#thinking about weak Gotham sunlight

[frownyalfred]

“this town, this strain on the sunrise” is such a bomb way to refer to Gotham, actually

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 16

MASTAPOST

tell me what u like about the chapter :D guess where the story's going, anything! gimme fuel qwq

Damian lay on his belly on Phantom’s chest as the boy floated just underneath the surface. It was night time, and the Atlantean town they’d sacked was far behind them now. Here they only had the stars to accompany them, wobbling and swaying over the distortion of the water.

They were so close… Damian pushed himself up with his arms. His head breached the surface, water washing over his face like a veil. His eyes widened as he took in the beauty of the night sky, much more comfortable without the blinding sunlight when he’d first tried this.

There was something comforting about the stars, something beautiful outside this world that would be there no matter what, even in his most miserable nights with the League. It was something he missed when he moved the Manor underneath Gotham’s smog-filled skies.

Damian pushed himself further, balancing himself on his tail and hip fins instead of his arms. The gentle sea breeze prickled at his wet scales, causing him to shiver. It brushed against his ear fins and gave a sense of immeasurable calm. Just him, Danny, the stars and the whistle in the wind.

And a feeling of suffocation.

Damian’s lungs demanded air. Or was it water? He inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of the sea from above it rather than underneath, but it didn’t help. He inhaled again, but the pressure remained.

What- What was this madness?! Sirens could breathe over water. This was indisputable. Danny had been able to breathe and talk over water the night Damian was transformed. Damian was able to breathe air and talk then. Damian sucked in more and more air, desperately trying to sate the need for oxygen. Why couldn’t he breathe?!

 Damian’s vision twisted. His head spun. His chest felt like knives being stabbed into it.

Hands grabbed him. Danny pulled him back under, where the water provided sweet relief. Damian clutched his chest, as if any moment now he would drown again.

“Are you ok Damian?” Danny’s hands hovered over him, like he was fragile china. Damian scowled.

“Why couldn’t I breathe? What has happened to me?” Damian asked, demanded, heavy with accusation.

“Dude, your lungs are water balloons right now. You gotta empty ‘em out before you can breathe air.” Danny said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Damian’s cheeks burned. He turned his back on Danny and crossed his arms.

“I was aware. I was merely testing you.”

Danny poked him in the sail, the sensitive touch causing Damian to hiss instinctively. “I mean if you’re the siren expert, then by all means!”

Damian did not dignify him with a response. Instead, he surfaced again, determined. Instead of inhaling in panic, trying to pump air into lungs at full capacity, Damian focused on exhaling, on pushing the water out.

His throat cramped with pain. The young siren gargled and gasped. His throat clamped and throbbed, like he was pushing a jagged boulder up. He barely managed to spit out a meagre drop of water before Danny dragged him under again.

The older boy pulled him to his chest, stroking his back as Damian coughed and hacked.

“Ok that was my bad, are you ok?” Danny said, ear fins drooping. Damian wheezed, his eyes closing as the pain abated.

“Do you go through this every time you surface?” Damian shuddered. What would happen to him once he got home? He wouldn’t be able to walk, and now couldn’t even breathe without immense pain.

“Hehe, no.” Danny deadpanned. “You’re supposed to use your gills.”

Danny tapped on his own gills. Instinctively, Damian moved his elbows to cover his. Lately he had been keeping sane by not thinking too much about the creepy feeling of having water flow through the slits in his chest, how exposed and vulnerable it made him feel. How it gave him a glaring weakness that could be easily exploited.

“Just open up your gills, and let the water drain out. It’s that simple.”

Damian sputtered. “What did you say?”

Danny shrugged, like he was explaining grade school mathematics to a two-year-old. “Like this.”

Danny’s gills flapped open. It was only from years of stoic training that Damian did not gag at the sight of Danny’s pale flesh revealed underneath his aquatic breathing apparatus. His eyes trailed to his own set of gills.

“Is there another way?” Damian was not avoiding this issue, nor was he ‘procrastinating’ as Richard would insipidly suggest. He was merely searching for a more optimal alternative.

“We’re sea creatures, Damian. I consider myself lucky for being able to not drown in air at all.”

Damian swallowed the lump in his throat. He was the son of Batman and Talia Al Ghul. He could face this. Being unable to breathe above water would make him a liability on this journey. He had to push through.

Damian prepared to resurface, gathering his nerves.

“Just relax. You can do it, Damian. It’ll be as easy as breathing.”

Encouraged by the prospect of not hearing any more puns, Damian pushed his upper half over the surface. Accordingly, Danny also pushed closer. This high over the water, Damian wobbled as his body adjusted to his weight in the air.

The pressure started to mount on his chest. Damian focused on the slits between his ribs, on the alien feeling of wind blowing into them and hitting exposed flesh. He squinted his eyes and tried to push the water out through his gills. He flexed and contracted his arms and stomach, searching for the unconscious switch in his brain that could activate the write muscles.

It was too much. He went under again.

“This is proving more difficult than I had anticipated.” Damian huffed, chest heaving from strain.

“I can tell.” At Damian’s glare, the older boy raised his hands in defense. “Hey, you looked legit constipated up there. I was starting to worry you’d actually make a mess of yourself. Now, like I said, all you need to do is-”

Damian hissed at the older boy’s mockery. “I can take care of myself. I need no advice to do something as simple as breathing. Thank you.”

Damian glared at the surface, the invisible barrier between this world and the old one, and redoubled his efforts. The pressure came back. Damian twisted his body and nerves, but he couldn’t get a single gasp of air in. He sank. He re-emerged, he suffocated again. Each time Damian pushed himself further, only to be met with the same difficulty. Each time left him sorer, more cramped.

Until after many an attempt, Damian slumped against Danny’s chest, scaled skin warm despite the cold, deep-sea looking appearance. His muscles turned to jelly, even as he feebly pushed against the older boy’s scales for another attempt.

The young siren felt soft hands wrap around his waist. Damian tried to push away, to wiggle out. Danny’s chest vibrated with a low him, and it was like his strings were cut, and Damian’s resistance ceased. All he could do was mutter weakly.

“What are you doing?”

Danny surfaced, arms keeping Damian under, until they began to pull him up too. Damian’s heart accelerated. He could not stop the frightened chitters forcing their way out. His fins went rigid. Was this it? Did Phantom finally lose his patience, and decide Damian was no longer worth the effort? This was bad. He needed to escape and he needed to escape yesterday.

But as Damian began to struggle, the rumbling vibrations from the elder’s chest intensified, and the small boy went limp again. His muscles, sore from exertion and rendered even weaker by the strange biological signal, refused to move. All he could do was tilt his head away, trying to delay the inevitable. Helplessly, he watched the surface creep closer and closer, until he went over.

Damian waited for his death. In his prayers, he apologised to Father, to Richard, even to Drake, for everything. In this moment, as tears pricked his eyes as he was helpless but to drown in fresh, oxygen-rich air, Damian resigned himself.

The pressure did not come.

His chest tingled. Pinpricks poked the skin and outer scales, and along the lining of his gills. Water ran down his chest and over his abdomen. Damian blinked, and looked down.

His gills were open, fully open, gaping wide and exposing his insides for the world to see, but they were open. And water flowed out of them, emptying his lungs. Damian gasped, and felt sweet relief as cold, burning, fresh air finally filtered into his body. His body wracked from the sweet release, chest struggling to accommodate the big greedy gulps he took.

“And now you shut them, keep the air going out the other way.”

Damian nodded glumly. That he could manage. A swift motion, and the flaps of scales and skin shut tightly, leaving only thin lines on his body to suggest that he ever had gills in the first place.

For a moment, he felt human. Even as he actively commanded his breaths, he felt more like a normal human again than he had in the last 48 hours.

“T-thank you.” Damian said, cursing the weakness in his voice. Not to mention how it sounded completely different now, travelling through water instead of air. It was unnerving, but he couldn’t place why. He felt too tired for more riddles about his body. “You have saved me a great inconvenience.”

Danny quietly chuckled. “It was literally what I told you. You need to loosen your muscles to get the water out. This whole time you’ve been all tight and wound up like a spring lock. Dude I think you even sleep all locked up too. That can’t be healthy.”

Sleep was when you were at your most vulnerable. Any threat could walk by and do with you whatever they pleased. In his life, there would be danger at every turn. It was a sentiment he’d expressed to the others in his family when they too voiced the same concerns.

He would never be safe in this life.

A finger poked his cheek. Damian snapped his teeth at the infantilizing gesture, only for it to retreat back just as quickly. He turned around and looked up, muscles no longer rendered limp by the subjugating vibrations.

Danny pointed to the sky, a soft smile on his face.

“It’s a good night to stargaze, isn’t it?” A comet whizzed by in the night, a streak of white trailing behind it, like an artist’s brush across a canvas. Now that he could breathe again, Damian felt an overwhelming sense of calm again, treading water and watching the stars shine.

[daddysfangirls-dc]

The Arrangement

Ch 8- A Change

Damian Wayne X OC! Female

Prev | Next

Syn sighed as she looked around at the bodies that littered the area. They weren't dead, but everyone was crippled and permanently damaged. She sighed, leaning against the wall. Her brother was in the next room handling the target; she could tell he'd be awhile from the sounds. 

Pulling out her burner phone, she dials a number. It rang once.

"Are you alright?" the first thing he asked

"I am well. On a mission with my older brother. Weapons and drug trafficking. Rival wanted him gone." 

"you called?" he asked confused. If there wasn't an emergency, why did she call?

"I just wanted to hear your voice. It has been some time." she had gotten too used to hearing him.

Damian put his paintbrush down and sighed, "What do you want to hear?"

"I don't know. What are you doing right now?"

"I'm painting at the moment."

"Tell me about it."

He smiled and moved to the window seal to sit in the sunlight. " Titus and Alfred have been good subjects of inspiration. Sitting still and posing natural." They were actually napping conveniently next to each other. He chuckled as Aflerd purred in his sleep. 

"You did always connect more with animals than people," Syn said, smiling as she toed an unconscious body.

"I miss the sanctuary. I miss the lions." 

The Al Ghul's had several animal sanctuaries under their control, and Damian did care for a few animals, specifically lions and big cats. Back then, only animals got his kindness. Syn continued to listen to Damian as he started to talk about his art and animals. She slid down the wall, letting his voice lull her to a calm.

The office door swings open, revealing her older brother. She quickly stands up, " I have to go," and hangs up. 

"Who was that?"

"Damian," he nods, and they make their exit through the nearest window. " Father is growing agitated. Where is your relationship going?" Illumi asked as they walked through the forest. 

"I have met his new family. I'm trying to bond with them. I'm making progress." 

"Father wants to see more."

Syn sighed. "I'm trying."

"Try harder. A lot is expected of you, сестра. For the Al Ghul and Our family."

"I know"

As they approached the pickup point, Illumi stopped her. " Go back to Gotham and make your place." She watched him walk away as a helicopter landed, and she watched as he went up and flew away. 

"Fuck"

-

Damian just looked at his phone after she hung up. The sounds of the dish brought him back. He looked u to see Alfred setting a snack for him as well as treats for his pets. "Syn called," he said. 

"Hm," Alfred said. That sound, he was clearly displeased.

" Do you have something to say?"

"I'd speak if I knew it'd have an impact," Alfred said with his back to Damian.

"Then speak it."

"Syn is a kind-hearted girl. It is unjust that her fiance is ashamed of her-"

"I AM NOT ASHAMED OF HER." The glare Alfred swung around with made him feel shame and guilt, but for another reason. " I'm not ashamed of her."

"And yet you hide her. You hide her like a dirty secret. " Alfred pitted the poor girl. She was devoted to his grandson, and yet the young man refused to see her. She deserved more. He wished he had known their relationship status back when he was helping them communicate. Maybe he could have done something different.

"I'm protecting her," Damained protested weakly. 

"Are we monsters?! I did not realize we were villainous creatures one needs protection from."

"That's not -"

"Nor did I think she was weak-"

"She is the strongest person I know." 

"And yet you hide her like the weakest. " Damain shrunk into himself as he stepped closer. " You are the cowardly one. She deserves better." And with that, Alfred turned to leave. 

"What do I do then?"

"Maybe treat her like your fiance." 

Damian let out a shaky breath after Alfred left. Holding Alfred, the cat, closer to his chest, taking comfort in his softness. Although he'd be last to admit it, but he was keeping Syn at a distance. His family was a good excuse. Damian was aware of his affection towards Syn, but he didn't know what to do with them. Romance was not something he was trained on. And he wouldn't dare fall back on his mother's teaching on marital duties. He just didn't know what to do with her or himself.

-

After their phone conversation, Syn quickly made her way back to Gotham. "Welcome back," Robin said sarcastically as he landed on the roof.

"I can't keep doing this, Damian." He paused, all amusement gone. 

"I-I'm sorry. But Damian, I can't keep doing it. Going back and forth. I've been through a lot. You have put me through... I've given everything I can. What more do you want? I want to be in your life and not at a distance."

"Alright"

She looked at him, confused. " Alright?" She was expecting disagreement, prepared for an argument. Nope, he was calm, leaning against the ledge with a smirk. 

"Alright, how do you want to process?"

"Um," she really wasn't expecting this, " I have money. I could buy a house. To be closer."

"That's a good plan. We can look at houses. I can provide a list-"

"Why did you change your mind?" she asked suddenly. I'm sorry, but not too long ago, you didn't want me here or anywhere near your family. What happened?" he sighed, his face calming.

"I realized you're not weak" he thought she was weak?" And I shouldn't treat you as such. And my family aren't monsters. They're just judgemental and very mean when protective. I shouldn't be hiding you from them or anyone."

Syn couldn't help but feel emotional she quickly blinked her tears away. It was nice to hear. He reaches for her hand which she gives. 

"Let's find a house."

"I found one already. It's next to Wayne Manor." 

"Drake's old manor?" The Drake manor had been left empty and on the market since the company's downfall and the death of Jack Drake. Tim wanted nothing to do with it, so Bruce let it stay on the market but closed on the entrance to the Batcave. No one had yet to take it up. 

"No, on the other side"

"Davenport?"

"No, there is actually a place between your and Davenport's estate." It was an old, forgotten manor, and almost everyone forgot it was there. It was in a state of decay and covered by the forest's overgrowth, which made it barely visible. The manor had been empty for as long as anyone could remember. There was no record of the previous owners. The manor was as old as Gotham, If not older. "I could buy it and fix it up. It shouldn't be that hard, depending on the damage."

"I like that idea. Let's do it."

"Really?" Damian pulled her forward into a hug. 

"Yes"

It was like a full 180, completely different from before. It was confusing, but she knew better than to question it or, as they say, look a gift horse in the mouth. She would take what she was given. 

-

(Russian)

сестра - Sister

[abyssal-ali]

Bomb Threat: A Declaration of Love?

Pairing: Jason Todd x Stephanie Brown

| Rating: T | Ao3 | Masterlist | WC: 650 | CW: Kissing |

A/N: Inspired by a meme shared in the JaySteph Server (18+): '“I’m not sending flowers to your job; that’s basic. I’m going to send a bomb threat so you can have the day off. Love you boo.” -Jason'

Steph sighed for the fifth time in as many minutes. Her job was extremely slow today, moreso than was normal for a Claire’s in Gotham. Emo kids were always coming in for a new piercing.

The paperwork was done, the windows were shined bright enough to reflect the few weak rays of sunlight that made it past Gotham’s smog cover into passerbys’ eyes, the top shelves were dusted, even the coffee maker in the staff room had been deep-cleaned. 

Cleaning spree over, Steph propped her chin on the handle of the broom she’d been sweeping the floors with. Everything was polished to a fault and now there was nothing else to do. She should’ve swept slower, spent an hour sweeping up the final line of debris into the dustpan or something. Wandering over to a tower of costume jewelry, Steph straightened the few cardboard folders holding cheap chains and glittery charms until everything was balanced neatly.

Jason had apparently read her message bemoaning her boredom, but he hadn’t responded. For all she knew, her boyfriend hadn’t even seen the message, simply having their chat open and conveying the signal that it had been read.

The phone on the wall rang and Steph leapt behind the counter, snatching the phone off the hook. “Claire’s in Kane Mall, Steph speaking.”

“Steph, hey, it’s Matt.”

Why was her manager calling her on his day off? “Hey, Matt, ‘sup?”

“I’ve just received word that there has been a bomb threat made against your store by a Rogue. I need you to follow the protocol for active Rogue threats in your area. Is anyone else around, do you see anyone suspicious I can relay to the authorities?”

“I’ve been practically dead all morning, Matt. There’s no one around outta the usual. I’ll be fine, thanks for letting me know about the threat.” Steph hung up and turned with a smug grin. Finally, her day was looking up.

The Kane Claire’s protocol for Rogue threats included taking the rest of the shift off. Steph could now go home to her boyfriend and cuddle him and get fed delicious meatballs and rigatoni with homemade sauce made with love by said boyfriend, and they could do face masks and watch Legally Blonde and make out and enjoy the time off together, which was rare with their respective jobs and night jobs.

Her spideyBat-senses weren’t tingling in the slightest, so she went about her usual closing routine, even though it was four hours early. 

Skipping into the apartment, Steph tossed her keys into the bowl and called out for her boyfriend. The delicious aroma of vegetable broth simmering and onions and garlic sauteeing greeted her in lieu of Jason.

She found him in the kitchen, quietly singing along to the radio as he stirred a pot.

“Hey, Jay.”

“Hey, sweetheart. How was work?”

Steph leaned against the kitchen door frame. “Short. You seem a little unsurprised that I’m home halfway through my shift.”

Jason shrugged, coming to greet her with a kiss and a spoonful of broth for her to taste-test. 

“You wouldn’t have anything to do with the bomb threat my manager called me with a warning about, would you?”

“I have a lot of C4 in storage right now, I gotta find something to do with it before it expires. Whatcha think?”

She smacked her lips, considering. “Good, but I think you could maybe add a bit more garlic?”

He rolled his eyes fondly, smacking her butt as he turned back to the stove. “Garlic fiend.”

“You know it! Also, C4 doesn’t expire. And a Claire’s, Jason, really? That’s so lame for the Red Hood.”

“Not lame if I get to spend time with my beautiful girlfriend.” He stirred in more sauteed garlic. 

“Sweet talker,” she scoffed gently, hopping up on the counter beside Jason. 

“Sweet kisser,” he returned, leaning in for another kiss. 

“Just for you.”

[thrakaboom]

tagged by @elvain

20 Questions for Writers

1. How many works do you have on AO3? Combined pseuds and all fandoms, 48. Just for thrakaboom (again, all fandoms) 37

2. What's your total AO3 word count? both psueds: 75,802. thrakaboom only: 56,640

3. What fandoms do you write for? these days mostly just marvel and occasional, but I have also written for DC Comics, the YJ tv show, and Circle of Magic. I also occasionally still write Sidleterra stuff.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Thud / R. / Witches in Gotham / I Love You, I Love You, I Love You Too / Everyone Loves Roy

the only one I really still like of these is "Everyone Loves Roy", lol. I hate "Thud" and "R." now.

5. Do you respond to comments? i do because i like when other writers respond to my comments, lol

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? "o, golden muse" which was a DC based vent fic published on my pseud about child grooming and in the end Bart doesn't tell anyone what happened. Published on my main, probably "Dear Baby", which is about fears of miscarriage

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I feel like it's probably "like dewdrops in sunlight" for marvel (warning for kink porn), and "Everyone Loves Roy" for DC

8. Do you get hate on fics? i used to, back in the old days. but not anymore. not publicly, at least.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? i do! in fact it's my bread and butter. I've written m/m and m/f and am plotting an f/f fic for mermay.

10. Do you write crossovers? occasionally! I only have one published crossover, which is a Sandman/Sidleterra crossover.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? nope!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? yes, i have! I often write with @mutantdilf and I started a project with @marvel-and-moor that never got off the ground

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? to write? probably ricstar

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? my ricstar bath fic is not quite abandonded but i don't have the motivation to finish it right now, haha.

16. What are your writing strengths? i have no idea, haha. I'm pretty good at purple prose I think

17. What are your writing weaknesses? anything longform or multi-chapter! ...yikes!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I haven't done it before, but I like seeing it

19. First fandom you wrote for? blues clues! if anyone is interested I can see if I can dig out my very first work of fiction "Blue's Birthday Party". I had my dad write it down what I said and I did all the pictures. Published? HP.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? "Milk, Turpentine, and Honey" but since that's published on my pseud, i'll say that my favorite published on my main is either þrek (noun n.) 'courage, strength' or Review of 590 Fifth Avenue (50th Anniversary Edition)

tagging @marvel-and-moor @mutantdilf and @abyssfemme

[babydxhl]

"My sister is a terror, maybe she’ll be a great dictator some day —" (Ohshit she's opening-up about her family.)

phantom thread sentence starters | still accepting.

Mary was quiet a moment, thinking over the ramifications of this new information — she had that strange sensation, not unlike sitting in gridlock traffic, of a thousand separate lives happening all at once, branches of a family tree stretching out into an all-encompassing fog. She blinked. The feeling dissipated.

"Of a small country, of a mega corporation or of some whackjob commune?"

She counted the options off on her fingers, then settled back in her seat, sunglasses slipping down her nose. It was weak sunlight, filtered through a layer of cloud cover the colour of spoiled milk, but it was more than Gotham had had in days.

"Beause there's a differrence, you know."

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

The Living City (or: Gotham and Her Children, over the years)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/tWizRl1

by Just_an_aussie_otaku_hermit

“Gotham likes Bruce Wayne.

Her Children whisper about him often. Horrible, vicious, lewd and a few good things from the Screaming, Searing Sunlight, but so many good and wondrous things from Her Children, the Whisperers in the Shadows. Though, most of them whispered about The Bat—a shroud he’d donned in order to help his Siblings—there were good things murmured about the efforts of Bruce Wayne. Airhead boy-billionaire with a perfect smile and a bleeding heart.”

Gotham is alive, and though young when compared to others like her, she is far from weak.

Words: 2264, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, DCU

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Jim Gordon, Bruce Wayne, Background & Cameo Characters, Gotham City Residents

Relationships: Gotham City & Bruce Wayne, Jim Gordon & Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Gotham city is alive, POV Multiple, non-linear storytelling, Sentient Gotham City, will tag as more of the story is written, found this in a google doc from 3 years ago so now i’m posting it here, What it would be like to live in a city that thinks and feels and loves and hates

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/tWizRl1

[finniestoncrane]

t4t riddlebird lets go

you bet bb 💚💜 there's not a single part of my being that could believe that they were cis and weren't soulmates lmao it's t4t lovers to the end

good morning

just a lil morning scene between them so we can really see how much ed leans into hybristophilia because he does he really does also canon, never heard of them but they sound horrible? i'm a writer on gotham now, we're going by my hcs just shhh pretend, you're thinking about it so like don't think about

minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff, mentions of violence, murder, guns, kissing, dry humping, bit of pain kink, obviously hybristophilia too

Oswald was spoiled rotten and he was kept ever smug in the knowledge that he might have warned Ed not to give into his demands so early in their relationship. He knew he was difficult to disagree with or say no to, but rather than offer any reprieve, he let himself be served and serviced by his wonderful, concerningly patient, boyfriend.

He rolled over in the plush bed, opening his eyes and squinting while they adjusted, the long figure in front of the window taking shape as the light became less of a burden on his vision. There stood Edward, unclothed completely apart from his glasses and his clean, white briefs, his smooth chest close enough to smell as he bent down to put Oz's breakfast tea on the bedside table for him.

"Good morning, Oswald." His tone, a little brusque, caught Oz off guard in comparison to how angelic he had looked just a moment ago, bathed in the light of the day. "Although, it's closer to the afternoon now. Did you know, that if you wake up early, you'll increase your productivity and it positively affects your optimism for the day ahead?"

"Is that why you're so cheerful all the time?"

Ed turned to walk away, but Oswald reached out his hand, warm against Ed's clammy wrist, and pulled him back around, easing him into the bed beside him. He made no eye contact with him at first, choosing instead to gaze upon his almost entirely hairless chest, running his hands along the flat of his rib cage, breathing dreamily, content to just have someone so beautiful to look at. And, wincing at the realisation of how weak he was for him, Ed leaned into the tender, physical affection. With one hand at an angle, head resting on his hand, the other found it’s way to Oz’s side, rubbing it over the top of the soft sheets, feeling the heat that radiated from under them.

“Why anyone would ever want to get out of bed is beyond me. Especially if you were in it with them.”

Oz leant in to kiss Ed, hands gently picking his glasses from his face and setting them behind him on the table. He pressed his nose to Ed’s cheek as his hands made their way lower, warm hands trailing down his cold spine, making their way into his tight pants and cupping at his cheeks, grasping them firmly as their lips met again. In this familiar, entangled embrace, they shared their most tender moments. It was less of a torrid affair in the morning. Something about the sunlight made them both so gentle, loving. But the caress was proving too much for Ed, who had begun to grind himself into Oz, moans pushing past both of their tongues, breaking the kiss up.

“What are you going to do today, Oz?”

“I mean, is now the time to nag me to get out of bed? Or-”

“No, you know what I mean.” He sighed heavily, separating their lips and pressing a kiss to Oz’s cheek, a line of precision-tainted kisses following down his neck and his collarbone, further still to where Ed lay his head onto Oz’s chest, soft and unbound. As he spoke, he let his lips pass over Oz’s nipples, hardening from the tease.

“You know what I mean. What are you going to do. Today. Oz.”

“I’m going to be bad, Ed.”

“Mmmmm.” A satisfied moan, vibrating through Oz’s ribcage, electric energy sending goosebumps over his arms.

“In fact, I think I’ll be evil.”

Less noise from his loving boyfriend, who was now firmly pressed to his chest, kissing and sucking and biting at the flesh. Oz strained to talk past his own pleasure, but continued for Ed.

“I have some meetings to attend, some people to threaten. It’s even possible I might break a few fingers if the mood takes me.”

“W-what else?”

“Not enough? Hm…” He ran his fingers through Ed’s soft hair, gently tugging at it as his hands reached the ends, palms clinging softly to create just a little pain, a sensation enough to have Ed tensing, body half on top of him, cradling him in an embrace as he ground his body against his side.

“I suppose I might also see to that young man at the restaurant down town, the one who forgot his upkeep last week. Oh, the things I could do to him. Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Mm…yes I would, Oz…please.”

“I’m going to shoot him, Ed. I’m going to shoot him and toss him in that filthy river. The solution to all life’s problems.”

“Oh, Oz…” he stifled a moan as he bit down harder on Oz’s nipple, thrusting himself against his hip and thigh, desperately mewling at the friction between himself and the ethereal, villainous creature that lay beside him. “That’s so horrible. Tell me more, please.”

Oz teased at Ed’s hair once more before dragging his finger nails, sharp and yet ticklish, down his neck, clutching at the shoulder muscles that twitched at the touch, pressing sharper at Ed’s whimpers.

“I’m just going to be so mean today, Ed.” He spoke in a softer, almost taunting tone, speaking to his greatly intelligent lover as though he were a pathetic, stupid child. “I’m going to be the biggest, baddest man who ever walked the streets of Gotham.” He was very aware of Ed’s impending climax, somehow able to bring himself to orgasm with Oz’s words alone as he pressed himself hard against him, rubbing and thrusting and using his body. Oz pressed his hands against Ed’s rear again, finger slipping between them to gently press and rub at his entrance, breath hitching at the warmth, at the drool that instantly fell from Ed’s mouth, open in ecstasy. “And anyone who gets in my way, will meet their fate at my hands.”

“Mmph…Oz…Oswald…you’re so…I love it when you…I’m uh…oh dear…”

“I’m not afraid to get dirty, remember.”

At the pressure of Oz’s finger crooking inside of him, the threats of violence and the friction burning against his wonderful, disturbing partner, Ed felt himself losing control, spilling out, cumming in his pants. He whimpered, embarrassment throwing a shade of red onto his usually pallid cheeks, uttering soft apologies to Oz as he buried his face further into his chest. Kissing between his sorrys.

“It’s alright, Ed. But if you don’t let me go back to bed now, you’ll be on my list.”

[whereflowersbloom]

Dum Spiro Spero

The leader of the league of shadows and secrets was watching a beautiful creature bathing in sunlight. Shinning ebony hair catching each breath of early autumn’s glinting sunset, a tendril of her hair catching in the wind as it breaks free from an elaborated braid. Raven was kneeling in the garden, hands working the soil, to bring life, making new life grow. Some moments she stopped to enjoy the autumnal breeze on her face, staring into the distance as if caught in between this world and another.

Looking back Damian never thought he would have this. It had never been an option for him. His life was mostly filled with dangers, blood, threats and uncertainty. Wondering if he would live to see the next sunrise or survive enough to watch the following sunset. His life had been filled with hatred. Hatred towards a parent be believed had abandoned him, an enemy that murdered his loved ones who raised him. He did everything in his power to avenge them but he did not feel satisfaction or any kind of gratification after killing him. No. The emptiness did not fade away.

There were times where he was filled with so much regrets. Regret of rejecting his father and not believing in him, that he cared for him. Regret of the days he spent resenting his adoptive brothers for having the chance of a different life. Regret for not being able to love someone freely. Not until her.

The first time he saw her he couldn’t help but stare in awe. The same day Damian drew in his first breath of Gotham City air.

An eternity could have passed by in the blink of an eye, breath hitched in his throat, eyes quivering with strong emotion, heart hammering in his chest and yet he would have stared at the sight of her the rest of his days. For it was humanly impossible to get his eyes off of her. It was a view he had been starved of for eighteen years.

He stared because she was light.

She was home. Finally.

Porcelain skin, thick locks of raven hair, piercing, unearthly amethysts struck through his soul. And he felt alive, whole.

He had learned an important lesson. Life was too short, shorter if you’re an assassin, it was too precious. You could never waste a second of it, especially with the people closest to your heart. And he made a solemn promise to his family and himself. He decided to live without regret. To take the opportunities that life handed him and most importantly, he swore to himself that even no matter what happened in the past, the terrible things he had done, his faults and mistakes. He deserved to be happy.

That was five years ago.

It was easy to lurk in the shadows of the their house, a petite, cozy cottage close to the league’s headquarters. In the Kunlun mountains he had found a rustic little gem straight out of a Jane Austen or Charlotte Bronté novel, that was how Raven had described it. She had been working on the garden for eight months. There were now fragrant jasmine bushes and two apple trees, one almost completely covered by creamy white climbing roses, clusters of bluebells, foxgloves, pink Hibiscus flowers, pale lavender orchids, and the entire lawn was strewn with white and yellow daisies. In the shadows he knew he would not disturb her reverie. Yet he had been caught, luminous violet eyes wiser than her years cast to where he has hidden with a gentle smile that just pricked the corners of her mouth. “You know I can feel you staring, Damian. The intensity of your emotions is making me go weak.”

Damian couldn’t stop admiring his lover. Because the eyes that followed her were ones brimmed with love, adoration. Stepping into the sunlight, gently he helped her stand up, instinctively wrapping an arm around her waist. “You will never be weak, beloved. Not because of me or anyone.” Words were spoken softly, his other hand reaching to lift a white lily from the blooming bulbs bed and tucking it right behind her ear. Not too far off in the distance the radiant sun continued arching low in the sky reading to say goodbye and allowing the sky to welcome the moon and stars.

One of his long, tanned hands, cupped her face with delicacy, her body aching desperately for his touch. He placed his remaining hand over her chest. She was aware that Damian could feel the rapid pulse of her heart through skin. “Thought you’re stronger than any other living creature in this universe. There is strength in your goodness, as much as there is in steel and fire.” His emerald eyes were filled with so much joy, so much warmth and devotion, it was endless, everflowing.

Raven barely thought she was breathing, willing her unruly heart to ease a fraction, soothe down its beating instead of racing even after all these years together. Damian gently kissed her temple and murmured against her rosy cheek in a low voice that made goosebumps rise on her tender flesh. “Do you know why I fell in love with you?”

She licked her lips and pretended to think about it for a moment. “Because I said you were insufferable our first meeting.” She teased. As much as his presence annoyed her at first, she had come to feel comfortable around him, safe, content. The feelings she had tried to contain became harder and harder to ignore. Slowly, he carved himself into her heart, something she did not have a name for took root. Every time he saw him, heart fluttered in her chest like a child, and everytime he smiled at her...oh Azar she couldn’t take the clash of ardent emotions. After that something inside her began to loosen, shift, to change. She had been a fool, deceiving herself it was nothing more than friendship.

Everything changed for them and she was infinitely thankful both had put in the effort to help each other overcome their fears. They only required a little push from Dick at the beginning, because both were impossibly stubborn.

Damian chuckled audibly. It was a fascinating sound she thought to herself. His hand trailed along her collarbone, enjoying the smooth texture of her ivory skin, grasping the side of her face. Green orbs bored into violet constellations. He spoke firmly and his features hardened slightly. There was a battle raging behind his green gaze, like he was desperately fighting something inside him. His past. “You did not judge me for my past actions, for the assassin I was raised to be. I was coated in blood, spent my days destroying and taking lives. And yet you found goodness in me.” His deep voice was rough and cracked just a bit.

She had given him five years worth of smiles, laughter, love and so much more. Filling the void inside him after losing his grandfather and mother. She had lifted him up. Damian would never let her go. He refused to. How could he?

“Dum spiro spero.” He breathed, heart thundering in his chest.

He did not have tell her its definition. She knew the meaning of the phrase. She blinked in surprise, her mind automatically translated it. While I breath, I hope.

Interlacing his hand with hers, entwined like a vine to tree, he swallowed hard before continuing. “You are my hope, Raven. When I look at you I see hope.” Raven was this incredible force which had burrowed itself so deeply within him being that there would be no uprooting it. Never.

She found herself voiceless, giving time for his words to sink in. Then she did not have to think about her responses for more than a second. She knew exactly what she wanted to say.

Raven held his gaze, unwavering, for another minute before speaking. “I know you really look at me and see me for who I am and I hope you know, I will always look at you and I will see someone who despite seeing the worst of it all, is still kind, good, a generous and compassionate soul.”

The raw emotion swimming in his eyes made her want to embrace him for eternity. He loved her. He loved her more than she ever imagined. She felt her own eyes watering, tears running down her cheeks which Damian wiped away with careful motions.

“I would love to be your hope until the end of my days.” She whispered voice thick with emotion, forehead pressed against his. His skin was warmer than hers, she let herself submerge in the lingeringly tender contact. Unable to hold back anymore Damian kissed her ferociously, with starved lips, pouring all his words and feelings into the caress. Squeezing her frame against his, wishing for any distance to vanish, anything that would keep them apart.

“I love you.” He whispered in the most intimate of ways against her mouth.

Damian took her in his arms, carrying her and not wasting time, making his way inside the small cottage. They were two souls in love, hearts beating the same tune, in perfect synchrony.

Happy birthday chromie 🙈🙈🙈❤️❤️❤️

This small oneshot is dedicated to @chromium7sky my closest friend in the fandom.

I hope you all like it though. @tweepunkgrl @alerialblu @andthendk @ravenfan1242 @carnationmilk @bourniebna @srose-foxfire @sofiii

[enigmainvestigations]

ENI Season 1 Premiere (episodes 1-7)

AO3 post: ???    Series link: ???

Episode 1 - Matchbox

Something banged below him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was enough noise to wake him. He stirred lazily, feeling his undershirt sticking to his skin. The room was humid this morning -- if it even was morning. He could feel the nausea creeping in after all those drinks the night before, it made his muscles hurt, and his throat drier the more that he woke. He slowly opened one eye, and the hazy outline of his window met his vision. He wasn’t sure if he’d left it open the night before; all he knew was that everything was much louder this morning. He let out a deep groan and reached a hand out to the floor to grab his glasses. Putting them on, he stared at the cracked ceiling above him, willing the nausea away. Throwing one leg off the couch, he slowly pulled himself up, trying to get his mind into gear enough to make it to the bathroom. His throat protested as he cleared it. Finally pulling himself up to his feet, he made his way to the small kitchenette in the next room. He opened the icebox, plucked the ice cube tray from within, and made his way to the bathroom. Cursing, he struggled to fit his tall frame in the cramped room, where he turned on the faucet and plugged the sink. He cracked the tray to release the ice and dumped them into the basin. Discarding the tray to the ground, he took a deep breath and pressed his face into the cold water. The sting sent a jolt into his mind, making him recoil quickly, gasping for air. Feeling his glasses sliding to the tip of his nose, he reached up and removed them, wiping his free hand across his face.

Placing his glasses back on, he leaned over the sink again, rapidly splashing the freezing water through his hair and around his neck. The sensation was horrid, but he could feel his brain waking up. He began to rinse his arms too, but stopped when the phone started ringing. Its dreaded sound filled the office, forcing him to turn off the water and grab the small towel by the sink. As he made his way over to his small wooden desk, he dried himself off, and, picking up the handset, answered:

“Yeah?” “Inmate 71170, this is officer Blue 334. Check in.” came the usual droll voice. “Not an inmate, on release.” Edward responded. There was a sigh. “We’ve gone through this, it's just procedure.” “Well, it’s a dumb procedure, and you’re dumb for following it,” Edward grumbled, as he sat down in his desk chair. “Good morning to you, too, Nigma. Glad to hear you’re your usual chipper self.” There was the slightest pause, then the voice became stern once more. “Check in.” “Still alive. Still in the exact same spot as the last time. You should know that, you called me.” Edward said, plucking the cigarette pack off of his desk. “Paperwork says you attended all your meetings. Employment?” the voice asked. There was no emotion or finesse to its tone; it bored Edward. “Self-employed. Can I just answer ‘nothing has changed’ and be done with it?” Edward asked hurriedly, speaking around the cigarette in his mouth as he lit it. “No. We’ve gone through this, Nigma. Profits?” “None,” Edward answered, unable to keep the anger out of his voice.

There was the sound of typing on the other line. “Alright, you’re all set. Your appointment with Dr. Lewin is at 11am on Thursday. Expect another follow-up call in a few days.” “A few days?” Edward arched his back, stretching. “Are my daily activities so boring you fools think I don’t need babysitting every morning?” He heard the sound of the line going dead and slammed the handset back on the receiver. He took a deep drag on his snipe, hissing in anger as he blew the smoke out. He’d come to expect such rude behavior from the officer, but the disrespect still got under his skin. Standing up from the desk, he shuffled back to the bathroom. Instead of entering, he snatched a clean shirt from the back of the bathroom door and pulled it on, buttoning it and tucking it into his pants. A belt, socks, and his shoes quickly joined the ragged ensemble before he grabbed his coat and made his way out of his office. He descended the rickety wooden stairs down to the main entrance of the building and stepped out onto the sidewalk, squinting at the sunlight. The heavy air was already making his skin feel dirty. He wondered if the grime of the streets was seeping up through the moisture. The thought was revolting.

Edward checked for a break in the traffic then hurried across the street, the action making his muscles ache in protest. Once across, he ducked into the small corner shop, snuffing out his cigarette on the wall by the entrance. The dawn work rush was long over, leaving the shop mostly empty. There was just enough change in his pocket to get his usual goods; a quick check confirmed that. He ordered a coffee, and a copy of the morning’s paper. Tossing the coins to the counter, he noted the owner's expression. It was the same every morning; a look of distrust and, perhaps, a twinge of fear. The man never spoke, but he also never caused Edward any trouble, and Edward was happy for that.

He grabbed his newly purchased items and darted back across the street, but slowed down significantly when he reached his building and climbed the steps back up to his office. He took a sip from his coffee and he took off his coat, then tossed it to the couch as he passed by and flopped back into his desk chair. He set the coffee down and rubbed his palms together rapidly, trying to relieve some of his nervousness. A small breath escaped his lips as he flipped it open, skimming some of the articles just to make sure there hadn’t been some catastrophic event while he’d been passed out. He was sure he’d have plenty of time later to read through it. He was rarely busy on his appointment-free days, and he needed to check the classifieds for any potential work. Leafing through the pages, a small headline made him stop: “Riddler Released,” it read in bold. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes rapidly skimming the small article. It was on his release from Arkham, and said something about it not being in the public’s best interests. He was dangerous, the journalist declared, and it was clear that they had only “set him loose on the city” because of a lack of funds. Reading the words, he could feel the muscles in his jaw tighten and his teeth clench.

He’d been out for about three weeks now, and the idea of his release only now being reported made him feel somehow small. Typically when his name had been in the paper it was front page news, with the flashiest of zingy headlines. “The Riddler’s Rampage” had always been his favorite -- he used to have a clipping of it, and he’d kept it pinned up at one of his hideout’s workstations. But now, here he was, barely important enough for a small blip on the fourth page. Is this what he’d been reduced to? Is that what they thought of him? And what did they mean that his being released was just due to funding? Did they really think that they would let him, of all people -- someone the mayor once called one of the most dangerous criminals in all of Gotham -- would they really let him out on the streets simply because they couldn’t afford to keep him? One time, during a blackout, the asylum had redirected power from external generators just to keep the locks on his cell in place. One would think the people in the city would be more frightened. He was sure having him out and about would instill fear in the public; the looks he received on the street certainly cemented that thought. But the funding conclusion was insulting, irritatingly so. But, then, that annoying inner voice crept in, the voice that had started months ago and hadn’t stopped bugging him since.

Things are different now. None of you are really all that scary anymore, not after the real fear that the public felt. In their eyes, your release is just another example of how the city has turned its back on its people. They’re more afraid of that reality. He felt his confidence seep away and pushed the paper away from him on the desk. Those thoughts always seemed to choose the worst moments to creep in, second-guessing his rationality and stalling him whenever he needed confidence. He took a sip of coffee and reminded himself it wasn’t always bad, that it’d saved his life more times than he could count. Right now, though, wasn’t one of those times. He really wished he had better control over that voice, but it always chose the worst moments to creep into his thoughts. He’d always been critical of others, and was used to his mind picking apart the weaknesses and flaws of the people around him. It always felt like an advantage he held over them -- but then, his mind had done something rebellious. It looked inward. It found his flaws, his weaknesses. And now it refused to stop or yield in its examination of everything wrong with him and his thinking.

He leaned back in his chair. What little energy he’d had to be productive today had gone, and his frustration was making his hangover worse. He could feel a slight headache coming on; his first thought was that he would never drink again, but he knew that was a lie. For the first time in his life, his mind was an enemy, unrelenting and traitorous, and, sometimes, the alcohol was the only thing that got it to stop. Bad nights, like last night, were just too exhausting to deal with on his own.

The phone rang again, yanking him from his thoughts. He stared at it as if confused, pondering who it could be, and reached over to answer. “Enigma Investigations, this is Nigma,” he said plainly into the handset.

There was a silence at first, then came the tender voice of a woman, “Mr. Nigma? Edward Nigma? As in, the Edward Nigma?” Edward rolled his eyes, but kept his voice as professional as he could. “Yes, miss, that’s me. What can I do for you?” He assumed it was a reporter, probably desperate for some scandalous headline to please her editor; he was sure he was going to get a lot of those, now that the story of his release was getting around. There was a pause on the line. “My name is Donna Hattie, I-” she paused for a moment. Edward could hear the nervousness in her voice when she continued, “I’m sorry, I’ve never done something like this before. I feel rather foolish. I was just wondering if I could speak with you?” Edward frowned at that. “About what, exactly, Miss Hattie? I’m sorry, but I’m not really interested in speaking with any papers at the moment.” “Oh, oh, no! Nothing like that! It's just -- I read in the paper you’re a private investigator?” Hattie said hurriedly.

Edward felt his brain jolt back to life. “Yes! I’m so sorry, Miss Hattie. I’d assumed I’d be hearing from reporters a lot today. My apologies, what can I help you with?” “Oh, it's fine. I’m sure you get a lot of those kinds’a calls,” she huffed lighty, and the next words she spoke were much softer, as if she was whispering, “I wanted to speak with you about my apartment building. It's just -- I’d prefer to speak to you in person, if that’d be alright?”

“Of course,” Edward could feel his pulse quicken, “let me give you the address.” The next few moments were rather swift. He gave her the easiest route to his building from her side of the city; she wasn’t that far away. Bidding her safe travels, Edward hung up the phone. His eyes scanned the room in horror, and he began quickly tidying up, opening the windows to help air it out as he went through the room. He chucked the garbage out the window onto the fire escape, sifting it out of view with his foot. He flipped the couch cushions over and snatched his coat up, hanging it by the door. He gave the room one last look over and, deciding this was as good as it was going to get, he hurried back to the bathroom. The water in the sink was still cold, but he didn’t have the time to worry about that now. He had to get at least some of the city grime off. He removed his clothes and glasses and dunked his head in the freezing water, ruffling it through his hair. Cleaning and drying himself off the best he could, he grabbed his only set of clean clothes from the bathroom door, expertly putting them on. Adjusting his glasses in the mirror, he fixed his hair and made a mental note of how much he hated how the grey color of his suit looked on him. The color, combined with his weight loss, made him look unhealthier than he actually felt. He took a deep breath, taking one last look at himself in the mirror, and hurried back to the main room, closing the bathroom door as he left. It wasn’t much of a wait for Miss Hattie to arrive. He’d had just about enough time to gulp down the rest of his coffee when he’d heard the knock on the door. Answering it, he let her in and held out his hand to her. “Nice to meet you, Miss Hattie. Hope it wasn’t too hard to find?” At first she seemed apprehensive, but she shook his hand. “Oh, no, dear. Your directions were rather clear, it's nice to meet you as well.” Pulling her hand back, she rested a painted fingernail to her lip, a small smile forming there. “It is you,” she said softly. “I’ve seen your picture plenty’a times. Y’know, I thought this was just someone trying to make money off’a your name? It wasn’t until I saw that article in the paper that I got up the courage to call you.” Edward was taken back by that, but quickly put on a smile to cover it. “Ah, I see. Well, I’m glad you did. Please, sit,” he said, and he motioned her to the small wooden chair in front of his desk. He pulled it out for her, making sure she was comfortable, before sitting down himself. He noticed her looking around the office, though he didn’t detect any looks of fear or disgust. He was used to surprise meetings in his previous line of work, but now he felt like a fish out of water, almost sure he’d overlooked something. It is odd she looks so relaxed around you, not many would be. The thought struck him suddenly, and he decided to take a closer look at his prospective client. Miss Hattie was a short woman; it was hard to determine her age, but she certainly had seen some years. He noticed her attire, crisp and clean, though nothing she wore cost over a dollar. He’d heard the West Side accent over the phone, and even though his ego slumped when he saw she clearly wasn’t some millionaire here to have him follow her rich husband around, something about this scenario made his mind itch for more information.

It was especially odd, considering that the city had only just now started to get itself back together. And after what had happened he knew the citizens of Gotham were anxious of the survivors, especially those who were criminals. The unease was palpable, as if at any moment they were expecting retaliation, retribution for their hand in the events. That the criminals were going to do to them what they’d condoned. The people of the slums were especially nervous; they’d already been through enough of the chaos, and he knew they were already bracing for the second round of destruction. And now, here sat Miss Hattie, in the office of a criminal -- a survivor -- in a slum not too far from where the horror had begun. He wasn’t sure if she was brave, smart, desperate, or if she was simply a cog in another scheme to get to him. He’d gotten used to desperate calls from investigators trying to get his statement, and the doctors at the asylum had spent most of their time trying to crack into his mind to see what possible damage had been caused by the events. Or, maybe, someone wanted to take advantage of his new lot in life to get revenge. That wouldn’t be surprising. Miss Hattie didn’t look the type; rather than some sort of malicious spy, she looked like a woman who had worked her whole life and probably had a family. Normal, boring human behavior. She did seem a tad nervous, but, if she was genuine, he understood why that was. He broke himself out of his thoughts and flashed her a calm smile. “So, you said you’d feel more comfortable talking here. Are you in any kind of danger?” Miss Hattie looked shocked by the assumption, shaking her head with a light chuckle, “Oh! No, no. It's nothing that serious. It’s just, I’m staying with my son currently. I don’t think him or his wife would approve of me coming here to speak with you.” Smart kid, Edward thought. “I see. Is your son aware of -- well, you said something happened with your apartment building? It was a little hard to hear you over the phone.” “Yes, he’s aware. It's why I’m staying with him,” Miss Hattie said, a twinge of nerves showing in her voice. “So it's not just a quick family visit, I take it?” Edward asked. She clutched her handbag tighter, and the muscles in her arms tensed. She was shutting down. Edward leaned forward, lowering his tone to calm her. “Miss Hattie, you don’t need to be nervous. Anything you say to me, I’m not going to repeat, not to anyone. I legally can’t, even if I wanted to. Nothing you say leaves this room.” Her eyes brightened at that, and he could see some of the tension leave her. “Really?” she asked, before letting out the breath she’d been holding, fanning herself with the handkerchief she’d plucked from her bag. “I’m so sorry. I’ve never done something like this before. Thankfully, never had to. I wasn’t sure-” she stopped suddenly. Leaning forward, she dropped her voice. “If I tell you about a crime, do’ya have to tell the cops?”

Edward raised his brows. “No,” he said flatly. That didn’t seem to calm her as much as he’d hoped. “Miss Hattie, you really don’t need to worry about the cops with me. I’ve had plenty of experience with them. Trust me, they won’t get anything out of me.” He thought the boast might’ve been overdoing it, but, to his surprise, she chuckled. “Oh, I bet you do! I thought as much, but I wasn’t sure if -- didn’t know if you had to report crimes, and things of that sort.” she said through her laughter. “I wouldn’t be doing this job if I had to. Anyway, I can run circles around them if need be. You really don’t need to be concerned about that.” He was rather surprised by this development, he hadn’t pegged her as someone who might be involved in the more seedy elements of the city.

“Good! I don’t trust them with this. I mean, they’re already involved, and that’s part of the problem. Fools aren’t doing a very good job, as I see it.” She leaned back in the chair, appearing much more relaxed than she had been since she arrived. Not a predator, she’s the prey, he thought. “They don’t have the best track record. But, they are rather busy at the moment. So, was it a break in?” he asked.  

“No. It’s -- the building caught fire,” she said. The words sounded hard for her to get out. “The whole thing just went up in flames, like a matchbox.” That statement brought back some memories Edward preferred not to think about. “I see. And I take it they have already investigated, and found no foul play?” He saw her nod, and continued. “You don’t agree?” Miss Hattie took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before she spoke again. “The firemen said it was an electrical fire. Something about how the grounding had gone bad, chalked it up to damage that must’ve happened during the lockdown, or some such nonsense.” She wiped her face with the handkerchief. “Thing is, though, the landlord had everything checked. I remember, I had to let some workers into my apartment. Tore a hole in my wall to get to some of the wiring, never did completely pick up after themselves.” She huffed, annoyed. “Wait, they just did maintenance on the wiring in the building?” Edward asked. She nodded in response, making him frown. “Was the building part of the lockdown?” “No. See what I mean? It's strange,” she said, frowning down at the floor for a moment. Looking back up, her eyes met his, and he could see a determination in them that wasn’t there before. “Mr. Nigma, I’m just gonna be honest with you. I can’t pay you much. I know that I don’t have that much of a reason to even be suspicious, but I just have a feeling. You ever just know something’s wrong? And the feeling just won’t go away? No matter how much you try to talk yourself out of it?” Yeah, you know what that’s like, all too well. Edward nodded, enticing Miss Hattie to continue, “All I really need -- you’re a very smart man. I’ve heard of the things you’ve done, I read all about what you did with the Gunners Boys. I followed it through the papers. If something is wrong, I’m sure you’ll be able to find it. I just -- can you just go take a look? That’s all I need, just your eye, just look and see.” She took a breath before continuing, “It will only take about an hour of your time, and if you tell me you don’t see anything suspicious, I’ll accept it.” “And if I do find something suspicious?” Edward asked.

“If you do… I guess I’ll just have to keep pestering those cops.” Miss Hattie finished, sitting up in the chair. Edward remained silent, his mind running through the potential issues this case could bring up. If the police were already involved, he knew his presence would surely get people talking -- as if many people talk about you these days -- but he really didn’t want to give them an excuse to come knocking at his door. And going out to the slums at night wasn’t a very safe idea, either. Normally, he wouldn’t feel any concern over it, but he really had lost quite a bit of his muscle mass over the last few months. The lack of money and food aren’t helping in that department, but you’ve been in worse shape and survived. This could still be a trick, but using some woman with a story of a fire sounded like an idiotic ploy just to lure him out to some abandoned slum. His mind started to wonder if this could have anything to do with Penguin, when that voice grew more insistent. She’s going to pay you to go look at some burnt rubble, stop overthinking it. You need the money. Hell, you don’t even really have to go. You could make up some story, she’d probably believe you. “Alright, I’ll give the scene an examination,” Edward finally said, making a small smile cross Miss Hattie’s lips. “Thank you. Thank you very much, Mr Nigma,” she said. During the rest of their exchange, her mood seemed to have improved. Edward found it strange but oddly comforting that she happily handed her money over to him. She seemed in full confidence he’d be true to his word, which was certainly not the treatment he was used to receiving, especially from regular citizens. He grilled her for a few more moments, asking questions of any potential concerns he should take into account and jotting her answers down in his notebook. He helped her to her feet and reiterated the directions for the quickest route back to her side of the city. She thanked him for his concern, and, just before he closed the door behind her, she looked him in the eye, still with that calm smile. “I really do hope I see you again, Mr. Nigma,” she said, before descending the stairs. Not as gullible as she seems, he thought.

He spent the rest of the daytime hours eating what little food he had left in the kitchenette, taking a much-needed nap to help with his hangover, and washing his other suit in the bathroom sink. He hung it on the laundry line outside his window on the fire escape. With the humidity he knew it was going to take longer than normal to dry, the rains were really lingering this year. After finishing picking up the garbage he’d dumped there this morning, he looked to the sky, noting the low hanging clouds that looked full enough to burst. He frowned as he climbed back through the window to the kitchenette. He’d had enough of the rains, to be quite honest. He never thought it was possible, but he was ready for the chill of the Gotham fall. He took the money Hattie had given him and hid it in the narrow crack in his desktop, while his mind began working over the case again. What would be the best way to handle it? He was sure if he simply did a walk by the premises he’d be able to gather enough visual cues to make up a convincing story, hopefully something that would ease her mind. He looked out the window behind him, staring at the rain clouds rolling over the slums around him. The rain would be good cover. He’d be able to sneak in without many witnesses, and he was sure the storm would keep many unsavory people off the streets. He sat down at the desk, reached over to grab the paper he’d discarded that morning, and began flipping through the pages. His neighbor’s radio turned on -- it was always loud enough for him to hear it with the windows open -- and he listened periodically to the news reports that broke in. Eventually it became too dark for him to finish the article he’d been reading, so he flipped on the tiny lamp on his desktop. A light tapping sound began on the window behind him. It was raining. He leaned back in the office chair, letting out a deep breath; he figured now was time to make a final decision. He listened to the streets below, hearing the vendors begin to close their windows and pull their displays inside. The city was closing down early. If he planned this right, he could finish in enough time to stop by one of the shops and grab some more whiskey. His fingers were tapping out a rhythm on the desk as he thought, his mind rapidly deciding on the best plan to get there and back. Standing up, he grabbed his switchblade from the desk drawer and stuffed it into his pocket, turning off the light as he went to grab his coat. Throwing it on, he placed his hat on and locked the door behind him as he headed down the stairs. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked around. There were a few children down the street playing in the rain, but otherwise people were quickly shuffling about, trying to find shelter. He turned on the spot and began the walk to the streetcar stop. Walking the city blocks there would be unpreferred in the rain, but he decided it would help ease more of the fog his hangover still had over his body. The walk wasn’t as horrible as he’d figured it would be, and the streetcar wasn’t as packed as he’d imagined. He easily found a spot to sit on one of the benches, his aching muscles thankful for the rest. As the streetcar rattled along its track, his mind began to mull over all the information again as he formed a plan to get in and out quickly. He vaguely watched as riders got off at different stops, eventually leaving the streetcar almost empty. Being lost in his thoughts for most of the trip, he was alarmed when a sickness began in his stomach. Then it hit him. It was the smell of the city around him, the rain, and that familiar sickening smell of rotting, burnt wood. The smell of the river flooded his senses. He’d forgotten they’d changed the streetcar route. He didn’t look up, he didn’t need to, he could already hear the sloshing sounds of the water as they got closer to the island bridges. His eyes scanned his surroundings for a street sign, but as he did, he could feel his hands start to shake. He willed them to stop. The sign for Billington passed by, and he hurried to the back of the car, hopping out into the street. The sudden silence of his surroundings made the sounds of the river so much louder in his ears. He hurried onto the sidewalk, silent. His breath was quickening, and he could hear the blood flowing through his head. The sickness in his stomach was becoming almost unbearable. He shook his hands at his sides, trying to relieve some of the nervousness and the tension. Without looking up, he turned down the sidewalk, beginning the remainder of his trip. Keeping his eyes low to the pavement as he walked, he heard a car turn down a street behind him. It made his nerves spark in anticipation. He tried to keep his focus just on his steps, one foot in front of the other, ignoring the memories trying to creep back into his mind. Another step forward and his foot went right through a puddle. The sensation of the dirty water filling his shoe opened up a floodgate; suddenly, flashes of events tore through his mind.

Knee-deep water, the weight of the gun in his hand, the pulsing pain in his right leg.

He stopped on the sidewalk and shut his eyes tightly, trying to get the memories to stop, but the smell of the river kept bringing them back. He let out a pained groan. He didn’t understand. He felt so out of control. The one thing that had always been his greatest ally was turning on him. The fear quickly turned to frustration. He opened his eyes, deciding he was sick of it, sick of avoiding it all. All he was doing was just desperately patching holes on a sinking ship. He turned and looked at the island bridge, thinking it was time to stop running, and start confronting it head-on.

Some remnants of the barricades remained: large trunks of wood and brick were pushed up against the railing, razor wire glistening in the rain. The street was still damaged nearby, and the city had done some rush patch job to fix it, leaving the cracks still visible on the uneven pavement. The island across the river looked tiny. The dark buildings speckled the horizon; it looked like the remains of something dead, a carcass, rather than a once-populated island. It smelled different now, and the silence of it made him uneasy. He’d expected an intense barrage of memories, like what happened often at night, but he was met with something lifeless. He stared for a moment longer, noticing the fencing the city had put up around it, seeing where they’d cleaned a route on the main roads for the construction traffic. Looking to the street signs above, he saw the directional signs for the Narrows had been blocked off. Large “detour” signs took their place, directing traffic to the overhead bridges. The sight gave him a feeling of finality. The island held no answers, and it provided no closure. It was just dead. Letting out a deep breath, he took one last look at the island and continued down the opposite street toward his destination.

The farther he got from the Narrows, the more the sensations began to ease. His fear and frustration was replaced with a sense of emptiness he hadn’t expected; he felt almost numb to it all by the time he reached the buildings he was headed to. He’d thought actually looking at the island would be like confronting some horrific beast, and the lack of that resolution or answers of any kind was wearing on him. Stop worrying, talk to Lewin about it in your next appointment-- but that thought frightened him. He took a deep breath to compose himself, then he looked up at the buildings around him. The lights inside them and the soft sounds of people filled the air; he hadn’t thought this block would still be inhabited. Then he saw it: the darkened shell of what he assumed to be Miss Hattie’s previous residence. He could see the smoke damage on the remaining two buildings beside it. He noticed that both were still housing residents. He watched a cat slink inside an open window of a dimly lit room, heard one of the residents dump some wash water to the alleyway. All of it struck him as odd. It appeared Hattie’s building had sustained most of the damage, and it was enough damage to make the whole building uninhabitable. Yet the other buildings appeared to only have minor damage. Hurrying up to the entrance, he checked his watch and noted the time. Taking out his notepad, he skimmed his notes quickly, refreshing his memory and reinvigorating his focus. He climbed the few steps to the main entrance and gently pushed what was left of the front door open. The main hall didn’t appear to be too damaged by the fire, and he took a few steps inside, noting that the upper floor had been torn open by the firemen. Gotta watch your step up there, he thought as he saw the floor above through holes in the ceiling. He took out his flashlight and flicked it on, checking the apartment to his left first, before making his way slowly up the steps. He looked between the two doors on the top landing before going through the door on his right, per Miss Hattie’s instructions. He frowned while looking over the damage. It was quite bad, like a matchbox he remembered her saying -- and it certainly looked it.

Everywhere he looked was burned, the skeletons of her furniture scattered around the apartment, with every inch blackened by either smoke or fire. Moving further in, he kept his eyes to the floor, hopping over the weak spots as he picked his way to one of the back rooms. He reached a doorway and looked inside, searching the small room with his torch until he finally spotted the hole in the wall Miss Hattie had mentioned. He stepped over to it, avoiding another hole in the flooring, and bent down to check inside the wall.

Suddenly, a floorboard creaked in another room. He could hear what sounded like footsteps behind him. He frowned and turned his flashlight toward the door, bathing the hall in light.

He listened, hearing only the tapping of the rain water throughout the building.

Continue reading: 

Ep 2  *  Ep 3  *  Ep 4  *  Ep 5  *  Ep 6  *  Ep 7

[vampireshdtw]

The Batman VS Dracula (2005)

Tonight Eve, Henry, and Matt watched The Batman VS Dracula!

The Batman VS Dracula, released in 2005 and directed by Michael Goguen, is about Batman fighting a new, supernatural foe who wishes to take over Gotham.

---

The vampires in this movie are tenacious, immortal creatures that thirst for human blood. Petty injuries like punches and falls do little to stop them, and their supernatural strength and speed make them incredibly difficult to fight. Running from them proves to be a challenge with their extremely high jumping capabilities and their ability to climb up walls like spiders. If a victim tries to hide, they can use their superior sense of smell to follow the scent of their blood, and when they’re near, the vampire can see through their skin and directly into their veins to see their prize. When they’re cornered, the victim can only struggle helplessly as the vampire uses their fangs to drink their blood.

If the bite doesn’t kill them, the vampire’s victim joins the head vampire’s legion of undead minions, following their commands with little of their original personalities left intact- although there are exceptions when confronted with especially powerful personalities. Apart from drinking human blood, vampires are also capable of eating raw meat and insects.

The head vampire of any given area is undoubtedly the most powerful, stemming from the fact that they aren’t ex-human like their minions, but rather their own supernatural species. Because of this, they are capable of doing everything their minions can do, while also being able to use mind control, which can be used to create human servants that protect their coffins during the day, as well as enter a bat or mist form.

Defeating a vampire is near-impossible without making copious use of their weaknesses. If one can’t see the vampire’s gaunt features and glowing blue eyes, a surefire sign of their condition is their lack of reflection in silver-backed mirrors. Garlic hung around the home, rubbed onto weapons, or implemented into explosives can ward them off, but do little to actually harm them- it is assumed the same could be said for articles of faith such as crosses, given their avoidance of them, but the specifics are unknown.

A vampire staked in the heart can be considered defeated, seeing as it renders them immobile and prevents them from nourishing themselves, turning them into dried, skeletal husks; however upon receiving even a drop of blood, they return to a functional state, capable of feeding themselves once again. The most certain way to kill them is with sunlight, which burns them to ashes. But even then, they can be revived with a ritual involving a living human’s soul, conducted by a head vampire.

A noteworthy element of these vampires is the effect vampirism has on human blood. Rather than being entirely dead, humans bitten by a vampire are inflicted with a disease that alters the form and traits of their red blood cells. A serum made to combat this alteration can cure turned humans, however they retain no memory of their time as a vampire.

---

Oh wow! I absolutely didn’t expect this movie to be as cool as it was! With it being aimed at kids and teens, the movie lets itself be absolutely shameless in how vampire-y it is, and I fucking adored it. The voice acting was great, the perspectives they used were exciting, and I really think more vampire movies should take a page out of their book. Great movie! (Matt)

I forgot how much I loved Batman! Interesting homage to the original (even if it disrespects my homegirl Carmilla- don't think I missed that), plays with the Bat v. Bat themes with some awesome pay-off. Henry said it was the best Dracula we'd seen yet and I.. can't disagree at all... He was intimidating, creepy, and yet weirdly compelling. Fight scenes were great, and the gothic undertones really helped to produce a great sense of style. Some parts of it seemed like they were designed to inspire Dracula x Batman fanfic, and honestly I half-wrote dialogue in my head while watching. Great stuff. Truly this was Gotham for the goths. (Eve)

I was the one to recommend this movie, as I saw it when I was a lot younger. It more than exceeded my expectations from what I remember. Peter Stormare is probably my favourite version of Dracula that we've watched so far. He's over-the-top and camp but never loses his menace and is genuinely creepy at points. The movie has great animation and shots that really add to the dark atmosphere of Gotham City descending into chaos. There's a bunch of really fun ideas as well, like the Joker becoming a vampire, that the movie mines their full potential out of. A really solid, good movie that I would recommend! Also Batman and Dracula are gay, no I will not elaborate any more. (Henry)

[shewhowillnotbenamed1]

@ravenfan1242​ You said short and it started short and well, it just became this the way only an open prompt can... I hope it’s remotely decent!!!

----

Raven leaned against the table and under her light weight, Jason could swear the solid structure shifted. From the moment she arrived, brandishing an eco-friendly tote, she was weighted down. Even after relinquishing the heavy bag, she still seemed to sag into it.

"I'm worried, Jason."

"Raven, don't be," he offered quickly. "I mean, look around you, it's fine."

"No, it's not fine." A heavy sigh exited her body. "There's something else I'm forgetting... I just feel like I should do something... Something more."

"That's pretty clear." He pointed at the huge bag of groceries on the kitchen counter. It was all organic and more than enough fodder to sustain two down and out Jason Todds for a month. Completely and utterly unnecessary. But, if you spent enough time brushing the tuxedo-covered and satin gloved elbows of the Gotham elite, you grew familiar with the concept of overcompensation. "I don't know why you're worried. I have everything I need here - and some. Oh and good morning - by the way."

Her blue-violet eyes narrowed and then ran their lap around the space for about the eighth time. "Natural light... That's the problem." She wrung her hands together. "There's no natural light... But, I should have figured that bulbs alone weren't enough."

"You think I need exposure to sunlight? That's certainly rich." Jason's chin jutted in her direction. "It really means so much coming from you." The half-demon's pallor was pretty standout in the tight black v-neck, more than usual, which was saying something. It was like someone had flipped a switch to change the settings to negative, then pointed it solely on her, leaving the colors of her skin and sweater equally inverted.

"You're vitamin D deficient - probably... Definitely. Or you will be..." Once more, she fussed about the beige corded string tote. She held up the carton of milk and then a container of yogurt, examining percentages, as if expecting these offerings to remedy the problem in the short term.

Jason half considered telling her she'd do well to down a glass or a spoonful herself, but he held his tongue. This was clearly about alleviating what she could, so as not to focus on the real problem.

"Underground to underground bunker...?" Jason stretched his arms behind his head leaning back onto the small couch in the hideout. "I can't help but consider this a vast improvement." The space was so very much like a studio. So it was practically palatial compared to his previous digs in the cemetery. He barely stifled a scoff as he contemplated yet another bitter realty. B couldn't be bothered to spring for a bloody crypt. It was probably confirmation of where he ranked. What did it matter? There was a revolving door of Robins anyway.

"So, I suppose... it can't be helped," she said somberly.

"Exactly. If you've been deep down enough, natural light becomes a cursory concern." It was meant to be an offhand remark, as he was sure she knew what lay underneath the earth's surface better than most. But Jason watched as the daughter of Trigon actually flinched. She was quivering slightly with her small shoulders starting to shake. Some part of this had to be beyond her, it was the only way for someone so powerful to seem so fragile.

Raven was the only one who could say with certainty that Jason Todd's coffin in Gotham Cemetery was empty.

The hardest part was supposed to be over, but neither of them really knew what was going to happen now.

Would he have good days and bad days? Or just all bad? What were the long-term after effects?

He could try to be proactive and take some preemptive actions. Perhaps he could borrow a leaflet from the shelf of one Raven Roth and start meditating to pinion the chaotic churn burgeoning inside him.

Steady the mind... You are neither a puppet nor a proponent of mania, or the voices inside...

He had a couple of chants he was mulling over. Raven knew the value of a good chant.

She also knew what it was like to have multiple forces pressing themselves upon her at any given time. Sometimes literally.

But the occasional moment in front of the crimson and gold strewn sky of dawn, brought her solace.

She'd told him that once, so he could believe it.

Maybe if he too could feel the sunlight, smell dewy grass, or hear the chirping of birds, it would make him feel less apart from the world. Or maybe he would just feel more strange and inhuman, like he was something indecent that didn't belong. And all the organic groceries and housewares in the world wouldn't be enough to rehabilitate the reanimated corpse of Jason Todd. Though Raven sure seemed willing to try.

Wait.

Did she really?

He sat up straight and craned his neck, not believing it. Among the health food items, Jason saw a flash of bright packaging. An orange tin of biscuits. He also spied a familiar looking paper carton. Well, well. Cigarettes.

Circumstances aside, wasn't Raven a do-gooder supreme, even among her fellow Titans? She didn't strike him as one to approve of cigarettes. They kill and all that. Though now she probably figured what was the harm? And he had to painfully agree.

In a state of delirium, he vaguely recalled mentioning something about a smoke. But how on earth did Raven find his favorite English biscuits? His weakness for Hobnobs was something he figured only Alfred knew about.

How did she always know?

Perhaps Raven had seen a small package on his place setting while visiting the manor and filed it away somewhere. In, but never out, she was Fort Knox. And like a fortress, one rarely ever knew what lay within her walls.

Hmm. A cigarette, black coffee and a biscuit for breakfast. Yes, the familiarity of it sounded comforting. Made the place feel downright homey. And suddenly Jason wanted her closer to him, to hold her, at the most. At the least, reach for her hand to squeeze it, if not to reassure her that she had done more than she could ever know.

"It's nice - the blanket... Wool, right?" He patted the soft blue throw resting over the back of the couch, another furnishing, courtesy of Raven. She pursed her lips, probably thinking he was being facetious again. "But, really. I appreciate this - and the food. Didn't I make that clear?"

"No, you didn't." She thumped the back of the couch, now hovering above Jason. "But, of course that would mean that nothing has changed."

"So..." A smirk spread onto his face, as he replayed the last fifteen minutes of their conversation. "That Vitamin D..." Raven blinked slowly, then rapidly, her expression no longer blank. "Being that you're a bit of a recluse, I always guessed that it's pretty difficult to come by... Is that by choice, or -"

"Raven?"

But the half-demon's body stood frozen like a statue. It was always so sudden and swift when it happened. Jason watched helplessly as the emotions arisen from her depths started to vanish themselves. The bloom of red left her face almost as quickly as it had come.

"Raven?"

It was utterly useless to even try. She was somewhere else now. On another plane - a private one - somewhere beyond this secret room to another. Raven was speaking with people he couldn't see and having conversations he couldn't hear. The severe line of her mouth softened and then curved over, as she bit her lip to stifle a tiny smile.

Well that was just great.

Currently, she was holding back a laugh at a joke that wasn't his. So, not people, a person. The only person it could be. And that man's timing was nothing if not spot on.

He stood up abruptly and -

Wait, was it even abrupt if no one noticed?

Who was to say?

But Jason wasn't going to sit around and wait for her to thaw. He figured he'd at least just pick up where she left off. He shot one more glance at Raven before he opened the empty fridge and filed in milk, eggs, and cheese. Huh. She'd gotten mild cheddar, not sharp.

Did anything at all get by her?

Of course, the fall of footsteps meant she was cooked. Defrosted, no longer in suspended animation. She glanced back and forth, calling out when she didn't see him.

"Jason... Jason?"

"Polo. It's not the manor. There's only one door and it's for the bathroom." That was harsher than he meant it to be. He stopped and sighed. "It was him, wasn't it?"

This was Raven, she didn't often lie, not even to spare feelings. "Yes. He... uh..." She paused for a while. Longer than was necessary. Five whole minutes went by. Was she conversing with him again? "Sorry... That was him. Dick hadn't seen me this morning and he seemed worried."

What did he somehow forget what Raven looked like?

Not likely.

Besides, didn't a mind meld render the need for that redundant? Or did theirs not work that way?

"Twice in twenty minutes, that's got to be serious."

"Well... Yes." She shrunk inwardly, holding herself tightly, amethyst orbs darted to the very corner of her eyes. It was the kind of shape someone twisted themselves into when prefacing a breach of something uncomfortable. "He wanted to make sure I was coming."

"Coming? To what - Birdy Book club?" Jason picked up another package. More cheese? Shredded and sliced in addition to the wedge. And Gods, was there crumbled in there too? He was perfectly capable of slicing or shredding or crumbling his own cheese. After all, he was well-versed in knife handling and had plenty of interesting shapes to carve things into.

Or had Raven removed all the sharp objects and replaced them with throw pillows?

"I told you." He shrugged. "You forgot? It's today." Then Raven's voice went low and quiet, as if she were about to speak about something improper. "It's the opening of the..." She swallowed. "Memorial today..."

The memorial.

His memorial.

Of course, he forgot, he hadn't wanted to think about it.

A can of tomatoes slid from his shaking palm and started to roll past his feet. The ghostly burn of verdant followed the steady path of the cylinder, until it bumped into the couch's leg, unable to go on unaided.

"Yeah..." he said after a while. When Raven didn't move, he nodded. "You should go..." He attempted what he believed to be an encouraging smile. Raven winced and Jason wished she wouldn't. He almost preferred pity. "You definitely have to go to that, don't you?"

"Well, yes I have to go. As a Titan and a friend of the family. I have to go and show my face." The half-demon avoided his gaze.

In spite everything that was thrown at her, Raven did the right thing. Why was it that he always seemed to say and do the wrong thing? He could feel a pull towards it now. Amplified. Not lulling like white noise. Loudly, it was rising, roaring in his ears. Burning, red noise.

All he could think about was why? Why this? Why today? And was he seriously unpacking groceries, when he should be in a grave?

What the hell was he doing?

When he shut the fridge, Raven was standing next to it, with her eyes glazed over, nodding at that which he couldn't see.

And she was talking to him again. In the middle of their conversation.

Perfect.

Raven was on it. She was taking care of everything. And everyone. This was best for everyone right now.

But that certainly didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

Raven would climb out of here once this was over. She could go out there and stand in the bright light - with him and their friends and family. Jason was stuck in a damned bunker and what did he get? A tin of biscuits and a pack of cigarettes. Concrete walls. Stale air. No sun. In his former life, Jason had never fully appreciated the sun or the air. He glared at the spotless, dustless, windowless room.

Was she really going to go off and fake it for the world?

And was he going to stay here underground, like he was dead - or as good as?

"Go, I'm all set here," Jason tried flatly. "You can go and put on a dress. Stand there at Dick's shoulder...let him hold your hand."

He had tried his hardest not to think about what his memorial would be like. And now, he couldn't help but picture it.

The specter of Jason Todd would hang silently above those in attendance. But since he wasn't dead, perhaps the only shadows would be cast by this latest slab of stone. Would it be a statue or a sculpture or an engraved tablet? He hoped this one would at least have a better inscription than the one in the cemetery.

Something like:

Jason Todd.

Never fully at rest in life or in death.

The war wages on.

Eternal.

A little noise ripped the image from him. Raven was staring at him with her eyes widened and shocked. She hadn't ever looked at him like that. Not even when she saw him covered in graveyard soil, suit torn to shreds, body broken. The empath faltered and took a clumsy step backward.

"Are you scared of me, Raven?" He felt worse than terrible. "Where is all that talk about not giving up and not letting go?"

"Gods. There's no doubt you're the same Jason. Still the same arrogant -" She clenched a fist. Was she contemplating shoving him? No. Ironically enough, he was too breakable.

"-ass with a selective filter, you mean?" Jason laughed, though the humorless sound of it was probably cruel. "That's crass of you, Raven. Don't they teach you not to speak ill of the dead in other dimensions? Better practice up on that custom before you step out of the town car."

"Stop it." She reached for him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt. It was just a hair too big. Because there was a side effect that they could count on: atrophy. Notably, it was one of his least favorite. "It's not me you're mad at. But it is your day. So you can yell, or throw things, and...you can cry if you want to." Her eyes were brimming over with tears enough for the both of them.

He swallowed, wondering if it was too much, if she was taking on too much.

"Crying already?" Jason tried to smirk if not fall back into usual patterns, but he was finding it exceedingly difficult. He had never seen her cry, not even when she was brushing the dirt from his face. "Don't waste it all here. I know they're for me, but... I think you'll need to save some of those, for later."

"Yeah, I do." And then she laughed bitterly. Miserably.

She wiped her face on her sweater sleeve right as Jason felt a sharp impulse to brush them away for her. He ground his teeth. "You'll give 'em a good show - for me?"

"I won't have to, Jason." There was no need to glance at her to know the mask of Raven that everyone knew was back in place.

"Because... it won't be a show."

[rentsturner]

King of Gotham | Roman Sionis

Request: GOOD EVENING how r u today i would absolutely love love love to request a headcanon or oneshot about the big man roman b. sionis getting all stroppy and therefore being a clingy/stroppy bastard // @rosionis

warnings: lots of language cos it’s Roman, tiny bit of angst, hint at touched starved!roman

word count: 1.4k

a/n: first time writing for Roman, let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy!!

Sunlight streamed through your window, an unwelcome interruption to your peaceful slumber. It was morning and now you were awake. You reached your arm across the blankets, expecting to be met with the warm, solid body of your lover, but instead you felt nothing but a cold empty space. The realisation that your boyfriend wasn’t sleeping next to you kickstarted your brain and you quickly sat up in the king sized bed. Looking around, everything seemed in place - the half-full glass of water still on the nightstand, the expensive watches and rings positioned carefully on the dresser, designer suits hanging untouched in the walk-in closet. So where was he? It was too early for business meetings, surely.

However, before you could even open your mouth to call for Roman, a sharp noise echoed harshly through the penthouse. It sounded like something smashing. Oh no. Wrapping a silky robe around your frame, you padded down the corridor, following the increasingly agitated shouting. A tantrum of this magnitude could only come from one man - Roman Beauvais Sionis. He thinks himself the King of Gotham, but really he’s just the King of overreacting. Though of course you’d never tell him that. You don't think he would appreciate it very much.

Turning the corner, you came face to face with the source of the outburst. The subject of Roman’s rage was a terrified delivery driver, slowly backing away out of the door and looking like he was about to burst into tears at any moment. 

“How dare you? How fucking dare you?” Roman’s usually smooth voice was screaming in anger, bulging veins in his neck and clenched fists showing the extent of his frustration.

“I ordered Sauvage!” he pointed furiously at the shattered glass spread across the penthouse floor. You assumed that the mess had been an expensive Dior aftershave bottle only a few moments ago.

 “And this is…” Roman glanced down at the glass again. “I don’t even know what the fuck this is!”

“Erm, it’s, um, Fahrenheit, sir,” the driver managed to choke out. 

“Well I didn’t ask for fucking Fahrenheit, did I?” Roman was practically roaring at this point, and you decided it would be best to step in now before the poor delivery man got hurt. 

You placed yourself between him and the driver, resting your hands on your boyfriend’s broad shoulders and rubbing circles lightly into his skin with your thumbs, a technique that usually helped to calm him down.

“Roman, baby, it’s ok,” you cooed softly, trying to get him to look at you. “He’s just the driver, it’s not his fault.”

Roman’s gaze snapped to yours, a fire still burning in his eyes. Oh no. That was a mistake.

“Are you taking his side? Seriously?” he spat, pulling away from your touch.

“No, of course not Romy, you know that’s not what I meant,” you backpedaled desperately. “How about we go to the mall tomorrow and get you the right one then? That sound like a plan?” He just huffed a confirmation and turned on his heel, stalking back to the living room. Looking over your shoulder, you realised the driver had made a quick exit during your conversation. Good for him, you thought.

“You see, this is just the last straw for me, it really is,” Roman’s shouts echoed from down the hall. Rolling your eyes, you headed towards him. “This delivery company, they’re just utterly crap! You want to know what happened last week?”

You knew exactly what happened last week, but Roman was on a roll now and stopping him would only make it worse - you knew this from experience.

“I ordered my usual face scrub, you know only the one that I’ve been getting for the past five years! And what got delivered? Face wash! Fucking face wash! And not even face wash that I like! Can you fucking believe it?”

You were used to Roman’s outbursts by now and knew that he always managed to work himself up to the point of exploding when things didn’t go his way. Like a highly strung racing horse, the slightest mishap could set him off into a frenzy, his mind completely clouded by anger and rage. But you also knew how to bring him back down to earth. Or at least you hoped you did.

Business was stressful at the moment, that was for sure. A string of deals had turned sour recently as rumours of Roman’s dislike of the Joker had spread throughout the city. Roman would retreat bitterly from the club after each agreement with a potential partner went wrong, tension obvious in his shoulders, brows furrowed in irritation. Maybe that’s where these tantrums were stemming from. The club was Roman’s life - he needed it to work or his hopes of becoming King of Gotham were ruined. 

He needed some support.

“You know the business deal tonight is gonna be fine, right?” you interrupted Roman’s incessant rambling, trying to cut through the fog of his rage.

He was silent for a moment, fists clenching repeatedly at his sides. 

“Of course I do. I’m the King of Gotham, aren’t I?” he raised his arms, a wide grin spreading across his face, but you could tell it was just a facade. His glassy eyes told you everything, the stress and anxiety obvious in the way his gaze darted across your face, searching for any sign of validation. Current events were definitely getting to him more than he was letting on.

“Roman?” 

“What?” he barked, wringing his hands in frustration.

“Do you want a hug?” you asked gently.

“What? A hug? Why the fuck would I want a hug? Who do you think I am, some fucker who -”

“Roman.” cocking an eyebrow, you folded your arms across your chest. You weren’t backing down now. If he really wanted your love, he just needed to let himself take it.

He huffed, looking at the floor. A barely audible mutter came from his mouth.

“What was that?” His walls were coming down slowly, you could tell, he just needed one final push.

“I said fine,” Roman sighed, finally looking up at you. “Please just give me a fucking hug.”

His voice was small and weak, but you could see the tension drain from his muscles as you stepped towards him and wrapped your arms carefully around his waist, leaning your head into the crook of his neck. 

He buried his head in your hair, breathing in your scent and pulling you closer to him. He’d never admit it, but Roman loved holding you and he loved it when you held him, so long as you were touching in some way. A chaotic upbringing and an emotionally unavailable family had meant he never received much affection as a child. Since you came into his life and brought new feelings of tenderness and warmth, Roman had discovered that he positively craved your touch. However, he had to keep up appearances as a respectable crime lord and showing that softer side of him too much just couldn't happen. 

But for a moment he let himself relax into your embrace.

Just for now, he told himself. Just for a little while.

“How about I sit with you tonight at the table?” you whispered softly. “I’ll be there to calm you down.”

His hand moved up and down your back slowly, rubbing circles into your skin while he thought over your proposition. It would certainly calm his nerves if he knew you would be there, he could grab your hand to ground himself at any time.

Pulling his head up from your neck, Roman smiled at you. 

“Yes. I’d love to have you there. And I’m sorry that I’m so difficult sometimes. You know how I get.”

 His eyes softened as he took you in. You, the only person who he wanted to be better for. The person who had brought light and laughter into his previously cold and lifeless penthouse. The only person he’d ever love.

“It’s okay, Romy. I know you’ll always come back to me.”

He nudged his nose in your hair again, wrapping his arms around you as tightly as he could. He needed this moment of peace.

Roman may be on his way to becoming the King of Gotham, but he would be no one without you by his side as his queen. 

{tags: @stardancerluv @afogocado @doublesunsets }

[storybookstalker]

12 and 24 from the Smothering Yandere starters for Bane please I beg of you💕💗💓💘💞

Ofc bb <3!

excuse the writing sksnkdnd it’s been a minute since I’ve let myself write any non-headcanon fiction

Also! I’m using google translate bc I’m a loser and can barely speak my own language, so if anything seems off I’m super sorry kdndkdnd if you see something that’s wrong feel free to correct me <3!

Warning! Yandere stuff and general violence

Your head’s pounding harder than it ever has in your entire life. The bag over your head and the general darkness of the room made the sick feeling somehow worse than it already was. The two (Three? After the first hit colors began to mush together) men who brought you here seemed to be having fun with your situation. They’d knocked you around a bit before harshly throwing you into some kind of van. You assumed you had blacked out for the first part, the first thing you remembered after getting throw around was being moved to another van. The spinning sick feeling kept you from smaller details. It had to have been at least a few hours in a few different cars. This final place was warm and the air was almost too dense to breath. It was the most uncomfortable you’d never been. Whoever had dropped you into this shitty chair did not care about getting you comfortable. You were clearly supposed to stay in one spot. When some pain dulled down you’d try to wiggle into a more comfortable situation. Leaning forward meant rope pulling on your arms but resting your head back meant straining your already aching neck. There were a few men in the room with you. You couldn’t understand what they were saying, but it was hard to decide if that was because of the pain or if they were speaking another language.

The group was busy snickering as one kicked your leg. A door suddenly opened to your left, pain blurst in your eyes as lights were turned on. The man abusing your poor leg immediately stopped as heavy footsteps entered the room. Your face twisted as the pounding inside your skull increased triple time. Despite the white burn that settled behind your eyes, you did your best to pay attention to what was happening around you. The men who’d seemed so immature before were all business now because of whoever had just walked in. You wondered if they were greeting this new person, but the lack of response confused your jumbled brain. The heavy presence was constrictive, the already solid air clogging up your throat. You barely registered how large the hand on your neck was, the dull jolt from the pressure forced a weak cry out. The hand immediately pulled away, only to take off the suffocating bag. The air lightened, and the bag’s removal made you realize that your hair was matted to your forehead. This new man circled you, breathing heavily like some kind of angry bull. Somehow hearing him made it harder to breath than it was in the bag. One of the men began to say something but the (much larger you’ve decided from his voice) man in front of you interrupted,

“Qué demonios estoy viendo?” He sounded more like an angry bear than a human man. Thinking about how badly this man could fuck you up if he was as big as he seemed made your throat dry up. What did he even want with some rando off the street of Gotham?

One of the guys nudged the man closed to you, mumbling something you didn’t catch. “Ah..” He cleared his throat, he’s probably as scared of this big man as you are. One of the men near the back spoke up when the first one didn’t answer fast enough, “¿No es este el que querías?” There was silence for a moment, and for a moment the room stopped spinning. The man was familiar, you realize. Where had you seen him? It clicked when he started laughing. It wasn’t a fun laugh either, it was more of a laugh that meant you were in trouble. A few of the henchmen chuckled, shuffling away. You couldn’t blame them, you would be as far from this man as possible too if you could move.

Bane. This man was Bane, you’d realized. Whatever hope you might have had dropped, and shattered on the ground beneath you. Bane was not so horrible, not Scarecrow or Joker, but he could easily do whatever he wanted should he want it. You might as well have been shoved under water. Chest tightening fear clawed it’s way into your throat. What the hell did you do to be in this situation?

Bane hummed, nodding thoughtfully at what the other man had said. “Ya ves, es solo eso..” he paused as if trying to figure out how to explain his thoughts to a child, “Estoy seguro de que te dije que no pongas una mano en lo que es claramente mío.”

His men seemed to try to defend themselves, but he interrupted, “and it seems to me, that you’ve laid more than your manos on her you malditos idiotas!” Bane hissed, back-handing one of his men hard enough to slam against the wall. He sneered something you didn’t catch, your head had suddenly felt like it was floating. You could have swore you were actually floating, but then it was all dark.

Pain was the next thing to flood your senses. Light beamed right into your eyes, forcing a groan pass your lips. You rolled over, trying to get up and away from the searing sunlight. A dull ache swarmed your body and quickly coaxed your body back into the softiness under you. A bed, you had been moved to some bedroom? Or perhaps it was just a fancy holding cell. The room was too bright to fully open your eyes, making it hard to tell. It was silent until a warm voice pounded inside your skull, “finally awake?” Was this Bane? It was hard to think with the onslaught of a headache that came with his voice. The bed dipped to your left and you tried to move only for your body to fight against it. A cold cloth was spread against your forehead, smoothing out your pain a small bit. This could not be the Bane, it didn’t make sense. Did he quit being a murderer in favor of being a nurse or something?

He laughed, making you wonder if you had accidentally said something outlo- “You are talking right now, amor tonto!” He interrupted. At least he found it amusing instead of beating you a hair within your life. “I would smack most for saying such a thing, You’re the only person I’d make an exception for. Count yourself lucky,” he continued through a snicker. You would laugh along with him, if only to try to appease the bear of a man, if you weren’t terrified out of your mind. The so-called monster softly patted your arm, telling you to relax. How could you ‘relax’? A man you thought was supposed to be serving a life sentence was sitting next to you and you’ve been kidnapped! Your throat scratched up your question, “what part of any of this is relaxing?”

Bane huffed in reply, “You were not supposed to be harmed in any way on your way to me.” He must have seen your confusion, because he continued on without reply, “I’d do anything for you, whether or not you ask me to. I know how stressful life has been for you” He gently reaches towards you, taking your cheek into his hand. “No more. I will protect you from life itself if I must.”

Ahh I was gonna do more but I thought it might be too long for a prompt, hopefully this was okay!

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

The Living City (or: Gotham and Her Children, over the years)

by Just_an_aussie_otaku_hermit

“Gotham likes Bruce Wayne.

Her Children whisper about him often. Horrible, vicious, lewd and a few good things from the Screaming, Searing Sunlight, but so many good and wondrous things from Her Children, the Whisperers in the Shadows. Though, most of them whispered about The Bat—a shroud he’d donned in order to help his Siblings—there were good things murmured about the efforts of Bruce Wayne. Airhead boy-billionaire with a perfect smile and a bleeding heart.”

Gotham is alive, and though young when compared to others like her, she is far from weak.

Words: 2264, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, DCU

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Jim Gordon, Bruce Wayne, Background & Cameo Characters, Gotham City Residents

Relationships: Gotham City & Bruce Wayne, Jim Gordon & Bruce Wayne

Additional Tags: Gotham city is alive, POV Multiple, non-linear storytelling, Sentient Gotham City, will tag as more of the story is written, found this in a google doc from 3 years ago so now i’m posting it here, What it would be like to live in a city that thinks and feels and loves and hates

source https://archiveofourown.org/works/46094680

[batmanie]

Old Habits - scriddler

“Jeeezus!!!” The yelp was quite loud and – to be honest – quite satisfying. Eyes wide, and with a hand clutching onto his shirt, exactly where the heart would be, Nigma made a perfect example of someone who was suffering a cardiac arrest. His chest was rapidly rising and falling as he was trying to catch his breath. “Did I scare you?” He knew he did, and it felt so strange that he was still able to enjoy those little things in his life after all he'd been through. “You look like you've seen a ghost.” “Perhaps I'm seeing one?” Edward had to take a moment to collect himself, his voice was still hoarse and breathless, which would have made the old Scarecrow smirk – not the new one, though. The 'new him' didn't know what fun was anymore. “And it's an ugly view,” Riddler frowned. “How did you even...” “Survive?” Crane cut in with the most casual tone. He took a step toward the source of the light but his whole head was hidden in the shadow of his hood. “How did I escape? Crawl out of the sewers? Drag myself back to the town with a broken leg to get medical attention? Well, obviously not thanks to you...” “I was going to ask: How did you manage to make yourself look even more ridiculous than before?” It was almost jovial how quickly Nigma was getting rude and offensive when feeling attacked. 'Some things never change', Scarecrow thought with a pang of nostalgia. “It is good to see you too, Edward.” It really was, even if Riddler didn't look too happy to see him. This little reunion in the dark and unwelcoming system of the underground tunnels which were currently Riddler's hideout was giving Scarecrow the false but somewhat soothing impression that nothing had changed while he was gone. “How have you been?” He decided to keep the conversation going – talking was one of Riddler's favorite activities after all. “Perfect!” Nigma waved his hand in a nonchalant gesture. Crane, being no less observant than he had always been, had already noticed all the signs that were telling otherwise. The room they were in, one of many in this maze of a place, looked like it hadn't been cleaned up in ages. Multiple papers were scattered across the floor along with some cables, tools, and all kinds of trash. Riddler must have spent a lot of his time down here, as his skin was so pale that it probably hadn't seen any natural sunlight in months. His cheeks were hollow, his hair messy and there were dark circles around his eyes. And in this sad picture, the only two things that seemed to be alive were Edward himself, and his eyes – radiating confidence, intellect and thirst for revenge.

“I assume you didn't kill the Bat?” “Not yet.” The man shrugged, pretending not to care but at the same time nervously tapping his fingers on the desk – one of his many motor tics. “But with my new plan he is as good as dead, don't you worry about that! As you can see, I'm very busy right now and I don't need you, or anyone, to distract me. I am a perfectly self-dependent one-man army, capable of besting the Bat on my own!” His angry, slightly high-pitched tone told Scarecrow just how much Riddler had actually changed. His time-alone had done the man no good but he was too far gone to notice that. “Do you want me to leave then?” “Yes, please!” Edward crossed his arms. It was more of an angry order than a polite request. “If you expected that I will ask you to stay, just because we used to be... whatever you want to call that. Well, sorry to disappoint you,” he turned his back to Scarecrow, now facing the desk littered with some blueprints. “I bet you are still very busy playing dead – so busy that for the past six months it didn't cross your mind to inform me that those news about the crocodile eating you alive were exaggerated!” Now, there was something new in Edward's voice, something similar to a sad and bitter undertone. Jonathan immediately caught on that shift and he had to admit, it got him interested. “Would it have been so hard, to contact me earlier?” The man continued, holding onto the edge of his desktop, as if it was a lifebuoy preventing him from drowning in his own madness. “Instead of treating me like I was nothing to you? Like I was one of those morons who wrote you off as dead?!” “I was dead...,” Scarecrow stated with a hushed, almost murmuring tone. “Jonathan Crane died that night in the sewers of Gotham. Now, there is only Scarecrow.” Riddler turned his head and laughed mockingly, the short, bark-like sound lacked any joy. “Oh, really? You seem rather fine for a dead-man!” “What makes you think, I am fine?” Riddler went silent and looked at him, surprised. It was a long, calculative stare, the longest one Edward had graced him with yet. Jonathan was sure, Riddler was about to ask him about the leg brace – the newest addition to Scarecrow's already terrifying look. He didn't – his gaze lingered on it but soon wandered higher. Jon stepped forward, sensing that this was the time to present his 'new face'. He took another step toward the man so the two of them were really close now. There was the desk behind Edward's back – no place to run – and even if the situation seemed harmless, Jonathan could already sense the tension between them. Slowly, he pulled his hood down, revealing the disturbing view underneath. Riddler's blue eyes widened at the sight of the dirty piece of cloth stitched to the very skin of Jonathan's face. Edward's right hand twitched and instinctively reached to examine the stitching but before his fingers touched the fabric, the man stopped himself. “Are you...insane?” He breathed out, in a half-shocked, half-furious manner. Scarecrow observed his reaction with anticipation, their eyes locked together as both of them refused to look elsewhere. “It felt like a necessity back then,” Crane made sure his voice was as smooth and chill as possible. He had quite a story to tell, however, he doubted Edward would understand him. “I had to patch up the open wound that used to be my face. All I had, was my old burlap mask so that was my first choice. Not the smartest one, I admit, since the infection spread through my whole body just a week later, leaving me delirious and weak for the next two months. And it was only worse from there...” Edward just stared at him, saying nothing even though he looked like he wanted to. Driven by old habit, Crane observed how the small veins over the man's temples pulsated with the rush of blood, and at the same time, he did a quick analysis of his own actions. What exactly had he expected from Nigma? Was it his pity that he sought? Did he desire to see, how poorly the man was doing without him? Well, he had gotten a taste of that, but did it please his cold, dark heart? “As you can see,” Scarecrow pulled up his hood and backed off, letting Riddler return to his comfort zone, “...I wasn't exactly in shape to come to you earlier. I did not mean to offend you...” Oh, so it was making peace then, was it? That was the purpose behind coming here after all those months. To convince himself, to convince Edward, that everything was, as it had always been – even if it was not. “Well,” Nigma awkwardly cleared his throat, his eyes examining the dirty, stone flooring for a little while before he was able to look at his guest again. “I guess, I have no choice but to accept your reasoning.” “That's very generous of you, Edward.” Riddler tried to smile but it came out more like a nervous twitch. “But where are my good manners,” he reminded himself and it seemed like all the resentment that had been there before, had vanished. An almost child-like eagerness replaced it. “Sit down, please.” He offered Scarecrow the only chair he got in his cramped, lonely dumpster. “Do you want anything to drink? Coffee? Hot cocoa? I had a second mug...somewhere around here.” “No, thank you, Edward,” Crane stopped him from searching through the dusty shelves. “I can't have hot beverages just yet. But I appreciate your effort. I think I will go now.” “Already? Why don’t you stay longer? I will share some juicy details about my next, big plan with you, and I can even show you a prototype of my latest contraption. I promise, it will blow your mind, haha. Metaphorically speaking, of course.” Edward must have missed that – talking to someone who would just sit down and listen to his crazy ideas.

To be honest, he himself might have missed the sound of a human voice just a little.

Deep down, Scarecrow knew his days were numbered, his body broken beyond repair. And it was his fear of dying defeated, humiliated, and forgotten that brought him back to Riddler.

...because of all people, it was Riddler who could understand that fear best. “Fine... Let’s talk about that plan of yours.”