#six entire pds

[angeltism]

what if i just un self diagnose with everything except like autism because that's one i probably would be getting tested for if it wasn't a billion moneys . cluster abc more like i don't know i was gonna put something funny but idk what to write . anyways

[intertexts]

it's so fucking funny to watch my friends getting into stuff i like & going through it at like 4x the speed i do. media equivalent of beinf the only slow eater at the table....

[fanfic-obsessed]

How Old?!?!?!

Remember Folks, disregard any canon that contradicts this.

Timothy Wayne Drake disappeared when he was 16. He was taken captive in Eastern Europe at a WE event. A magical shield cut off all electronic communication, sight, and sound of the building for 6 minutes. According to every Super consulted, Tim’s heartbeat vanished at that time, and never reappeared. No facial recognition ever showed him again. No magical spell could find him, or his remains. Eight years later he is presumed dead by most of those who knew him, though his family still searches frantically for their Baby Bird. It is only the fact that they knew how much he loved Gotham, that he would want the city protected, that they did not let their obsession with finding him take them over. 

According to his file, Neal Caffery has been operating since he was 18. There are no records prior to that. By the numbers he is now 34, and had been working as a CI for the feds for 2 years.  He has never admitted to anyone that his earliest memories are six years ago, though Peter, El, and Moz have all figured it out.  But his abilities, muscle memory, and knowledge seem to support what's in his file.  That must mean something, right?

It was not a White Collar case, not really. Though there were just enough white collar elements to justify assigning it to Agent Burke and his team, this really was an Organized Crime case. However it was leading to Gotham, and no one wanted to go to Gotham. 

So Agent Burke, his two junior agents, and his CI were bundled into a SUV and told to report to Gotham PD to coordinate the case.  Upon arriving at the main precinct and getting out of the car; Peter, Diana and Jones all get strange looks from the locals on the street, though they do not know it, it is clear they are outsiders. 

However Neal gets out with a strange look on his face, “Why does the air taste..”

“Pink?” One the pedestrian answers, suspicion washing away.

“Yes” Neal exclaimed, then paused, “That’s weird, right? I feel like that’s weird”

The pedestrian gave a half shrug, “Ivy and Scarecrow double booked downtown a few weeks ago. Made things super awkward for anyone not vaccinated against both, but the vaccines made the air taste pink for some reason. The news said that the unvaccinated shouldn’t see effects any longer and for the vaccinated the effect would be gone in two more weeks”

Then the pedestrian left and Neal, entirely unconsciously, murmured about wondering if Ivy and Harley were fighting. When Peter tried to get more information about Neal having been in Gotham as they walked into the Precinct, Neal made a joke to cover the fact that he has no idea when or where he got the vaccines/immunities to Poison Ivy’s pollen or Scarecrow's Fear Gas.  

They manage to make it to the main bullpen without incident, by virtue of the fact anyone who actually looks up from what they were doing focuses on Peter, as lead agent.  When they get to the Bullpen, someone notices Neal and the entire room goes dead silent. Commissioner Gordon comes charging out, eyes wild and clearly on the phone with someone (Oracle, who happened to see Neal/Tim on camera-it is important to note that the group who took Tim made it so that any facial recognition program that would run either face would skip the match between Tim and Neal, but a person looking through a camera is different) saying things like “Holy Shit” and “Yes I see him, too”. 

The White Collar team, including Neal, is so confused as Commissioner Gordon ushers them to his office and closes the door (Oracle has her fathers office bugged with better cameras and wired for sound, also they do not know how much cover they have already broken for Tim-they do not want to make things worse instead of better). 

Commissioner Gordon calls Neal Tim, and Neal/Tim seizes for a moment like he was hit with electricity and says, in a deadened tone, “That name cannot be used as an Alias” then slumps like he is going to fall over. Peter and Jones manage to catch him and get him into a chair that Commissioner Gordon hurriedly pulls over.  The confusion that the White Collar team is exhibiting, plus questions like “What was that?” and “What did you do to Neal?” and “What did you call him?” do convince commissioner Gordon that these, at least, were not the people that took Tim.  It takes a few minutes for Tim/Neal to come to.  A few careful call and response questions tells Commissioner Gordon that the man with Tim’s face (and scars, from what he can see) does not remember anything.  These same questions were also clearly making the White Collar team, particularly Peter, as protective as they were making Neal/Tim confused and more than a little anxious.

Then Dick Grayson burst into the room, looking like he might have run all the way from Bludhaven.  He stopped dead at seeing Neal, whispered ‘Baby Bird?’ then lunged to pull Neal into a tight hug. Neal may have had no memories of being Tim, but his muscle memory remembered Dick’s hugs. That he was safe while Dick was hugging him, Neal could not help but relax into the hold. 

Dick start talking about getting Neal to Leslie both to make sure he's not hurting and to verify his identity (sounding apologetic but, no matter if Dick is sure this is Tim, they have to verify it), that ‘B’ is out of contact right now (on a JL mission off planet, the watchtower is preparing to extract him, but it will take a few hours-the JLD is also preparing in case they are needed) but should be back soon. He talks about how Alfred will be waiting outside for them, but ‘everyone else’ is waiting so they don’t overwhelm him (read clustered, and pacing, on buildings around Leslie’s clinic).  

Neal brings up, still wrapped in Dicks arms, that he might not be who they think he is. Dick agrees but also says that he isn’t, it is a case of mistaken identity and it is clear that Neal is not trying to trick them. Dick then says if it is Mistaken identity, Dick will apologize for the forcible cuddling and be grateful that, even if they don’t actually find him, he got a chance to hug his little brother one last time (Every single member of the White Collar Team, Neal very much included, is a little uncomfortable with this sentiment). 

At Peter’s awkward insistence (these people clearly miss whoever they think Neal is, and he doesn’t know if they would think about Neal’s criminal activities) the White collar team accompanies Neal, still clutched to Dick’s side, to a car waiting with Alfed right next to it, who is clearly having an emotional reaction to seeing Neal/Tim again.  Over the course of the car ride to Leslie’s clinic, Dick asks questions about who Neal is now (and reacts weirdly well to the whole Conman/FBI CI thing). Towards the end, Jones hesitantly asks why Dick is trying to get to know Neal now, wouldn’t it make more sense to wait until they were sure who Neal was. 

Dick laughs and goes 1.) Even if Neal is not his long lost brother, several of his siblings are going to want to befriend him (if nothing else than being a world class master art forger would get Damian’s attention, and everyone else would 100% be encouraging the friendship to give Damian more non violent friends) and 2.) Baby Bird is notorious for trying to mold himself into who he thinks other people want him to be. Right now he does not know enough about Dick to try and tailor his answers, plus is likely convincing himself that this is a case of mistaken identity. Thus Dick is collecting information for when Baby Bird inevitably tries to fit himself into whatever weird mold he thinks their family will want him to fit.  

Neal, still clutched to Dick’s side, splutters as the White Collar team cannot help but laugh at him. Also this somewhat convinces Peter that this might not be a case of mistaken identity after all.  

They get to Leslie’s Clinic. She runs through all the tests (Genetic and comparing previous x-rays, signs of artificial aging-for cloning, signs of the specific type of molecules that means time or dimension travel, brain scans, the few hormone tests that can detect magic-you can’t tell me that Bruce Wayne and/or Tim Drake, before he vanished, were not told at some point that there is no way to detect magic by scientific means and took it as a personal challenge). By every measure that she is able to test, Neal Caffrey is the missing Tim Drake.  She is also able to tell that his memory loss was likely caused by significant and repeated electrocution reinforced by some kind of magic, but cannot tell what or if it is still active, though given Tim’s reaction to his birth name (which happened twice more during the tests) and the fact that the Supers were never able to find his heartbeat,it is likely. 

By this time, Batman has now been returned to the watchtower and is being told of Tims return.

Dick tells Neal outright that their entire family’s love languages are stalking and poor boundaries (both maintaining and respecting). Dick also makes it clear that, while the Batfam is ecstatic that Neal/Tim is alive and want him in their lives, Neal is not required to attempt to get his memories back or have anything to do with them if he does not want (All of their therapists, the family could not go to just one, had worked specifically with them on how to deal with a Tim that has made a new life, how to accept that he is safe and happy but not with them-which is a realistic assumption after 8 years), but that likely Neal would be putting up with some limited stalking for the rest of his life (Look, the best we are going to get from the Batfamily is stalking from the shadows if Neal doesn’t want to interact with them-Also Oracle has already hacked the FBI for all of Neals records and files, and is the middle of arranging for the White Collar office to be bugged with her personal cameras/microphones). Dick also asks that the White Collar team come back to the Manor and to at least let the Justice League Dark look Neal over to make sure that there is nothing that is going on that will hurt him. 

Now, to be clear, Neal is more than happy to at least meet the rest of the Batfam.  Yes, he has a good life now, people he loves and who love him. But that is a relatively new development and there are a lot of blanks in his past. I mean at this point Neal still thinks he is 34 (as opposed to 24), and only remembers the last six years. They have not even gone far enough into the explanations to realize that there is a 2 year gap between when Tim was taken and Neal's earliest memories.  Also, while Neal does not quite have the same level of abandonment issues as Tim did, there is something about how visibly happy Dick is to see him that soothing something deep inside (Because he has six years worth of memories, and for most of them he did not have anyone who would have noticed if he had vanished).

They get back to manor just in time for Bruce to come charging into the foyer, still in the batman suit but with his cowl down. Bruce also looks like he might have ran from wherever he was. He had at least absorbed enough of what he was told about Neal to not call him Tim, and pulled Neal into a hug.  This also means there is a brief interlude while the White Collar team gets the ‘Bruce Wayne is Batman, we’re trusting you with this’ revelation (And absolutely everyone is going to be making fun of Bruce ‘Paranoia’ Wayne being the person who accidentally let the secret slip).

By the time they reach the main sitting room, the rest of the family has made it back to the manor (Barbara, Jason, Cass, Steph, Damian, Duke) each waiting on their own chance to hug their lost member.   Neal blue screens a bit at Jason (who is both very pretty and very sarcastic, which is Neal's type).  Through the discussions that follow there are at least two arguments between batfam members about who gets to have Neal to sit with them.

Neal decides that he will meet with someone from JLD to see about what magic might still be affecting him and regaining his lost memories. He and the White Collar team do decline staying at the manor and go back to the hotel rooms that the FBI rented for them (never realizing that Oracle upgraded them as soon as she realized who Neal was) as they still have a job to do. It is at this point that  Neal starts whining to the others, much to their amusement (also to the amusement of Steph and Cass, who were hiding on the balcony-there is no way there will not be at least one bat/bird hiding in the shadows around Neal for a bit), about his new, hot brother Jason.  Peter calls El, just so Neal can have his crisis with her instead of him (Never mind that being siblings is not as big a deal as Neal thinks it is).

Now Gotham, and its people, have a reputation at the FBI for being actually impossible to work with.  Even regular citizens stonewall so effectively that most teams simply give up. They simply do not like outsiders, and Gothamites can tell if someone grew up in Gotham or not, even if the person in question does not realize it (there are unconscious ways of moving if you have lived in Gotham for a certain amount of time). This is what the White Collar team expects to go against, what they are bracing for, no matter who Neal might or might not have been.  To their surprise this is not what they get. Yes, most people still peer suspiciously at Peter, Jones, and Diana at first, but even that settles down quickly (Some of it is Neal/Tim, being from Gotham, clearly trusting Peter and co gets them some good will; some is them not being sanctimonious about gotham; the rest is the batfam being vocal about liking these FBI agents-for Neal/Tim related reasons).  They solve the case, which branched from White collar into one of the Mob Families (at least two of the traffickers got the choice to talk to the FBI team, or deal with The Red Hood-Red Hood plays it off as using the FBI to take a shot at that family’s territory and being personally interested in Neal Caffrey).

Before they leave Gotham, Neal does meet up with a few members of the JLD who are able to find and remove the spells that prevent Neal/Tim from being found by the Supers and the Spell keeping him from being addressed as Tim. His missing memories were not fully caused by magic (There was a lot of damage caused by electricity-no one took that news well), but the magic was preventing some of his recall. With the spells off, it is inferred that some or all of Tim’s memories may come back in time. 

The White Collar team leaves Gotham with new contacts in their phones and also the bomb that Neal Caffery was a full decade younger than he thought he was (They do eventually figure out that Neal/Tim never actually committed the crimes in his file-not that the crimes were never committed but that Neal/Tim was basically went straight from where ever he was being held to being captured for ‘Neal Caffery’s’ crimes).  Peter later finds a much more complete medical record for Tim Wayne Drake in his home, with an ominous note to keep this file out of the FBI records, it is for personal reference only. They also leave with the decision to keep Neal’s identity a secret (As no one knows who the ones who took them are, or what the end goal is), telling only Hughes, El and Moz. By the time the WC crew reaches New York, the Bats already have bugs/cameras in the FBI building, Neal’s apartment, and Peter’s house.  They have also put trackers in every single pair of Neal’s shoes. There is also a schedule for who gets to stalk/hang out with Neal when.  

As far as the rest of the FBI was concerned, White Collar gets a lot of strange new contacts for cases.  Also they seem to have made an impression on the Justice League, as they become the point of contact between the Justice League and the FBI, by request of the League.  Occasionally hardened criminals walk into the FBI and ask to confess their crimes specifically to Agent Burke and his team. And Apparently their CI knows the Red Hood, somehow (in that the Red Hood sometimes showed up at their crime scene to flirt outrageously with the CI, the first few times the CI got really flustered but after that he started to flirt back). 

Eventually Neal/Tim does begin to remember his past, oddly enough the trigger was a spleen in a jar that was left on his desk in the White Collar Office (Ra’s Al Ghul was…pleased that Tim was not dead and displeased with the Organization the abducted him and  tried to fry Tim’s brain).

[kookslastbutton]

Those Eyes Chico ༓ myg (m) | Teaser

✒ Summary: As the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour, you’re expected to bring your expertise to the table. This shouldn’t be a problem—you’re the best in the business and you’re used to drawing a strict line between your professional and personal life. But what happens when the lines you’ve fought to keep as separate blur for the first time?

pairing: idol!yoongi x plus size!poc!reader

genre/AU: angst, fluff, smut, slow-burn, coworkers2friends2lovers, winter setting, forbidden love?

word count: tbd, 835 for this teaser

warnings: oc is 28, Yoon is 30, oc is not originally from South Korea, oc has light brown eyes, swearing, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of anxiety, panic attacks, body insecurities, fear of being blacklisted, emotionally restrained Yoon, mentions of smoking, unstable parental relationships, conservative parents, mentions of therapy, mentions of dating scandal, eventual sexual content, and more specific warnings per chapter.

now playing: Sweet Dreams by The Last Shadow Puppets

a/n: Okay this has taken over six months to release but it's finally beginning and I am super excited to share! 🫣 I am low-key terrible at choosing a proper teaser so hoepfull this works haha. ANYWAY, this series is dedicated to my wonderfully crazy friend and beta, Gloom @theuselessdaydreamingidiot, and to all our fellow Yoon lovers bc we miss our sweet man SO MUCH 🥺 Enjoy! 🥰 Also huge thank you to @itaeewon for designing this beautiful series header! Love it!!

Series Masterlist

“Did you get the files I sent to you?”

The woman nods her head in affirmation while sweeping a few pieces of her long, silky hair behind an ear. To strangers, she appears to look about 24 which is only four years younger than yourself but nonetheless she’s the same age as you. Hei-Ran is her name, meaning “graceful orchid” according to Korean translation.

Hei-ran is one of Hybe’s newest hires and based on her experience, a near perfect fit to being South Korean boy group Tomorrow X Together’s new marketing manager. Until about three months ago, this had been your job.

You never imagined giving up the position after three years of working in the role. But with December right around the corner Hybe had other plans for you.

"Graduated summa cum laude with a bachelors degree in BTech in Electrical and Electronics Engineering and a MBA in Marketing from NYU Stern. You worked two years as a brand manager for U.S record label Atlantic Records immediately after graduating, and are now working at BigHit Music as a marketing manager for TXT including liaison with their global marketing team.”

You recall PD Bang’s voice vibrate in the back of your mind from mid-August. You thought you were called into his office to discuss details of TXT’s latest promo, so having your resume read back to you was a sweeping curve ball. Your determination must have far exceeded the heaviness you felt in your chest because before you knew it you, you were shaking hands with your boss in acceptance of your role – the new marketing director for Min Yoongi’s upcoming D-Day album & tour.

The tedious knot that’s formed in the nape of your neck reminds you that as surreal as the situation might be, it’s undeniably real.

Months spent drafting a comprehensive marketing proposal for D-Day; often until the wee hours of the night, inevitably takes its toll on even the mightiest of warriors. An entire new team of fifty people, all of who you’ll be in charge of orchestrating for the next eight months, doesn’t provide much to relief either.

You’re excited nevertheless. Working with one of the most respected artists in the music industry is an opportunity you couldn’t let slip by, especially since the album’s rock-inspired genre aligns closely with your own music taste.

“Thank you so much for helping me get settled __,” Hei-ran’s gentle voice returns you to the present. “I appreciate the time you’ve taken these last few months to train me despite the tight deadlines you have.”

Smiling, you shake your head. “It’s no problem at all and if there’s anything you need in the future, feel free to give me a call or stop by my office.”

“On the 16th floor right?”

“1656A. Take a left off the elevator and walk to the end of the first hallway. The door on the right is mine.”

Referring to any room on the 16th floor as your own is something you don’t take lightly. For one the offices are double the size of any other office spaces in the building. Yours in particular has a giant skyscraper window draped with heavy white curtains. Secondly, the floor above is the 17th floor which is exclusive to Hybe artists only.

"How's the proposal coming along, by the way?" Her curiosity is palpable, genuine in its nature. You’ve always appreciated that in an individual.

“It’s done,” you respond. “Only thing left to do is to prepare for our meeting with C-suite executives next Monday. It’s nearly perfect as is, but the presentation could use a bit of refining in terms of organization.”

Hei-ran is silent for a moment longer than usual before her next inquiry, which is undoubtedly the question on both of your minds. “I can't help but wonder what it'll be like to meet him for the first time,” she muses.

You don’t bother asking for clarification on who the “him” is; you’re already well aware that it’s Min Yoongi. The same subject has managed to intrude your own thoughts more and more as the date of meeting him draws closer. It's peculiar honestly, considering you’ve encountered him before. Granted, it was only a small handful of times the hallway, both heading in opposite directions. Min Yoongi typically greeted you with a hoarse 'Good Morning' those instances, along with a curt nod of his head. You would nod back with a brief 'Morning' yourself. Deep down you feel he'd make a quality friend, though it's only a premonition. It’s not like you actually know much about him beyond those small exchanges.

"I'm not sure what to expect, honestly," you admit. "I imagine it'll be similar to previous professional collaborations—composed, focused, and intense. D-Day is poised to become a global sensation for the next year, so it's going to need our full, undivided attention."

Hei-ran gives a knowing nod. “Good luck __,” she wishes you well as you head towards the elevator doors. Breaks over, back to work.

a/n: Chapter one will be released soon 🙃 Thanks for reading the teaser!

Masterlist | Requests: closed | Taglist | Fic Recs

no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

[essektheylyss]

You know what I'm thinking about? That trip to Vergessen.

Not the memorable one. The super innocuous one, in which Ludinus and Trent insisted they'd just dug this weird rock out of the ground weeks ago, it's nothing to them, the Bright Queen can have it. The one where Eadwulf told Caleb he looked good despite having just crawled out of an eldritch horror's sludge and then showed off his super muscular, super tatted arms.

Let's return to Eadwulf's arms in a moment.

The scourgers were helping out with the Assembly's research portfolio, which at the time had included Ludinus's pet project of developing dunamantic super-serum. The scourgers had also previously been involved—in their off time, when they weren't doing their primary duties of torture and execution—with human experimentation of methods of augmenting a mage's personal reserves of magic.

Sound familiar?

(Really, Ludinus, are you too old to test your experiments on yourself?)

Back to Eadwulf's well-sculpted arms. By the time we meet him in 836 PD, whatever might've been done to them in 810 PD has been covered with those pointedly geometric tats. Somewhere around the same time span, an assassination attempt is made on the life of the Voice of the Tempest by assassins using what was likely a prototype of Otohan Thull's dunamantic contraption, which is a kind of harness that uses the distilled dunamis created by Yeza Brenatto from studying the stolen beacons. This attack of course left multiple Ashari dead and beyond the point of recovery, among them Derrig and Will.

Six years later, Otohan Thull of course would kill Fearne, Orym, and Laudna in battle using that contraption, and not long after would also use the same assassination tactic to draw out the Champion of the Raven Queen so Ludinus could press him into an orb.

Still with me?

In Molaesmyr, after the Solstice had been stuck in time, Team Wildemount find a number of interesting items in Gildhollow, Ludinus's forsaken bachelor pad. Notable among them is a chest harness designed to consume various natural sources of power in order to augment the wearer's arcane abilities.

I think it's incredibly likely that the human experimentation component of the scourger program, given its scope, was requested if not designed by Ludinus, in an effort to further his research in the realm of augmenting mortals' capacities for magic. (Mechanically, I imagine this equates to additional spell slots per day, or the capacity to singlehandedly pull off experimental spells beyond the scope of ninth level, i.e. Dunamantic Nap spell, but that's just speculation.)

Primarily my point here is to demonstrate that its entirely possible if not likely that even the minutiae of the Assembly's horrific program to create child soldiers may have been part of Ludinus's effort to release Predathos and kill the gods, in an effort to show how broadly this may touch even other previous campaigns.

Additionally my point is to say that if anyone has reason to lead the vanguard (pun intended) of righteous warfare against Ludinus Da'leth, it's a Liam O'Brien PC, and frankly, at this point, given all of this character reasoning to do so, I do not care which one.

[pollenallergie]

Best friend!Eddie Headcanon(s) ft. Reefer Rick

aka Eddisms: The Reefmix

Reefer Rick doesn’t just supply Eddie with drugs to deal, he also offers Eddie his illegal bootleg copies of movies that are only out in theaters to Eddie for a discounted price.

Rick calls it the “employee discount,” but, considering Eddie is his only dealer at the moment, it might as well just be the “Eddie discount.”

You and Eddie have weekly movie nights. Typically, you rent movies from Family Video for these movie nights like good, morally upstanding citizens. However, once a month, you two indulge in the contraband and have a bootleg movie night wherein you watch whatever new, pirated flicks Rick has to offer.

On these nights, you forgo your weekly trip to family video but still head to the closest convenience store to get snacks because junk food is a necessity for movie nights.

Then, Eddie heads to Reefer Rick’s place to “rent” the flicks from him, leaving you back at the trailer to get everything set up for your movie night, much to your chagrin. You kinda hate that Eddie never brings you along with him to run his “errands,” mostly because you hate being left out. It’s not like you actually want to be involved in his illicit activities, but it still sucks to be excluded. Nevertheless, you prepare the spread of junk food, order the pizza, and transform the Munsons’ living room into the ultimate, cozy movie night cove.

Meanwhile, Eddie’s at Rick’s, buying the films and some weed for personal consumption, a movie night must-have. Unfortunately, such an exchange also involves shooting the shit with Rick for about an hour because he’s the only man who can out-chatterbox Eddie. These conversations usually involve Rick, who thinks of himself as Eddie’s mentor, giving the youngest Munson life advice that he definitely didn’t ask for and ranting about whatever sociopolitical issues he’s been hyper-focusing on lately, such as the military-industrial complex, the bullshit War on Drugs, really, any mostly-valid-yet-still-a-bit crackpot anti-establishment rhetoric you can think of, Ricks probably spewing it at Eddie. Honestly, these conversations are more like scatterbrained lectures; the kind filled with lots of ‘um’s and long pauses, the kind where Rick forgets what he’s talking about after a while and jarringly switches topics, starting a new lecture entirely without giving poor Eddie so much as a subtle verbal cue.

After retrieving the films and robotically nodding along to these scatterbrained lectures, Eddie returns to the trailer and is immediately accosted by your incessant complaining about the fact that he never lets you go with him to pick up stuff from Rick’s. At this point, your grumbling is part of the routine.

Of course, Eddie’s always quick to remind you that it’s not about wanting you to “sit at home and play housewife” for him (your go-to accusation, you little feminist you), but that he simply doesn’t trust Rick around you because, in Eddie’s words, Rick’s “sketchy” and “a total perv.”

In all honesty, Rick’s harmless; a drug dealer/supplier who has no qualms with dealing to minors, but otherwise harmless. Rick’s nothing more than a stoner punk with access to semi-decent weed that is somehow both a genius and a being that completely lacks common sense, hence why Eddie’s unofficial PoliSci professor has been caught by Hawkin’s PD a few times.

The real reason Eddie doesn’t want you around Rick is that he’s intimidated by him. More specifically, Rick is a fucking hot, with his various tattoos and anti-establishment ideals. He’s about ten years your senior, though the way he somehow balances tranquil maturity with enough oddball immaturity makes him seem five or six years younger than he actually is. Not to mention, he’s just educated enough to have some semi-intellectual conversations (Rick went to college at Purdue and flunked out during his junior year because he spent too much time partying and doing drugs), but he’s also somehow dumb enough for it to be sort of endearing, likely as a result of all the hard drugs killing his brain cells or whatever. Truthfully, Rick’s oddly charming in ways that Eddie doesn’t think he ever could be (little does Eddie know, he’s his own brand of oddly charming, and his type of charm has already made you fall for him), and, well, that scares the shit out of Eddie because, in his eyes, Rick is exactly the type of guy that could steal you away from him before he ever even gets the chance to tell you, his best friend, how hopelessly in love with you he is. No, no way, not happening. Therefore, Eddie’s decided that you can never ever find out who Reefer Rick actually is and you can certainly never meet him. Eddie can’t prevent the two of you from crossing paths in the grocery store, but he can prevent you two from ever properly meeting and talking to each other.

Anyways… Once Eddie has amply reassured you that you didn’t miss out on anything and that he’s not leaving you behind because you’re not a dude, he pops in one of the flicks, coaxes you onto the couch, and snuggles up with you as the two of you prepare to watch a really shitty quality version of a movie that you two are honestly indifferent to (hence why you two aren’t going to see it in theaters) and that, for some reason, has large, bold, poorly-translated Turkish subtitles on it.

[trulybetty]

16 x dance | tim x reader

prompt: dance pairing: tim rockford x reader word count: 530 notes: fluff, working unpaid overtime, late night hours & take out food summary: ten minutes on the clock until valentines is over

x. masterlist

It was day three of the rain. Like that heavy rain that the minute you step out in it, no matter how prepared you are, you feel it down into your bones. It had the entire city on edge. Crime was up, accidents were filling up the emergency room and tensions were boiling in the DA’s office. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose as you pulled off your glasses. You could feel a headache forming. No surprise since it was gone 11 pm and you were still at your desk at the courthouse going over the files PD had brought up that morning at six am sharp. You didn’t bother checking your drawer for Tylenol, you’d done it enough times today to remember you were out. This wasn’t the first headache the day had brought. 

You let out a deep sigh. Nothing was going anywhere fast. Especially with the DA butting heads with the Chief of Police. Both on the same side, however with a differing of opinions on how the case should be handled they might as well be fighting one another in court. 

You looked at the clock on the wall again, wincing at the late hour, then to the small sofa you had in your office. The crick in your neck told you that it would be a bad idea to sleep overnight. Even if you had a change of wardrobe in the office for nights like this. 

Just as you were debating packing up for the night a solitary figure walked by your office. The place was supposed to be empty save for the maintenance team. There was a sharp rapt, tap tap at your door before it opened and the familiar face of Tim appeared around the door, melting the tension from your shoulders away.

“Detective Rockford,” you greeted him as you pushed your chair away from your desk.

“Thought I'd find you here.”

The sight of him, so familiar and always a comfort these days, brought a small, tired smile to your lips. “Seems like the city doesn't sleep, so neither do we,” you replied, your voice betraying the exhaustion you felt deep in your bones.

He approached, setting the bag down on the corner of your desk, the aroma of Chinese take-out filling the room, a stark contrast to the stale air that had been your only company for hours. “I figured you hadn't eaten,” he set the bag down on a nearby table, then turned to you, a glint in his eyes, “and, you owe me,” Tim looked down at the watch on his wrist, a smirk on this lips, “and there are exactly ten minutes left of Valentine's Day, and I intend to make the most of it.”

Before you could protest, Tim had taken your hand and pulled you gently from your chair. There was a moment of hesitation, a brief interlude where the weight of your responsibilities threatened to pull you back to your desk. But then, Tim began to sway, leading you in an impromptu slow dance. There was no music, just the sound of the rain against the windows and the quiet hum of the building.

[fastcardotmp3]

Wheelingham; S4 AU; Outsider POV (Max); Presumed character death (but not real character death); 1.9k Written for @strangerthingsfemslash week day 3: secret relationship read day 1: different first meeting read day 2: women over thirty

Max goes to Nancy first. 

The lights flicker and the cops roll in and one of them is whispering about— The Cunningham girl? She’s probably dead by now. 

So. Max goes to Nancy, partially because at first she thinks she’ll knock out two Wheelers with one stone before she remembers Mike is already on a plane to California, but also because it’s Nancy. 

Because for the entirety of this past school year, Nancy has managed to bulldoze her way over all of Max’s carefully constructed walls and forced her to keep one of them in her life, at the very least. 

She’s a force of nature, Nancy Wheeler, and the first time she showed up at Max’s trailer with dinner on a night her mom was working a double, that had been apparent, but not everything had been. 

Not the reason Nancy was determined to insert herself in Max’s life; not the underlying despair that Max has learned chases that girl from one fight to the next. 

Max goes to Nancy because Nancy knows what to do when the world ends, in more ways than one. Max goes to Nancy, because she doesn’t realize that saying—

“I overheard the cops talking, they think she might be dead.” 

—she’ll be knocking loose the mask of resolve that Nancy puts on with her hair clips each morning, knocking it straight to the floor and stomping on it hard. 

“They think…” She's small, but normally she takes up mountains of space in Max’s life. She’s got this presence to her which Max can barely admit to herself is grounding, but it is. She actually seems small in this moment though. Wound up and tiny. “And you’re sure— did they say Chrissy? Did they say Cunningham? I don’t… I just—”

“That’s what they said,” Max feels like she’s watching something she’s not supposed to, like when she still lived in California and her mom still cared about the ratings on the movies Max rented from the Blockbuster. “And usually I wouldn’t put too much stock in what the Hawkins PD has to say, but… The lights were… I know what lights like that mean.” 

Nancy clenches down on her jaw and something in her eyes shifts and Max has spent a lot of time with this girl in the past six months. 

Long enough to recognize that there’s a lot Nancy doesn’t talk about, even when she’s actively trying to be vulnerable to make Max feel better; long enough, too, to know that just because Nancy is a force of nature doesn’t mean she’s not also still barely eighteen years old. 

Nancy swallows thickly and her fists clench and unclench around the fabric of her skirt until it's wrinkled and Max wants to ask, but before she gets the chance Nancy is steeling herself and sending Max to the car and telling her to radio Dustin to meet them at the Family Video. 

Before Max has a chance to really get a gauge on what’s going on with Nancy at all (because something is going on) she’s being forced to walk through exactly what and who she saw last night four times over on the fifteen minute drive. 

More than anything, Nancy’s haste reminds Max that they’re in it again. It reminds her that none of it was ever over and she was right, in a lot of ways if not all of them, to expect another shoe to drop. 

The problem is that it’s a lot easier to focus on something going on with Nancy than it is to think about the nightmares that have been haunting her since long before she watched Billy die. He’s starred in her nightmares before, but this is different, this is new, this is so entirely old by now. 

No, it’s easier to let the rest of them try to make sense of what’s going on while she watches the looks on Steve and Robin’s faces when they hear the name Chrissy Cunningham. 

They look at Nancy on instinct, without a beat of hesitation. They look at Nancy.

“Chrissy…? Shit, Nance—”

“Don’t,” she snaps, pushing past Steve’s big and welling eyes that clearly know more than Max does to begin typing away at the computer behind the desk. 

He doesn’t let her run from him though, visibly putting himself between Nancy and the rest of them as he speaks just under his breath enough that Max can’t hear him over Dustin’s own plan-making, but can see the way Nancy’s shoulders tense up and her fingers falter across the keys. 

If Max were, say, Dustin, it would look like the kind of sign that the two of them were starting something up again, but Max has broken up and gotten back together with Lucas enough times to recognize that this isn’t that. 

This is its own thing. This is Nancy on the verge of something else Max has been keenly aware of for too much of her young life: a nervous breakdown. 

Nancy Wheeler is terrified, but not in the same way the rest of them are, not because the world might be ending again. Hers is a different sort of terror, only Max can’t place it. She might even be wrong about the whole thing, looking too hard for a distraction from the pulsing ache at the center of her skull, but there’s something about the slices of conversation she catches that tells her otherwise. 

“... might not actually be…”

“... no way for you to know that, Steve…”

“... not the same as…”

“...don’t have time to… need to focus on this…”

But again, too much is happening with too quick a turnaround for Max to really dig in and find the answers to her queries. 

“Eddie wouldn’t hurt someone,” Dustin is saying with the sort of forceful defensiveness of someone who is being put on trial himself rather than defending a friend. “He wouldn’t. Something else killed Chrissy—”

Max’s eyes train in on the shift in Nancy’s posture, the thick swallow she takes as she turns halfway away from all of them like protecting her soft bits from coming blows. 

“ – or probably something,” Dustin insists. “Which means Eddie is in danger too if he was there.”

“Why would Chrissy have even been at Eddie’s trailer?” Robin asks, the question broad enough to seem as though it’s angled at all of them, but Max can see the way she looks at Nancy, the direction she means for it to land. 

Nancy seems to feel it too. 

“They’re friends,” she says without meeting anyone’s gaze, arms crossed and eyes downturned. “Ever since she broke up with Jason, it’s been— hard. At school. And Eddie’s just— he’s been a friend, so…”

“So maybe she’s with him,” Robin says, but it’s less like a suggestion of theory and more like the kind of thing meant to ease nerves, softer around the edges, almost imploring in nature. 

Nancy’s grip around her own biceps is tight enough to make her skin go white, and by the time they have an address for Reefer Rick, any proximity that Max gets to her feels like the air is vibrating at a different, but not unfamiliar, frequency. 

When Max stepped out of Starcourt on that night in July, the air had tasted like ash. When she had sat unblinking and trembling in the back of a parked ambulance, she hadn’t been able to feel Lucas’s hand in her own past the shake of the world around her. 

“She’s your friend?” Max asks, a murmur of a question just for Nancy after having forced her way into the front seat of the station wagon for their trek across town, letting the other three keep themselves occupied in the back. 

Nancy’s lips purse and what Max can only imagine is an involuntary hum chokes its way out of her throat. 

“I was— I shouldn’t have been so blunt about it,” Max says. “About what I overheard the police saying. I should have said it differently, because we don’t even know if she’s really—”

“She is,” Nancy says stiffly, grip tight on the steering wheel as they turn down a path that leads to the lake. “That’s how these things work. She is.” 

Max doesn’t have an argument for that. 

In her experience it’s the truth, the only truth, that the worst case is the actual case. 

It keeps her quiet in the passenger seat until they’re parking, all the way up to Rick’s front door, through Dustin’s incessant knocking, until she notices Nancy wandering towards the boathouse and hurries to follow behind her. 

The door creaks when they open it, windows mucked up with algae and the general wear of time to the point where even the fading light of day doesn’t permeate the space. The floorboards groan under their feet and the lap of water against the bottom of the boat at the center of the room makes the whole thing eerie. 

Eerie and nerve-wracking and bad, the whole thing has their collective adrenaline pumping right up until a number of things are happening at the same time. 

The toss of a tarp, the guttural scream of a man, the pushing and shoving and trapping of Steve up against the wall as the rest of them merely try to keep up and act on their feet and prepare for an attack and—

“Nance?” 

It’s quiet, but it cuts through the chaos. 

It’s quiet, but it seems as though it has physical weight in its effect on Nancy. 

“You’re—?” the sharp choking-off of a question, the near-buckling of knees, something starts to click into place as Nancy seems to move a woman-possessed across the boathouse until she’s got her hands hovering over Chrissy Cunningham’s shoulders, drifting down her arms, searching, searching, searching for— “are you hurt? You’re hurt? You’re— oh my god, are you real?” 

Chrissy’s got what appears to be Eddie’s leather jacket tied up around one of her arms like a sling, the stain of dried blood smudged on her cheekbone just under her eyes, but she smiles as she places her available hand on Nancy’s cheek. 

Wet and nervous, but a smile all the same. 

And things are clicking into place, because Max has broken up with and gotten back together with Lucas quite a few times. 

“Um, some stuff is— is happening and I don’t know how to explain—” Chrissy shakes her head, lifting her gaze to meet Eddie’s as he drops his attack stance from Steve, “but we’re okay. And you’re here now, so, so that’s—”

“They said you were dead,” Nancy blurts, chin wobbling and voice thick and cracking. “They said— I thought you were dead, I thought—”

It’s bold, when Chrissy cuts her off with a firm kiss to the mouth, right there in front of all of them in the middle of the dark. 

It’s bold, but Max sees the fondness on the older kids’ faces, the clarity that they’ve known the whole time. 

It’s bold, but pretty fucking cool, Max thinks. Proof, maybe, that it doesn’t always have to go the other way, that maybe sometimes their people can get through to the other side, scared and hurt but okay. Not lost. Not entirely. Close enough to be found. 

“Wha– Wait, what the–?” Dustin balks, confusion radiating off of him as bright as the sun beside Max, almost blinding in its comical nature. “Did you know about this?” he looks to her, face all twisted up in not knowing something more than actually having a problem with it. 

Max looks at him, looks at the gentle way Chrissy swipes away Nancy’s tears as they press their foreheads close and relish in the finding. 

And then she looks back at Dustin and shrugs. “It was kind of obvious, dumbass.” 

[lingerasthesmokeoncedid]

pairing: pattinson!batman x reader

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

wc: 10k+

genre: a romantic comedy between two deeply strange weirdos

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not the Batman. No. Definitely not.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

In fact, she knew he was. 

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

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

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

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

Oh, she was going to prove it alright. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I will–”

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me, miss–”

Familiar. She’d heard that voice before. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t ask him to do that. And–” 

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Prove what, that I’m not Batman?”

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

404. Batman error. 

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t. And she wondered…

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had to admit: she admired him for that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Hi.” 

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

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

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

“Alone, I mean.”

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

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

“ Don’t call me that .” 

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

“I don’t know why you’re doing this–”

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

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

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

“What do you mean by that?”

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

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

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

“Or what? You’ll make me stop?”

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

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

“That’s not possible.” 

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

“You’ll be making a mistake.” 

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just one more thing, Bruce.” 

“Yes?”

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

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

“What size shoe do you wear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something sharp pierced her side. 

She screamed. 

The edges of her world went fuzzy. 

Fuck . Had he stabbed her?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why were you–”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I touch you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You could.” 

“But you’re still doing this. Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SIGNAL MESSAGE FROM ANONYMOUS: Yeah. 

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

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

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

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

“Miss–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry, I just –”

“Leave the documents, at least.” 

He bolted up from his chair, grabbing for her.  

Too fast. Inhumanly fast. 

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

“Wait–”

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

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

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

Which, she suspected, he had. 

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

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

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

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

Not just any shadow. Bruce Wayne’s shadow. 

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

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

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

“Spying on me again?” 

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

This time, it was her turn to shrug.

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

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

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

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

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

“Wayne Manor.”

APARTMENT 1319B RECENT SEARCH HISTORY:

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

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

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

Do billionaires brick their enemies up in amontillado cellars anymore?

How to escape bricked-over amontillado cellar

What do rich people serve at dinner?

How to eat lobster without looking like a poor person

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

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

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

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

Alfred scoffed. “You’re–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A date?”

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

She’d thought….

Well…

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

But a date…?

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

“You do?”

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

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

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

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

“ Shit –”

“Careful there–”

…right into his arms. 

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

“Me either,” he agreed. 

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

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

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

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

“Do what?”

“Try to expose me. And then stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Master Wayne.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay?”

“I’ll take the job.”

“You will?”

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

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

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

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

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

He liked the sound of that. 

“Are you ready to start, then?”

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

“And where is that?” he asked. 

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

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

[sylkiddsey]

Prompt: “Hold Onto Me”

Set in the early/ middle of season 8

Sylvie’s going to kill Stella. She’s actually going to corner her behind the rotting benches on their side of the field and murder her.

She did this. She implanted this stupid idea about her and Matt; Matt freaking Casey who has to be the worst possible person to have somewhat feelings for.

Okay, maybe Olivia is the one to blame since she said the stupid six words that can’t stop ringing through her brain like a bell. Still, Stella didn’t disagree. She also didn’t slap Sylvie across the face for even considering wanting Matt. Instead, she smirked and now she won’t let it go.

Now, she begged Sylvie to join the CFD softball team who annually plays against CPD. It’s strictly a pissing contest whose only prize is winning and bragging rights. It’s something Severide created so he could kick Jay Halstead’s ass.

Her best friend, her evil intentioned best friend, encouraged her to join this year. She insisted it was because Sylvie played softball in high school. Her friend knows she has a good arm so of course she’d want her on the team.

Wrong, this decision; this torture, is all because of Matt Casey. Stella convinced her here, so she had no choice but to stare and pine for the man who brings a whole new definition to the word swoon.

He’s hot on any given day, that much is obvious. It’s just a fact because any girl who encounters him on a scene, sweaty, stern and sometimes dirty, gets star eyes. They look at him like some Greek god and Sylvie’s human.

Matt’s incredibly attractive but this scene, this look is ungodly. When she first saw him, she rubbed her eyes so hard she saw spots. She thought she was hallucinating but this man was real.

The second-hand cheap uniform that’s oversized on her fits him amazingly. His shirt is halfway unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up so all she can see is tan skin. Plus, his backwards baseball cap stirs something inside her that she didn’t even know existed.

Not to mention, his semi-competitive nature is a real turn on. All of it is entirely inappropriate considering he’s Gabby’s ex-husband. Matt’s her friend and she reasons with herself that any woman would admire this look. Hell, maybe Hailey and Kim are right there with her.

However, based on their starry looks for their respective partner’s, she doubts it. Unfortunately, she’s probably the only one foaming at the mouth. Well, she has seen the blonde female patrol cop making heart eyes at him.

There’s that at least.

God, she’s going to kill Stella after this. There’s no way she didn’t know what she was doing. She wanted her to have to see Matt like this. Just because she’s so happy with her own firefighter man does not give her the right.

Although Sylvie has murder on her mind, she’s also sadistically glad to play alongside him. She’s damn good and it’s thrilling to see his reaction. He even swatted her ass in congratulations after she ran into home base when Cruz advanced to first.

He’s never done that before, and she really can’t say she hated it. Although it was a little awkward when Hermann did the same thing. It’s endearing how into the game Hermann gets. She loves seeing his carefree self.

All and all, playing on the team is fun and they are definitely kicking PD’s ass. They are up by five runs in the bottom of the fifth inning. Jay and Atwater are good and Hailey’s surprisingly fast, but Adam and Kim can’t stop flirting to really do any good. Plus, the patrol cops Platt threatened so they’d join the team are clearly not into it. They rarely make contact with the ball or catch anything in the outfield.

Realistically, her team is in much better shape. Matt and Severide are athletes and Stella and Foster are so competitive it turns into skill. Cruz is one of the best third basemen and Gallo has hit more home runs than anybody. Even Ritter is quick on his feet.

She’s sure they are going to win which is probably why Severide gives in and lets her pitch another inning. His arm is sore, so he forfeits his pitcher status so that means she’s up again.

So far, she’s striked out most of PD aside from a few badly called balls. Trudy Platt makes a very biased umpire, but what can you do? Severide, aka the self-elected leader, pulled himself out while bases were loaded. Hailey had just reached first, pushing Atwater to second. Now, Jay is up to bat, and he looks determined.

His used helmet tips down and he adjusts, getting into a proper swinging stance. “Show us what you got Brett.”

What is it about men and trash talk?

She bends her knees and winds her arm. Ideally, it should pass through the strike zone without that bat making contact. She reels back and shoots forward, throwing the pale-yellow ball as hard as she can.

Jay swings, but misses, the softball landing in Cruz’s catcher mitt with a thwack. Platt declares her throw as a strike.

“Atta girl!” Stella hollers from the short-stop position. She smacks her hand into the glove and winks.

Okay, maybe Sylvie won’t kill her. She’s too encouraging for that.

Jay murmurs, scuffs his sneaker against the dirt and then repositions. He holds the bat behind his shoulder, and she winds up again, throwing the ball a little higher this time. Jay swings and misses, Platt declaring a second strike.

One more and he’s out and CFD bats again. She can easily do this.

“You got this, Brett.”

She looks over her shoulder. Matt’s playing first base because, duh, he’s just that good. He grins at her which causes a wave of nervousness to rush over. Before, she felt confident, but now with Matt’s very blue eyes tracking her every movement, she has butterflies.

God he looks so good. This Saturday evening hue does wonders for him.

Once Jay repositions again, she winds her arm back. She rotates her joint in a circle and releases the ball once it’s straight. It soars in the air harder than the previous ones and she watches Jay’s shinny blue bat make contact. Her eyes drift back onto Matt so she can watch him in action. She registers the harsh clinking noise and hears a simultaneous gasp amongst PD players inside the dugout.

She’s not sure what that is about until the ball comes flying back in her direction and beams her directly in the side of the head. Everything goes dark and before she can process anything, she tastes rich dirt on her lips.

There are a lot of voices all around her, but the throbbing inside her skull and eye socket makes it hard to process any of it. Jay can really hit the ball which should’ve been obvious. The man hits doors with battering rams for a living.

He has some power.

“Sylvie, can you hear me?”

Oh great. Matt, of course he’s here. Of course, the man she can’t get out of her damn head just witnessed her not so graceful face plant into the dirt.

This is humiliating.

His warm, rough hand grazes the back of her head. Despite not being able to open her eyes, she knows his face is right in front of hers. His voice sounds close, and she can also smell the faint scent of the cologne he probably put on before all this.

He grips her shoulder with his unoccupied hand. “Hey, I need you to open your eyes.”

The tone of his voice somehow lessens the pain, so she tries to blink. At first, everything is blurry. All she can see is redness and several sets of feet. After she lets her eyes adjust, she realizes she’s on her stomach. Her right eye is also swollen and throbbing.

“Hey, she’s coming to!”

Stella? Sylvie rolls herself onto her back covering her bad eye. Stella’s crouched next to her, shouting at Foster who is rooting around in the dugout. She’s probably looking for a first aid kit.

The game has apparently stopped. Everyone is crowded around her like she’s some zoo extraction. It is so embarrassing.

“Sylvie, hey? Are you alright?” Matt asks, allowing his hand to cup the side of her face. His worried features are blurry, but still tense.

“Geez, is she okay?”

Jay’s bent at the waist, hands on his knees by her feet. His expression is a mixture between worry and guilty.

Matt shoots him a tense glare, voice low and angry. She’s heard him talk like this on scenes with uncooperative people. “What do you think? You beamed her in the head.”

She’s sure poor Jay didn’t mean to do it. He just had a great hit and maybe if she wasn’t admiring Matt, she could’ve ducked.

Matt turns his attention on her again, narrowed eyes growing soft. His fingers brush some dirt off her face. “Hey, can you talk to me? Do you know where you are?”

Unfortunately, she does.

Her stomach churns at the reality of all this along with the pain. She feels herself grow pale.

“I’m going to be sick,” she murmurs, turning onto her right side by Stella. If she’s going to lose her sandwich Cindy packed for all of them, she’d rather Matt not witnesses that. She’s sure Stella won’t appreciate it, but this is also kind of her fault. She talked her into this.

When she’s on her side, the nausea dissipates. After she feels better, she rolls onto her back. Somehow, she ends up in Matt’s lap with his arm supporting her shoulders.

Emily runs over with the pitiful first aid kit someone left behind in the dugout. When she unpacks it, there is only a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and a warm ice pack.

Sylvie feels something wet roll down her face. She touches the skin above her eye and realizes it must’ve split open from the ball's stitches. She’s bleeding.

“You need a hospital, partner,” Foster says. “You’ll probably need stitches and a CT.”

Yeah, she’d agree she has a concussion. A cop’s strength will do that to a person.

“I’m so sorry, Brett,” Jay apologizes.

She gives him a thumbs up and mumbles, “It’s fine.”

Matt looks down at her, gently caressing her head. “I’m going to take you to Med.”

“What about the game?” Severide asks.

Both Stella and Matt glare through his soul. Although, she’s not upset with him at all. She doesn’t expect they stop the game all because of this.

“She’s bleeding and concussed. I think you’ll survive forfeiting the game,” Matt retorts.

“No, keep playing,” she insists, wincing at how talking aggravates her injury. “Cindy or someone from the stands can take me.”

“No way,” he argues. “I got it.”

Oh god. This can’t get any worse. She loves how much he cares, but he’s killing her.

Stella must notice because she pipes up. “It’s okay, Casey. I can take her. You keep playing.”

Matt begins maneuvering her in his arms. She groans as he just barely jostles her. She’s seeing stars.

“No offense Kidd, but I don’t think you can carry her to the car,” he replies.

Carry? She can probably walk.

“Casey, I can walk,” she protests, but he doesn’t listen. He slides one arm under her back and legs.

“No, you can’t Sylvie,” he replies. “Hold onto me.”

She has no choice but to do what he asks. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he hoists her in his arms like she’s weightless. The movement makes her dizzy, so she rests her head on his broad shoulder.

Despite how embarrassing this is, she can’t say she’s miserable. This is surprisingly nice.

“Kidd, can you grab my keys from my bag and help me get her in the truck?” He requests.

“Sure.”

Sylvie ignores the commotion around her and focuses on how nice it feels to be in his arms.

:::

She winds up behind a curtain in Med’s ER with one of Matt’s old t-shirts against her bleeding eye as she waits. Unfortunately, the ER is overflowing with people who are in worse shape so she’s stuck waiting. It doesn’t matter that Matt already made an enemy out of one of the doctor’s she doesn’t know after he demanded she get some ice; she still has to wait.

The bleeding has slowed, but she’s definitely dizzy. Matt had of course carried her in despite the many many times she insisted she could walk. He never listened because he carried her until he gently sat her on the gurney.

Now, he’s standing next to her with one of her hands tight in his. He took off the hat at some point, so his hair is disheveled and messy. It’s not a bad change.

She really didn’t think he’d stick around, but they’ve been waiting almost an hour and he’s stayed by her side. She’s somewhat reclined back with her knees propped up and her left-hand holding pressure against her face.

He told her ten minutes ago that Stella texted that she and Emily were trying to visit, but with the ER so packed, the nursing staff wanted all unnecessary visitors out.

She understands and as much as she loves her friends, Matt is great company too.

She squeezes Matt’s fingers to lessen the pain because her eye is throbbing and swollen. He must notice the additional pressure because he turns his head and frowns.

“Hey, is it getting worse?” He asks.

“No, just throbs every now and then. I guess that is happens when you take a softball to the eye socket.”

So far, he’s been standing next to her, leaning on the railing every once and awhile after stretching his back. Now, he reaches for one of the plastic chairs with one hand and drags it next to her. He sits down, resting both elbows on the railing and moves his free hand to her head.

He sweeps some hair out of her eyes. “Yeah, Halstead hit you hard, Brett.”

She bites her lip to keep from laughing. “Yeah, I know Casey. I felt it.”

Matt chuckles, letting his hand rest on the top of her head. “I bet. You dropped to the ground instantly. I don’t think anyone had time to react.”

God, that’s so embarrassing.

She groans. “Just great. That’s not humiliating at all.”

“Oh, come on,” he replies. “There is nothing embarrassing about getting hurt. It was Halstead’s fault. Not yours.”

“He didn’t mean to hit me. It was a good hit,” she says. “I should’ve ducked or gotten out of the way. It’s not Jay’s fault.”

He leans back but keeps ahold of her hand. “I don’t care. You shouldn’t have gotten hit like that. You’re going to need stitches and you probably have a concussion.”

She ticks one finger in the air. “Definitely have a concussion. Paramedics know these things, but hey, at least I didn’t break anything.”

The second she makes the joke, she regrets it. Matt’s expression shifts and she berates herself for making light of the Arnow fire.

“I…I’m sorry,” she whispers, squeezing his hand. “I shouldn’t have…”

He shakes his head and shifts his gaze down. “No, no, you’re right. I guess it’s kind of hypocritical of me to be upset with Halstead for hurting you when I did the same.”

She’s so stupid. How could she bring this up? It’s not Matt’s fault. She’s never blamed him ever.

“Casey, you didn’t…” she chews on the inside of her lip. “It wasn’t your fault. I would never blame you for what happened.”

He meets her stare. “I called you in, Brett. I told you it was safe. That’s on me.”

She knows he holds so much guilt over that day, especially Otis’s death. It’s unnecessary because it wasn’t on him. It was the factory’s negligence that caused the blast.

“You thought it was,” she replies. “Everyone did. There was no way for you to know. I don’t blame you and you shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“Yeah,” he replies, but she can tell he doesn’t believe it. He probably never will.

She switches gears and lets her gaze settle on his hand, watching as his rough thumb grazes her pointer finger in soothing patterns. Originally, she thought this injury was a curse, but it’s kind of a blessing. It’s nice to see how much he cares.

He’s a great guy.

“You know,” she whispers, looking up at him. She wants this next confession to really sink in. “More than anyone in the world, I’d trust you with my life. I really would, Casey.”

The signature solemn Matt Casey looks changes. The corner of his mouth ticks up in a small grin. “I appreciate that.” He clears his throat, and she swears his cheeks turn a little red, but that might just be her impaired vision. “When Boden came over the radio and said someone was hurt…I was really hoping it wasn’t you. I mean, I didn’t want Foster or anybody else to be really hurt, but I don’t know.”

She holds her breath in anticipation. The confession startles her to her core. What does that even mean?”

“I guess what I’m saying is…worst case scenario for me was that it was you who was hurt…well, aside from the absolute worst…”

She gently interrupts him. They both know what he means. “Yeah, I know.” She decides to shift the tone. “I knew I’d grow on you eventually.”

Huh, maybe that wasn’t a good idea. She is concussed and the pain meds just now kicked in. She’ll blame her loose filter on that.

Matt chuckles, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I wouldn’t say you never did. I mean, I’ve liked you since the day I met you.”

Platonically, she reminds herself.

She purses her lips. “No, you definitely didn’t. We barely knew each other. I was just…”

Gabby’s best friend.

God, she’s the worst person ever. She shouldn’t be holding Matt’s hand right now. It’s wrong.

She tries to ease her hand away, but his grip never waivers.

Whatever. If he’s okay with it, so is she.

It’s all friendly anyway.

“Okay,” Matt concedes. “Maybe it took me a couple years to really appreciate you in all your glory, but I had a lot going on. Now, I don’t know…I guess it’s easy with you. I mean, talking and hopefully, building a friendship.”

His sentence trails off with a question. She can’t believe he would think for one second that she doesn’t consider him as a friend.

She does.

The pain meds are leaving her feeling fuzzy. She grins, readjusting the shirt that smells like Matt against her eye. “See? I knew you’d fall in love with me.”

Oh my god.

She lifts her head and the room spins, but she’s too immersed in her panic to clock her symptoms.

Did she really just…

To her surprise, Matt doesn’t look appalled by her stupid slip-up. He’s actually grinning in amusement.

“Oh my god,” she whispers. “I didn’t mean…pickles.” She shakes her head, averting her gaze onto the tiled ceiling. “Platonically of course. I meant platonically fall in love. I say the same thing to Severide which I obviously don’t want him in love with me. Not that he would. I mean, he’s madly in love with Stella which I want! I want my best friend so happy. I’m not…oh my god.”

She feels like a human car crash. Every move she makes causes more damage.

“Brett,” Matt laughs.

“Obviously you’ll never fall in love with me,” Sylvie says. It’s true. “Nor would I ever in a million years want you to, Casey.” Unfortunate lie.

He raises his eyebrows. Did she offend him?

“You’re not my type. You’re not unattractive obviously…I mean, I’m not saying I don’t think your…”

Now would be the best time for her blood vessels to pop if she does in fact have a brain bleed. It would shut her up, but also give her an excuse to hide behind after all that word vomit.

“Sylvie,” he interrupts, lightly patting her head. “You’re drugged up on pain pills. Probably best you stop talking.”

Yeah, definitely not a bad idea.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. You can um…I can wait alone. I don’t want to put you out. You probably have things…”

“You better not be trying to push me away now,” he says. “I like being here for you, okay? And I like that you seem to like it too. Just let me.”

Gosh, he’s so earnest. It amazes her.

“I do like you here. I appreciate it,” she says. “I really do.”

She does.

Appreciate him.

[dailyanarchistposts]

The Establishment of CHAZ

On June 7, the mayor of Seattle, Jenny Durkan announced that no more tear gas can be used and only de-escalation techniques going forward. That night and the night of June 8th, her department decided to use tear gas anyway because like most mayors in the country, they have no control of their brutish and unaccountable police departments. Video surfaced late on the night of June 8th of tear gas filling an entire street in the Capitol Hill district. This video went viral, but what didn’t go viral was the Seattle PD’s tactical retreat that happened later in the night and the subsequent complete control that was gained in the district by local anarchists and socialists. By the morning of June 9th, that six block radius was in their complete control. Roadblocks were erected, signs were put up and artists came in to put their stamp on the community. As far as internal governance goes, there is none of course. It’s an experiment in de-centralized governance operating as a de facto anarchist region. It’s probably most similar to Freetown Christiania which is an intentional commune in the borough of Christianshavn in the city of Copenhagen, Denmark.

[winesink]

Fuck it, WIP Wednesday

Sansan hockey AU no one asked for

Voregeoisiee on ao3. Promise what's posted isn't as hyper taste specific 😂

It's nearing the end of the second when things start to heat up. A bad rebound from Pod leads to a dogpile in front of the net, where the refs conveniently miss an obvious chokehold from the Vale's prized winger, Hardyng. The crowd's on its feet, and Sandor can feel the crackle of energy which usually precedes a favorable turn like an incoming storm - a dense fog of nervous energy accumulating in the nosebleeds, just waiting to rain down on them.

Sandor pays Hardyng back by putting him on the glass hard enough to pop his own visor off. No call, clean hit. The ozone breaks open with a peal of thunder that sounds suspiciously like 17,000 fans barking like dogs. Lannister creates a turnover, Bronn takes it up ice while the Knights are still on their back feet. Odd man breakaway, two red jerseys flying up the ice, nothing between them and the back of a net but a goalie that sprung a five hole leak sometime last month. 

And then Redwyne hops the fence a full second too soon. 

Sandor's not sure what rings loudest: the collective groan from the crowd, the ref's whistle, or Selmy's blue streak. 

Jamie peels off to negotiate with the ref, but Sandor doesn't bother. FNG's been eager all season. He's just surprised not to find any yellow ice where he piddled. He turns towards the corner where he dropped his equipment instead and finds Royce balancing the visor on the end of his stick, proffered like a white flag. "Hell of a hit, Hound," the vet concedes, and Sandor accepts both offerings with a grunt. Old man's probably just hoping to butter him up so he doesn't have to take one himself, but Sandor plays along. Selmy's been on his ass about his reputation ever since giving him the 'A'. It's enough to have him chewing through his mouth guard most games, but Royce ain't bad. "Suppose we're all just lucky Harry didn't try something like that a few years ago, eh?" 

The incident in the Iron Isles, he's referring to. Sandor's first season with the Lions. He'd been called up as an enforcer when a rowdy series against the Kraken had been threatening to boil over. Young and stupid and eager to earn his keep in the big leagues, Sandor had returned a hit on the Lions' star player in game six with one of his own - and telescoped Greyjoy's spine in the process. Careerender. Life-ender, damn near. He'd been ejected, but it had ultimately been deemed a clean hit with no suspension. They'd gone on to the finals, only ceding the crown to Bear Isle after seven games, a deep run no team could be ashamed of, and he wasn't. But that didn't stop the criminal investigation Pyke PD had subjected him to for an entire off-season. Nor did it fix Greyjoy's spine.

Sandor ignores the snipe. Royce makes for a dog shit pest and the Hound can smell bait a mile away, besides. "Woulda been some trick. Couple years ago, Harry Hardyng was still sucking his mam's tit," he supplies instead and Royce just laughs good naturedly as they split ways to their respective benches.

Squeezing in next to Kettleblack, he's miffed when the general aura of frustration he'd expected to find on the bench has somehow not ousted the general giddiness that's had them fucking up all evening. Having had enough, Sandor leans around Osmund to ask the line of gnats on his left what's so fucking funny about their performance when he sees it - right on glass and dead center - the font from which so much prancing and peacocking has sprung: Joffrey Baratheon, the Lions' heir apparent, and his arm candy of the week.

She's cute. Pink and pouty, but sensible enough not to wear a fucking club dress to an ice rink, unlike the last one. She's gone with an away jersey, probably to keep the red home one from clashing with her pretty auburn hair. It's big on her. Slouchy. Threatens to fall off one delicate shoulder.  Despite himself, Sandor's eyes roam down to where she's got her long legs crossed elegantly, showing off her pristine white trainers. Fucking leggings. Bane of his existence.

His eyes flick back up just in time to see her noticing him - horrified expression and all. Sandor grimaces, turning back to the bench. "Eyes in front, you twats," he barks at no one in particular. It works, the whole bench sitting straighter as Selmy wraps up his tirade long enough to send Sandor a surprised, but approving nod.

[petertingle-yipyip]

MAD AT GOD - MATT MURDOCK

Season Three - As The World Caves In

tags: @mayasaurus--rex @americaarse @dusstory @johnmurphys-sass @ironprincessstranger @astrobees @woowwwee // six // eight // masterlist

Pairing: Matt x Livia

Word Count: 8,489

Summary: What feels like the final night alive, recovering from Dex’s latest attack feels almost impossible while trying to save everyone. The world continues to cave in around Ex while subconsciously adopting Matt’s old moral code, finding light in the dark.

You fell to the ground with your back against the poles with a loud wince. You could feel your body trying to repair itself as the pain began to sting, sharp enough that you wanted to scream. Your head fell to the side and you saw Karen clutching Matt in her lap, crying quiet pleads.

You groaned as you scooted across the floor to get to them.

“Oh my god.” She gasped when she saw what happened to you but you disregarded her. You managed to climb to your knees near Matt’s other side. “Livia, you-“

“Mhmm.” You cut her off with a fast nod. “It’s- It's okay.” You tried to answer but as soon as you opened your mouth, the blood spilled out and down your chest. You coughed roughly and the knife shifted in your stomach and practically scratched your lung, which caused you to whine.

Matt groaned at the noise you made and tried to push himself up, reaching out for you. You pushed his hands away to ensure he couldn’t touch you and grabbed the knife with one hand and the posts with the other. You took a few deep breaths and yanked it out quickly, screaming at the sudden action.

You slammed both hands over the gash and pressed hard, trying to set off your healing. As the pain climbed, you leaned against the poles again and tapped your head against one. You counted off the times you hit, hoping to keep your head off the pain at the center of your abdomen but it refused to be ignored.

“Livia?” Matt said weakly as Karen helped him to sit up.

Your eyes closed tightly and you were bombarded with Dex’s anger from whatever alleyway he ducked into. You pushed it away, throwing it back at him, and blocked him out entirely. He wasn’t your responsibility anymore.

All units, 10-34. Daredevil reported at Clinton Church. Mobilize level three.

Dispatch, code 11. Emergency services en route.

Dispatch, 10-54 at Clinton Church. This is a multiple casualty incident.

“We’ve-“ You said weakly and you hauled yourself up. Your stomach still leaked blood but it wasn’t filling your mouth like moments ago. “We’ve gotta move.”

“No, Livia.” Karen tried. “You can’t-“

“He’s gone.” You said sharply, yanking off your mask and pulling down the zipper for your top. You threw both materials across the level towards your other set of clothes before fiddling at your belt for your gauze. “PD will be here any second. We don’t have time.”

“He killed him… Livia, he killed him.” Matt said softly as he got to a kneel.

“Yeah, I know.” You answered tightly, more focused on what to do next than what already happened. What you failed to stop. What was seared to the inside of your eyelids.

The knife burying itself into Father Lantom’s chest.

You crossed the balcony to your pile as you undid the top half of your suit. You examined the wound for a second before covering it. The skin was red and angry, edges of it already caked with dried blood and the center was still a gaping wound. You clicked your tongue in disappointment before covering it and taping your gauze down.

“You two have to go. Now.” You spoke plainly, already planning your next fifteen moves. You gathered your suit and all its accessories in your hands hastily after you changed, every small extension pulling on that hole in your center.

“No. No. I can stay here. I can- I’ll tell the police everything.” Karen said quickly.

“Tell them what? That ‘Daredevil’ murdered a priest and Exodus was too late?”

“That it wasn’t Daredevil.”

“And how do you explain how you know that? Ray didn’t even believe you when you said it. That kind of sentiment got you fired, remember?”

“I really think I should stay.”

You muttered complaints to yourself as Matt told her what he knew.

“Your partner?” Karen said to you, though you didn’t acknowledge her. “Livia?”

“Yeah, I know.” You pushed past them with your suit in hand. “Don’t worry. I’m still gonna kill him.”

You stopped for a second to pick up your bloodied knife and shoved it at the back of your belt.

“Wait. No, Livia, wait.” Karen reached for you but you kept moving, scrubbing your suit material against your chin and nose to clear the dried blood off.

With as much determination as your body could muster, you moved quickly. You tapped your foot at the edge of each stair until one board came loose. You lifted it and shoved your vigilante persona under it before hurrying out the side door. You were greeted with an insane amount of police presence. Everywhere you turned, you were blinded by flashing red and blue lights.

“Oh thank God!” Maggie sighed as she found you.

“Hey.” You breathed and stepped back quickly as she tried to hug you. “Sorry, I just-“ You lifted your shirt enough to show her.

She frowned slightly and reached forward, helping clear some of the remaining wax and blood from your cheeks.

“Is he…”

“Alive? Yeah, barely. I don’t know how he’s gonna get out.”

Your eyes scanned the scene behind her as you pressed on your scar, making sure to set your implant back to only listen to your communication frequencies. You glanced around and found two familiar figures pushing through the crowd. You nodded for her to follow and you jogged to catch up with them.

“I’m assuming command.” Ray told the police captain, but it clearly wasn’t his idea. The captain gave a rundown of what he already had in the works.

“Sorry I’m late. How far out is ESU?” You asked as you joined the duo and strapped your bureau-issued bulletproof vest into place before fitting your jacket back on. Dex looked at you as if he’d seen a ghost and you didn’t bother hiding your smirk. Clearly, you were in better shape than he anticipated. He probably thought he had killed you, or maybe he was surprised he chose not to.

Maybe, you realized, leaving you alive wasn’t the plan. Maybe that was his choice… But why would he leave you - the most immediate threat towards him and Fisk - alive?

“Excuse me.” Maggie said from your side. “I saw Daredevil leaving the church.”

You glanced up and saw the look on Dex’s face. Your fist tightened at your side and you had to turn away to keep yourself from starting a fistfight with Dex in the middle of the street.

“When?” Ray asked and put a hand on your arm. When you looked over, you saw the question in his eyes so you gave a small nod and turned back to the conversation, forcing that rise of anger to the pit of your stomach to burn your wound.

“Moments before you all arrived. He headed that way.” She pointed down an alley across the street.

“We got two other DOAs in an alley a block from here.” The captain agreed.

“I’m aware of that.” Dex cut in firmly and your brows raised in challenge. “Daredevil came back to the church.”

“Doubtful.” You shook your head and took a small step to put yourself between Maggie and Dex. “I just came from the backend and I didn’t see anything.”

“I saw him myself.”

“Are you sure? There’s a lot of moving parts right now. It could’ve been anyone. Doesn’t make sense for him to come back anyways. What’s left for him here?”

While Ray talked some more to the captain, Dex turned to fully face you and took a step closer, an intimidation tactic to emphasize his size against you. Admittedly, you were smaller than him, but he had yet to truly beat you so it seemed like his size did him no favors against you. You simply tilted your head up and smiled with hands folded neatly behind your back.

“You better watch it.” He said lowly as he dragged you with him to follow Ray into the church. You heard a small noise of protest from Sister Maggie but you were quick to shake your head and hold a hand out for her to stay where she was.

“I swear to you, if you even think about touching that nun, I will kill you. I don’t care who’s looking.” You answered in the same low tone as you yanked your arm away. “No suit to save you from a bullet to the head this time.”

“Just do what you’re told, and I’ll let her live.”

“You say that like you’re in charge.” You scoffed. “We both know Fisk has you on a tight leash.”

“You think you’re funny?” He sneered.

“Hilarious, actually. Besides, you won’t find them.”

“I don’t have to. You will.”

You rolled your eyes and kept your pace moving forward. Dex moved a bit faster to lead beside Ray and once he wasn’t beside you, your eyes drifted towards the hall that led downstairs. You could feel them downstairs. You could hear their conversation. Matt was pissed that he lost his chance against Fisk for Karen. Karen was afraid of what Matt had become. Both were scared of what would happen to you.

“I can’t believe we left her up there.”

“She’s fine, Karen. We need to worry about ourselves right now.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Livia’s gonna do what she can to protect us but we can’t leave it completely up to her… We need to figure something out.”

“And your just okay with her up there alone? With that psycho?”

“No. I’m not, alright? But I can’t do a damn thing for her with a target on my back!”

Ray suddenly stopped in front of you and you nearly collided with him. “What are you gonna do if you get them?” He asked tightly.

Dex glanced over at you and you simply shook your head.

“I did not sign up for this shit.” Ray insisted.

“Yes you did.” Dex answered firmly before turning away.

“Search the living quarters.” Ray instructed ESU before pulling you a couple steps away. “Yersova, don’t bullshit me right now. I know you took off from the SUVs earlier. What do you know? Why is he looking at you like that?”

“I know he’s the one parading around in Daredevil’s suit.” You answered quietly and you could tell Ray was trying not to react. “I know who the real Daredevil is, and I know who Exodus is. He knows who Exodus is, but her and I keep getting in his way from getting to Daredevil. Or to Karen Page.”

“The girl, Exodus. She was here tonight?”

You simply nodded as a hand went to your bleeding wound.

“Is she still here?”

You nodded again.

“Where?”

“Right in front of you.” You admitted as the main doors were pushed open and Sister Maggie was escorted in.

You walked down the aisle and knelt beside her while she prayed.

“I’m so sorry.” You said gently when she faced you, eyes brimming with tears. The sight was enough to bring a lump to your throat. “I tried but..”

“You have to stop him.” She pleaded quietly.

“I’m trying. I don’t know how without killing him.” You admitted as tears welled in your eyes. “If he’s willing to go that far, one of us to have restraint.”

“Alivia…”

“I trusted him. He saved my life, I- I need him to get to Fisk.”

“Just do right by Matthew, please.”

“I’m doing what I can. I promise.”

A hand under your arm pulled you to your feet. You were quick to yank yourself free and spun to see it was Dex who grabbed you. You felt your temper snap and you shoved him by his chest as red sparks seemed to appear at the point of contact. He nodded slightly with an annoyed expression as you shoved him away again.

“Yersova.” Ray tried to reach for you but you had moved to push Dex again.

The man caught your arms and pulled you closer.

“Dex!” Ray said firmly and tried to get his arms between you two.

“You need to stay out the way.” Dex said lowly, tightening his grip on your arms.

“You need to stop this.” You answered weakly. The intensity of the night had began to wear on you, draining your capacity to maintain control so tears from just moments before fell down your cheeks and you felt just a sliver of remorse from him. “Please..”

He smirked slightly as he let go of your arms, allowing you to quickly recover your composure and run a sleeve across your eyes. “You’re real pretty when you beg.” He tapped a finger against the bottom of your chin and stepped around you to talk to Maggie.

You turned to lunge at him but Ray caught you by your waist and pulled you a couple steps back. You fell into him when you felt the pressure against your stab wound and you grabbed his arm for support. Dex brushed past you, ensuring to knock into you with his shoulder. Maggie was behind him but she stopped beside you to put a hand on your arm in question. You forced yourself to stand tall and nodded, putting yourself between her and Dex as you and a small team headed towards the basement.

When you all got down, there was no sign of Matt or Karen that anyone could see. You felt the thumping panic from beside you but when you turned, all you saw was an old stone coffin. Looking closer, you saw a collection of blood at the corner. You stepped to it quickly and snuck a hand under your bulletproof.

Your hand came back slick with your own blood and you leaned against the stone, smearing your blood over the existing stain. Dex and Ray came over and Sister Maggie was at your other side with a gentle hand on your back. Dex looked down and shone his flashlight at the blood before looking back to you.

“Don’t forget you stabbed me.” You muttered as you righted yourself with a groan and pushed the light out of your face. “Blood’s mine.”

“That makes two knives I put in you then, huh?” He nearly smiled.

“Two knives that didn’t kill me.” You turned to face him. “So you’ve got nothing to brag about.”

“What about the rectory?” Ray asked Maggie, hoping to keep moving and get clear of the church.

“There’s also a door to the roof. I’ll show you.” Maggie ushered Ray away but Dex hovered at your side.

“What?” Your eyes darted between his but you couldn’t find an answer. But you did find an unmistakable softness in the way he looked at you. “Why haven’t you killed me, Dex?”

“What?”

“You've had so many chances. The Bulletin, your apartment, tonight. But you haven’t. You just keep toying with me… Why?”

“Don’t know.” He shrugged. “It’s funner this way, don’t you think?”

“No, it’s something else… Fisk tell you to keep me alive?”

“Yeah, sure. Are we done?”

“Even if he did, you could easily lie and say that you had to kill me so that’s not it… You make a deal with Ray?”

“No.”

“Hattley?”

“No.”

“Then what?” You asked loudly, thankful no one else was in the room. Well, other than your friends hiding in the coffin. “Why am I alive, Dex?”

“I don’t know.” He spoke shakily but there was no denying the feeling he was trying to hide. Your eyes went slightly wider as your jaw fell open. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“How long have you-“

“I don’t.”

“If you didn’t, you wouldn’t know what I’m talking about and I would’ve been dead.”

“I just missed.”

“Three times?” You scoffed.

“Who cares?”

“You don’t miss.”

“Whatever. Move.” He grabbed you by your arm and pushed you towards the direction Maggie led Ray.

A small smirk crossed your lips as you understood something. Dex may be in the palm of Fisk’s hand, but you still held a certain power over him. Regardless of the manipulation you could utilize through your abilities, if you just bat your lashes the right way and put the right plea in your voice, he’d be at your feet. Unintentionally, you got Ben Poindexter to catch feelings for you. The man - potentially - was in love with you.

Checkmate.

Once Matt knew Dex and his team were gone, he lifted the stone lid and let him and Karen out. There was a heavy tension in the air as they waited. Waited for the FBI to come back or for Dex to try and finish what he started. He knew if it was the latter, Livia would help to stop him. But with her latest injury to her abdomen, he didn’t know how long she would last before Dex got the best of her. And with her challenge of why he kept her alive, Matt doubted Dex would do so again. Even if it was just to prove a point that he could.

He and Karen talked for a minute about what was happening, why she was on Fisk’s radar. She had been with Livia when Fisk’s friend Wesley was killed. Livia used her signature weapon on him, and Karen emptied the clip into his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked.

“You always treated me like I was.. innocent. It was nice. It was nice that you thought of me like that.” She explained with a sniffle. “And I knew how you felt about Livia, about what she did - what she does - as Exodus. I just… I couldn’t.”

“I don’t blame her for it, not anymore.”

“But at the time, you did. That was the same night she told me who she really was and all she kept saying was that she killed him. That it wasn’t me. And- and she kept saying that you wouldn’t want her in your life anymore. She risked everything by telling me because she didn’t want me to- to- to feel like I was a bad person…. And I treated her like shit afterwards.”

“She was protecting you. She’s always been protecting all of us.”

“She ever tell you what happened after we thought you died?” Karen asked gently, but she had a feeling that she knew the answer already.

“No, she uh… She won’t talk about it.”

“Billy Russo, he almost killed her.”

“Her boss from Anvil? Why?”

“Something with Frank, I don’t know.” She shrugged. “She almost bled out in that fight and y’know what she told me when I went to see her after it?”

Matt’s brows raised as a silent question.

“That she wanted to die, right up until she realized she was gonna… Nothing mattered to her without you. She was so angry up until then… I don’t know what snapped her out of it but she needs you by her side.”

“I’ve put her through so much, I just…” He trailed off, a heavy burden of guilt settling in his stomach.

“She’d still choose you, over everything. If you haven’t figured that out, then you’re an idiot.”

Matt knew Karen was right, but that didn’t mean he thought he deserved it.

“What were you gonna do to Fisk?”

“Hmm?”

“Tonight.. You said you had him.”

“I was gonna kill him.. Your turn to judge me.”

“No. No, I’m not. I get it. Trust me… It just makes me sad, for you.”

“Sad..” He nodded slightly. “Does it make you sad to know Livia does?”

She gave a small scoff in response. Clearly she didn’t hold the two to the same standard of morality.

“It has to be done, Karen.” Matt said simply. “I shouldn’t have gotten in her way before.”

“Okay, you’re gonna have to listen to me here.” She said quickly as she crossed the room. She knelt in front of him and told him the story of her brother, the crash that killed him when she was driving. “There is no way to come back from it.”

That line reminded him of what Frank and Y/N once told him, when he was willing to let Frank take out the Blacksmith.

You cross over to our side of the line, you don’t get to come back from that.

“What if it is the way back?” He countered. “For me… I can’t let Fisk go, not again.”

“Killing anyone - even Fisk - it will change everything that you feel about yourself. I think Livia would agree with me.”

“She wanted to kill him. The first time we fought him, that night with the shootout on the bridge. She had him, but I stopped her. She told me that he wouldn’t stop… He’d figure us both out and come after people we loved, that there’d be a trail of bodies left behind to get to us. Karen, that’s exactly what happened.”

“No, Matt, I understand but-“

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“You don’t. We can’t stop him with the law. We tried. Look where we ended up. Livia has to go along with it and her partner is trying to kill all three of us. We can’t win like this.”

Back at the street, you were standing with Ray. You were leaning against one of the parked cars and were gently rubbing the stab wound. You could feel trails of heat following the path your fingers took, serving as bridges to try and mend the tissue. 

“What happened?” Ray nodded to your hand.

“Knife.” You said honestly.

“From?”

“Daredevil.” You glared in Dex’s direction.

“Agent Nadeem, Agent Yersova.” You heard from down the street. Turning in the direction of the familiar voice, you were more than relieved to see a friend. “Detective Mahoney. I’m taking over the murder investigation from our side.”

“Brett, hey.” You smiled.

“You’ve looked better.” He joked and gave you a quick hug.

“Rough night.” You nodded.

“Remind me to talk to you about your Homeland friend.”

“Great. What did Madani do now?”

“Long story, but basically, Billy Russo.”

“Not exactly a conversation I thought I’d have anytime soon.”

“She’s toying with the guy.” 

You shook your head with a sigh and a nonchalant shrug before turning the conversation back to Ray. Talking about your other recent homicidal ex-fling was probably the last thing you wanted to do. Instead, you listened as Brett talked about the inconsistency of witness statements and what the FBI was claiming. 

Thank God the NYPD has at least one detective with a brain.

“This is our crime scene.” Ray said and you jammed an elbow into his side. “We’ll let you know if we need anything.”

Once Brett left, you gave Ray an annoyed look. He shrugged you off so you rolled your eyes and left. You wandered the scene until you found Dex and another agent having a standoff.

“Enough.” You got between them and pushed them apart. “There’s too much going on for you two to have a pissing contest. Neither of you are helping.”

“Tell that to him.” The agent said, pointing a finger at Dex.

“Keep talking like that in front of everyone and the next thing to come out of your mouth will be your teeth. Understood?”

The agent backed down and his shoulders slumped forward. He ducked his head and turned away, merging into the busywork of the surrounding agents, FBI and NYPD alike. You turned back to Dex as Ray came and joined you.

“We’re not gonna find them.” You spoke simply. “Not tonight at least.”

“She’s right. They’re in the wind, all of them.” Ray agreed and you wondered if he didn’t get what you had admitted about Exodus or if he just didn’t want to say it in case Dex didn’t know. But hadn’t you said multiple times that Dex knew? “I’m gonna release ESU and open the scene to forensics.”

“No. No way.” Dex argued, almost desperately. “You get the NYPD to go to every house in the neighborhood. Door to door. We do not stop until we find them!”

“Dex, they’re gone.”

“Fine, call it off. Then you can call Kingpin and tell him you’re the reason Karen Page is still breathing.”

“Can I do it?” You offered with a slight raise of your hand. “I don’t give a shit what he tries to do to me. I mean, can't really make my life worse…”

“Shut up.” Dex rolled his eyes. You simply scoffed and left to check on Maggie.

“These guys doing okay?” You asked as she met with you a few steps away from the gurneys.

“I’m sure they’ve had better days.” She answered simply.

“Yeah, haven’t we all… Are you okay?”

“I don’t know, Alivia…”

“Sister, do you mind if I ask you a couple of questions?” Ray said, suddenly at your side.

She looked to you and when you gave a small shrug, she nodded to Ray.

“Do you know the suspects?” He asked.

“As far as I’m aware, the only one you’ve identified by name is Karen Page. And yes, she and I are acquainted.” Maggie answered simply.

“Do you know where she might’ve gone?”

“I thought you believed the suspects were still hiding in the church.”

You turned to Ray while biting back a laugh.

“We do. I do. I meant where on the church grounds.”

“Can I ask you a personal question, Agent Nadeem?”

“Okay.”

“Do you consider yourself a moral person?”

Ray paused and glanced over at you. You gave a shrug in response. Problem with being two different people meant everyone was asking your opinion for different things.

“I like to think so.. I try to be.” He answered.

“My good friend died here tonight, protecting Karen Page from evil.” She looked past you towards Dex. You looked over your shoulder to follow her eye line, finding the man involved in a tense conversation. “If you’re the kind of man you claim to be, do you really want to help it find her?”

She gave you a polite smile before moving back to the people from inside. You were tempted to follow her and see if she would go back into the church, but you knew it’d be smarter to stay street level. Staying out front gave you the chance to see the K-9s being brought in.

You knew your blood was all over the church. Your suit was hidden under the stairs to the top deck. Those dogs could lead every single officer at the scene right to you. You quickly followed Dex and the dogs inside. They searched the altar first, alerting towards Dex. The handlers didn’t seem to believe it so they led the dogs towards where you left Matt and Karen.

You turned the corner to see Dex taking the dogs towards the orphanage, being led by one of the novitiates. When the hall was clear, you let out a deep sigh of relief. Maggie nodded for you to follow and you did without hesitation. She led you down and you found Matt and Karen in a hushed, anxious conversation.

“Pushing Livia and Foggy and me away.”

“I’m not pushing anyone away. I told you, I’m trying to protect you guys.”

“I think you’re just trying to protect yourself.”

“Alright, we don’t have time for this right now.”

“No, look-“

“You wanna talk about this right now? There are people upstairs trying to kill us and-“

You rolled your eyes and crossed the room to stand between them. You put a hand on either of their chests and gently pushed them apart. Matt reached forward and gently found your shoulder, the other hand wrapping around your wrist. His hands tightened around the extra material of your jacket and he pulled you against him.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders while he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“You act like I died.” You teased quietly and he chuckled against your skin. “You guys doin’ okay?”

“Are you?” Karen asked when you pulled away from Matt, though he kept a hand on your lower back.

“Still alive so…” You shrugged. “Dex is starting to panic, which could be good or bad. Nadeem’s trying to get this called off but Dex won’t budge. I’m trying to figure a way to get you guys out but with the dogs, I don’t know.”

“I didn’t leave you up there. I’m sure as hell not leaving you now.” She offered honestly before looking over your shoulder. “Neither will Foggy.”

“Foggy…” You spoke to yourself while Karen continued her conversation with Matt. “That’s it, Foggy.”

“Yeah, that could work.” Matt agreed.

“I’m a genius.” You breathed with a smile. “Okay, sit tight. I’ve gotta make a couple calls.”

You practically ran up the stairs and past Maggie. She hurried to catch up with you. She asked you a couple questions but you kept moving. You gave vague responses but kept majority of it silent until you got outside and to a quiet corner.

“Foggy.” You breathed in relief when he answered. “I need your help.”

“I could use yours, too.” He confessed.

“Fisk?”

“Yeah. He sent some crappy endorsement letter he wants me to read to the press or else he’s gonna get the loan pulled and my family in jail.”

“Great, yeah, I’ll do what I can. But I think mine is a bit more urgent.”

“Okay? What is it?”

“You’re still Karen’s lawyer, right?”

“Oh God.” He sighed.

“I need you to get to the church, like now. We need to get Karen into NYPD custody.”

“Why not call Brett?”

“He’s already here but so is the FBI. Basically, Fisk sent his Daredevil to come kill her. Me and Matt stopped it. Now we’re all stuck here until someone’s in custody.”

“Shit… Okay, I’m on my way.”

“Thanks, Fog. I owe you. When you get here, talk to Brett. Let him know the gist.”

“Got it.”

You felt it before you saw him. Turning around, you saw no one. Not until you looked up did you find him perched on the roof. With a small smile, you replaced your phone to your ear as a cover.

“He’s on his way.” You spoke quietly. “This is gonna work.”

“I know.” His voice sounded in your implant. “It was your plan, after all.”

“She was right, y’know. You’ve been pushing us all away. I’m just stubborn enough to push back.”

“Seriously? You wanna talk about this right now, too?” You couldn’t see his expression but you figured he had a small smile.

“No… But we do need to talk about it.”

“Okay, fine. We will, sweetheart. But at some time when your partner isn’t trying to kill us.”

“Stay hidden.”

“Stay safe.”

“Stay alive.”

After a few minutes of you inside the church talking to Ray, Foggy arrived. You sighed in relief and practically ran down the aisle to hug your friend. He embraced you the same way before taking a step back to give you a once over. You nodded that you were okay as Ray made his way to your side.

“You called him?” Ray looked to you. “What is he doing here?”

“He’s Karen’s lawyer after all.” You shrugged.

“That doesn’t matter unless she’s still here.”

“Ray, I need you to trust me.”

“Truthfully, I’m just killing time.” Foggy reasoned, looking over to Sister Maggie.

“For what?” Ray asked before following Foggy’s eye line to Sister Maggie. “Why do you keep looking at her?”

“Ray..” You tried. “Just a few more seconds, please.”

“What did you do?” He turned to you again.

“After everything, you didn’t think I was gonna let Dex or Fisk get to her. Did you?” You smiled as Foggy nodded.

“Agent Nadeem, Agent Yersova. I’m here for my client.” He said proudly and led you two towards where Karen was coming out of.

“This is why I'm here, to surrender my client.”

You stepped around Foggy to stand near Karen. Your hand hovered at your gun, ready to pull it if any of the agents got the wrong idea.

“Good.” Ray nodded, though you could see the hesitancy in his eyes.

“To the NYPD.” Foggy corrected.

You backed away with a small smile as Brett came around with a small collection of officers. He gave you a nod of confirmation and you returned the gesture. You saw Dex coming from across the church so you hurried to put yourself in between him and Brett while he insisted that she was the FBI’s suspect. You kept your body in front of Dex as you stood beside Ray, but that didn’t stop him from trying to push through you.

“She’s a federal suspect.” Ray tried calmly.

“She’s a suspected accomplice to murder. That’s state law.” Brett replied confidently.

“And she’s here to surrender to the NYPD.” Foggy added.

“Shut up.” Ray pointed to Foggy.

“As one of two attorneys here, he’s just trying to-“ You began before Dex grabbed your arms and moved you to the side. “Hey!”

“These feds know the law. She’s our suspect.” Brett answered, refusing to back down. “They can file a writ and maybe talk to her later.”

“I will not let you take her.” Dex said tightly, stepping closer to Brett.

“You and what army?”

Dex turned towards you but you took a small step closer to Brett’s side, showing your allegiance was to Karen. To your friend. He offered a slight sneer before Ray got involved.

“What part of our crime scene do you not understand?” Dex pressed and you rolled your eyes.

“Enough.” You said firmly. “Detective. Agent Nadeem. A word?”

When neither man moved, you grabbed them by their sleeves and pulled them away.

“You need to stand your people down, Livia.” Brett said when you three got some space.

“Talk to him.” You gestured to Ray. “All I wanted to say was that you cannot let her out of your sight.”

“If we take Karen Page into custody, she’ll be dead before she reaches HQ.” Ray explained quietly. “Don’t react. Just keep her the hell away from us.”

Brett nodded but looked over at you.

“Not everyone here wants the same thing… I can’t let another friend die, Brett. I can’t lose anything else to Fisk.” You said honestly.

“We clear?” Ray tried.

“Crystal.” Brett nodded and headed back.

You stepped around them to block Dex, a hand at his chest to push him back as Ray announced that Brett would take her. Ray tried to calm Dex but he wouldn’t. You reached behind you and pulled your knife, pressing the tip against his abdomen, just below where the bulletproof ended.

“One more step and I will gut you, right here.” You warned lowly. Dex looked down and saw your bloodied knife against him. “I don’t care who sees.”

“You messed up, Ray.” Dex said with a small step back. You slowly tucked the knife away as he glared at you. “You really, really messed up.”

You mocked him quietly before he turned around. You let out a small sigh and turned to Ray.

“Thank you.” You said honestly. “I know that wasn’t easy.”

“It was the right thing.” He nodded. “Would you have done it?”

“Done what?”

“Gutted him.”

“I don’t know… If it kept the people I cared about safe, then yeah, maybe.”

“Does that include…”

“Yeah, it includes them.” You nodded. “It’s complicated… Can I get out of here? I mean, without Page there’s no reason for us to obsess about this place.”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead. You look like shit anyway.”

“Huh, I wonder why.” You mocked and he gave you a small smile. “See you tomorrow for debrief?”

“Yeah.”

“Shit’s gonna hit the fan so call me if anything else goes sideways, okay? I know some people that can help.”

He gave you a small nod so you headed to leave. You turned when you were nearing the exit and found no one looking at you so you hurried over to the stair you stashed your suit under. You gathered the material and all your accessories and held them against your chest. You zipped your jacket up around everything and shoved your hands in your pockets before finally leaving.

You made your way across town to your apartment. You threw your suit onto the stairs that led to the roof and headed into the bathroom.

Stripping off your jacket and bulletproof, you stood in front of the mirror and flipped on the light. You washed your hands first, watching the white sink stain red with blood. Your face was next, a dark bruise under one eye and a busted lip stared back at you. Your knuckles were red and busted, bruises covering the joints and spreading up your fingers. You flexed your hands and winced at the sudden pain, but you realized that you hadn’t been wearing your brace. The wrist pain was basically nonexistent, which was a relief. You shook it out before ridding yourself of your bloodied shirt.

The material was stuck to the gauze it bled through and the wound has dried against some of it, so removing it meant reopening pieces of the injury. You let out a yelp as the fabric came off and a new stream of blood trickled down your stomach.

“Сукин сын. Клянусь, я буду - я ненавижу его. Боже, я его ненавижу..” You leaned your palms against the sink and looked at the wound in the mirror. (Son of a bitch. I swear I’m gonna- I hate him. God, I hate him.)

You could see that your body was already trying to repair itself. The deepest part of the stab wound was still red and angry, blood puddling in it and threatening to spill over with every breath despite the fact that you could still taste it. But the outer edges were a lighter pink, some still stuck with thin scabs. You groaned to yourself as you pressed the edges and the blood stream got a little thicker.

“Not bad, Dex..” You commented as you reached for a towel.

You gently wiped the blood from your stomach before getting the kit from the cabinet. As you were fiddling through it, you heard the hall door to the roof open. Usually you hated how loud that door was, scraping against the tile out in the hall, but you were thankful for it that time. You knew someone was up there.

You stitched yourself up and replaced some gauze while you swished some mouthwash to help with the metallic taste. From there, you shut off the light and went into the bedroom. You changed into more flexible pants that would be able to tuck into your boots, which you threw into the living room to put on later. You threw on a black compression shirt as you wrapped your hands and headed to the pile of suit that laid crumpled on the stairs.

You pushed through it to find your Bites and your mask. You fit the devices to your wrists and hung the mask around your neck. You grabbed the pile and took it to the closet under the stairs, where you threw it near the chest while you fumbled through the collection of stuff. You found your set of old knee pads and slid those on. You pulled the vest overhead and fastened the straps under your arm. You tucked your belt through the loops, loaded you gun and knives into place, and grabbed your staffs. From there, you locked the doors shut and sat on the floor to put your boots on before heading up to the roof.

“It means that Matt is gonna kill Fisk.” Karen said hesitantly as you joined them.

“No.” You said with a quick shake of your head. “He’s not. Moving on.”

“We put him in prison. Look what happened.” He said plainly, as if it should’ve been obvious.

“It’s not gonna be the same this time!” Foggy argued. “They’re gonna throw him in some supermax hole-“

“Oh come on.” Matt groaned.

“-where he can’t compromise anybody.”

“I know you’re not that naive.”

“It’s called having faith in the system.” Foggy reasoned. “Something you used to have.”

“It’s called facing the reality that some people are so rich and powerful that the system simply can’t handle them. That they actually are above the law.”

“That’s the bullshit men like Fisk want you to believe.” You cut in. “Nobody is above the law.”

“The only thing powerful enough to take down scumbags like him is the law.” Foggy added.

“He’s twisted it into something that actually protects him.” Matt frowned.

“Yeah, but that’s just federal law. What about state?” You looked to Foggy.

“We make a state case so strong, Blake Tower can’t deny it and we force him to take it to the grand jury.” Foggy nodded happily.

“Fisk has been five steps ahead of us at every single turn. He’s never gonna let that happen. You should know that, Livia.”

“It’s not up to him!” You countered. “I’m not letting you throw yourself away because of a spook like him.”

“Gimme a break.”

“No, because this is bullshit. This isn’t who you are and we all know that.”

“Are you really the one telling me something?” He scoffed. “Killing Fisk was your idea. And you want to kill Poindexter. How is it any different?”

“Months ago! I wanted to kill Fisk months ago!” You shouted. “And you were the one who wouldn’t let me!”

“Well I was wrong.”

“You really think you can just kill one man and come back like nothing happened? It’s never just one! You don’t come back from that!”

“Maybe it’s the way back for me. If I can get rid of Fisk for good, maybe I can-“

“No!”

“Maybe you’re right, Matt..” Karen cut in, earning an incredulous look from you. “Just hear him out, okay?”

“Ты, должно быть, шутишь.” You mumbled and stepped away to take a breath, your hand on your hips as you paced a short area. (You’ve gotta be kidding me.)

“Fine. But I'm telling you, it’s not gonna work.” Matt laughed bleakly. “You wanna give the law another try? Sure. I’m all ears.”

“Simple. Step one, we work together.”  Foggy nodded. He turned towards you and reached out his hand. You sighed and accepted it, letting him bring you back to the group and to your place beside Matt. “Step two, we come up with a plan. Step three, we execute that plan.”

You and Matt chuckled, but you could tell his was sarcastic.

“That’s genius. You come up with that yourself?” He joked and you jabbed him with your elbow.

“I’m still working out the details.” He answered in the same sarcastic manner.

“Well what about..” Karen tried. “What about we find ourselves another witness? Someone who will flip on Fisk.”

“Someone who knows the details of Fisk’s criminal operations.” Foggy agreed.

“I can do it.” You offered. “I’m a solid agent. I’ve seen some stuff and heard more from Dex. I-“

“No.” Matt said quickly.

“I’ve got nothing to lose.” You ignored him.

“Matt’s right.” Foggy said gently. “You said it yourself, Livvy. Fisk blew your credibility when he outed Matt and you went off on him.”

“Okay, but I can just-“

“He could just throw you under the bus and then anything you say won’t matter.” Matt interrupted. “An investigation will be launched into you and-“

“Okay, first, don’t sit there and act like you know my bureau.” You cut in. “Second of all, I can give the name of every compromised agent on that team. Throwing Ex around won’t mean shit. I’ve got nothing to lose.”

“No.. No, we find someone who has everything to lose.”

“They all either worship him or are terrified of him. None of those agents wil-“ You started but the look on Matt’s face clued you in. “He has a wife and son, Matt. If you ask him to do this, you’re taking responsibility for them too.”

“I know… But I need you to come with me.”

You heard vague chatter through your implant, only picking up a few words.

En route… Nadeem… shoot to kill…

“We have to go.” You grabbed Matt. “We have to go, now!”

“What? Where?” He asked, though he didn’t hesitate to follow you.

“He’s going after Ray.”

Your friends called after you two until you were too far to hear them. You and Matt ran across the rooftops, hopped across alleys, climbed up fire escapes, and rolled through landings all the way across town until you got to Ray’s street. You pulled your mask up and tapped it on as you got closer.

“You go around back.” You told him quietly. “I’ll take the two out front.”

He nodded sharply before sprinting off. You pulled a knife from your belt and crept around the hastily parked car to see one of the agents on the porch. You hurried over and threw your shoulder into his back, throwing him against the side of the house.

He turned and raised his gun but you jammed your knife between the bones of his forearm, the tip poking through the other side. He screamed out and dropped the gun with a loud clatter. Keeping hold of the knife handle, you knelt down and twisted his arm over your head. He shouted in pain while you grabbed a staff with the opposite hand. You swung it to knock him to his back before jamming the exposed knife tip into the wood of the patio.

He turned to try and free himself but you spun to get your feet between you two. You kicked a foot forward and connected your heel with his nose, the impact rendering him unconscious as the blood streamed down. You knelt on his hand and yanked your knife out, barely tucking it away before the shots were fired over your head. Your arms came up instinctively and your head snapped to where the bullet came from behind you.

Two shots came from inside but the man dropped to the floor. You flicked a blade out of your staff and slid across the porch to be in front of the agent. His gun pointed down but you swiped the blade across his legs, causing him to buckle. You put your feet together and sat at the edge of the stairs before kicking your feet against the wound and his kneecaps, knocking him to the ground. He shakily raised his gun again so you flipped the staff in your hand and bounced it off the headlights of the SUV behind him. The butt end hit his hand as it was spinning back and the blade buried itself into the grass. You climbed down the stairs and pinned his arms with your knees.

As you charged both Bites, you alternated your punches. The man tried to flip you two over but you gripped his shirtfront and yanked him hard to throw him to the side. He kept rolling while you got to a kneel. Both wrists glowed a menacing red and you fired, landing two sharp shots - one to the base of his throat and the other to his forehead.

You hurried to your feet and grabbed your weapon from the lawn. You flicked the blade away and tucked it into place before trying to get the door open. When it didn’t open, you took a step back and threw your shoulder against it. The frame splintered but it didn’t budge. You pulled back to try again but you heard the lock click as it opened from the other side. Your hand had just reached your gun but you saw that it was Matt.

He motioned for you to be quiet as he stepped to the side. You entered quietly and he pointed to an agent creeping up the stairs. You connected a wire between your Bites and stuck your foot between the bars to use the edge of the step. You threw the wire around his neck and dropped with a twist, tightening the wire around his throat as you yanked him through the banister. You pulled your wrists apart and the wire retracted while Matt knocked the man unconscious.

You pressed yourself against the wall near the stairs and Matt stepped behind one of the pillars. He pulled apart the gun from the most recent takedown and tossed it aside while the next man came creeping through. Once he was passed the wall, you came out and kicked him in the side. He was thrown against the pillar and Matt came around from behind to knock his head against it. The man staggered away and you moved in, grabbing Matt’s hands.

He pulled back before leaning away slightly and spinning you, allowing you room to cartwheel your legs and knock both feet into the agent’s jaw, one after the other. He fell through the coffee table and you landed easily beside Matt as the last agent came and pointed his gun at you two.

You almost smiled before you threw a sharp roundhouse to knock the gun from his hand. The impact threw his arm to the side and when he spun slightly, he ran right into Nadeem. Ray used the end of his gun and knocked the agent out. You moved to talk to Ray but he pointed his gun at your chest.

Your hands went up in surrender as you stepped closer to Matt.

“Obviously we’re here to help you.” Matt said simply.

“I sold you out to Fisk.” Ray admitted, as if he wanted you and Matt to attack him.

“I know you didn’t want to.”

“But I did. So maybe you’re here because you want to be the one to kill me before Fisk gets around to it.”

“We’re here because we need your help.” You said, making sure to stick to your accent. “We can get your family somewhere safe, but you’ll need to trust us.”

“I can’t trust anybody.”

“I trust you.” You nodded. “You helped me save Karen Page tonight. I know you’re a good man, Agent Nadeem.”

Matt reached over and tapped your hand for your attention. Your gaze turned quickly and you saw his fingers give a subtle gesture to his mask.

“Ты уверен?” You asked quietly. You weren’t necessarily against the idea, but giving out your identity was always a shot in the dark. (Are you sure?)

“Ты ему доверяешь?” He replied in the same quiet tone. (You trust him?)

You nodded slightly and gave a small sigh. “После тебя, мальчик-дьявол.” (After you, Devil Boy.)

He gave a small smile as he pulled his mask off. You watched Ray’s expression, feeling the shock radiate off him like electricity. You thought of what you could say, but really, there was nothing. You wouldn’t apologize for keeping his secret because you always owed that to Matt first, no matter what the situation. You wouldn’t even apologize for who you were once your mask came down.

“Your turn.” Matt turned to you and you sighed once again.

You nodded and closed your eyes, slowly pushing your mask up to sit at the top of your head. You took a deep breath to brace yourself before opening your eyes and seeing Ray’s hurt expression. Your reveal shocked him more than Matt’s but he also seemed to feel betrayed.

Of course he did.

“I tried giving hints.” You spoke in your usual voice. “I think I even said she was right in front of you.”

“I didn’t think you meant literally.” Ray answered, his voice near a whisper.

All you could do was shrug.

“Now you know why Fisk wanted me..”

[fickle-tiction]

I tried to post it on this blog, but I haven't done this in a very long time. So I deleted the post and I'm giving it to you instead. :)

“Good morning Gotham! It’s me, Penelope Peters, and I’m here with Bruce Wayne and Richard Grayson of Wayne Enterprises and Bludhaven PD, respectively.” Penelope Peters says brightly into the camera.

“My friends call me Dick.” Dick tells her, smiling brightly.

It takes a Herculean effort not to roll his eyes, but Bruce manages it. Penelope blushes slightly and gives a laugh, trying to cover up her flustered feelings.

“Alright then Mr. Wayne and…Dick,” she blushes again. The interview is supposed to be about how the Wayne family was just like other American families. It couldn’t have been further from the truth, of course. Billionaires or not, normal American families weren’t made up of costumed vigilantes. They go to a break and Bruce and Dick are given touch ups on hair and makeup before Penelope is staring at the camera again.

“We’re here to play a fun game now that we’re at the end of the interview!”

Again…Herculean effort not to roll his eyes.

“Bruce and I absolutely LOVE games!” Dick says excitedly.

Bruce manages a smile.

“Okay! So, you’re both going to drink a mouthful of water,” she passes them both a glass. “We’re then going to show you a series of funny videos, and maybe crack some jokes ourselves, to get one of you to laugh! First to laugh, loses!”

Bruce tries not to smirk. He knows he has this in the bag. Dick laughs at everything.

Dick raises his eyebrow as the two of them take a big mouthful of water.

Bruce is disappointed when, almost a full six minutes later, Dick hasn’t cracked yet. He knows for an absolute fact that Dick had cackled like a Halloween witch decoration just two days ago watching the same cat video that was just shown to them by Penelope, with Damien and Tim.

“You two are hard to break!” Penelope says, trying to hide the fact that she was getting a bit annoyed neither of them had laughed yet.

Dick shrugs and grins, cheeks huge. Bruce almost smiles because he looks 10-years-old again.

Another video is shown and neither of them laugh.

“Oh come on! There’s gotta be something that makes you two laugh!” Penelope exclaims.

Bruce feels a bit smug. He prides himself on his level of control. He’s about to grab his glass of water and forfeit gracefully when he feels nimble, knowing fingers digging into his ribs. Bruce jerks violently to the right, but the fingers are undeterred. He can’t help it; he spits his water out with a laugh. As he’s wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he hears Dick spitting out his own water and laughing hysterically.

“You are so grounded!” Bruce growls, dangerously close to his Batman voice.

Dick is wiping at his eyes as he laughs, looking entirely unrepentant.

He looks up at Bruce, “Looks like I win!”

Penelope is gushing about how adorable it is that Bruce is ticklish, asking what his worst spots are. Dick looks ready to answer Penelope’s questions, and Bruce can’t let that happen.

“Thanks for the interview Ms. Peters,” Bruce interrupts. “Would you like to accompany me to the Gotham Art Gala this Saturday?” Bruce gives her his best “Brucie” smile. Penelope is spluttering and blushing and nodding.

“I’ll pick you up at 6. For now, I’ve a grounding to ensure.”

“Sore loser.” Dick snickers.

Bruce takes it in stride while they’re still walking out of the interview. Once they’re in the car and Alfred is asking how the interview went, Bruce attacks.

“Bruce! W-Wait! I’m sohohorry!”

Bruce shows no mercy. He’s tickling Dick’s ribs, his sides, that super ticklish spot right underneath his armpit towards his back that used to get him squealing when he was younger (he’s still squealing, so not much has changed).

Dick is curled up like a roly-poly and begging Alfred for help. The older man is smiling wistfully, but he says nothing. Bruce doesn’t let up until they’re back at the manor. The 23-year-old is disheveled, black hair sticking up all over the place, cheeks pink, and a wide grin plastered across his face.

“You’re…brutal…” Dick pants.

“You better hope I can keep that from getting air time.” Bruce replies. He doesn’t need to threaten Dick outright, the threat of being attacked frequently, mercilessly, is unspoken but assured.

Dick’s eyes go wide and he scrambles out of the car, shouting, “Thanks for the ride Al!” as he runs into the house.

Alfred stands next to Bruce and coughs politely.

“Yes?” Bruce asks.

“It’s already gone viral, Master Bruce.” Alfred is holding his cellphone out, an article open with the headline “Billionaire Father and Son, Just Like Us: Funny, Smiley, and Ticklish!” Underneath the headline is a picture of Bruce spitting out his water with a huge grin, with Dick’s fingers in his ribs and Dick’s own huge grin.

Bruce groans and then shouts a laugh as he feels Alfred’s fingers in his ribs.

“Alfrehed!” Bruce tries to sound admonishing, but he fails due to the laughter.

“Master Richard isn’t the only one who knows ticklish spots.”

It’s two days later when he’s with the League in the Cave. Everyone is suspiciously quiet as Bruce goes through some reports. Barry; however, is practically vibrating in his seat. Bruce doesn’t want to even look in the speedsters direction.

It’s another three minutes before it’s apparently too much for Barry and he shouts, “How the hell did we not know you were ticklish?!”

Clark snorts loudly, Diana smirks, Hal looks terrified, and Oliver looks like Christmas just came early.

Bruce is stunned for all of two seconds before he fixes his absolute best and scariest Batman face on his friends. And in his deepest, most terrifying Batman voice, says, “The first one to even think about it, will never be heard of, or from, again.”

Barry gulps, Hal seems to shrink, Ollie humphs in irritation, Diana is still smirking, and Clark simply raises an eyebrow. Bruce continues his report.

He feels safe a few hours later in the main living room with a book in his hand and a cup of tea next to him, but instantly regrets letting his guard down, even for an instant, and he curses Clark’s existence and laughs hysterically as his best friend is testing out every ticklish spot on his body. As soon as Clark finished, Bruce was going to enlist him in getting back at Dick. Hopefully Bruce could survive till then.

[rian-lindley]

Rian had never loved when her husband left for a job. Whenever he was gone her head and heart were filled with worry and longing. While she has still yet to master not pouting upon his departure, Rian had managed to find various ways to fill her time and busy her mind until Guy came home. With him telling her it would be at least a few more days, she decided some pampering was in order.

The next morning she drove into Boston. Stopped and ate breakfast at her favorite diner, sure to take a picture of her bacon and texting it to Guy. Her next stop was to get her nails done, falling into a food coma during her pedicure. She spent the next several hours at the spa, getting treatments and massages until her skin was glowing and her limbs felt like spaghetti. She ate lunch on the go, grabbing a salad and bringing it to the dry bar to eat while she got her hair blown out.

The rest of Rian’s afternoon was spent roaming the city streets, shopping and sightseeing, but mostly shopping. Having lost track of time, her only indicator of how late it had gotten was that by the time she walked out of the last store, it was dark outside. Being a New York City native, navigating Boston had become primarily her husband’s job, since he did most of, if not all, the driving. With the added veil of night, Rian went from directionally challenged to completely inept.

After wandering around for ages, she found what she thought to be the parking garage she had parked in. She skipped the elevator, remembering it being busted when she had arrived, and took the two flights of stairs up to the third floor. Rian thought she heard a second set of footsteps but the parking lot wasn’t that full. Surely it was just the echo of her own sounding off the concrete. She rounded the corner, expecting to see her car a few feet ahead of her but instead, she came face to face with the pavement.

Blood immediately exploded from her nose and pain radiated through her face. For a split second, she thought she had tripped until she felt the kick in her ribs. A yelp of pain escaped her at this impact. Rian tried to push herself up to her hands and knees to crawl away but another blow came to her stomach before she could even steady herself. This time, the wind was knocked out of her and she rolled to her back. She was looking up at the face of her attacker. Bold, to remain unmasked, she thought to herself. Until his fist collided with her already bloodied face. Then all she saw was blackness.

—-

Rian woke up hours later in a hospital bed. Her entire body felt like one big bruise. She brought her hand, which was now the home to an IV, to her face and felt the gauze that was covering it. She sighed and it made her wince in pain. A nurse popped her head in the door and smiled softly. “You’re awake!” Her voice was cheerful and if it wouldn’t have hurt, Rian probably would have glared at her. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Unfortunately.” Rian replied, her voice was hoarse and it hurt to even speak so she didn’t say anything more.

“The officers have been waiting to speak to you, do you mind if they come in?”

Rian nodded her head and soon the nurse’s cheerful demeanor would have been welcomed. The two Boston PD officers who walked in wore solemn expressions.

“Mrs. Lindley, sorry to have to meet you under these conditions. We have a few questions for you. By the time you were found, your attacker was long gone. Do you remember what they looked like? Anything odd about the scene? What were you doing in that parking lot? Do you have any known enemies?”

“Getting in my car, obviously?” Rian said, confused.

“Ma’am, we located your vehicle about three blocks over.” The other officer chimed in and looked at her suspiciously, as if she were lying. This time Rian glared through the pain.

“Jesus Christ, don’t tell my husband that. Okay, I thought I was getting in my car. He was tall, somewhere around six feet. Maybe a little taller. White guy, thirties maybe? Standard build, maybe a little more on the toned side. I wasn’t really checking him out. Strong. Obviously. His hair was dark but short, almost shaved and he had some stubble. I didn’t catch his eye color. Sorry. He was following me, I don’t know how long, I just remember hearing footsteps on the stairs with me.”

The suspicious cop nodded, his expression was impressed now and Rian took note.

“I listen to a lot of True Crime podcasts.” She explained. “This is my first time being one, though. As for enemies…not really?”

“All of your shopping bags and purse were left at the scene. Phone, wallet, your jewelry. We think you were specifically targeted so if you think of anything, let us know. We left our card with the nurse. We’re waiting on some footage from the parking garage security camera and we might have some follow up questions after that. Rest up and have a good night, ma’am.”

The officers gave a curt nod before exiting the room. As Rian watched them leave, it dawned on her that her phone was likely in evidence for now. Thankful again for her morbid obsession, she had her husband’s cell phone number memorized. Reaching for the hospital phone, she dialed the number and hoped he would answer the unknown caller.

“Hello?” A sigh of relief escaped her at the sound of her husband's voice, albeit confused. “Rian?” He asked simply at the sound of her breathing, his tone now concerned.

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t be mad…”

[pucktoxicity]

Okay I’m sorry but I have to rant about something you said regarding the wjc case. I am willing to bet my life’s savings that there is no new evidence. It’s rare for there to be any evidence at all in SA cases, and you’re telling me years later London pd just happened to come across new evidence?? That is awfully convenient for them. One of two things happened: either a.) the “new evidence” was actually there the entire time and they were paid to sweep it under the rug the first time and they’re now trying to save their own ass, or b.) there was never enough evidence to bring charges in the first place and they only brought charges this time because of public outrage and political pressure. Now I want to make it very clear that I am not defending the five or saying the assault didn’t happen. There hasn’t been a trial, and the public has not been made aware of any evidence that could point to the victims claims being untrue. I always believe the woman until there is evidence not to. But I HATE that the London PD are trying to act like the good guys. They’re not. If they really cared about justice for the victim like they claim, charges would’ve been brought years ago. The London PD only care about protecting themselves, and if I were on that jury I would not buy a word that comes out of anyone from that department’s mouth.

^^^^ ALL OF THIS.

i wonder if someone at london PD took a look at the case and evidence again, like an oh, remember this shit? and as they looked through it, realized they shouldn’t have just let it be as the victim settled with hockey canada & the five, and swept it under the rug. i can’t find the exact articles that were written when this happened and the five were told to surrender themselves that explained exactly what caused london PD to reopen the case, but i’ll try.

it just breaks my heart for the victim that this couldn’t have happened and gone through law enforcement and a fucking trial when it happened. why on earth would they make her go through this again six years later? it’s fucking devastating. they should have fucking taken them to court and put them away right when it happened, not let them settle privately to “preserve their futures.”

this was extremely well-said, and powerful. it’s unfair that we as women have to deal with not being believed and being dragged through insanely draining and fucking dehumanizing trials just to prove hey, something really bad happened to me, and i want these men to be held accountable. 😕💔