fingers. He was khakis and ball caps and the colors in the sunrise. He had always been the simple pleasures in Char’s life. 

Bruce Wayne had already proved what he was. He was the necessity in life like the clap of thunder in the middle of the night or the hardwood floor on bare feet. Bruce was the crowded streets of Metropolis after dusk; he was petrichor after a much-needed rain, the thimble on your thumb, he was the flick of the light switch that you could never balance. He was the mundane, everyday wakeup call that life was buzzing everywhere around her.

That was the difference between Clark and Bruce. Charlene had always had Clark, but she could imagine life without him. When it came to the Batman, she had a hard time thinking about her life without the petrichor on concrete, the snippy wind on her ears, and the occasional clap of thunder. She didn’t need him, but he was her equal.

He was the equal. 

Not the hero. 

“I’ll have to tell him, then,” she sighed. Charlene buried her face in her hands. 

“Tell who what?” a gravelly voice came from behind her. His presence was close. Char leaned back and extended her hands. 

“You,” she said. Bruce pushed her hands back down, setting his own on the cushion behind her. “We need to talk about what happened at the gala, don’t we?” 

“I don’t see why,” he replied. “You know it was a public display of affection.”

“From the world’s Bruce Wayne,” Charlene countered. Bruce pressed his lips into a line. “Not mine.”

“I know. I figured if the world knew you were Bruce Wayne’s, it would give you a chance to find that time you wanted,” he said slowly. “The boys could teach you how to defend yourself. You’d always have a place at Wayne Manor.”

“But what about us?” she asked, turning to see him better. “C’mon, Bats, you know that kiss was a little more than just a well-rounded plan to turn me into a Bat-Person.”

The dark knight was still for a long second. “It was a moment’s weakness. Even if we wanted to pursue a relationship —”

“We both know we do.”

“— neither of us are ready for it.”

Charlene stood on the loveseat. She cupped Bruce’s face, holding his jaw with both palms. “I agree. I think we should take our time before we even worry about labeling this.”

“We cannot be involved.” He held her hands, prying them ever-so-gingerly from him. “You aren’t ready for the livestyles I come with. I’m not ready for that kind of —”

“Domesticity,” she said with him, nodding. “I know, I know. You don’t want to be a husband, I don’t want to be a wife. No, we can’t be involved, yet.” She rested on her forearms. “You can guess what that means.”

He smiled sadly. “You won’t come stay at Wayne Manor.”

“Not for extended periods of time,” she answered with the same bittersweet expression. Char stroked his cheek. He had been so open to her physical affection. “It wouldn’t really work the way we want it to.” 

“You mean Alfred will be asking about dress shopping?”

“I’ll be asking about dress shopping!” she teased. “Why are you here, exactly?”

“If I said that you no longer worked at the Daily Planet, what would you do?” he asked bluntly. 

Charlene stopped. “I would ask you to fix it, right now.”

He hummed. “You want Clark, still?”

“No,” she said defiantly. She crossed her arms. “I’m just not ready to date, yet.” Charlene was quickly learning how to own herself around Bruce. She felt at home, like he was at home in his spandex. Bruce made her feel like her own woman: strong, compassionate, and happy. If he could be her complement, she could do anything. Absolutely anything.

Bruce leaned in, smirking. Charlene hit him with a pillow, which he promptly caught. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Promise to try someday?” she teased.

“Maybe.”

[we-want-mini-mini]

Omg. I was reading this HC about the reason why Clark Kent always leaves the scene whenever Superman appears because he (Clark Kent) HATES Superman. Like, he keeps on making convoluted reasons as to why.

It goes even as far as Clark writing a cynical think piece about Superman and vigilantism and Lex Luthor coming across it and absolutely loving it.

Here’s the original post:

And, all of you know I have a prompt/oneshot which includes an OC who works for Lex Luthor (and knows all the Supervillian bullshit he pulls cause there technically from an alternate world where all the DC characters are just characters lmao).

Anyways, in said prompt Lia also lives next to Clark Kent because I find it beyond funny that she is essentially the right hand to her next door neighbors arch nemesis.

And like, I imgained that one day, Luthor brings up the fact he really likes this one writer from the Daily Planet. Lia, who is understandably curious, asks her employer who that writer is.

Luthor says, with a straight face: “Clark Kent.”

For a moment Lia just stares at Luthor, fighting off a smile, while her shoulders shake like it’s a 9 point O earthquake on the Ricther Magnitude scale. Luthor shoots her a look, but Lia turns away, slapping her hand her mouth trying not to brust out laughing. After a little bit she does, but when she turns around, Luthor gives her another look and she knows she has to come up with a good excuse.

Her brain short circuits and she blurts out, “I think he’s my next door neighbor.” And immediately she regrets ever existing. She wants her entire being to cease to exist, from the very last atom.

A flash of surprise goes through Luthor’s face, as he asks her, “Oh? Is that so?”

“I mean, I think,” Lia adds smoothly, her brain on overdrive. “They share the same name but I’ve never seen a picture of Clark Kent from the Daily Planet, so, I can’t be sure that my neighbor and the one from the Daily Planet are the same person.” She said, lying straight through her teeth. She knows that Clark Kent her Neighbor and Clark Kent a reporter from the Daily Planet, are in fact, the same person. But Luthor does not need to know that.

Fortunately, Luthor drops the topic and asks Lia about some other shit. Internally, it feels as if the weight of the sky itself was lifted off her shoulders.

Unfortunately, a couple weeks later, at a Gala were Lia is with Luthor, a familiar, mop of black hair (just slightly curled at the end), striking (almost alien) blue eyes and the iconic thick, black times glasses make their way towards them. Lia, of course, only notices too late because the universe despises her and Clark, introduces himself, while recognizing that his next door neighbor is next too his arch nemesis.

Him (Clark) not noticing the growing panic and despair on his neighbors face, immediately calls out to her saying, “Lia?” in a surprised voice.

Lia, knowing how throughly fucked she is, knowing she can’t BS her way out of his, and that her lips never wait for her brain to catch says, “Clark??”

(Pretend that in this version of the prompt/oneshot Clark never found out that his next door neighbor is esstentially the right hand to his arch nemesis).

Cue a very awkward and tense conversation (at least for Lia) between the trio. Luthor being pleasantly surprised and a bit suspicious but he brushes it off, leaving it later to ponder. Clark, is absolutely floored but he has his job too do, so he does it. He’s lowkey kinda betrayed but can’t blame Lia because she’s just 23 and this sort of job is a dream come true for most and he (assumes) that Lia does not know anything abt the whole Lex Luthor is a Raging Supervillian and Also Superman’s (which is Me) Arch Nemesis. Lia, throughout the convo, recovers (externally), and answers Clark’s questions with ease. Internally, she’s slowly dying in the inside, mentally preparing herself for the questions Luthor with undoubtedly ask later. Lia wants the Rapture itself to commence so she could just avoid all of this bull shit. She does not avoid all of this bull shit. 

Anyways, after that whole debacle, Luthor leaves with a greater respect for the man (he found him very competent and also very pleasing to the eye). Clark is... conflicted but he does what he does and maintains his rep of hating Supes. Lia is just. Done and Dying. She can’t. She honestly can’t. But she muscles through and awaits for Luthor to do whatever Luthor does best. She’s surprised when she sees her employer (whose a Supervillian and hates Superman) look at Clark with a look in his eyes (it isn’t annoyance, indifference, or anything like that... it’s... holy shit, is Luthor checking Clark’s ass out???? Oh. My. God. This is. Honest to God, the best and worst thing I’ve ever seen. Oh my god. I want to cry. And laugh. Holy fuck. What the shit is even happening anymore?). Safe to say, from then on, Clark gets sent to LexCorp to take interviews for Luthor and stuff. Luthor, grows to develop a deeper interest for Clark (all in the view for Lia).

Hell, at one point he admits it. And asks Lia what Clark’s favorite type of flower is. Lia, is floored. She wants to laugh. And cry. She manages to say, with a straight face and even voice, “I’m not sure, Mr. Luthor.” She has to bite her lip at the true and unbridled irony of the whole situation. Oh my god. Enemies to Lovers. Slow burn. One sided pinning. Denial. Oh my god. Oh. My. God. I’m watching fanfic play out right before my eyes. Holy shit.

Like, I can’t stop laughing at the irony of the situation. Imgaine for a sec being in Lia’s shoe. Like. Your the EA to a very powerful person, who happens to be a raging Supervillian. You know this cause reasons. You also happen to live next door to your boss’s arch nemesis. Then due to a series of events, your boss slowly starts to fall for his arch nemesis’s civilian identity. You’re watching this shit. In real time. Fucking imgaine that yo. Absolute fucking gold. Like. Holy shit.

Also, this still could work (without my OC present). Like, in a world where everything is the same aside from the HC that Clark is known to not like Superman and Lex immediately takes a liking to Clark. Say Clark goes to a gala and meets Luthor. Now he has to keep up the rep that he Does Not Like Superman (while he Is Superman). Luthor becomes interested after Clark interviews him. He also checks out Clark’s ass because yeah. Then, Clark does more interviews for LexCorp. Luthor develops a deeper interest in Clark. He even asked Clark out on a date. Imgaine being Clark. Your arch fucking nemesis (whose a raging Supervillian) just asked you out (without knowing you’re the same person they hate). Enemies to Lovers but it’s one sided in the sense that one of them doesn’t know that the other is their arch nemesis jaksjsjsksksksoskks

IMGAINE THO. SOMEONE PLEASE WRITE A FIC ABT THE PROMPT ABOVE AND FUCKING TAGGING ME SKSJDJXJSJDJJDJ

[crowbarstodd]

Course Of Nature (4)

Chapter Summary: *banging pots together* DAMINETTE! DAMINETTE! Word Count: 3,272 Rating: G Paring: DAMINETTE!

Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five |

Rena Rogue gagged as soon as she opened an aging door, hands covering her nose and mouth as she took a large step back. “This place stinks!”

Marinette felt inclined to agree with Rena Rogue, nose wrinkling as a foul stench invaded her nostrils, so strong her eyes stung from unshed tears. “You’ll have to get used to it,” Marinette said regretfully, “we’ll be spending some time here.”

Rena moaned, edging inside carefully, nose still pinched between two fingers.

The little off-white townhouse they’d been sent to investigate in Paris’ nineteenth arrondissement was almost charming at first sight. It sat trapped between a high fence marking the end of the street, and a baby-pink, connecting unit with a strip of green at the front only just large enough to fit a few common elder hedges.

The place itself was only slightly overrun by weeds, not enough to appear unseemly, which was probably why it was left alone by most of the unsuspecting neighbours. Marinette herself would have overlooked it completely had it not been for the large mold stain on the bottom right side of the door, and the putrid stench that coated the home. Oh, and the mission sent by Batman and Master Fu.

The inside was drowned in dust and rust, and none of the lights would turn on, so she and Rena resigned themselves to exploring the place with the limited light their torches provided.

“This is literally the worst villain hideout. Unhygienic and unaesthetic is what this place is,” Rena griped, searching through shelves for anything that looked mildly useful.

“There’s no proof this was a hideout. Just that Queen Bee sent a package here about two months ago.”

Rena stopped in her tracks. “Queen Bee? Like, Chloe?”

“No, like the politician.”

“Are you being sarcastic?”

Marinette sighed, tilting her head to the sky, eyes shut. “I thought Chat gave you a debrief?”

“Sure, but he didn’t use any names. Just said that another villain sent a package probably for Hawkmoth.”

Wily cat, making her do all the annoying jobs. She’d get him neutered the next time she saw him. “Queen Bee is a corrupt Bialyan leader, part of the light.”

“So not Chloe?”

“Not Chloe,” Marinette confirmed.

“What do we call Chloe then?”

Tired of the conversation, and without any real answers to give, Marinette returned to searching the room for clues. “Call her whatever you want, Rena.”

“Bitch it is!”

“No.”

She zoned out Rena’s following playful whinges, focused on the wooden desk that sat alone in the otherwise empty room connected to the living room that Rena was investigating.

With careful hands she pulled the drawer of the desk open, worrying her lip as her heart pumped with excitement. Where else would one keep a package but their desk?

It was empty.

Disappointed, she shut it closed, only to hear Rena’s resounding shriek.

The living room was a mess of white.

An upturned milk bottle appeared to have fallen from atop the cupboard above the stove. It must have been balancing precariously already, relying on the shut door for stability, and tipping over when Rena pulled the cupboard open.

She stood in the center of the kitchen, an orange lighthouse in a sea of white, utterly drenched, and completely miserable.

In her hands, Marinette spotted something promising.

“Is that a USB?”

“Are you okay Rena? That sucks for you Rena, but don’t worry too much about it,” Rena muttered, peeved.

Marinette scratched the back of her head and let out an awkward laugh. “Sorry. You alright, Rena?”

“I’m drenched in milk, LB. But I found a USB and I managed to keep it dry.”

Marinette cheered under her breath, getting closer to inspect the gadget. It was a simple single-toned grey stick, made by LexCorp. “Only four gigabytes?” She mused aloud, expecting something more monumental.

Rena paid her no mind, wringing her hair over the sink, and yelping when the water that poured out of it was brown in colour. “Ugh, I should have just let Chat take this mission,” Rena grumbled. “Might have even enjoyed the milk.”

Marinette shrugged, a lazy smile painting her face. “I don’t think anyone’d enjoy an unexpected milk-bath, Rena, even silly kitty’s like him.”

Rena shook her leg clean, watching with wry eyes as droplets splashed onto the floor. “You always call him Kitty or Chaton,” Rena commented. “It’s kind of cute.”

If it was Carapace saying it, Marinette wouldn’t have batted an eye, but Rena was sort of pushy, and undeniably not-so-secretly interested in Ladybug’s (love) life. Marinate could see the teasing glint in Rena’s eyes and hear the mischief in her voice, enough to get what she was suggesting.

“Yes I do,” Marinette agreed. “Because we’re partners.”

“You don’t have nicknames for me!”

Marinette raised a brow. “You’re not my partner,” she sung.

Rena pouted, jutting her bottom lip out dramatically enough that for a second, Marinette saw her mask disappear and make way for her best friend who she knew was behind it. She’d never say it aloud, lest it encourage her friend’s more dangerous habits (running headfirst into attacks without a mask or protection) but Alya’s determination and vivacity had always been qualities that Marinette admired. That, and how lush her thick locks always seemed to be.

“What about your new partner then? Lark?”

Marinette snorted. Guess Alya held some second-hand anger on her boyfriend’s behalf after all. “You mean Robin?”

Rena rolled her eyes, waving a dismissive hand in the air. “Yeah sure, Robin.”

“What about him?”

“Well if not Chat, then?” Rena trailed off, but Marinette was sharp enough to know what she’d been suggesting.

Involuntarily, her cheeks burst bright red. Memories of last night that she’d tried so hard to forget — moonlight, a surprising confession, and lips —nope! She shook the thoughts out of her head, bringing her hands to her cheeks in an attempt to cool them down.

“Oh my god! Girl!”

“N-no!” Marinette stuttered out, adamant to explain things before Rena got the complete wrong idea. “It’s not like that! I don’t like Robin! Not even in a friend way!”

“Clearly not in the friend way! Girl, does he know?”

Stupid Robin. Stupid dumb Robin and his stupid dumb lips and their stupid dumb conversation and the terrible, awful, cringe-inducing, stupid-dumb ending to last night! “No! Alya!”

“What happened to no secret identities on the field? I don’t even know yours so you’ve got an advantage there.”

“I don’t think that’s the point, Rena.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “The point is are you gonna tell him?”

“No, there’s nothing romantic happening at all!”

Knowing better than to push when Marinette was sure she looked ready to explode, Rena simply wiggled her brows cheekily and returned to searching for hints. “Okay LB,” she said as she passed, patting Marinette on the shoulders almost patronisingly.

Marinette had to bite her lip to prevent a scream.

Perusing the little unit was much less eventful than either of the two girls expected, and in the end, they found nothing of use apart from the single USB stick that Rena had risked milk-dousing for.

“Literally the worst hour of my life,” Rena commented, inhaling deeply when they finally locked the rotting door behind them. “Never again.”

“You okay to get the USB to Master Fu by yourself?”

“Sure thing Ladybug. You go ahead and get your Z’s, you’ve got patrol tomorrow night as well.”

Marinette moaned at the reminder. Damn, and she was getting excited to make a new dress-shirt too.

—————————————

School the next day was interesting, to say the least. The class was abuzz, all gravitating around Chloe’s desk where she was sat bragging (no surprise there) about some celebrities her dad’s hotel was hosting.

“The Waynes are ridiculously famous and important,” the blonde said, leaning back against her chair as if she didn’t care at all. (She cared very much, and wasn’t as good an actress as she thought she was, Marinette noted.) “Bruce Wayne is like, the most eligible bachelor, and he brought three of his sons with him!”

“Three?” Marinette mumbled under her breath, taking her seat beside Alya. “Why does she say it like he has more?”

“He has five,” Alya supplied helpfully, flashing her a smile in greeting.

Soon enough Alya’s head was down, and her chemistry notes were out, but it was obvious that she was paying more attention to what Chloe was saying than what was on her page, but a tad too prideful to admit to herself that Chloe had anything of particular worth to say.

Chloe’s voice was loud enough that Marinette could join her friend in pretending to overhear, rather than listen to the blonde. “They’re going to be staying at my daddy’s hotel for two weeks,” she boasted.

“Wow Chloe, that’s so cool!” Rose awed. Even from the other side of the room, Marinette could stars forming in her eyes. It was like Prince Ali all over again. “I’d love to meet them! I heard the Wayne foundation helps hundreds of people every year, and that Dick Grayson is nice to everyone!”

She nudged Alya lightly with her elbow. “Dick Grayson?”

“Eldest son, I think.” Was Alya’s simple reply.

Chloe sneered, “someone like him would want nothing to do with you.”

“Well, I’m going to say hi anyway!” Rose replied hotly, learning from last time. Her chest puffed out in pride, leaving her to look like a bright pink penguin, but Marinette was happy for her. It looked like she wasn’t going to let Chloe talk her down anymore.

Chloe opened her mouth, probably to dish out an insult, but straightened as if remembering something important. “Fine,” she said instead. “Do what you want.”

Alya raised a brow and made a face that looked to a cross between impressed and disbelieving.

In a weird way, Marinette felt almost proud. Sure, each awful word out of Chloe’s mouth gave her some sort of vindication (who doesn’t love being right?) that always lead to her feeling guilty, but every time Chloe acted politely, against Marinette’s expectations, she was being influenced by Ladybug. There was something humbling about seeing her impact on the small scale, however minute it was.

“Will you all come with me?” Rose asked, wide eyes directed at the girls of the class.

Don’t look, Marinette urged herself. The moment she looked into Rose’s big Bambi eyes she’d be gone, and however much she loved Rose she needed to go to bed before patrol that night.

“Please?”

“Sure thing, Rose!” Alya agreed. “Marinette and I’d be happy to come.”

Raising her head to refute Alya, Marinette found herself staring right into Rose’s baby blues. Crap. “Yeah Rose, I’d love to come!”

Marinette’s mouth moved faster than her mind, and by the time she’d realised what she had done it was far too late. Rose had already turned to ask Alix.

God, if only Rose was a tablespoon less cute.

(“You’re going to see Dick Grayson? Can I come? I love Dick Grayson!

“Sure, Kim!”)

—————————————

Dick Grayson really was nice to everyone he met, and it didn’t take long for Marinette to understand why all of Paris seemed to swoon over him.

He was charming, had eyes bluer than blue, and a smile that looked so familiar, Marinette could have sworn she’d seen it directed at her before. Really truly, he was great. But all she could focus on was the screaming that was happening somewhere further down the hotel that nobody else seemed to care about.

Marinette inched backwards until she was out of sight, bolting down the nearest corridor, following the sound the best she could.

Tikki peeked out from inside her bag, gazing at her with questioning eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want to transform, Marinette? It doesn’t sound very good.”

“I just wanna check first, Tikki. It might not be an attack.”

It wasn’t one. What she’d mistaken for innocent lives threatened by some Akumatised being was, in fact, two boys screaming at each other in the hotel hallway. Or rather, one boy screaming as the other responded, just as heated, but not as loud.

“You will regret this, Drake!” The shorter boy seethed at the other, who stood across from him, clearly unimpressed, back slouched and left hand in his corduroy pants.

The taller one, Drake, raised his hands in apparent frustration. “It’s a room. You’ll just have to settle with sharing with Jason.”

“I had the room with Grayson first. Return it immediately!”

“You sound like a brat.”

The shorter boy huffed, launching a well-aimed kick at the taller boy’s head, which he somehow managed to block, hand still in his pocket. “Your attack will be returned tenfold,” the shorter one announced, leaving ‘Drake’ alone at last. Marinette squeaked as he walked in her direction, slipping around the corner as his eyes narrowed.

He didn’t seem to care though, walking out of the hotel without another look back.

Concerned about a potential Akuma victim, she trailed after him.

She felt childish to have been lulled in such an obviously false sense of comfort, but she was genuinely surprised when he disappeared from her sight after exiting the hotel, only to reappear behind her. He had one hand around both her wrists, keeping her from fighting back with her arms.

“What business do you have following me?”

Marinette spluttered, struggling not to let her eyes dart to her bag in concern as she felt Tikki’s concerned shudder. “I was just making sure you were okay!” Marinette insisted. “I just didn’t want you to get akumatised!”

He let go of her wrists, but his eyes were still in slits, and his knees were bent as if ready to bolt at any given chance. “Explain yourself,” he demanded.

He was pretty snooty if Marinette was being honest, but she supposed she’d be paranoid too if someone was following her. “If you get too upset, Hawkmoth will be able to use you to destroy the city,” Marinette explained, omitting some important parts about certain Miraculous’. It was weird he didn’t know any of this yet. “Are you new here or something?”

The boy sniffed in disdain. “My family landed here this morning.”

This morning…

Marinette gave his outfit a quick once-over.

Black skinny jeans; Givenchy, black shoes; Armani, Burberry jacket, and Wayne-Tech watch. Wayne tech phone peeking out from his pocket too… Rose was going to be so jealous.

(His target-brand Nightwing t-shirt confused her, though.)

“You must be a Wayne!” Marinate exclaimed, extending her hand to greet him. “I’m Marinette.”

He looked at her hand with a raised brow.

He didn’t move until her face shifted into a glare. “Damian.”

He was a little rough around the edges, but he was also mad, and she wouldn’t be Ladybug if she left some innocent person alone to be akumatised. “Nice to meet you, Damian. Do you like ice-cream?”

“I’m not fond of sweets.”

“I’ll find something for you.”

She grabbed his wrist, ready to tug him along, when he snatched his hand right out of her grip. “Unhand me!” He bellowed, looking angry again. Marinate wanted to slap a hand on her forehead, feeling idiotic for upsetting him even further.

“I’m not going to do anything weird, I promise. I just want to take you to my family’s bakery, get you some tea or something to calm you down.”

He looked on the verge of protest, but she must have said something right because he deflated soon after. “Some tea would be acceptable.”

They sat across from each other on the table nearest to the front window, seats comfortably cushioned with little round pillows that were decorated with flowers; one of Marinette’s own creations.

The bakery was one of her favourite places in the world. Little personal splashes made the place warm, from the cushions she’d made, the three small tables on the right side of the bakery for inside dining that she’d suggested herself, and the small red stain on the underside of the front counter that she’d created by spilling dye while making red-velvet cupcakes. She and her mom had spent almost an hour trying to remove any traces of it, but that little mark, shaped like a coma, was far more stubborn than either of them.  

He liked rice tea, she learned. Rice tea and plum dacqouise.

Well, he never said he liked plum dacquoise, but he clearly didn't dislike plum dacquoise. Her dad had asked if he’d like anything else with his tea, and when he looked to her for suggestions, there was one thing she couldn’t not recommend.

“I’d like the Marinette,” he’d said, voice frank. Her heart had pounded at how the sentence sounded, but she didn’t correct him or mention it in case it’d embarrass him. He wasn’t a native speaker after all, so it was impressive enough he could maintain a conversation and order all on his own.

“It’s my favourite cake,” she informed him after his first bite. He replied with a ‘hn.’

Easy silence befell them as Damian sipped his tea, looking out the window with slight interest. She was eating his cake, well her cake that he bought, content to sit in silence, appreciating how he simply nodded her way when he caught her, not too miffed at her eating his food. “Did you come here for a holiday?” She asked, striking up a conversation.

He tilted his head to the side, thinking. The bright lights seemed to highlight his jawline perfectly, because Marinette couldn’t stop her eyes from trailing downward. “For business mostly, but I suppose Gra— my brother might consider this a holiday.”

“Must be nice to have so many siblings.”

Damian huffed, folding his arms the way Alya’s younger sisters did when they heard something they didn’t like. “They’re not my siblings.”

“You just said you had a brother though?”

Damian spluttered, mouth moving as he protested mutely, unable to come up with a convincing response. “It’s not fun,” he said instead, replying to her initial comment.

Marinette smiled behind her hands at his petulant behaviour, not yet brave enough, or close enough to him to laugh at him to his face. “I wouldn’t know,” she shrugged. “I’m an only child.”

“I was too, once.” Damian’s eyes had a misty quality to them that Marinette wasn’t sure she wanted to touch on. Instead, she latched on to what felt like the only tangible part of what he said.

“Are you adopted?”

Damian all but hissed, leaning over the table to exclaim his response. “I’m the blood heir! The rest of them were adopted!”

She leaned back into her seat, surprised by his outburst.

Prepared to spend the rest of the hour suffering in heavy silence, Marinette was almost grateful to see a large, thorn breaking through the bakery window, engraving itself deep into the floor.

It shook the building down to its foundations, leaving the counter and the cakes it displayed utterly obliterated. Marinette coughed, inhaling a lungful of dust and debris caused by the projectile, wheezing out a breath. Her heart thrummed as she readied herself for a battle.

“I have to go!” She and Damian said in sync. She let him leave, expecting his worry for his family, and preoccupied with planning how to get to the Akuma.

Marinette let out a quiet “sorry,” as she trapped her parents in the back room, locking the door on them so they would be safe without noticing her absence.

“Tikki, spots on!”

End Notes: hhhhhhhhh so this is actually only half of my original plan for chapter 4 so I guess you can expect chapter five soon. I was so excited for the fight but chapter 4 got so long and I felt that the fight deserved it’s own chapter and I didn’t want too many events in one chapter because it’d feel too cluttered oh man.

But also! Daminette!!!!! 

Classic Bruce gets there secret identities to arrive later than their hero ones to avoid suspicion. We got our first peek at Tim, and a mention of Jason. If anyone’s wondering why Chloe only mentioned three sons,,, Jason’s legally dead so ye theres that. 

Daminette!!! They met!!!!!!!!! For those curious, his acceptance of tea was thanks to his appreciation of Alfred. Daminette!!! 

Things to look forward to next chapter: Akuma fight!!! Addressing the ‘Queen Bee’ situation completely, kind of addressing what happened the night damian stormed of jealous and MORE maridami goodness. (Is it obvious how much I love chapter 5 and how much I wanna get it DONE?

Tag List:

@just-rant-and-write-fic-idea @kceedraws @mystery-5-5 @2sunchild2 @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @treebrosha @mooshoon @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @aarushi-03 @ladylb @crazylittlemunchkin @kurogaya913 @ki117h3dr4g0n @xxmadamjinxx @sidefrienda @7-sage-7 @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @felicityroth @tritaledkitsune @constancetruggle @creator-josie @theatreandcomicfreak @northernbluetongue @yin-390

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[katharkness]

Wayne’s Boys: Brad’s Dad Chapter 2

For @glumshoe

I’m not so happy with this chapter - I think I got a little too caught up in worldbuilding my WB’verse. I had been hoping to get further in the story, but the chapter was getting too long.

I’ve been...almost overwhelmed by the response to chapter one. I just fear chapter two won’t live up to it.

I have been asked if this is on AO3. No, it’s just on Tumblr. I’m keeping it separate for now because it’s not actually part on my WB canon. I may some day adapt it so it is, but I haven’t decided.

Please feel free to PM, reblog, etc.

Chapter 2

 The garage at Wayne Manor had one Ferrari, a limo, four more ordinary cars, and nearly a dozen motorbikes. All black.

“Bruce buys a new sports car every year, but he doesn’t drive them very often,” Helena explained as she and Brad piled into the back of Jason’s car. “He puts the old one up at the annual Independence Day Charity Auction. I believe Lex Luthor has bought at least four of them.”

“Why does he keep buying them if he doesn’t drive them?” Brad asked.

“Oh, it’s just that there’s never enough passenger seats,” Helena said. “I mean, today he’s got Tim and Dami with him, and there’s no back seats in the Ferrari.”

Brad nodded. Bruce must love having the latest flash car.

Jason muttered something in that other language, and Helena laughed without translating.

“So why has Bruce taken Tim and Damian with him to the Tower?” Brad asked. “Even if Damian’s a little young, he wouldn’t be left alone with you two around.”

Jason chuckled. “They get bored left at home all the time. They prefer to work in the Annexe.”

“Work, like, part-time jobs?” Brad frowned. “That’s a little…”

“Oh no, not really,” Helena shrugged. “B Inc. Tim puts a lot of work into R&D, but Dami usually has to ride herd to keep him on budget. And they do it because they want to.”

Brad tried thinking that through. Of course he knew Bruce was in some way involved with Batman, but to casually hear that a fifteen-year-old and eleven-year-old were working for the vigilantes…

“Why does Batman allow such young boys do that?”

Helena frowned. “Because the absolutely most important factor is trust. We all have proved our trustworthiness. That’s something you’ll need to understand. There’s things we can talk about, and things we really can’t – even when we’re not involved, we hear things. We know things. And if you hear things, or see things, you have to keep it to yourself. Even if it’s not B Inc stuff. There’s people who’ll try getting anything they can, and we don’t always get much privacy. It does mean a lot to us to have people we don’t have to be on guard around.”

Brad nodded. “I can be discreet. I hope I can prove worthy of your trust.”

Helena smiled. “That level of trust, that’s more important to us than blood.”

“Probably will want to test for blood relationship anyway,” Jason grunted. “Just to be on the safe side.”

“Didn’t Bruce do a paternity test on Dami?” Helena asked. “And he really is the spit of Bruce.”

“Think so,” Jason called. “I wasn’t around at the time. But then, you know Talia.”

Helena pulled a face. “I would gladly never meet her again.”

“Can’t blame you,” Jason muttered, and degenerated into foreign-language mumbles for a time.

“What is that language?” Brad asked eventually.

“Romani,” Jason answered. “It’s Dick’s native language, and uncommon enough that we use it for private conversations in public, and often in private as well. It’s just a habit.”

“Talia is Dami’s mother,” Helena continued. “Happened to meet her a few months ago, and she really is a piece of work. There’s a reason Bruce now has sole custody.”

“We try not to talk too much about her around Bruce or Dami, ‘cause they both have soft spots for her still,” Jason continued. “Hang on.”

The car had entered an underground parking lot, with names on all the bays. Jason pulled into one of several marked “Wayne”.

Helena unstrapped and hopped out. Brad hesitated for only a minute before following.

“This way,” she said, and headed towards a large shutter-door.

Brad looked around. The other cars seemed a lot more…fancy, and at the near end of the lot was an elevator. The first parking bay next to the “Wayne” bays was marked “Lucius Fox”. There was very little reason to doubt this was under Wayne Tower, but the shutter-door…

Brad noticed he was being left behind, and hurried to catch up.

There was a more normal door next to the shutter. Helena passed her bracelet over a sensor. The sensor beeped, flashed, and the door clunked. She pushed through.

The room beyond looked most like a high school locker room. Jason brushed past Brad, as Helena started dipping in and out of lockers.

“Here,” she said, thrusting a bundle into Brad’s arms. “Shirt, pants, boots, gloves, belt.”

Brad stared at the bundle. “What?”

Helena opened another locker. “It’s safety gear that doubles as normal wear. Depending on what’s being done, this place can be a serious safety hazard. Get changed.”

Helena and Jason both turned their backs on each other, put down their bundles, and in near-synchronization, pulled off their shirts. Brad squeaked. “Why are you stripping?! Just out here in the open?!”

“I’m not looking, Jay’s not looking, you don’t have to look,” Helena called out, still turned away. “You’re the first person through here to have a problem with it.”

Face red, Brad turned around and started to change. “But, I mean, surely some privacy curtains?” He was having problems not thinking of Helena’s back and bra straps…and actually, Jason seemed to have quite a few scars.

The collar of the shirt was more of a turtle neck, a very long turtle neck, combined with a hood, and all sorts of rigid bits. It took a bit of scrambling to get it sorted.

“Done yet?” Jason called. Brad looked over his shoulder, still grappling with the outfit. Jason and Helena were stolidly staring in other directions.

“Give me a minute,” he said. Why was a supposedly simple outfit so tricky? “Do I really need all this?”

“You can just shove the gloves in the belt, but keep them with you,” Helena called.

“What’s the point?!” Brad exploded at last. It just didn’t make any sense!

“There’s a lot of hazardous stuff in here,” Helena explained. “These outfits, if put on fully, will completely cover your skin. There’s an air-filtering mask in the collar, and safety lenses in the hood. There’s precautions against any leaks, of course, but there’s always the chance of an accident. If an alarm goes off, mask up, hood down, gloves on. We’ll make sure nothing happens to you, but part of that is taking sensible precautions.”

“And as an added bonus, we’re working with people who don’t like showing their faces anyway,” Jason added.

Brad finished fiddling with the boots and grabbed the gloves. “Right, yeah,” he said. “Think I’ve got this.”

Helena gave him a quick once over. “Yup, that’s it,” she said approvingly. “C’mon.”

The next door didn’t have any kind of scanner lock, just a number of lights on a panel next to it. The only one lit was green, which was good, because the other lights had things like “airborne toxin” and “asphixiant” next to them.

Beyond the door was a garage, or parking lot, but a very different one. There were more motorcycles, bulkier ones. There were partly-built aircraft, and watercraft. There were three Batmobiles. Helena approached one, Brad trailing behind her.

There were someone’s legs sticking out from under it. “Need help there?” Helena asked.

There was a muffled grunt. “Could do with Jay having a look,” the man – mechanic? – said. “You go on up. Left the boys at the stupid computer.”

Jason grabbed a sliding-trolley-thing, and headed for the car. Helena gently took Brad’s elbow, and led him up a ramp that ran around three-quarters of the room. Then they emerged into the main Annexe.

It was…very different. From anything Brad had ever seen before. Wide open in the middle, stuffed with equipment around the sides. A ladder running up four, five floors. Glass floors, natural-looking lights, a lot of gentle humming. It was incredible.

“It’s not too big, compared to some, but it’s extremely sophisticated,” Helena explained. “Obviously, a lot gets passed on to other places in Wayne Enterprises, but in certain areas, this facility rivals even LexCorp and Cadmus.”

Brad whistled. He’d never seen a real lab before, unless high school didn’t – which didn’t, really. “What does all this do?”

“Tim could give you a better tour,” Helena shrugged. “First floor is chemical and biological. Second is physical sciences. Third floor is hardware, and fourth software. Fifth floor is for when Nightside need a breather.”

“Nightside?”

“Yeah, Nightside.” Helena shrugged. “You know, Batman, Nightwing, Robin…Nightside.”

Brad shook his head. “It just seems incredible that you know Batman.”

Helena ducked her head. “Oh, I’m not sure I’d say that. Really, I’m not that involved. It’s just…you hear things, y’know? Lot of misinformation flying around, though. Don’t believe everything you hear, that’s all.”

She shrugged again, and started climbing the ladder. Brad hesitated before following. It seemed a long way up. Then he shrugged, and followed. After all, how could the day get stranger?

[fernwehbookworm]

Haunted- Chapter 2

As soon as Kara gets back to CatCo, she pitches her idea to her editor, Snapper Carr. He stares at her for a solid four minutes before grunting out a response. “Fine. But you better do this right. Just the facts. We don't need a eulogy. We need an article that will blow the other four out of the water. Get going, Pony Tail."

Kara escaped his office as fast as she could before Snapper could change his mind.

It was already the end of the day. Kara had spent so much time at L-Corp she had worked through her lunch, very rare for her. With her stomach growling, Kara packed up a few things she thought she might need on her desk and decided to head home. While Kara walked the five city blocks back to her apartment, she ordered more takeout then she would probably eat but everything sounded so good right now. It was better leftover anyway. She is barely through her door when the delivery guy knocks. The smell of Chinese food permeates the entire apartment and Kara can barely focus enough to pay and set up her laptop before diving in.

When the first few bites settle into her stomach and take the edge off her hunger, Kara can actually pause to log into her computer and start researching. In between bites, Kara scrolls through article after article on Lena Luthor. Really, there is nothing about her up until her brother's arrest. There is one short piece back when she was four and being adopted by the Luthor's, her tiny hand is obscured by her father's as the now family of four leaves the courthouse after signing the papers. The occasional mention on various projects for school fairs but Miss Luthor is always listed as 'not pictured.' The next picture Kara finds is of Lena graduating high school as Valedictorian at the age of fifteen. She had refused to give a speech, stating 'who am I to speak about our high school experience when I was barely here even two years? They laughed and cried together. They have grown together in ways I will never understand. Let one of them tell them of a hope for the future as they look fondly on the past."

Which Kara thought was a pretty good speech in itself.

Then Miss Luthor was gone again, only resurfacing in research papers and a start-up application with a man named Jack Sphere,  who Kara finds is the now CEO of Spherical Industries. Shortly after that is when Lex Luthor is arrested. After scouring those police reports, Kara finally finds how. Lena Luthor turned her own brother in. Her public statement says that she suspected something had been off with her brother. At first she assumed it was the pressure of taking over LuthorCorp, which he quickly renamed to LexCorp, after their father had died. But it continues even as the company went into a period of growth and prosperity. Investors were practically knocking down Mr. Luthor's door.

Miss Luthor noticed a heavier rotation of women through her brother's life. There had always been a new woman every couple of months because Mr. Luthor had been known to get bored easily. He was a very intellectual man, he even claimed his sister was his only match for wits. Then it seemed like a new woman every week. Miss Luthor worried about a scorned woman trying to blackmail her brother and said so to him. 'He just chuckled real lowly. And said there was nothing to worry about. It was all taken care of.' A quote from the police report.

She didn't know then, that he was wooing these women, giving them everything they could ever want, paying off their debts and dressing them in the finest clothes, and just when they would say they couldn't be happier, he would kill them. He would drug them and tag them like farm animals or game. Then hunt them like those very animals in the huge forests on the Luthor estate. Miles of undeveloped trees that were privately owned. Police still don't believe they have found all the bodies of the missing women who are presumed dead by Lex Luthor's hand. He buried them where he killed them. Still in torn designer dresses with diamonds around their necks and bright orange tags punctured through an ear.

Miss Luthor had started to see signs of the deeds slowly. Blood on a dress shirt carelessly left in a bathroom. A hunting cabinet left unlocked. Dirt tracked into Mr. Luthor's bedroom because the maids had been dismissed for the week. That's when she started spying on him. As a child, she had hid from an verbally abusive mother and knew all nooks and crannies of the Luthor estate. When she finally caught him drugging the next victim, she knew. She took what evidence she could to the police and cooperated fully. Lex Luthor escaped before being taken into custody and no one knows where to. As Miss Luthor gave the federal agency access to LexCorp’s financials, a whole other slew of accusations were leveled on the former CEO. He had been selling weapons on both sides of wars around the world, profiting from death and destruction. His list of crimes went on and on.

Kara begins to write, switching between tabs on the internet browser. It takes hours just to get her notes into a semblance of order and a skeleton of a rough draft. Kara even uses her found pen to take physical notes and jot down ideas as well. Kara works until her eyes start to burn and half her food is gone. By eight, Kara was also halfway through a bottle of wine. She pushes past that, diving in and losing herself in the research and the stories of Miss Luthor’s employees.

Kara blinks hard to try and rid the sleep from her eyes, she is too in the zone to stop now. When she opens them again, she startles at the woman sitting next to her at the table. Kara instantly recognizes her with the long dark hair and piercing green eyes. She’s even still wearing the lab coat that she was in the video.

“Okay, I’m dreaming. I have to be.” Kara mumbles to herself and rubs her eyes.

“Oh, yeah. You are definitely face down on your laptop. It’s quite adorable. Too bad all those ‘F’s’ are going to take up your pages. I hope you auto saved.” Kara watches the phantom of Miss Luthor laugh and then she ties up her hair in a high ponytail, exposing the sharp jawline that Kara saw in her company portrait.

“Yeah definitely dreaming. I think I’ve been thinking about you too much.”

“Honey, no one ever thinks of me too much.” Miss Luthor raises an eyebrow and flashes a smirk Kara’s way.

Kara blushes. “Well since this is all not real, care for an interview? Maybe my subconscious can tell me something.”

“I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I’m here. I mean, I feel real. But I have never met you before. But I’ve been watching you for a while and all of a sudden you can see me.”

“Sounds very dreamish to me. So, Interview?”

“I don’t think that’s how dreams work.” Miss Luthor says with a laugh.

“I don’t think I could dream up that laugh, Miss Luthor.”

Miss Luthor winces, “If this isn’t real, then please call me Lena. Miss Luthor makes me feel like I am in a Boardroom.”

“All right, Lena then. I’m Kara.”

“Really? I thought it was Pony Tail. At least that's what that angry goblin man called you.”

“You saw that?”

“I’ve been with you almost all day. I've seen everything.”

“Everything?” Kara’s voice gets a bit higher.

“Don’t worry, I stayed out of the bathroom stall.”

“Oh good, my subconscious lets me have my privacy.”

“Still don’t think that’s true, but tell me, Kara, why are you doing this? Why are you trying to make me look so good? You don’t even know me?”

“I’m not trying to make you look good. You were good. The things you were doing for your employees and National City is amazing. Not to mention your charity helping third world countries. Like, What weren’t you doing?” “I wasn’t living. I was working myself until I couldn’t think to fill the void of loneliness that I thrust upon myself by turning in my brother and cutting my mother out of my life.”

“Wow, intense. But you didn’t find joy in anything you did.”

“I did. But it was always just so temporary. And I had no one to share it with. I never understood why people would talk about sharing their lives with significant others but when the machine malfunctioned and I saw the bright light. It all hit me at the same time and then I was there, watching you interview with Jess.”

“Man, I really wish you weren’t dead. I would have loved to meet you.”

“But I don’t think I am.”

Kara jerks awake, scattering her papers and pens to the floor. She casts about for Lena before realizing she was in fact just dreaming. A glance at her computer screen does reveal a stream of F’s going on for way too many pages. The sun has long set and Kara looks at her watch to see that it is now three in the morning. She groans, she has less than four hours to sleep before getting up again.

Kara is dead on her feet the next morning, she bought two caramel ice cappuccinos for herself and drank them both before they had a chance to melt. Kara has to do a double take when she sits at one of the cafe tables. She swears Lena is sitting across from her, but when Kara blinks, she’s gone. Kara shakes her head and chalks it up to the lack of sleep. On the street, as Kara works on her vanilla cream-filled doughnut, she almost drops it because someone runs into her, she has an apology half way out of her mouth before realizing that the person is long gone.

Eyebrows drawn together, Kara finishes her trek to work and hides in her cubicle. Luckily, Snapper seems content to allow her to work on the Lena Luthor story and leaves Kara alone for the morning. It’s nearing noon when Kara’s phone buzzes.

Noonan’s?

Alex knows her sister very well. Noonan’s sounds perfect.

20 min? Kara responds.

A thumbs-up emoji comes in response and Kara begins saving her place so she can head out to meet her sister. Kara logs out and stands to swing her bag onto her shoulder, somehow knocking her pen container to the ground in the process. Kara groans to herself and stoops to pick them up. Someone giggles at her misfortune but Kara can’t pinpoint which one of her coworkers it was.

Kara shakes her head and lets it go.

“Hey Alex,” Kara greets as she sinks into the seat across from her sister at Noonan’s.

“Hey Kar… you look exhausted.”

“Gee, thanks. Good to see you too.”

“I’m your sister, I’m supposed to call it how it is. What’s up?”

Before Kara can respond, their waitress interrupts. “The usual, dears?”

“Yes,  thanks, Carol.” Kara says.

“So?” Alex asks, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s nothing, really.” Kara tries to wave off her sister’s concerns but Alex continues to stare her down. “It’s just this L-Corp article. I stayed up way too late researching and fell asleep at my computer.”

“You have got to stop doing that to yourself.”

“I know, I know. I even had this super weird dream about Lena Luthor.”

“Weird how?”

“She was just there in my apartment, sitting at my table, and we just started talking. But then she kept saying how she didn’t think she was actually dead. It just felt so real. I don’t know. It was weird.”

“Sounds like you have been really focused on this. You were probably just overtired.”

“Maybe, but forget about me. What’s new with you?”

“Not much. I’m thinking about asking Kelly to move in.” Alex winces at Kara’s high pitched squeal.

“Not much?! That’s huge Alex! Really? I’m so happy for you!”

Alex laughs at Kara’s enthusiasm. “It’s not that big of a deal. She hardly ever goes back to her apartment anyway, mine is closer to both of our jobs and she already has half my closet space.”

“But still! That’s great. I love Kelly, well not how you love Kelly, but like I love Kelly as a very possible future sister-in-law.”

“Whoa, slow down sis. Let’s take this one step at a time.”

“Sorry, I just excited for you. It will be great. We should have a dinner party after you ask to celebrate.”

“Here you ladies go,” Carol set’s down the plates of food, Kara’s piled high with extra fries and a couple of extra pickles next to her burger.

“Thanks,” Alex accepts her club sandwich with a hungry grin. "Want my pickle?"

"Always," Kara grins as she grabs the spear from her sister's plate.

As Kara settles back into her chair, she does a double-take. She could have sworn she had seen Lena Luthor watching her from the door. But when she looked again there was just a woman with dark hair waiting for a seat.

"What's wrong?" Alex asks, noticing her sister's confusion.

"Nothing. Just, jeez, I must be really thinking too much about this article. I keep thinking I see Le- Miss Luthor out of the corner of my eye. It's happened a couple times today."

"Well, maybe when you finish this article, you should put in for some personal time. You haven't taken a day off since you became a reporter two years ago. And you have been pushing really hard this past couple of weeks. We even canceled the last two game nights, which, by the way, Kelly wants to have on Friday."

"Oh! Yes! I met a new friend interviewing for this article. Winn, he asked if we could hang out sometime so I told him he should definitely come to game night."

Alex raises an eyebrow at her sister.

"What?" Kara asks through a mouthful of fries.

"Kar…"

Kara swallows. "What?" She asks innocently.

"I think that poor man was trying to ask you out."

"Wha-? No. Wait." Kara rethinks their last interaction. She frowns hard and then shrugs. "He isn't really my type, plus I'm a little put off of men still. Don't get me wrong, I am still attracted to them but after Mike, I think I need a break from them."

"Hey, you won't find any arguments from me. Women are prettier anyway." Alex laughs.

"All right you big lesbian, yes they are. But I'm not really feeling the dating thing anyway. I just need some 'me' time."

"I don't need to know about your 'me' time. Some things are just best for sisters not to know.”

"Ugh, Alex! Not like that. Well… a little like that, but not the point. Okay changing the subject. How are you asking Kelly to move in?"

<><><><>

Kara was really starting to hate this feeling of being watched. It had nagged at her all day. Like someone was just behind her, watching everything she did. It followed her all the way home and into her apartment. Kara was trying to just chalk it up to lack of sleep and overthinking but then she just thought about it more and it became a vicious cycle. The back of her neck prickled as she locked her front door and Kara only hesitated a moment before chaining the door along with the deadbolt. Kara knew she should sleep, but this article needed to be done and prepared for whatever new information L-Corp sent out when they concluded their investigation. To Kara though, that information would be last. She really wanted to focus on Lena's life instead of her death. Kara ordered pizza and began to dive deep into her research again. Each new charity or fundraiser event leading to a new one. There were some that Kara could not find clear evidence of it being Lena so she emailed Jess who responded promptly with a list of events and organizations that Lena decided not to be listed on or listed as a minor contributor even though the exact opposite was true.

Around 9, Kara can feel her eyelids growing heavy as she shakes off sleep and takes another bite of her half-finished pizza. Or she tries to. Darkness envelops her consciousness and panic feels like it wraps around her heart.

“Where am I? Come on… come on. I have to find a way back. There… There! I have to—”

Kara jerks awake, knocking her pizza box onto the ground and nearly punching her computer screen. Though the confused, muddled images fade, the fear keeps her heart pumping. Kara isn't really sure what she was just dreaming of but it raised goosebumps on her arms.

Kara stands and shuts her computer. Even as she is telling herself how ridiculous it was, Kara checks all the locks on her windows and balcony doors. She even rechecks her front door. Satisfied, Kara goes to brush her teeth and climbs into bed. She still can’t shake the dream. Kara lays awake, listening to every noise of the city and her neighbors.

Kara must have drifted off at some point because soon she is woken again by a rattling noise. It’s slow, coming back to consciousness, but when she does, her knuckles tighten on her comforter as she remains as still as possible and held her breath to pinpoint the cause of the noise.

The rattling continues and seems to be growing more agitated. Quietly, Kara gets off her bed and grabs her baseball bat from her closet. Alex had insisted on her having  something to protect herself when she moved out on her own. She had laughed at the time but she wasn't laughing now. Kara tiptoes back out into the living room, bat half raised as her eyes straining in the darkness. Luckily, the moon is full and illuminated the living space enough for Kara to look for anything out of place. The rattling noise came again and Kara's head snaps in that direction, lifting the bat higher.

With a laugh, Kara releases the breath she is holding. Streaky is perched on the fire escape swatting at the window to be let in. The stray cat had selected Kara's apartment to escape to when he sensed storms coming or drops in temperature.

Kara sets the bat against the couch and unlocks the window to let the demanding feline in.

"Hey bud, trying to scare me to death?"

Streaky just lets out a meow of protest at how long it took for Kara to allow him entry.

"Yeah, yeah," Kara says to him. "Come on, I'll put some food and water down. Then, you have to let me sleep. I only have three more hours."

Kara digs in the bottom of her pantry for Streaky's bowl and food. She fills one half with the dry food and the other with water. She has to concentrate not to trip over the cat circling her ankles. Kara sets it down with a scratch behind pointed ears and earns a contented purr.

By the time Kara is crawling into bed to try and sleep, Streaky is making himself comfortable at the foot of it.

Kara's alarm blares all too soon and she is starting to seriously consider time off like her sister suggested. Kara rubs the sleep from her eyes and looks at Streaky. He is sitting up with his back to Kara. He is too stiff for his normal behavior. As Kara watches him, Streaky's head slowly pivots to the right, then back to the left, as if tracking the movement of something. But he isn't looking at the ground. Streaky is looking straight ahead, if even a little up.

"Hey…". Kora mumbles, trying to break the creepy behavior, she taps him with a foot. Streaky doesn't even budge from his watchful stance.

"Okay, weirdo."

With the sun rising, most of the anxiety from the night before had faded, but the cats strange behavior still set prickled at Kara's neck.

She decided a shower would help clear the night from her mind and the sleep from her eyes. The hot water soon had the bathroom steaming and Kara lets her tense shoulders relax under the water pressure. She knows she can’t stay in all morning but boy, is she tempted to. Streaky is protesting at the closed bathroom door, hating being shut out of a room. With a groan, Kara turns off the water and grabs the towel from the bar next to the tub. A quick pat down before stepping out to wrap her hair up.

Kara turns to wipe the moisture from her mirror and freezes with her heart.

Help Me!

[pluckyredhead]

dance along the light of day

This is for @puzzleboat for the RAICES fundraiser! She requested Damian Wayne/Jon Kent futurefic because I tricked her into shipping it, muahaha.

Dawn was coming. Damian slipped deeper into the narrowing shadow cast by the gargoyle above him and adjusted the frequency of his earpiece. It buzzed with static until he found the right channel and voices came through, tinny but clear and safely uploading to a remote server.

“...don’t want to talk about this here,” the mayor said.

“Well, I don’t think you want to invite me to the next shindig at your mansion, so we’ll talk about it here.” Bobby Falcone. The idiot of the Falcone family, but smart enough to get the mayor involved in his attempt to break out from under his uncle’s control with gun running.

Father had told Damian to stay away from the Falcones, that he would handle them, but in two days the streets of Gotham were going to be flooded with assault rifles souped up with Apokoliptian tech. Damian didn’t plan on waiting.

“Fine,” the mayor gritted out. “What do you want?”

“I want to make sure that you’ll do what I need, and keep the cops out of Crime Alley while my boys are working.”

“I already told you I would.”

“What about the commissioner?”

“Don’t worry about Gordon. I’ll keep her busy.” There was the scrape of a chair, the major standing up. “You’ll be able to sell all the guns you want, Falcone. Just don’t forget my cut.”

Damian smiled into the waning night. Gordon would have handled the Crime Alley drop either way, but this evidence would get the mayor out of office and Bobby Falcone behind bars within a week. “And that’s how it’s done, Father,” he muttered.

“...What was that?” the mayor said.

Damian froze. Had they heard him? They hadn’t heard him. They couldn’t have heard him.

Falcone’s face appeared in the window. “Shit, it’s one of the Bat-brats!”

Okay, Damian conceded mentally, reaching for his belt. They’d heard him.

“Which one?” the mayor demanded.

“I don’t know, he’s got like a hood and shit. It’s one of them all right, though.”

“Well, stop him!”

Damian ignored the urge to correct them with his name, since he didn’t have one at present. Twenty-three was just a little too old to still be Robin, and none of Father’s lesser assistants had felt like vacating their own titles - not that Damian would slum it by taking one of their names anyway.

Instead, he shot a grapple line to the gargoyle above him. He’d gotten his evidence; he could leave.

“SHOOT HIM!” Falcone screamed at his men, who leaned out the window, firing wildly at Damian’s swinging figure.

“No!” the mayor shouted. “Not here!”

Damian would have reassured him, if he were prone to reassuring anyone, let alone politicians too imbecilic to even be effectively corrupt. Falcone’s men were terrible shots, and besides, he was Damian Wayne. He wasn’t about to be taken out by a couple of goons with -

A bullet severed his grapple line.

Tchh.

Damian scrambled for his grapple gun, knowing even as he did that it was no good. He was eight stories up and out of range of any holds. He spared half an instant to be smug about the fact that his evidence was secure in the cave. He’d done well. Father would have to give his suit the most prominent memorial case, and Todd could choke on it.

“Whoop!”

Strong arms snagged him out of the air, and a familiar face beamed at him. “Hey, buddy. Thanks for dropping in.”

Damian blinked once, twice, his blood pounding in his ears. “Jon?”

Sure enough, it was Jon Kent’s brilliant smile above him, and the unmistakable feeling of steadiness in his hold. “Yep. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

“You’ve got me?” Damian repeated, incredulous. “Who’s got them?” He pointed to the mobsters gaping out of the window after them.

Jon sighed. “I haven’t seen you in two years and you’re still not thanking me for saving your life. Hang on.”

He zipped up and dropped Damian on the roof, then flew back down after the mobsters. Damian gaped, indignant. “Hey!”

“Hay is for horses!” Jon sang out after him.

“Don’t you quote your grandmother to me, you giant hayseed,” Damian muttered, knowing Jon could hear him. He secured another line and flung himself down off the roof and back in through  the window.

Jon had already knocked out most of the mooks, and only Falcone and his glass jaw were left for Damian. Damian clocked him, then turned to Jon, who had that distant look that meant he was using his X-ray vision. “Mayor’s running for it a couple flights down.”

“Let him go,”  Damian said. “I’ve got all the evidence I need.”

Jon nodded and jerked a thumb at the unconscious mobsters. “Want me to drop them off at the precinct?”

“No, I’ll let Gordon know to come pick them up.”

“Cool.”

Before Damian could protest, he found himself scooped up and flown back out the window, up towards the pinkening sky over Gotham. “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded, uncomfortably aware that there was little he could do to stop it.

“Home,” Jon said. “It’s nearly morning. You need sleep.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

Jon’s jaw had that stubborn set. Damian sighed and gave up. “Anyway I don’t live at the manor anymore. I’m an adult. I have my own apartment.”

Jon’s mouth twitched. “Paid for by…?”

“Put me down.”

“Never.”

Damian rolled his eyes and directed Jon to his apartment. “I thought you were in space.”

It was only partially true. Jon had done a gap year exploring Rann and Thanagar, helping out with relief work after the war, and then a year at Crucible Academy, earning credits that could hopefully be snuck onto an Earth-based transcript. But he’d always planned to come back today. That was, not that Damian had been keeping track, but he’d known the approximate day and of course Drake talked to the clone a lot. Not that Damian cared. But precision was important. As was taking into account any potential wildcards like a half-Kryptonian lummox swooping in out of nowhere. As events had proven. So Damian had been right to keep track of the date of Jon’s return, to the small degree that he had. Which was very small. Infinitesimal.

Anyway.

“I was. I got home a few hours ago,” Jon said.

“What are you doing in Gotham?”

For some reason, Jon laughed. “What do you think?”

He alighted on Damian’s balcony - terrible for Damian’s secret identity, but it was early enough that no one would be looking out their windows. Damian stepped back and thought.

“Father and I have most of the usual threats handled,” he said. “Is it one of yours? LexCorp did just expand their Gotham offices…”

“Damian.” Jon leaned against the railing. His voice was inexplicably soft. It annoyed Damian. “I came to see my best friend. I missed you.”

Damian huffed. Trust Jon to say something ludicrous and embarrassing like that out loud. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Yeah?” Jon asked. “My mom says I’m taller.”

Damian took off his mask and appraised Jon with a gimlet eye. Jon was taller by at least two inches, which was also annoying, considering he’d already been taller than Damian. He was broader, too - the Superboy shirt that had probably fit him loosely before he’d gone into space was tight across the shoulders and chest. His biceps bulged beneath the sleeves.

A breeze scudded the clouds away from the rising sun and tossed Jon’s always-messy hair into further disarray. In the pink light of dawn Damian could see the ghost of new dark stubble on Jon’s chin; the freckles he’d somehow managed to get in outer space scattered across his nose; the shine in his ridiculous violet eyes. The way he smiled at Damian, fond and knowing and strangely excited, made Damian feel simultaneously like he wanted to run away and like he wanted to stay right where he was forever.

Jon had left as a boy. He wasn’t a boy anymore.

“You’re taller,” Damian admitted, and then, without any permission whatsoever from his brain, “I missed you too.”

Jon’s smile went even wider, like Damian had just made coming home worthwhile. Damian’s heart gave a funny leap inside his chest.

Oh.

Oh, no.

This was going to be terrible.

[strivingscribe]

Salt of the Earth ~ Ch 009

Salt of the Earth by MsMoon

Chapter 9 ~ The Elephant & Ram in the Room

Chapters: 9/?

Chapter Navigation: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9,

Fandom: Young Justice

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Angst, Feelings? Violence?

Relationships: Nope.

Summary: After responding to an incident, members of the team are saved by an unknown metahuman. But no protocols are in place to deal with the series of unfortunate events that assail Anitia Moore. What exactly should the team do when a someone with powers needs training but doesn’t want to be a member of the team?

Author’s Notes: Happy New Year!

It was a Monday...which meant the house was pretty clean. Certain maintenance chores were done every day, but the weekends were when big-ticket items were taken care of. Anita clung to this every time she remembered that strangers in masks were in her home.

They were downstairs. The Vigilantes.

...on a gorram Monday.

It was still early, and though Mom had been informed of something happening.. Anita suspected that she hadn’t been informed of everything that had happened. She couldn’t imagine Mom not dropping everything and racing home if she knew what went down.

Anita took a fortifying breath. This was her home. She would not cower up in her bedroom, fretting about things like laundry in the boys’ rooms. She reached out and carefully took the carvings of the little purple elephant and the tiny green ram. Her fingers ran over the stones and her shoulder blades relaxed just a touch.

She closed her eyes, took another deep breath, listening to her own sounds as she tried to ground herself. She put the ram in her right pocket and the elephant in her left, shimmying her shoulders in an effort to loosen up. Then she opened the door, and descended downstairs.

She didn’t make eye contact as she went into the kitchen, but she was still aware of them. Periphery vision was a thing, after all.

She counted four of them, plus Superboy. ...fantastic.

She really wanted to stay as close to normal as she could, but she wasn’t sure how to do that other than ignoring them.

She opened the fridge, trying to keep as close to routine as possible…. that meant thinking about a meal of some sort. They had left-over spaghetti...but Travis could be so finicky about leftovers.

“Anita?”

She started, jumping away from the cover the fridge door provided and into the corner cabinet. When the fridge door closed, a very repentant Nightwing was standing there with both hands up.

“Sorry.” he said, his voice smooth.

“I uh…” Anita shook her head. “I didn’t hear you.”

“You were pretty focused.” he allowed, an easy smile on his face. “Plus, I’m fairly well trained in sneaking up on people.”

Now that she wasn’t intent on ignoring them, her eyes pinged to Robin standing just behind him. Great… Gotham Sleuths were in her house. She ground her back teeth together, her throat flexing before she asked, “Does anyone want coffee?”

“Yes.” Robin said, causing Artemis to scoff at him. “What?”

“You drink too much coffee as it is.” she muttered. “It’s already screwed up your sleep schedule, and it’ll stunt your growth.”

Anita didn’t bother examining this interaction too much as she was already focusing on making coffee. A full pot. She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted some for herself… probably just for something to stir and stare at. Also, it tasted pretty good.

...of course, now that everything was set in motion, they were just waiting for the coffee to filter through. She took a deep breath. “I don’t… I don’t really know if there’s a procedure, or…” she shrugged.

“I don’t think there are regulations for this situation.” Nightwing allowed. It was then that Anita met his eyes… or his mask. Whatever. She allowed herself to look at them, and she counted Nightwing, Robin, Superboy, Artemis, and Miss Martian in her kitchen.

Almost on instinct, her hand slipped into her pocket, and she brought out the little green ram.

“What’s that?” Superboy asked.

She shook her head. “Just Amun.”

“But...what stone is that?”

“Huh?” she looked up and realized that it was Robin who had asked. “Oh. Serpentine.” she reached into her other pocket and pulled out the purple elephant. “This one’s Ganesha. He’s made of Amethyst.”

“What are they for?”

She blinked, regarding him with slow apathy. “...they make me feel better.” perhaps more spite leaked into her tone than she’d intended.

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Anita snapped. “I hold them, and I feel better.” Anita felt irritation gnaw at her neck, her shoulder hunching up slightly. Coping mechanisms were coping mechanisms, and she hated that he was pointing out that she needed them in order to… well… Cope!

“I think Robin’s just curious as to your process. Specifically which stones do what.” Miss Martian confided.

Oh. Right.

“I ...I mean, I get that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m curious too.” she shrugged. “But I’m a little on edge right now, and I don’t have a lot of answers anyway.” Admitting that took a bit of the wind out of her. Or fire… whichever.

“You… you don’t know?” it sounded so accusatory, even the team was staring at Robin with that ‘you know what you’ve done’ expression.

Anita took another deep breath. “Those bugs of yours, are they working now?”

“They should be.”

“Should be?” Anita’s tone matched his from earlier.

“They are.” Robin said, voice more firm now. “If our comms are working, then the listening devices are as well.”

“Good.” Anita grunted. “Listen, about this...this Luthor thing?” they all seemed to stand up a touch straighter. “I think I should get this out as soon as I can.”

“I could scan your memories and set up a mental link so that we could see the memories directly.” Miss Martian offered.

Anita stared at her. “I…..ok, so. It’s nothing personal, or anything,” Anita held out a placating hand that was also a motion for every part of that idea to stop. “but I’d rather chew aluminum than do that. If it’s all the same to you.”

“Oh.” Miss Martian looked away, shrinking from the foreground of the conversation. Was that why she was here? To do...mental things?

“Does aluminum do something for you too?” Superboy asked with a smirk.

Anita regarded him with confusion before she grinned. “... I mean, yeah.”

“It does?” Artemis chuckled, surprised.

“Yes, assholes.” Anita laughed. “It does. A lot of things do.”

“What does Aluminum do?” Robin asked.

Anita shook her head. “I mean, it’s not super useful...and it’s not like I can get anything from the minuta of tin foil or anything, but… aluminum brings a sort of...kind of… like a metal sense, I guess?” she struggled to name it as it wasn’t something she really gave much thought to. “I can tell what metals are around me.” she shook her head. “It’s not super useful or anything.”

“But still cool.” Artemis announced.

“True.” Nightwing murmured. “And you are correct. We should record your account of the events that occurred with Luthor as soon as possible.”

Those words brought such somberness back into the kitchen.

Anita nodded. “I’d seen him earlier today at school.” she said. “He made a few vague threats towards my family before one of the teachers intervened.” she swallowed, remembering how Superboy came into her walk home like a wrecking ball. They probably knew that much, though. Maybe they even knew that he’d been at her school. It was hard to tell what was viable.

“Do you recall what he said?” Nightwing asked.

“Uh, he was offering me—well, Lexcorp was going to offer—but, I mean, he was there to discuss scholarship options.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “It got really weird when he managed to convince Mr. Davis to leave his own office so that he could talk to me.” she let out a long breath that she’d been breathing at an accelerated pace. “He said something about my family, saying that I couldn't rely on them forever and my mother wouldn’t be able to support me, and… that I’d want to keep them safe.” she didn’t miss the looks they exchanged, though she couldn’t decipher what they meant. “That’s when we were interrupted. I don’t think I’ve ever really sat and talked with Ms. McGuire, but I could’ve hugged her.”

“Who is she?”

“The school’s guidance counselor.” Anita said with a grin. “She just barged in there and told Luthor it was inappropriate to meet privately with a ‘female student’, and it was the school’s responsibility to guard even the ‘perceived safety’ of their students.”

Artemis’s hands settled on her hips as she leaned back slightly. “I think I like this teacher.”

“Um. When I got home, he was just here.” she jutted her chin out to the doorway between the kitchen and living room. “Strolled on over like he’d been waiting for me. I told him to say what he was going to say, because it was obvious he wasn’t going to just go away.”

Anita set Ganesha down on the counter, holding him upright and placing a single finger on the carving’s back. “He said he’d knocked communications out. I played to his ego, tried to stall.  It didn’t make sense, it still doesn't.” she tried to focus on specifics without being too comprehensive.

They didn’t need to know how he held himself, or more importantly how she felt in response to his presence.

“He said an associate of his was interested in me, and he was doing damage control. Seeing if he needed to get involved.” her eyes darted back and forth rapidly.

“What is it?”

“I don’t….No. He didn’t.” she blinked. “He never used a pronoun when he referred to his associate.”  she squinted. “I don’t know if it’s because this associate wanted anonymity, or if he just wanted to dick around.”

“Was that it?”

Her eyes darted to Superboy and away again. “Nothing of note. He just wanted to...I don’t know.. See what was so special about me and…”

“What?” Superboy’s query made her lose her train of thought.

“He said… ‘especially after yesterday’. I asked if he knew the man in the masks, and he said at first ‘he’s with me’ and then later that he knew him or was aware of him via associates.” Anita blinked. “I mean, Luthor’s a big fish, so the likelihood of ‘the associate’ that’s interested in me being the same one who knows the man in the masks is… probably low.”

“What exactly did Luthor say?” Nightwing asked.

“I asked if the asshole in the masks was with him, and he said yes, and then he elaborated that he was aware of him through, but he started looking for a word and I suggested the term ‘associates’ and he agreed that he knew him via associates.”

Anita stared at them as they all looked between each other. Of course, what she didn't know is that Miss Martian was facilitating a mental conversation between them, one that she was not privy to.

“Uh.” she cleared her throat, looking at Superboy. “You said someone was going to be… uh, telling my mom what was going on.”

Of course, that wasn’t true. Superboy hadn’t told her anything, she’d overheard Robin say it over the comms to Superboy. She also heard that it was Kid Flash who was doing this...which meant, it should’ve been done quickly.

“I said that.” Robin corrected, and a part of her felt relieved. Not that he was correcting her, but that he was willing to be truthful about the situation. “Kid Flash went to explain the situation to your mother, but Superman was already there talking with her.”

“Huh…” Anita murmured, somewhat amused by Superboy’s shift.

He scratched his nose trying to hide his smirk. ‘Like father, like son’ was the first thing that came to Anita’s mind.

“Is something the matter?”

“Uh… Well. I mean, that was… at least, it feels like that was a while ago, and I guess I expected something in the way of response… Considering it was Kid Flash that was getting it done… I guess I thought it’d be a quick response.”

That got quite a few grins.

“Not for lack of trying.” Miss Martian muttered. “Unfortunately, Superman has him pinned there.” she said. “The adults are talking, but they want him to run messages when they finally make a decision.”

Anita’s expression slid into neutral as she absorbed this. She wasn’t sure why, but she had expected something else. This was… anticlimactic?

“Hm.” was all she said in response. Did she even need to fix dinner, or was this just another waste of energy? It didn’t matter what she decided to do if the adults were the ones making the decisions.

“Hey, are you ok?” Artemis’s question snapped her attention back into the here and now.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” she said with a shrug. She took a deep breath. “I think I’m...just gonna watch Netflix or something.” she murmured, pouring out some coffee for herself. “Help yourselves to coffee.” she said, leaving the cabinet that held the coffee mugs open. The cream and sugar were in there too, so it wasn’t like they’d need further direction.