#oh also i want a million more kinds of teddy bears and plants and wall decorations and things i can put in my house ;^;

[michameinmicha]

Things i desperately want for Project Zomboid:

Bicycles

A cat!!!

Roller Skates

Ladders!

Baby stroller or handcart to transport heavy things for short distances (mostly for lots of materials or furniture and such)

Cargo pants with pockets

Growing my hair veeeery long (and keeping it in a loooong braid)

Head lamp

Let me paint metal crates and cars!!!!!!!

I have more but these are the most functional ones i guess

[talk1about7seventeen]

ღ Saw You In A Dream ღ

Summary: Virgil keeps dreaming about a mysterious boy he has yet to meet. Turns out it’s his soulmate. 

Warning: Mild cursing, anxious Virgil, happy Patton, sleep Janus, chaotic Remus, low self esteem, mentions of caffeine, mentions of sex. 

Characters: Patton, Virgil, Janus, and Remus.

Word Count: 1969

Ship/ Pairing: Janus x Remus (Dukeceit - Romantic.) Virgil x Patton (Moxiety - Romantic.)

AU: Human: You dream about your soulmate until you meet them in person/ realize who they are.

Song Inspiration: Saw You In A Dream - The Japanese House

I hope you enjoy! ☆=(ゝω･)

---

“Hey, don’t worry Virgil! Maybe I’ll see you around or something, if you’d like I could---”

The alarm rang at the worst possible time waking Virgil up from the angelic voice of the boy he couldn’t ever quite remember the face of. His voice however, he couldn’t forget it. Smooth like buttermilk and warm like a Summer’s day. Virgil didn’t recall it exactly, but he was certain he had a gorgeous smile. Anyone who treated him so.....nicely....must. 

Pushing his bangs out of his face, he sat up and pulled on his purple stitched jacket which laid on top of his messy bed. One of his pillows was hanging off the side of his bed and his favorite stuffie laid lonely on the floor. His anxiety spiked as he saw his comfort item left there untouched. Quickly, he scooped the old teddy bear from the creaky wooden floor boards and sat him on the innermost corner of the bed on the remaining pillow that touched the mauve walls. 

The alarm on his phone blared on, seemingly getting louder and louder as each precious second passed by. Virgil turned, shoulders rising parallel to his jawline. “Too....early....for this...” He groaned, slamming his finger on the button to turn off the ungodly noise. In the atmosphere now drifted silence. Virgil let out a sigh and began to gather his things for the day.

“Not so fast, emo boy!” Remus grabbed the back of the boy’s shirt as he tried to pass by the kitchen. “Ugh, put me down you neon disaster.” Virgil fought back, swatting the air around him, attempting to hit the taller being behind him. He could never move fast enough to catch Remus though. “Boys,” A voice called out from down the hall. They both turned, Remus’ wide eyed with Virgil still in his rather strong grip. Janus, their other roommate sauntered out of the darkness into the small glow of the kitchen light with it’s faint green hues. Janus pressed a mug to his lips and took a long gulp of his cold coffee. “If you’re going to kill each other, keep the house and I out of it.” He motioned to the counter and placed the cup into the microwave. 

“Up late again, Snakey?” Remus dropped Virgil and walked up behind Janus, wrapping his arms around the even taller boy’s waist. “When am I not...?” Virgil looked away as they chatted, intertwined with each other like two pieces of red string that connected at the fingertips. This was no real surprise for him, he was use to seeing the two so affectionate. That’s how it always was when you found your soulmate....

Virgil couldn’t really understand how. Maybe it was his lack of experience with romance, or maybe he just refused to believe in something that he was convinced would never apply to him. Love....now that was something he could laugh at. Who on Earth could love him? Besides Janus and that dumpster fire of a person he was tied to, no one else really stuck with him. He was convinced it was how easily he could push other people away or his unfriendly nature. No matter which one it was exactly, the only thing close to love he would ever get was inanimate objects that never spoke back and those two drooling all over each other. The love that he did get, wasn’t the kind he was searching for. Virgil appreciated what he got immensely, without Janus and Remus, he probably would feel more alone than he already does. But they didn’t look at him how they looked at each other; no one looked at him that way. 

“I should head out.” Virgil announced as Janus pulled his warmed up coffee cup out of the kitchen appliance and set it back down in front of him. “See ya!” Remus stuck out his tongue to Virgil and went back to embracing his lover. “Stay safe.” Janus told him without looking up, exhaustion closing in on him similarly like how one would imagine Remus’ embraces to be like; noticeable and slightly aggressive. 

 Leaving the house, he popped in his headphones and pressed shuffle on his Spotify playlist named: Drowning out the fucking from the next room. This playlist included and not limiting to, Evanescence, Fall Out Boy, and MCR (Obviously.) Why he made this playlist started off as a joke and then transformed into him successfully being able to block out even the most unholy sounds, like people talking to him, or Remus being Remus. 

As he walked down the street with his hood up, the words of the mystery boy played in his head. Who was he? Why was he so often in his dreams? Maybe it was pure coincidence. That he was so low that his brain felt the need to create a love interest out of thin air for the lonely boy. Wouldn’t that be something? Ridiculous....Virgil thought to himself. On autopilot, he went through the motions of walking up to his local coffee shop and ordering something for Remus, Janus, and himself. The barista who knew him by face at this point asked him what he wanted. He answered the same most every time, only occasionally switching up the order. It was easy to stick with what he knew, and it never disappointed, not when it’s a hot cup of coffee with caffeine you could practically taste just from the scent. 

“Have a great day, sir!” She smiled handing Virgil his hot coffee as well as a baked good for Janus and an espresso drink for Remus. Not that the borderline chaotic evil idiot needed so much coffee, because he surely did not. But Virgil would rather just go along with it to avoid conflict. “You too.” Virgil tried to push a smile since she was always nice to him. As Virgil began to walk out the door, he noticed the sky was particularly blue today. I’ll take a little detour...He thought to himself, nodding once.

Passing Virgil by were children with parents smiling and giggling as the warm breeze blew through their hair, people walking their dogs, and teens making their way to the skate park which was about a ten minute walk from where he was. The buildings lined in a row opened up to a park with a large water fountain in the midst of the area. Why not..He shrugged making his way into the park. Butterflies fluttered and children’s laughter could be heard. The overall feeling of this place gave Virgil a feeling of contentment that he hadn’t felt in some time. Breathing in and out, he took advantage of this feel-good opportunity. He sat down on a nearby bench, leaning until his spine touched the back of the seat. “Excuse me?” Virgil’s eyes shot open and he pulled the earbuds out of his ears. In front of him was a golden haired boy with freckles planted on his cheeks and nose. 

Virgil felt his chest began to explode with so many emotions. “Oh! Did I disrupt you? My bad!” He apologized. The boy’s voice was so recognizable but for some reason, Virgil couldn’t figure out exactly where from. It hurt his brain as he fished for answers but came up empty handed. “No! It’s uh....it’s okay...” Virgil’s voice quieted as he began to speak on. The boy gave a wide smile. “I just wanted to say I really like your hoodie. I’m Patton.” He held out a hand. “Thanks,” He swallowed a lump in his throat as he looked at Patton, now feeling a new kind of anxious. “I’m Virgil.” Patton shook his hand gently. “Did you make it yourself?” Virgil looked down at his purple and black stitched hoodie. “Yea, I did.” Patton’s face lit up. “That’s so cool!” 

“I hope this isn’t too weird but, do I know you from somewhere?” Virgil couldn’t seem to place the familiar feeling he felt when looking at Patton. It was like being engulfed in your childhood blanket for the first time in years. It felt....right...

“Uh, I don’t know but, I was thinking the same thing.” Patton pressed a finger to his lip and pondered for a moment. They stood there for a moment, their surroundings making up for the lack of words. The boy in front of him brushed it off with a shrug and looked back into Virgil’s eyes. “Well, anyhow, I should probably be on my way.” Patton giggled. Virgil felt his heart sink into his stomach. The golden haired boy placed a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, looking into his eyes as if he could read how the dark boy felt. 

“Hey, don’t worry Virgil! Maybe I’ll see you around or something, if you’d like I could give you my phone number!” Virgil nearly spit out his coffee at the words he said. “What did you say!?” He exclaimed. As Patton repeated his words, he covered his mouth instantly. Everything in that moment clicked. The boy’s smile, his gentle and kind demeanor, he was Virgil’s dream boy....

How did this simultaneously make so much sense, but also not at all? What would he say? What could he say? Was there any real approach that wouldn’t make him look like an idiot? “Do you believe in soulmates, Patton?” He asked breathless. Shock ran through Patton. “You....” Patton tried to speak. “I think....” They both stared at each other for a long moment, taking in the awe and wonder that had for each other. In that moment, they were no longer strangers, but a story yet to be written. “Patton, I think you’re my soulmate.” The boy’s eyes widened and then softened as his lips curled up into such a dazzling smile. He pulled out a blue colored sharpie from his bag. “May I?” He pointed to the coffee cup. “Oh!” He handed it to him and Patton began to write something on the white part of the cup. He handed it back a very star struck Virgil. “Please call me.” After that he gave a little wave and left, disappearing behind the water fountain and out of sight completely.

Virgil sat there, brain full of questions racing at a million miles an hour. I need to get home. Without wasting anymore time, he quickly made his way home, practically running. “Welcome back, Vi---” Janus tried to say but stopped as he took a glance at the expression on his good friend’s face as he walked through the door. “I think I just met my soulmate.” 

“Well, God damn, My Little Paranoid!” Remus answered. “He gave me his number and---” Remus cut him off. “GO CALL HIM NOW!” His voice boomed in he small house. “Remus, give him a bit he’s probably overwhelmed.” Janus turned from the couch, looking over the side at Virgil. “How do you feel, Virgie?” He asked. “I---I think I forgot how to breathe.” Virgil stared at his own shaking hands. “HAHAHAHAHAHAH!” Remus cackled. He ran up to the shaken boy and took the drink and baked good for Janus. “Try to calm down and when you’re ready, go call him.” Janus eyed Remus, emphasizing his words. Remus began to chug his drink. “What?” He asked after a large gulp. “Okay! Thank you!” Virgil ran up stairs into his room. 

Jumping onto the bed he examined the cup and very slowly punched the numbers in. He stared at his phone for a minute. Is this really happening? Or is this just a dream I’m living in? Virgil shook his head. “I’m gonna do it...” He with great hesitation pressed the call button, the ringing making him jump. It rang once, then twice, and finally....click!

“Hello?” Patton asked, cheery like a Summer’s day.

“Hey.”

[theculturedmarxist]

The New York Times is literally a propaganda outlet and Timothy Egan is a deceitful chode. His every word drips with the anxious desperation of the Democrats who know their goose is cooked.

Watching “Succession,” the HBO show about the most despicable plutocrats to seize the public imagination since the Trumps were forced on us, made me want to tax the ultrarich into a homeless shelter. And it almost made a Bernie Bro of me.

That’s the thing about class loathing: It feels good, a moral high with its own endorphins, but is ultimately self-defeating. A Bernie Sanders rally is a hit from the same pipe: Screw those greedy billionaire bastards!

Sanders has passion going for him. He has authenticity. He certainly has consistency: His bumper-sticker sloganeering hasn’t changed for half a century. He was, “even as a young man, an old man,” as Time magazine said.

But he cannot beat Donald Trump, for the same reason people do not translate their hatred of the odious rich into pitchfork brigades against walled estates.

Because powerful oligarchs that own their government murder them with impunity when they do.

>March 7 was a bitterly cold day in Detroit, and a crowd estimated at between 3,000 and 5,000 gathered near the Dearborn city limits, about a mile from the Ford plant. The Detroit Times called it "one of the coldest days of the winter, with a frigid gale whooping out of the northwest". Marchers carried banners reading "Give Us Work, "We Want Bread Not Crumbs", and "Tax the Rich and Feed the Poor". Albert Goetz gave a speech, asking that the marchers avoid violence. The march proceeded peacefully along the streets of Detroit until it reached the Dearborn city limits.

>There, the Dearborn police attempted to stop the march by firing tear gas into the crowd and began hitting marchers with clubs. One officer fired a gun at the marchers. The unarmed crowd scattered into a field covered with stones, picked them up, and began throwing stones at the police. The angry marchers regrouped and advanced nearly a mile toward the plant. There, two fire engines began spraying cold water onto the marchers from an overpass. The police were joined by Ford security guards and began shooting into the crowd. Marchers Joe York, Coleman Leny and Joe DeBlasio were killed, and at least 22 others were wounded by gunfire.

>The leaders decided to call off the march at that point and began an orderly retreat. Harry Bennett, head of Ford security, drove up in a car, opened a window, and fired a pistol into the crowd. Immediately, the car was pelted with rocks, and Bennett was injured. He got out of the car and continued firing at the retreating marchers. Dearborn police and Ford security men opened fire with machine guns on the retreating marchers. Joe Bussell, 16 years old, was killed, and dozens more men were wounded. Bennett was hospitalized for his injury.

> All of the seriously wounded marchers were arrested, and the police chained many to their hospital beds after they were admitted for treatment. A nationwide search was conducted for William Z. Foster, but he was not arrested. No law enforcement or Ford security officer was arrested, although all reliable reports showed that they had engaged in all the gunfire, resulting in deaths, injuries and property damage. The New York Times reported that "Dearborn streets were stained with blood, streets were littered with broken glass and the wreckage of bullet-riddled automobiles, and nearly every window in the Ford plant's employment building had been broken".

The United States has never been a socialist country, even when it most likely should have been one, during the robber baron tyranny of the Gilded Age or the desperation of the Great Depression, and it never will be. Which isn’t to say that American capitalism is working; it needs Teddy Roosevelt-style trustbusting and restructuring. We’re coming for you, Facebook.

Yeah, just look how well that’s worked out, you fucking idiot.

The next month presents the last chance for serious scrutiny of Sanders, who is leading in both Iowa and New Hampshire. After that, Republicans will rip the bark off him. When they’re done, you will not recognize the aging, mouth-frothing, business-destroying commie from Ben and Jerry’s dystopian dairy. Demagogy is what Republicans do best. And Sanders is ripe for caricature. 

The same Republicans that got their breakfast ate by the dottering windbag cheetoman? The same Republicans that are unpopular with over half the fucking country? The same Republicans which have shown majority support for Sanders’s policies in the past? Those are the Republicans you’re talking about, right, Timothy, you fucking asshole?

I’m not worried about the Russian stuff — Bernie’s self-described “very strange honeymoon” to the totalitarian hell of the Soviet Union in 1988, and his kind words for similar regimes. Compared with a president who is a willing stooge for the Russian strongman Vladimir Putin, a little vodka-induced dancing with the red bear is peanuts.

Nor am I worried about the legitimate questions concerning the candidate’s wife, Jane Sanders, who ran a Vermont college into the ground. Again, Trump’s family of grifters — from Ivanka securing her patents from China while Daddy made other promises to Beijing, to Don Jr.’s using the White House to leverage the family brand — give Democrats more than enough ammunition to return the fire.

This is fun. Due to a complete lack of incriminating conduct, little Timmy has to invent wrongdoing to libel Jane Sanders. I suppose he’s relying on his readers being too stupid to read the article that he himself links, another NYT hitpiece that desperately tries to paint Ms Sanders as a shady character without anything in the way of tangible proof.

>Federal prosecutors have not spoken publicly about their investigation, though late last year, Ms. Sanders’s lead lawyer said he had been told it had been closed. And while doubts remain about the contribution pledges claimed by the college, the lawyer has said that neither Ms. Sanders nor her husband was even questioned by investigators, indicating a lack of significant evidence of a crime.

>After Ms. Sanders’s ouster, the college’s troubles worsened. It abandoned a promising effort she had undertaken to sell some of its new land to improve its finances, interviews show. A few years later, when it did begin selling, it was to a consortium that secretly included at least one member of its board, raising conflict-of-interest questions.

>There is little question that the college’s 2016 demise can be traced to Ms. Sanders’s decision to champion an aggressive — critics say reckless — plan to buy the land. But with potential students put off by the lack of a campus, and with many such colleges struggling at the time, her move was the academic equivalent of a Hail Mary. Her allies said she never had a chance to fulfill her vision.

>“Jane made an audacious gambit to save the college,” said Genevieve Jacobs, a former faculty member. “It seemed to be a moment of ‘change or die.’”

>In interviews and emails, Ms. Sanders expressed frustration at her dismissal and the college’s failure to continue her rescue plan.

>“They went a completely different direction in every way than what we had proposed and decided upon as a board — with the bank, with the diocese, the bonding agency,” she said. “They didn’t carry out any of the plan. It was very confusing and upsetting at the time.”

The TL;DR seems to be: Jane Sanders tried to save a struggling school with an audacious but risky plan that ended up being aborted when she was let go by by a board, some of the members of which may have had a stake in seeing it fail. At the very least, a much more complex situation than the aspersion of “running it into the ground.”

Trump bragged about sexual assault, paid off a porn star and ran a fraudulent university. He sucks up to dictators and tells a half-dozen lies before he puts his socks on in the morning. A weird column about a rape fantasy from 1972 is not going to sink Bernie when Trump has debased all public discourse.

No, what will get the Trump demagogue factory working at full throttle is the central message of the Sanders campaign: that the United States needs a political revolution. It may very well need one. But most people don’t think so, as Barack Obama has argued. And getting two million new progressive votes in the usual area codes is not going to change that.

“Ah jeez, ah fuck, he has no sexual indiscretions that I can dredge up and his Feminist polemic against pornography and the rape culture that it engenders is old news, and if I actually reported on it honestly people might actually read it and support his ideas. Oh, well, you see, despite the incredible groundswell of support for just such a thing, Barack Obama, the man that gave the banks trillions of dollars and then allowed the state apparatus to function as their gestapo-cum-storm troopers, says we don’t need one!”

Timothy Egan wants to dismiss “two million new progressive votes” after doing a little gaslighting. His Democrat masters don’t want people to remember that it was Obama’s promises of Hope and Change after 8 years of Republican tyranny that generated a record breaking voter turnout. They would also like you to forget that 2016 was a 20-year low in voter turnout. Do you think those things are related, Mr Egan? Do you think that there might be some connection between Obama taking advantage of the desperation of millions of people, betraying them, and then those people not fucking showing up next time, causing your party to lose to the dimwit that they themselves boosted to the position?

Give Sanders credit for moving public opinion along on a living wage, higher taxes on the rich and the need for immediate action to stem the immolation of the planet. Most great ideas start on the fringe and move to the middle.

But some of his other ideas are stillborn, or never get beyond the fringe. Socialism, despite its flavor-of-the-month appeal to young people, is not popular with the general public. Just 39 percent of Americans view socialism positively, a bare uptick from 2010, compared with 87 percent who have a positive view of free enterprise, Gallup found last fall.

“Just” 39 percent of Americans, up 4% from 2016. This is ignoring for the moment that due to Americans’ piss-poor education system they have no idea what “Socialism” means aside from “more government.” Looking at the breakdown of results, it seems as though they just asked people off the top of their head what they thought about X, no definition or elaboration given. Unsurprisingly, when you look at the actual numbers on specific issues, you can see exactly why Egan has to play this deceptive bullshit: of respondents 18-34, 52% have a favorable view of “Socialism,” as opposed to 47% supporting “Capitalism.” This is in sharp contrast to the 35-54 and 55+ cohorts. 65% of Democrats have a favorable view of “Socialism.” Those with a “Liberal” ideology are even more in favor at 74%, Timothy Egan, you massive shithead.

What’s more, American confidence in the economy is now at the highest level in nearly two decades. That’s hardly the best condition for overthrowing the system.

"The highest level in nearly two decades.” That’s faint fucking praise right there.

You can see the tremendous fucking crater caused by the crash in 2007/8, a reversal of a whopping -81 points from the previous year. With many economists forecasting recession beginning either this year or the next, we’ll see how long the confidence lasts. 

So-called Medicare for all, once people understand that it involves eliminating all private insurance, polls at barely above 40 percent in some surveys, versus the 70 percent who favor the option of Medicare for all who want it. Other polls show majority support. But cost is a huge concern. And even Sanders cannot give a price tag for nationalizing more than one-sixth of the economy.

A ban on fracking is a poison pill in a must-win state like Pennsylvania, which Democrats lost by just over 44,000 votes in 2016. Eliminating Immigration and Customs Enforcement, another Sanders plan, is hugely unpopular with the general public.

“Medicare for all is really unpopular, except when it isn’t.”

Hmm, you know? Hmmm.

As for fracking, from his own link:

>A November poll conducted by the Kaiser Family Foundation and the Cook Political Report found that only 39 percent of Pennsylvania swing voters saw a fracking ban as a good idea, even as nearly 7 in 10 of those same voters said they supported the idea of a “Green New Deal” for the environment.

Democrats are whinging on the jobs “lost” to a fracking ban as though it exists in isolation. 39% might support a fracking ban, but 70% support the GND, which could potentially offset the “job loss” with industry that has the potential not to leave their state as a fucking environmentally ruined horror show. I haven’t run the numbers on this, but not living in a cesspool of polluted air and water tends to be pretty popular, Timbo.

More shellgames from Mr Egan regarding abolishing ICE.

> Only 1 in 4 voters in the poll, 25 percent, believe the federal government should get rid of ICE. The majority, 54 percent, think the government should keep ICE. Twenty-one percent of voters are undecided. 

That sounds bad. Maybe it’s not such a good ide

>But a plurality of Democratic voters do support abolishing ICE, the poll shows. Among Democrats, 43 percent say the government should get rid of ICE, while only 34 percent say it should keep ICE.

Oh.

Sanders is a rigid man, and he projects grumpy-old-man rigidity, with his policy prescriptions frozen in failed Marxist pipe dreams. He’s unlikely to change. I sort of like that about his character, in the same way I like that he didn’t cave to the politically correct bullies who went after him for accepting the support of the influential podcaster Joe Rogan.

Democrats win with broad-vision optimists who still shake up the system — Franklin Roosevelt, of course, but also Obama. The D’s flipped 40 House seats in 2018 without using any of Sanders’s stringent medicine. If they stick to that elixir they’ll oust Trump, the goal of a majority of Americans.

Democrats lose with fire-and-brimstone fundamentalists. Three times, the party nominated William Jennings Bryan, the quirky progressive with great oratorical pipes, and three times they were trounced. Look him up, kids. Your grandchildren will do a similar search for Bernie Sanders when they wonder how Donald Trump won a second term.

“Failed Marxist pipe dreams.” Aaaaay lmao. You should also have an inkling something is wrong when you have to go all the way back to FDR to find someone that supports your point. Talk about “poison pills,” Obama proved himself to be as much of a snake as the rest, and the effects of that resonated in 2016 when the Dems ran on a platform of “that’s a nice country you have there, you wouldn’t want Trump to get elected, would you?” How did that work out? You ran one of the most unpopular politicians in the country—after very blatantly rigging the primaries against Sanders to do so—against one of the most unpopular capitalists in the country, and lost, dipshit!

Ironically, I think Timbob’s closing statement will prove true, though not in the way his clown ass intends. Shills like Egan are doing everything they can to try and poison public perception against Sanders and his policies, who only proves increasingly popular as time goes on, so much so in fact that the DNC is already biting its nails and muttering to itself about ways it can try and cheat his supporters again.

In conversations on the sidelines of a DNC executive committee meeting and in telephone calls and texts in recent days, about a half-dozen members have discussed the possibility of a policy reversal to ensure that so-called superdelegates can vote on the first ballot at the party’s national convention. Such a move would increase the influence of DNC members, members of Congress and other top party officials, who now must wait until the second ballot to have their say if the convention is contested.

They deny it in the article, claim that changing the rules would be “bad sportsmanship,” but one would be a fool to believe them. If anything, their ambivalence towards relying on Superdelegates would make me even more nervous at this stage. Politico wants it to seem like the DNC is bent on playing fair, but more likely than not they have no intention of changing the convention rules because they believe there’s no need. With Warren’s flagging support and the luke-warm response to Biden, I doubt they’re overcome with optimism of beating Sanders in an honest primary. With all the shenanigans from last time’s primaries in mind, it’s likely that the machinery to rig the results their way is already in place—the primary could already be over before it even begins.

[daybreak-academy-fanfic]

Daybreak Academy: Chapter 15

White Day

Summary: In which Strelitzia falls even more in love with Anora, and Ephemer accidentally overshares his thoughts on the headmasters. Word Count: 1,577 First | Previous | Next ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆ ⚬ ☆

The purpose of White Day is to give back what was given to you. The thing was, Anora didn't know how you could repay someone for gifting you a hand stitched plush doll. A card felt stupid, and she barely knew how to sew a button on, let alone create another plushie for a stranger. A stranger, mind you, who only now decided to make some form of contact with her.

Well, at least she knew some things about her perfect stranger. Too bad finding anything that was a creamy white proved impossible. There happened to be patches of daisies scattered about campus, so Anora did pick some of them a day or so in advance. She also managed to find a white marker at the school store (which was now under new management since the debate club fiasco) so she could decorate the last gift bag left from Valentines. Also at the school store, Anora had found a couple white notebooks with a gold embossing on them. She looked for anything to put in the bag so there would be more than just the candy she hadn't eaten yet.

Anora glanced over at her clock and nearly cursed at the time. So far, she could say that the bag could be presented, if she felt like it. The leftover candy filled about a third of the bag, then there were the daisies she had found, and she even happened to find chibi-like stuffed mice who served as spiritual stand-ins for Miss Bianca and Bernard. However, Anora had to meet with Ephemer soon- she had managed to convince her stranger-friend to meet her at the concrete slab, but at this point she might have to take Ephemer with her. Would he be mad at the detour? Glancing at the time again, Anora would just have to hope he could understand.

Meanwhile, Ephemer was rather patiently waiting for Anora at the school gates. He was sitting on the grass, legs folded, and staring up at the sky in amusement. There was a cloud that looked a lot like an elephant- it was slowly starting to morph into a giraffe instead. When Ephemer looked back down, he saw Anora running up to him; she was waving at him with one hand, and the other was firmly holding a goodie bag.

“Aw, you didn't have to get me a gift!” the boy teased as he stood up.

When Anora caught up to him, she shook her head, laughing just slightly at him. Ephemer raised a bemused eyebrow at her.

“It's not for me, then?” he then surmised.

Another shake of her head made Ephemer feel a bit envious.

“Who is it for?”

He didn't get a direct answer, instead Anora gestured for him to follow her. Giving a small shrug, he did so without question- it's not like he wasn't familiar with every inch of the campus anyway. A part of him just didn't expect for her to lead them to a place behind the cafeteria; the space was rather unkempt with shrubs boarding the school wall and a few trees that had been planted eons ago. There was even a decent sized concrete slab that provided cover for some kind of underground electrical system. Why on earth was she bringing a gift bag all the way out here?

Strelitzia's heart stopped when she saw someone with Anora. It then proceeded to go into overtime when she realized that she recognized the boy with her. It was the same boy she had run into before Valentines Day- the one who said his friend didn't bake as often as she did. For a moment, Strelitzia feared that Anora had been the friend he had talked about, but then she shook it away in remembering that his friend had been named Skuld. What was he doing with Anora? She didn't mention bringing someone with her?

“Are you ever going to tell me who that's for, and why you're just leaving it out here?”

“A friend.” Anora hummed, looking back up at the boy with a smile. “Like you.”

Something about the boy seemed to jolt in a small realization- either from the answer itself or from hearing Anora talk. Strelitzia then watched in envy as he put on a million-watt smile.

“I hope they know I'm a tough act to follow!” he even teased without skipping a beat. Anora offered a small laughter as she finished arranging the gift bag. When she stood up, she gave the boy a nod and together they left for the day.

Strelitzia didn't wait to see what Anora had left behind. What she saw made her clench her chest in shock. Anora had left Strelitzia a White Day gift, in thanks for making her Chirithy. The girl sat down on the slab as she went through the bag's contents. Her gasps with each shift of the bag's contents got louder and more surprised as she went on. Anora had put so much thought into the gift bag that Strelitzia found her heart fluttering in adoration.

Was this love?

. . .

Ephemer quickly decided that he enjoyed seeing Anora smile. It was a bit hard to explain, but she was able to smile with her whole face. There was so much joy in her expressions that you almost couldn't help but smile back at her. It didn't even take much to make her smile either. Just seeing the tents set up for the seasonal fair was enough to make Anora's face light up in wonder.

It was Anora who led them around the fair- Ephemer dutifully followed and enjoyed her child-like wonder. They tried a few games and even won some prizes. Ephemer gave them all to Anora; today was all about repaying her for her Valentines gift, after all. As the day wore on, the more Ephemer started to become curious about this girl. When he got them some food, and they sat down in the grass, he finally decided to ask her some things.

“So what's your story?” Ephemer asked. “Everyone's got one.”

Anora, who had been happily nibbling on an oversized lollipop, stopped moving. She refused to look at him. But, unfortunately for her, Ephemer was stubborn.

“A bit shy, huh?” he bemused. “Don't worry, I'll go first!”

This earned him a little side glance of curiosity. He beamed at the off-handed approval, but then something hit him.

“Oh geez,” he then realized, “This is going to be a bit harder than I thought… Where do I start? Oh, um… Oh! I know! Okay, so get this, Ava's not actually my mom- in fact, she's only ten years older than I am!”

Anora raised her eyebrow at him, deliberately giving her lollipop a lick to show her skepticism.

“It's kinda funny, actually,” Ephemer grinned, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. “For as long as I can remember, the headmasters -Ava, Ira, Invi, Gula, and Aced- they were the closest thing I had to a family. I mean, as far as I'm concerned, Ava is my mom. Invi's the aunt that'll slip you some vodka if you ask for it, Gula's a weird mix between a big brother and an uncle, Aced's just one big teddy bear once you get to know him, and Ira's the one that stops everyone from having too much fun. We're a weird family, and we're not perfect either, but it feels just right. You know?”

Suddenly Ephemer jolted in a realization. “Oh wow! I didn't know I could over share like that! I'm so sorry!”

To his relief, Anora gave a small chuckle. But then her smile faded into a frown.

“Usually, things come easily to me.” she quietly admitted. “I hate it. I want to struggle. But when I do, when I can't do something on the first try… I give up. Sometimes, I avoid doing new things. It's dumb...”

“I don't think it's dumb.” came the thoughtful reply from Ephemer. “I think it just means that you know your limits.”

Anora didn't look at him. He made it sound so easy- for her, it felt like beating her head up against a wall. It was an awful feeling. Sensing her discomfort, Ephemer tilted his head.

“What does come easily for you?” he wondered. “Based on your tests scores in the entrance exam, you're a pretty well rounded learner.”

The dark look Anora gave him made the boy sheepishly chuckle.

“I'm not the best example of a teacher's pet.” he admitted. “Every time there's rumor of an interesting student, I go search 'em up in the student records. And, you're free to hate me for this, you were one of the most interesting students this school's seen in awhile. Like, years, awhile.”

This did not help Anora's outlook on him. Ephemer shrunk a little in his spot, knowing that he had stepped well beyond his boundaries- and for once, he was actually admitting to it too. Just when Ephemer believed he was going to get the silent treatment for the rest of the day, Anora calmly said;

“I like skating.”

“I bet you're good at it.”

Anora held her lollipop a bit tighter as she gave him a small nod. She never thought she was that good, but she did enjoy it. A small smile finally came across her lips as she decided that, once she and Ephemer knew each other better, maybe she'd show him.

[millenniumrobin]

Kiss It Better

TItle: Kiss It Better Author: millenniumrobin  AO3 story link

Summary:  Dick Grayson is rotting in prison. Sitting in his cell for more than a year, there's only one person he'll give a jailhouse interview to about the night that changed his life, and the lives of those around him, forever.

Batfam Week Day 1: Vacation or Separation

“Grayson.” The sound of his name stabbed Dick’s ears like a knife. He didn’t want to open his eyes. Not yet. Not now. Maybe everything from the past year had been one long, insane nightmare and if he just kept his eyes closed, just this once, he’d actually wake up and it would all be over.

“Hey. Grayson. Wake up. If she finds you sleeping when she gets here, she’s not going to be happy.” Harsh white light pierced his vision as Dick cracked his eyelids open. He found himself looking up at the bottom of a bunk bed, flat steel bars staring back at him like a cell door. Dick could feel those same bars pressing into his back through a too-thin mattress as he pushed himself to sitting. Brushing a calloused hand over his face, Dick felt rough stubble that had sprouted.

He thought about shaving. But what was the point, really?

That same hand moved upward, running through ragged hair now long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail. It had been weeks since he had bothered to look into the small mirror that occupied a fraction of the far wall. He knew what he would find looking back at him: the shell of a man who was once one of the most feared crime fighters in Gotham, and one of the most beloved heroes in the world.

“What’s she gonna do, Jack?” Dick finally answered the voice that had forced him to rise. “Kill me?” His hollow chuckle wasn’t met in turn. The only other man in the room didn’t move from his spot. Wearing a faded orange jumpsuit and sitting on a makeshift stool by the bars that marked the front of their existence, he kept his eyes down the hallway.

“Don’t joke, Dick. She probably would. Especially today. She wants you to smile all pretty for the cameras and doesn’t want you to ruin her big scoop.”

“Born in a circus, die in a circus.” The old Dick Grayson would have been shocked by his statement and the coldness with which it was delivered. But not now. Not after the past year. “She’s an old friend, Jack. Which is why I’m talking to her, and only her.”

Dick had only gotten a few visitors once he’d been incarcerated. Alfred had visited a few times, but then he had Bruce to deal with. Tim couldn’t bring himself to come say hello. Jason sent an audio tape of him slow clapping for three minutes. That had been nice to listen to for a few hours, and then Dick had thrown it away.

Bruce hadn’t said a word to him since everything happened, but then again, he had his own problems to worry about now. Dick didn’t know all the specifics, news was sketchy on this side of bars and concrete and steel, but every new prisoner who came in and recognized him loved to extoll the issues the great Bruce Wayne, the Batman, was now facing at the hands of the law.

Then there were the Gordons. Dick hadn’t heard from the Commissioner at all. In fact, the last thing he’d seen from Barbara’s father were eyes full of pain, sadness, and anger. As for Barbara… well, Dick had no idea what she thought about what he’d done. But maybe he’d be able to ask her soon. Maybe…

“Can I ask you something?” The question pulled Dick from his thoughts yet again. Worry was creased all over his cellmate’s face as he continued looking out over common area. Dick sighed loudly as he sat back on his bunk, fingers rubbing absentmindedly as they always did over his most prized possession, a strip of photo paper.

“You’re going to be fine, Jack. You worry too much.” His cellmate was Jack Reynald, a former high-rolling investment banker who had Ponzi-schemed his way to hundreds of millions and left a few thousand people very, very angry with him. They were together because Jack was the only inmate who didn’t want to kill him. Dick also wondered if the reverse was true.

“No, no, it’s not that.” The man swallowed hard and looked back over at Dick. “I was never a good guy. Even early on in my career, I found little ways of skimming some off the top here and there. But you… you weren’t just good, you were one of the best.” Jack sighed as he sat back against the wall, the back of his balding head pressing against the rough concrete block. “If even the great Dick Grayson, the great Nightwing, could fall, what hope is there for the rest of us?”

Hearing his old alias struck Dick like a shock from a guard’s stun baton. It had been a while since it had been uttered, at least without an extreme amount of venom behind it. The other inmates had tossed it around a lot when he’d first arrived, mostly to taunt and deride, but even that had died off after a while. Dick felt the edge of the photo paper bury into a familiar crease along his thumb and sighed.

“Did I ever tell you why I did it, Jack?” Dick paused. “Why I killed him?” The Commissioner’s eyes flashed through his mind again, but he brushed the feeling away. Jack’s eyes were wide, and he shook his head slowly.

Dick smiled slowly and allowed his eyes to become unfocused. The cool grey concrete began to remind him of where it all happened over a year ago. Where this nightmare began. “It was the happiest night of my life...”

*****

“Grayson!” His shouted name danced after him in the mid-winter air, bouncing around the snowflakes and twisting on the breeze. Bright lights swirled all around him, the Gotham night a snow globe of wonder and sparkle. It was, for all its faults and dark underbellies, why Dick Grayson loved this city.

“Grayson, slow down!” But the real reason he loved this city came bounding after him in the sidewalk slush, red hair trailing behind her like a wispy cloud caught in the setting summer sun. Her voice was full of laughter and annoyance, her cheeks nearly as red as her hair with a smile plastered to her face.

“You haven’t been able to keep up with me all night, Babs. Why would I slow down now?�� A swift punch to the arm was the only reply he got. He rubbed it playfully and half-grimaced. “Ow.”

“Oh, that didn’t hurt.” Laughter filled her voice again as she held an oversized teddy bear in a Superman t-shirt. It was the prize he had won her through his exploits that evening. “You want me to kiss it to make it feel better?”

“Works for me.” A mischievous smirk crossed his own face as he wrapped a hand around her waist and pulled her close. Whatever the temperature was outside didn’t matter, because when their lips met, there was only fire between them. It was a long few seconds before Dick realized they were squishing the newly won bear between them.

“All better?” There was a teasing glint in Barbara’s green eyes, and Dick responded in kind.

“I don’t know… it still hurts. I think more kisses are in order to make me really feel better.” And so they did again. And again. And again. It was a perfect evening of laughter, innuendo, and physical affection. A tavern with the bear propped up on the bar while they got a drink, a photo booth where more kisses and funny faces were shared, and endless sidewalks where they held each other close.

It was the perfect night, and Dick knew that it was finally time for that little circle of metal, hiding in his pocket for weeks waiting for a moment like this, to appear. They sat on a bench overlooking the park in the middle of Gotham, the city lights twinkling around the light snow that continued to fall.

“I love you, Barbara Gordon.” The words came easy to him, uttered countless times before. But there was something different to them this time, a finality that came with them. He knew what he wanted in life, and it was sitting right here on this bench with him. She offered back that easy smile of hers, planting a kiss playfully on his cheek.

“I love you too, Dick Grayson.” This was it. This was the moment he had waited for, planned for, hoped for since he had first laid eyes on her in grade school.

Dick began to slide off the bench, one knee dropping toward the slush-caked sidewalk. But as he turned his body to face Barbara, movement in his periphery caught his eye. Mirroring his motion, the figure moved closer, turning to face the two of them.

Time slowed to a grind. It was the years of training and adrenaline that allowed him to see everything clearly, but Dick remained frozen to the ground like the icicles around them. Why now? Why tonight? Why at this moment must the scourge of Gotham once again rear its ugly head?

And then he saw the gun. Highlighted, glimmering in the light from so many concrete and steel towers, the barrel a hole as black as anything he’d ever seen before. This was no robbery, something in his gut told him that. It was death.

A leather-gloved finger tightened on the trigger, and Dick saw the flash of the muzzle. He didn’t hear the shot. Everything had gone silent. A force stronger than anything he’d ever felt, and he’d been thrown into a wall by Bane before, slammed him back against the ground, away from the perpetrator.

He looked down to see where he had been shot. There was no blood, no gaping wound. The only red he saw was Barbara’s hair in front of him, splayed out on the ground.

If he screamed her name, he didn’t hear it. The gunman was already retreating away from them as Dick scrambled to scoop Barbara into his arms, pressing his fingers to her throat, feeling for a pulse. There was one, but it was weak, like a feather bouncing along on a breeze.

And then in an instant, that deafening silence was shattered by the sound of laughter. Low at first, then growing higher and higher to a frenzied shriek. Even if Dick hadn’t caught a glimpse of his face from the light of a street lamp, he would have known that laugh anywhere. It had haunted his dreams as a child, and Dick knew it would now haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Dick…” His name, barely heard in a breathy whisper, drew him back to the sidewalk. Barbara’s green eyes were staring past him, snowflakes she made no move to brush away gently nestling on her face. Her red hair spilled over his arm, the ends draping onto the sidewalk where it mixed with her blood.

Dick reached down, pulling off one of her mittens to take her hand in his. Even though he hadn’t been wearing gloves, her skin was still colder than his. Tears streaking down his cheeks, Dick cradled Barbara in his arms as he leaned down and kissed her face softly. “Everything is going to be alright Babs. I promise. Everything will be alright.” But it wasn’t going to be alright. He knew that, and so did she.

“It’s not your fault, Dick. You didn’t know…” she trailed off again, coughing. He kissed her face again, willing his lips to bring warmth back to her body. “Kiss it better, Dick? Please?”

Onlookers were racing around now, some with their cell phones to their ears, other taking video. The bright twinkling of city lights was starting to be replaced with red and blue flashing ones. But even with the cacophony of noise around him, Dick could only hear the whispered words of the bleeding love of his life.

“Stay with me, Dick… stay with me until I fall asleep.”

“Barbara, no. Stay awake. Stay here. I’m right here.”

“Stay with me until I fall asleep. Stay with me…” The faint steam that had been rising from Barbara’s lips froze, and her eyes began to shut. All noise and chaos around Dick seemed to stop. He knew his mouth was open, knew he was screaming something because his throat was burning and raw, but no sound reached his ears. He didn’t know how long he sat there screaming, begging for her to come back to him. It wasn’t until two police officers began dragging him away that he was lifted off the sidewalk, left only with the image of Barbara Gordon lying dead on the sidewalk, an oversized teddy bear in a Superman t-shirt still sitting on the bench behind her.

*****

“Grayson, you have a visitor.” A burly prison guard stood by the cell door, layer upon layer of muscle stretching his uniform. Like most of the other guards here, he treated Dick relatively well because the former vigilante was polite. And because, secretly, they appreciated what he had done on the outside and didn’t like how he’d been treated since the murder.

“Thanks Charles. Send her in.”

“You’ve got an hour. The Warden won’t tolerate lateness today.” Dick offered him a slight nod.

“I’ll see you then, Charles.” Jack moved from his perch by the door as a slender woman with ebony hair moved into the cell. She wore a crisp pantsuit and held a small notebook between her fingers. When she looked at him, surprise and then a hint of pity fluttered through her purple eyes.

“Grayson,” she said, pulling over the extra chair that had been set out for her. “You look terrible.”

That got him to laugh. Probably his first real laugh in the past year. She wasn’t wrong, of course. She never was.

“Why thank you, Lois. It’s good to see you too.” Lois Lane, pride of the Daily Planet, multiple Pulitzer Prize winning journalist, and probably one of the smartest women left on the planet smiled up at him as he settled back to his spot on his bunk.

“How are they treating you here?” Dick chuckled to himself. The food was lousy, he got a single hour outside his cell a day, and he lived under constant threat of being shanked. He shrugged.

“The guards are fine. The Warden wants to impress the Commissioner, so he comes down hard on me. But I’m still alive, so that counts for something.” Lois offered him a thin smile and reached into the purse she had brought with her. When her hand emerged, it held a small recording device. She looked pointedly at him, raising an eyebrow. Dick nodded in agreement. Though he knew Lois would never misquote him, intentionally or not, he knew the recording wasn’t for the story. It was for the people on the outside to hear his voice one last time.

“I was surprised when you agreed to my request for an interview, Dick. You’d shot me down the last ten times I’d asked.” Dick could only offer a half-hearted shrug and a sheepish smile that was nowhere in the realm of the one he used to flash all the time. “The Commissioner was kind enough to give me an hour, so I don’t want waste any time. I reviewed the case file and your statement from the night of Barbara’s murder, so I won’t ask you about that. What’s less clear to me is what followed. Can you tell me what happened after you arrived at the police headquarters?”

Dick’s mind flashed back to that night again. Police headquarters, Commissioner Gordon… the Joker. Yes, it was that night where he had started down this path, towards this inevitable conclusion.

“After the EMTs got there, two officers who recognized me took me back to HQ…”

*****

Dick Grayson had never known before what it was like to be alone in a crowded room. Sure, there had been times when he had just been lost in his thoughts before, but not like this. No spacing off at a Gotham Academy dance or Wayne Foundation gala could compare to how alone he felt right now. The headquarters was in a panic. Commissioner Gordon’s daughter had just been gunned down by the Joker. But as officers and detectives raced past him, Dick could do nothing but stare at his hands.

Her blood was dry now. No longer bright crimson, his hands were now caked with a dark burgundy, split by thin white lines where his clenched fists had broken it up. He wasn’t sure what felt heavier: his heart, or the engagement ring he’d never get to use that still sat in his pocket.

“Grayson!” Dick jerked his head up, seeing the rotund form of Harvey Bullock standing over him. Even as lost inside his own head as he was, Dick was shocked he hadn’t smelled the detective first. The large man still chomped on a toothpick as he thrust his thumb back over his shoulder. “The Commissioner wants to see you.”

He forced his legs to work. He had to. Every step he took toward the door with the gold lettering on it, the one he was so familiar at sneaking into through the window, seemed to take an eternity. But with each step rage also bubbled up within him. Rage at himself for not stopping the Joker. Rage at Barbara for pushing him out of the way. Rage at Bruce for allowing the Joker to live as long as he had.

But all that anger melted away as he opened the door and saw Commissioner Jim Gordon sitting behind his desk, a picture frame held in shaking hands. Dick knew which one it was. He had seen it dozens of times before. It showed the Commissioner, then a Captain, and Barbara no more than nine. They were sitting on a park bench, very close to where she had been murdered tonight. It was from their first weekend in Gotham City, when Barbara had wanted more than anything to go back to Chicago. Her father had taken her to get ice cream, to a carnival, and gotten her a balloon. That solitary blue balloon hung in the background behind the two of them, a father and daughter smiling and laughing together in a picture taken by a passing tourist. It was the moment the Commissioner had convinced Barbara to stay. Dick wondered if he hadn’t done such a good job, if his daughter would still be alive tonight.

When Jim looked up at him, his eyes were redder than Dick had ever seen them. Redder than when his wife left him. Redder than after any other night of the countless horrors Gotham had to offer. His hair, for years having kept its original auburn color with only a hint of distinguishing gray at the temples, was now almost completely white. In a matter of hours, the Gotham City Police Commissioner had aged decades. Dick felt as if his heart had gone through the same transformation process.

“Jim… Commissioner… I’m so sorry. I didn’t see him. I couldn’t stop him. And she pushed me out of the way and… I couldn’t save her sir. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I tried. I tried to save her but I couldn’t. I wanted to, sir. If I could be dead and she could be standing here sir I would do it in a heartbeat.” Dick was rambling and the tears started to flow. He couldn’t help himself. Words, barely coherent, continued in a steady stream from his lips. He wanted his words to take away the Commissioner’s hurt, to bring his daughter back, to make this whole night a very bad nightmare.

And then two arms pulled him into a hug. Dick hadn’t even noticed Jim getting up from his desk. The two men embraced, their bodies shaking, sobs wracking them both as they used each other for support. And then the words started to flow again. Dick recounting every single detail of that night. Every place they had been, the times they had been there, what they had done. He told him about the ring. He needed to get everything out before he forgot a single moment. Even, as painful as it was, the Joker killing Barbara.

By the end of it, they were sitting in chairs facing each other. The Commissioner hadn’t spoken since he had started, but Dick knew that he had heard and absorbed everything. When the words finally exhausted themselves, they both sat in silence for a few minutes, only the sounds of sirens throughout the city breaking the tranquility.

“How are you doing, son?” The question caught Dick off guard. But in an instant, he knew the answer. The rage was back. The pain and sadness had gotten their turn. Now he was filled again with pure, unadulterated rage.

“I’ll be fine.” The words were clipped. Dick knew what he wanted to do. No, not just what he wanted to do. What he had to do. “Give me a task force, Commissioner. Give me a squad, anything. The Joker won’t see the morning.”

The Commissioner physically recoiled in his chair. He studied Dick for a long moment before getting up and walking toward the window. “That’s not how we do things, son. And that’s not how he raised you to do things.”

“The hell with how he does things!” Dick was on his feet now, voice rising to meet his stature. “How he does things got Barbara killed. That monster should have been dead after he killed Jason. Now he’s taken your daughter.” Dick paused, staring at the Commissioner’s stoic back. “I’m not going to let him kill anyone else.” Turning on his heel, Dick made for the door.

“Sit. Down.” The words stopped him in his tracks. When he turned, Dick saw Batman looming in a dark corner. There was no open window. The Big Black Bat must have been standing in the room the entire time, but Dick had just been too distracted to notice. The Commissioner looked over at Bruce Wayne and nodded solemnly.

“That’s not how we do things, son. Not even when it’s Barbara he killed. Especially then.” Dick opened his mouth to protest when there was a frantic knock on the Commissioner’s door and it swung open, an out-of-breath officer bursting through.

“Commissioner, we got him!”

“Who?”

“The Joker. He just walked in the front door and turned himself in.” The officer struggled to catch his breath. “He says he wants to confess, sir. He says he wants to confess for the murder of Barbara Gordon.”

*****

“I should have known something was up. I should have known the game he was playing. But like Batman standing in the Commissioner’s office, I was too blind to see it. I was too distracted to see the big picture. That’s what…” He sighed, rubbing his fingers over the strip of paper again. “That’s what she was always so good at.”

Lois nodded slowly, looking down briefly at her recorder and her watch. She had barely asked him any questions, just let him talk. Dick appreciated that. It was the first time he was able to tell his story, he feelings. Maybe it would help the others still on the outside. Maybe people would see he wasn’t the monster the District Attorney and the Commissioner painted him to be.

“What happened after that night? Before his trial a month later.”

“The Joker confessed to the murder but plead not guilty in court. Said he wanted his day in court. We should have seen it, all should have seen what was coming. Any trial of his would be a circus, and it was. How many news outlets were there? Fifty? Seventy? All with their cameras and their shouted questions at Bruce. At the Commissioner. At me. People were starting to dig, and that’s what he wanted. He wanted the groundwork there so when he took the stand, the pieces would fall into place.”

Dick looked down at his hands again, at that strip of paper held so tightly in one of them. “I should have seen it. But I didn’t. Nobody did. I don’t think anybody could have seen what was coming but Barbara.”

*****

“The defense calls John Doe, alias The Joker, to the stand.” Dick didn’t look up to the court spectacle in front of him. He knew what he would see. It was the same thing he had seen every day at this trial. The Joker, green hair mussed, clad in an orange jumpsuit that was too big for him, arms and legs shackled and a platoon of guards surrounding him.

He also didn’t have to turn around to see what was behind him. He could practically feel the eyes of dozens of journalists and the lenses of their cameras pointed squarely at his back. At Bruce’s back. At the Commissioner’s back. The three of them were sitting directly behind the prosecutor’s table. It was as close as they could be to the action without being in the action.

The Joker sat in the witness box with that same sick smile plastered across his face. This was all a joke to him, a theater of the absurd. And now he was center stage.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” The Joker cocked an eyebrow at the bailiff.

“Not sure what the big guy has to do with this, but for the first time in my life, yes, I do.” The Joker sat as his defense council, some young public defender barely out of law school, walked toward him.

“Only one question, your honor. Mr. Doe, are you insane?” The Joker broke out into a low laugh at his attorney’s question.

“Some would like to think I’m not because then they wouldn’t have to try and rehabilitate me. Others think I am because it makes it easier for them to process my actions. But in my world, I’m the sanest one there is.” The leering voice, the upward curve at the corner of his mouth made Dick’s stomach turn. He clenched his fists between his knees.

The Joker’s attorney sat back down as the D.A. rose to his feet. “Mr. Doe, had you taken leave of your senses the night you shot and killed Barbara Gordon?” Another laugh followed.

“No, Mr. District Attorney. I knew very much what was going on that night. Two lovebirds in the Gotham winter air. It made me sick.” The Joker looked over at Dick, locking eyes with him. That old familiar rage came back again, and he struggled to suppress it.

“So you followed Mr. Grayson and Ms. Gordon with the intention of killing her, is that correct?”

A harsher braying laugh followed. “No, Mr. District Attorney, I didn’t mean to kill Barbara Gordon. I was aiming for her partner.” Dick’s back snapped to attention, rage swelling in his chest. He heard the click-click-click of a dozen camera shutters behind him, but he didn’t care at the moment. The fog of the past month was lifting, the madman’s plan crystalizing in his mind like the memories of that night.

The District Attorney turned and looked at him. “You were in the park that night to kill Mr. Grayson? Why?” The Joker’s smile grew, malice filling his eyes and words.

“Because I wanted to hurt someone very close to him. I wanted to hurt someone very close to me.” Dick felt Bruce stiffen beside him but did not look over. A glint of light off of metal caught his eye. Ahead of him, just over the bar separating the gallery from the tables and judge’s bench, stood a guard. And his holstered gun was calling to Dick.

“You see, the last time I tried to get the attention of Mr. Grayson’s friend, I didn’t get the reaction I was hoping for. I thought by going for the original, I might finally get the attention I wanted.” Something snapped inside of Dick. Whatever had been holding back the rage, the recklessness, was gone.

His hands gripped the bar as he vaulted over it. Fingers brushed the edge of his suit pants. Bruce’s. He knew they were Bruce’s. He would have been the only one fast enough to even lay a hand on him. But his mentor wasn’t fast enough. Neither was the officer, who only managed a shout of surprise as Dick grabbed the pistol and ripped it from its holster.

The commotion in the courtroom was only white noise to him now. The camera shutters, the shouts and screams, all of it was just background noise. There was only one sound he was focused on: the Joker’s laughter. It was getting higher and faster again, just like it had that night. His only goal was to make it stop forever.

His hands raised the gun, one palm pressing against the cold metal, the other wrapping around his knuckles. The District Attorney dove out of the way and at the periphery of his vision jurors scrambled for cover. They didn’t need to move. He wasn’t going to hit them anyway.

Striding toward the jumpsuit-clad monster, Dick’s finger tightened on the trigger. He saw the muzzle flash, the barrel jump back towards him, the shell casing fly off to the side. The harsh laughter ringing in his ears hitched, a cough replacing it. A bright red spot began to appear in the middle of that orange jumpsuit. But the laugh returned, wetter and wheezier than before, but still there. Dick’s finger tightened again, again, again. His finger continued squeezing until the click-click-click he heard wasn’t from the cameras but from the pistol in his hands. The laughter was just a ragged breath now as Joker’s eyes rolled back into his head.

Then he was on the floor, four police officers on top of him, wrenching the gun from his hands and yanking his arms behind his back. The cold metal of the gun was replaced with that of handcuffs. As the officers yanked him back to his feet, he caught one last glimpse of the Joker, dead on the witness stand. That sick smile was still plastered across his face.

As he was dragged out of the courtroom, Dick turned one last time to see Bruce and the Commissioner, side by side, still standing behind the railing. The cameras and reporters were already starting to descend upon them. Neither of them seemed to notice though. The last thing Dick saw as he was hauled out the door were the Commissioner’s eyes. He hadn’t been expecting the emotions he saw in them. Not relief or gratitude. Just anger. Pain. And sadness.

The door slammed shut behind him.

*****

Lois nodded slowly as he finished, writing a quick note down on the pad in front of her. “You didn’t know about the tape.”

“No.” Dick shook his head. None of them had. The tape, which went live an hour after the Joker’s death, had been recorded the night he killed Barbara. It laid out, in exacting detail, Batman’s identity. Nightwing’s identity. And, as the Joker on the tape had realized, who Batgirl was as well.

That had been the end of Jim’s career. He had been fired the next morning, his gun and badge stripped, as he was placed under investigation for aiding and abetting vigilantes. The stock of Wayne Enterprises had plummeted as companies declined to do business with Bruce Wayne. No formal charges had been found, they couldn’t prove he was Batman. And they hadn’t found the Batcave. But the Batman hadn’t been seen in the Gotham night sky for over a year.

That tape had been the Joker’s final revenge on all of them. He had laid the trap, and they had all been too blinded by grief to realize they were walking straight into it.

“Do you regret doing it?” Dick looked at her for a long moment and smiled.

“No. I wish everything had gone down differently, but no, I don’t regret it. I think there’s someone in your life who, if he was really honest with himself, would do the same if anything ever happened to you.” That elicited a small smile from Lois. She checked her watch again and looked up at him.

“Is there anything else you want to say? Off the record, but on recording for those closest to you?” Dick leaned back against the wall. There had been so many letters that he had started and torn up. He knew that no number of apologies could make up for what he’d done, but he also figured the Joker was going to expose them at the trial anyway. At least he wasn’t alive to escape and hurt others.

He shook his head slowly.

Lois’ lips pressed together as Charles came back, knocking the cell bars with his nightstick. “Time to go, Grayson.” Dick nodded and took a deep breath, standing and facing Lois again.

“One for the road?” There were tears welling in her eyes, but she didn’t allow them to fall. When he opened his arms, she threw hers around his neck, planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

“They’re going to be there,” she whispered in his ear. “Bruce and Jim. Clark too. They promised me they’d be there.” Dick broke the embrace and offered her a smile of thanks.

“Take care of yourself, Lois.” He felt the much firmer grasp of Charles as he let himself be led out of the cell.

“You too, kid. Good luck.” Dick smiled.

“I won’t need luck. I’ve got my girl waiting for me.”

As Charles led him down the hallways of the prison, past a sign that said “Execution Chamber”, Dick rubbed his fingers over that strip of paper again. The pictures on that strip were worn from age and being held for so long, but the images were still clear enough. And from that strip, as she had every night, Barbara Gordon smiled back at him, laughing as he held her close or kissed her cheek. Soon he wouldn’t have to just stare at a picture. He knew that in just a few minutes, he would get to see her again.

The smile on his face grew as he was led through the door and into a blinding white light.