#bonus content of Batman

[swiggity-swexual-i-am-asexual]

I love seeing Danny Phantom showing up and being like ‘don’t ask too many questions but John Constantine I own your soul. All of it. Lmao sucks to suck bitch’, and he’s usually all Ghost King Full Regalia as he does it, at least in front of the Justice League, but consider—

He just shows up as Danny Fenton.

“yeah I got bored and collected the pieces like Pokémon. Gotta catch ‘em all” says the 5’2 teen who looks like a stiff breeze could trip him. He denies being a sorcerer, or a magician, concedes he’s maybe psychic but mostly he’s just…. The kid of two mad scientists—who have a basement lab where they opened a portal to what he SAYS is not hell but no one is frankly CONVINCED, by the way—and he hasn’t decided what to do with Constantine yet besides getting Danny into some r rated horror movies, but figures he should tell the dude probably.

“What’d you even trade for some of his soul contracts?”

“Don’t worry about it”

They worry about it

#danny phantom #john constantine #dp x dc #dc x dp #demons will NOT admit to being menaced by a baby ghost #not to mention that said baby ghost probably kicked their asses #this maybe changes some of Constantines powers? #like I don’t know the exact details but he primarily sold his soul for an immortality cheat. but he probably got some powers out of it? #so like maybe now it’s fueled by Danny/the ghost zone or some such? #not quite a Halfa but like what do you MEAN his pretty gold magic is TOXIC GREEN? #Danny just sorta shrugs and goes Yeah That Sounds About Right #and then does not elaborate further #he’s selling that he’s just a normal kid VERY HARD #they’d almost believe him if they didn’t know he had ALL OF CONSTANTINES SOUL CONTRACTS #bonus content of Batman #you can choose what he’s doing but I think it’d be funny if Danny found out about the contingencies and went Oh Cool I’m super allergic to.. #… this one specific flower haha #not at ALL elaborating that this flower is rare and WILL melt his skin. oh and that he destroyed the world in at least one timeline hehe #one reason I love OP Danny in DC universe—if Danny’s native to that universe he HAS to be OP. because he WOULD HAVE TO HAVE defeated… #…if not outright killed #the ENTIRE LEAGUE #ITS GREAT #1k #2k #3k #hnnnnnnnn #4K #5k #?!??!!!

[drbatsponge]

Have I mentioned the current Detective Comics run is good? Because it's good.

#probably some of the best batman content i've read in a while #also cass is there too so a nice bonus :) #cassandra cain #barbara gordon #bruce wayne #dick grayson #detective comics #ram v #batman #batgirl #nightwing #oracle #dc comics

[crisis-on-infinite-batblogs]

“Eventually he had found that the experiments he enjoyed most were forensic— related to identifying substances found at crime scenes. He liked solving the mystery of what some gunk or goo really was. Though he didn’t have access to crime scenes, now and then he’d scrape material off a bench or a sidewalk with a knife, seal it in a plastic bag from his pocket, and bring it back to his lab for analysis. Just for fun.”

-Before the Batman: An Original Movie Novel

Imagine seeing local celebrity and baby goth Bruce Wayne out and about in Robinson Park, and then image seeing him scrape what has to be used chewing gum from the bottom of a bench. Imagine seeing him put that used chewing gum in his pocket and walking away with a secret little self-satisfied smirk.

#He's such a weirdo #He's just a little guy who likes chemistry and fast cars and sneaking around and stuff #Bonus content: Imagine Alfred doing the laundry later and finding pocketfuls of mystery goo and just having to deal with that spiritually #Before the Batman #the Batman (2022) #battinson

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

Ideas for subverting popular character tropes? I've started a story and am having difficulty making my cast of characters unique. I'd love it if you had any fresh takes on tropes like the mentor, the sidekick, etc...

POPULAR CHARACTER TROPES AND PROMPTS TO SUBVERT THEM

A character trope, sometimes called a character archetype, is a “recognizable element within a story or plot that defines or conveys information about a character. Character tropes can either define a character's entire role in a plot or the character's personality or motivations.” (source: arcstudiopro).

Many people bash “tropes,” but what you have to remember is that there is no such thing as a unique idea; everything has been done before, and the reason why tropes are so popular is because (a lot of time) they work!

It is totally possible to have a "normal" trope in your story without making it a cliché. However, if you’re looking to subvert these expectations, here’s a list of ideas I’ve come up with!

(This is me brainstorming on the fly to help get your gears turning, so I apologize if these aren’t fully fleshed out or if they’ve already been done before!)

1. THE CHOSEN ONE

The “Chosen One” is a trope where “one character is framed as the inevitable hero or antihero of the story, as a result of destiny, unique gifts, and/or special lineage” (source: Wikipedia). The Chosen One is often depicted as naive or unwilling at the beginning, and has a progression of growth through the narrative when they “accept their destiny.”

Examples:

Luke Skywalker (Star Wars)

Harry Potter (Harry Potter)

Frodo (The Lord of the Rings)

Neo (The Matrix)

Subversions:

1. The protagonist who was believed to be the chosen one from the very beginning discovers that it was actually someone else the whole time and must come to terms with the realization that they no longer have this title that they’ve based their entire life (and perhaps personality) around. (Bonus points if the new Chosen One is someone they’re close to).

2. Every solstice, the “Holy Order” sends a Chosen One to defeat the monster that has been ravaging their town. None ever return. The protagonist is selected as the next Chosen One, only to find that being Chosen does not mean “Chosen to defeat the monster” but rather “Chosen as the sacrifice to appease the monster.” (Bonus points if the reason the Chosen Ones always die is because the “Holy Order” misguides them (gives them broken weapons/drugged food/faulty armor/directs them into traps/etc.)).

3. Having the Chosen Power comes with a price. After someone is Chosen, it is a death sentence. The protagonist must find a way to defeat the villain AND purge themself of the Chosen Power before it’s too late (Bonus points if the villain helps them purge the Chosen Power).

2. THE SIDEKICK

The sidekick is a friend and helper of the main protagonist. They are often depicted as a loyal comic relief character made to emphasize the hero’s greatness, and may be killed off to advance the hero’s journey.

Examples:

Robin (Batman)

Samwise Gamgee (The Lord of the Rings)

Chewbacca (Star Wars)

Pan (His Dark Materials)

Subversions:

1. The “sidekick” is actually the hero of the story; the narrator just has an inflated ego and believes themself to be the hero. Meanwhile, their “sidekick” is the one saving the world.

2. Sidekicks are often depicted as younger than the hero. Perhaps an older sidekick might do good to spice things up (Bonus points if it’s without turning them into the mentor trope).

3. The sidekick is a former hero who had to watch their own sidekick sacrifice themself, and was convinced to leave hiding by the current hero. (Bonus points if the sidekick dies in a poetic way that is a narrative foil to the way his own sidekick died, perhaps in a “I didn’t understand why they would sacrifice themself for me but now I get it”).

4. A ridiculously strong/powerful Mary Sue type character is the sidekick to a Normal Guy™ (Bonus points if they are incredibly content in this position).

5. The sidekick is not a willing sidekick; they were kidnapped by the hero because they have an object/bloodline/power/etc. that is essential to defeating the villain.

3. THE MENTOR

The Mentor is the protagonist’s teacher, who helps them transition from a “normal” person into a hero. The Mentor is often depicted as wise and virtuous, teaching the protagonist not only the ways of fighting or magic, but also the ways of good and evil. The mentor is often killed off to advance the hero’s character arc, due to the fact that they are sometimes seen as a parental figure.

Examples:

Dumbledore (Harry Potter)

Yoda (Star Wars)

Uncle Iroh (Avatar the Last Airbender)

Mr. Miyagi (Karate Kid)

Subversions:

1. The mentor is the narrator. After spending so much time training the Chosen One and raising them like their own child, they must hear news that they have been killed by the villain. While still grieving (or perhaps fueled by revenge), the mentor must venture out and defeat the villain themself.

2. Have the mentor be a woman! You would be shocked at how overwhelmingly male-dominated the “mentor” archetype is!

3. The mentor turns on the protagonist that they trained…not because the mentor has turned evil, but because the mentor believes that the protagonist has become a monster (à la Kung Fu Panda). (Bonus points if the mentor is actually right and the protagonist really has become a monster).

4. The bright-eyed Chosen One thinks the world of their mentor, only to realize through experiences with others that the mentor trained them horribly, and that the mentor only used their training to boost their renown—without expecting them to survive their fight with the villain. (Bonus points if the protagonist is an unreliable narrator, and we as the readers feel just as betrayed by the mentor because we, too, thought they were a great person).

5. The mentor is the former Chosen One, desperate for the current Chosen One to not make the same mistakes. The current Chosen One resents the mentor for pushing them so hard and treating them so cruelly, but in reality the mentor is just overprotective (Bonus points if it’s not revealed that they were the legendary “Defeated Chosen One” until later).

4. THE DAMSEL IN DISTRESS

Although a Damsel in Distress is often associated with female characters, any character is capable of falling into this archetype; mostly known for being a passive figure who exists mostly as an object for the hero to save.

This is one of the few character tropes that is difficult to break the negative stigma, due to its root in misogyny and the disadvantages that come along with having a character without personal goals or motivations. In my opinion, if you have a character that follows this archetype to the T, perhaps you should consider some revising.

Examples:

Lois Lane (Superman)

Princess Buttercup (The Princess Bride)

Mary Jane Watson (Spiderman)

Ann Darrow (King Kong)

Subversions:

1. The passive, meek damsel in distress whom the hero has been working relentlessly to save actually turns out to be a villain! Their supposed rescue efforts were used as a distraction while the evil plot unfolds, and ends with a fight to the death!

2. The damsel in distress gets in a huge fight with the protagonist when they come to the rescue; they were undercover the entire time, and the protagonist has ruined their plans!

5. THE FEMME FATALE

The femme fatale is usually characterized as a mysterious woman who seduces and entraps men with her body. This doesn’t necessarily have to be a gendered archetype, but often errs into sexualization and misogyny (especially in works written by men).

Examples:

Jane Smith (Mr. & Mrs. Smith)

Nikita (La Femme Nikita)

Catwoman (Batman)

Catherine Tramell (Basic Instinct)

Subversions:

1. The Femme Fatale doesn’t know they’re a femme fatale. They are a master of seduction and gaining valuable information through licentious wiles, but it’s all an accident; they just-so-happen to sleep with rivals and they just-so-happen to say important information. The femme fatale casually brings this information up in conversation, rendering the team awed by their “impressive skill set.”

2. The Femme Fatale is male or nonbinary (Bonus points if they will seduce any gender).

3. There is a Femme Fatale team; an icy power couple dedicated to killing through threesomes.

6. THE GEEK (OR MAD SCIENTIST OR NERD OR KNOW-IT-ALL ETC.)

The Geek, or the Mad Scientist, is the character known for knowing everything. They often have a lack of social skills, and their vast knowledge of random things helps the characters when they’ve been backed into a corner…though they sometimes tend to be a quick fix for writers who’ve written their characters into a corner and need an easy solution.

Examples:

Sheldon (The Big Bang Theory)

Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds)

Spock (Star Trek)

L (Death Note)

Subversions:

1. The Geek has leadership skills and ability to inspire others. Awkward is not the complete opposite of charismatic; just because someone may have trouble talking to people doesn’t mean they can’t foster intense loyalty from their comrades. (Think along the lines of L from Death Note. Bonus if they’re the leader of their organization, and their subordinates would face God and walk backwards into Hell for them).

2. Combine the Geek with another archetype, perhaps an antithesis archetype like the Dumb Jock. For example, a Geek that enjoys the outdoors and extreme sports like rock climbing (but rather than to get buff, they just want to look at the fantastic granite deposits on the side of the mountain they’re climbing). Or perhaps a Geek Femme Fatale, whose “special interest” is the psychology of seduction.

3. The Geek hates what they do. The “passion” that Geeks usually have for machines/non-humans/their chosen expertise is forced upon them because they’re super smart. In reality, they’d wanted to take it easy going to business school but nooooo the world was at stake so they had to become an expert in the intergalactic space-time continuum.

4. The Geek is useless. Their musings are more mania than genius, their explanations and ideas incomprehensible to a normal human being, and the group only keeps them around with the hopes that one day they’ll come up with an idea that actually makes sense. (Bonus if that idea comes at the climax of the story).

8. THE DUMB JOCK (OR HIMBO)

The dumb jock, also known as “the brawn,” is an archetype that is often categorized by being all buff and no brains. They often are, or at least begin as, the antagonist of the story, and if they aren’t, they’re considered the “Himbo” character (with character traits being buff, dumb, and respectful to women), who are often reduced merely to their attractiveness and stupidity, without much depth.

Examples:

Jason Carver (Stranger Things)

Mitch Downe (ParaNorman)

Kronk (The Emperor’s New Groove)

Bolin (The Legend of Korra)

Subversions:

1. The himbo and/or jock is frustrated with the way that their comrades always reduce them to the brawn. They feel left out and isolated because they can’t understand the lofty conversations of their peers, and know that they, in a way, look down on them for not being as smart (Bonus if this becomes a major plot point in the character’s arc, causing a huge blowout fight that fissures the group because of it).

2. The himbo/jock’s stupidity does not reduce them to comic relief. The himbo/jock is well-respected and has incredible emotional intelligence and charisma/street smarts, but merely lacks in textbook intelligence.

3. The himbo/jock is a woman! Break through the stereotype of dumb strong people being men and put some herbos in your story (Bonus if you don’t sexualize her and just let her be herself).

4. An idea from the jock/himbo becomes an integral part of the plan to save the world!

9. THE ANTIHERO

The antihero archetype is categorized by their lack of conventional heroic attributes, their execution of their goals through morally gray means, and their frequent reluctance to be the one saving the world. Their motivations may be vengeance, hatred, or any other less-than heroic inspiration besides “the greater good.” In fact, the antihero is sometimes the antagonist of the story, but due to the fact that the audience is seeing things from their perspective, they often tend to root for them.

The antihero used to be its own subversion of the “Chosen One” archetype, but became so widespread that it itself became its own archetype. That’s why antiheroes are so varied, to the point where you may not even need a subversion due to how many possible ideas there are to choose from. (This was the hardest list to make!)

Examples:

Barry Berkman (Barry)

Harley Quinn (DC)

Cassie Thomas (Promising Young Woman)

Deadpool (Deadpool)

Subversions:

1. The antihero feels guilt. Oftentimes, an antihero is depicted as stone-cold and dead-set on their actions (and sometimes they’re right! If someone killed my family, I wouldn’t care about “being the bigger person”). However, an interesting subversion may be guilt or self-awareness surrounding their actions playing a large role in the execution of their goals.

2. The antihero is not a lone wolf, and develops meaningful and positive relationships with others rather than having it be 90% snarky banter. Sometimes, antiheroes suffer from a lack of three-dimensionality due to most of their dialogue being cheeky one-liners. Anchor them solidly into the story by building a web of relationships to support them! (They don’t have to all be lovey-dovey, either! Even enemy relationships can be more than snark).

3. An honor code. Giving an antihero with an interesting honor code regarding killing, stealing, or any of their other morally gray deeds could be an excellent subversion! Having characters who are stone-cold killers but draw the line (perhaps in an odd way, such as refusing to steal cars or kill pets), somewhere can be a great way to develop their personality and show the readers their motivations.

Hope these all helped, and happy writing!

#writing #writers #writeblr #booklr #writing tips #writing advice #writing help #creative writing #characters #character tropes

[bruciemilf]

Do you have any head cannons about the batkids absolutely loving and adoring Batman/Bruce? I'm obsessed with the idea of them being like "I beg your pardon, but he is our Father™? Our provider? We require his attention and affection at all times pls do not distract him."

omg gonna take the chance to talk abt the batkids & their love languages bc <3333

Dick's is quality time; I can imagine him being downright territoial over his and Bruce's "watching bad Gray Ghost reboots just to laugh at Dad getting mad" time, because it's his absolute favourite.

He gets to lay his tired head on Bruce's lap and sigh pleasantly when his hair is groomed. If you make Bruce tea -- no you don't. That is illegal. Dick does.

And he's just enough of a bitch to be passive agressive about it because "It's our thing; Would you take the mic from Lady Gaga at a concert? No? Then outta my tea!"

Jason's is physical affection!!! And I say that with my whole chest!! This Frankenstein Baby is touch starved and requires all tactillness, always. It's a form of self-reassurance, AND an olive branch; It's his way of saying "I'll always want my father's love" and "You didn't come back wrong; You're not made to be handled roughly. I need to know you're here and alive and content"

and he might play tough guy, might sigh as if this is a favour, but everyone sees him melt. Bonus, the image of Jason's 6'5 ass clinging to Bruce while the poor guy tries making lunch because he CAN, ALFRED, is so cute. Jason for the son who has to lean down to get his hair ruffled like a german shephard.

Tim's is acts of service and gift giving; He's vigilant, observant, pays attention to Bruce with a hawk's eye. Especially those interests he has too little time for. Give me Tim who doesn't know a loving father but when he gets him, he's super attentive. Give me Tim who seeks Bruce's company on his own free will.

Give me Tim who'll bring puzzles home and solve them with Bruce for hours, and who'll listen to mouthpiece after mouthpiece about mechanics and cars, who doesn't like getting dirty but will stay with bruce in his workshop just to watch him work. Give me Tim who gets Bruce gifts despite his dad giving him dissaproving looks. "You shouldn't waste money."

"You're not a waste."

Damian's is words of affirmation -- PLEASE. THIS BABY IS SO READY TO YELL "Batman is actually the best superhero, actually, here's a 30 slide PP presentation as to why. Number one- because I said so" it's very inetresting for Damian; Because if he got anything from Bruce, (Please, please, he begs no one in particular, let me have something from him) is a crushing amount of insecurity.

Bruce is just downright allergic to compliements; He spits them out like a rotten meal, in fact, as if his body just can't hold them down. Damian just. Won't stand for it. "Baba, you look very pretty today. "

"...Thank you, Damian. That's very kind of you to say."

"I recently learned you won't accept compliments to your character, so this will have to do. " Does he give up? Of course not. He's a Robin. They never learned what that is.

Cass, like Dick, loves to spend time with Bruce, -- but what's surprising to the Batdad? Cass is wraith made of warmth and softness. She's stealthy and moves smoothly like wind and punches like ten men. But her love is loud.

Bruce is her only father and she's not timid about saying it. Wordlessly, sure, but no less impactful, with no small amount of passion. Give me Cass who holds hands with Bruce while on the street, and shows him funny videos on her phone, and who texts with him regularly, and who has him as her wallpaper.

That is her father and she carries him lovingly.

#bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #dc #dc comics #batfamily #batfam #dc imagines #headcanons #text #text post #writing #asks

[solar-wing]

⚣ YJ BatBro Incorrect Quotes: Scooby Doo ⍘

⚣ ⍘ A/N → ah memories. My first ever BatBro and Conner Kent post. Time sure does fly. Anyway, what I said still stands. There needs to be more Conner Kent x Male Reader and just male reader content in general. Batfam included :) WARNINGS: typical chaos, fluff, sibling arguments, random humor

⚣ ⍘ Summary → You join the Young Justice Team against the wishes of your father, Bruce Wayne aka Batman, who doesn't want his youngest son to join the superhero world. You've also got a mad crush on Conner Kent aka Superboy. Ever since you've joined though, you've got this weird habit of having moments in life feel like incorrect quotes. Oh well...

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 💛

Superboy: Gee, Dad. Does this mean you finally accept what I want to do with my life me as your son?

Superman: *laughs* Hah-hah-ooh Superboy.

Superman: No.

Superboy: *sad*

You: *calm murderous*

*Batman, Red Tornado, Black Canary, and the Team in the mission room with you & Kid Flash dressed up like waitressing girls*

You: Um, like this isn't exactly what I had in mind. Why are KF & I dressed up like girls when Artemis & M'Gann are girls?

Wally: Yeah *pulling on dress* my skirt's too tight.

Artemis: Because M'Gann & I refused.

*You & Wally grumbling*

You: *dialing Conner* Sphere? It's Y/N. Put Conner on.

You: *Pause* ...because you're almost impossible to understand on a phone.

*Kid Flash leading everyone through a door and shutting it*

*Demon Vampire that looks like Batman locks the door trapping everyone inside and throws away the key*

DV: FOOLS!

*runs away*

You: *mocking Kid Flash* 'Everybody! In Here!' Nice.

Kid Flash: How was I supposed to know we'd get locked in by your dad?

You: It's a cage KF! You always want to stay on the outside of a cage. And that's NOT MY DAD!

DV: *brooding*

You: I don't think...

Robin: *facepalms*

*everyone looking down an ominous tunnel*

You: I wonder where it leads?

Superboy: Only one way to find out. *drops down chute*

Superboy: All clear! Come on down!

You: Catch me Superboy! *drops down and lands on your butt*

Superboy: Did you say something Y/S/N?

You: *sigh* never mind.

*Wally receives message from Kent Nelson*

You: What does it say?

Message from Kent: HEEP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You: Heep? What the hecks that mean?

*finding Kent*

Kent: I meant to type 'Help!" I'm no good with these new fangled gadgets.

*talking about Bruce to the team*

You: Every day for two weeks now, he runs screaming down the hall and ends up sleeping in the yard. Is that normal?

Wally: For your dad? Probably.

Speedy: What's up with Superboy?

*Superboy screaming and ripping his shirt off*

You: Oh, he's just in the zone. It'll pass.

You: If not, we'll spray him with a hose.

*you and the team show up at the hospital*

You: Can we help you with anything?

Bruce: No. Go away.

M'Gann: Who's the patient?

Bruce: An employee at Wayne Tech. Go away.

Wally: What happened to him?

Bruce: it's classified...go away.

*You and Artemis watching Wally and Conner spar*

Artemis: Hey Y/N, let me ask you something. If you liked a boy...?

You: *gasps* WHO TOLD YOU?! Was it one of my brothers?? Dick! Hmm, he thinks he's so perfect. WELL, what no one knows is he has a SIXTH TOE on his...

Artemis: UH! What are you talking about?

You: I- Clearly, not what you were talking about…

BONUS:

DV: LET ME GO! I'LL DRAIN YOU ALLLL!!!

You: Dad, you're vampiring is tearing this family apart! I'm sorry but you've left me no choice. I'm going to have to stake you! *randomly pulls out a wooden stake and mallet*

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

☀️ | DC Masterlist | ☀️

#solar-wing ☀️ #☀️🪽.fanfic #☀️🪽.dcposts #☀️🪽.incorrectquotes #☀️🪽.txt #gay #dc #dcu #dcau #dc universe #dc comics #dc imagine #x reader #x male reader #young justice #young justice imagine #bat family #batbros #bat bro #conner kent #superboy #conner kent x reader #superboy x reader #conner kent x male reader #superboy x male reader #conner kent imagine #superboy imagine

[preciouslandmermaid]

like dead-eyed sharks, Gotham watches (battinson x f!reader)

Note: This takes place pre-movie and you can find the rest of this series. (Part 1 here) (part 2 here)

Safety notes/Warnings: The Kinktober prompt was "blood kink/i just wanna see a man all beaten up and bloody" I have never written for that before and honestly...i think this fic got like away from me tbh. so im sorry if this isn't want u wanted lmao

Additional notes: No use of Y/N. established childhood friends with Bruce. confessions. secret identity revealed. canon-violence. cursing/explicit language. explicit consent during sexual content. smut. no physical descriptors are used for the reader. (and yes, dr. crane is absolutely cillian murphy/nolanverse dr. crane sue me)

prompt: blood kink pairing: battison/f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content/above notes. bonus: on ao3, i split it into two chapters for ease of reading. the first half is plot, the second half is smut. ;) enjoy.

( read on ao3 ) || kinktober list

You lean on the railing of your small balcony and watch the streaks of red and white lights below. The cool night air kisses your skin and tousles your clothes. Gotham’s air has a burning singe to it too malicious to be reminiscent of a campfire. It’s more akin to a cigarette lit by the gas stove combined with cheap perfume. You toy with the invitation between your fingers. The swooping, gilded text is embossed across the creamy card stock and you rub your fingers over a specific sentence: This invitation a courtesy by Johnathan Crane, M.D.

Arkham hospital is having a charity auction.It’s an opportunity. One you maybe wouldn’t have gotten while working at the paper. But what’s the catch? What purpose would Crane have to invite you?You replay your short interview with the enigmatic, intelligent doctor. The man has secrets but who in Gotham doesn’t? This charity provides an opportunity to snoop around Arkham and talk to Dr. Mercer’s co-workers who refused to meet with you earlier. Below, several cars beep at the same time and it creates a strange, dissonant melody. Youcan’t pass this up.

You wonder if Bruce will front you some cash. It’ll be easier to blend in if you can pretend to try and buy a piece of artwork or maybe a little stone statue to use as a door stopper. You chuckle to yourself at the idea and brush the idea aside. You won’t use Bruce’s money to spend on frivolous artwork and sculptures that you cannot possibly fit inside your one bedroom apartment. That settles it. You have to attend. The soft pitter patter of fresh rainfall tings against the high rise windows, railings, and roofs. From high above, Gotham is shiny chrome and long dark shadows.

You wonder if Vengeance is in those shadows tonight.

You haven’t seen Batman since your failed chemistry experiment. Your lower stomach clenches at the memory and you willfully push the lustful thoughts aside. You and Vengeance have little reason to see each other right now. It’s been nothing but dead ends since Falcone avoided arrest. According to Gordon, the evidence locker was recently flooded due to a pipe burst and the analysis of your blood samples—containing whatever Falcone did to you—were destroyed.

So, you’ve been busy working on re-writing your Arkham article under Bruce’s employ. Your time as a vigilante journalist has dwindled. Yes, there are other stories in Gotham that need your attention, but none are as urgent as reviving the Arkham story. Plus your instincts keep telling you that it’s connected: Falcone. Dr. Mercer’s death. Arkham. The mysterious drugs.

There’s a thread here. You just have to find the right one to pull.

You flick your thumb against the card’s corner. You should tell him. Batman needs to know about this. If you want your plan to snoop around Arkham to succeed—you’re going to need Batman’s gadgets. You bend down, the wind and rainwater tickling the delicate skin at your temples, and click on the multi-colored lights that frame the balcony window. Your own secret call to the Bat.

You return inside, leave the sliding door unlocked and wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce gets a call from Alfred while driving down fourth street. His voice crackles warmly over the headphone inside Bruce’s ear, “she’s got her lights on.” Alfred knows to periodically check the security cameras they installed across the street of your apartment and Bruce is grateful for his vigilance.

He pivots his motorcycle and takes a sharp turn through an alleyway as a shortcut. Someone on the sidewalk shouts profanities at him.

The rainwater ricochets off his helmet and spins like a hyped-up Ferris wheel around the tires. He’s seen you a handful of times for coffee dates or short walks in the park. Never lingering. Never doing more than kissing you. No matter how badly he wants to. It’s stupid. He’s fucked you twice as Batman, felt your walls quiver around his fingers and cock, listened to your sweet cries and watched your pretty eyes roll back into your skull. And yet...

It’s Batman who you call for in the middle of the night. He suspects that Bruce—in your mind—is at home, maybe asleep, maybe pacing his study, maybe watching some black-and-white foreign film. He wishes he could invite you over, sleep next to you, show you how he feels about youwith slow kisses buried between your thighs, but he can’t. The night is for him. For Vengeance. Gotham never sleeps so why should he? He needs to be awake and on the prowl. He needs to be ready for anything and that includes answering your silent and iridescent call.

He stows his motorcycle in the usual safe spot within the alleyway and uses his grappling hook to ascend to your floor without entering the building. His heart pounds as it always does when you’re in close proximity. Like his heart is trying to escape his chest and offer itself to you.

He sucks in a breath before sliding open the door. One of your downstairs neighbors is boiling cabbage, there’s a pair of wet socks on your radiator, and a candle on your coffee table flickers with the influx of air from the balcony door. The sight and smells of your apartment are achingly familiar. He prefers it—this tiny, homey space—compared to his large and extravagant penthouse. But then again, he prefers anywhere where you are.

He wishes he could remove his cowl and lay his head in your lap, but he folds his arms across his chest and says, “what did you find?”

“Take a look.” You toss a card onto the coffee table and the laptop illuminates your face in a blue-white glow. “I’m rubbing elbows with the right people it seems.”

“Crane?” He mutters to himself while examining the fancy, expensive card stock. A charity at Arkham. It’s strange that they’re hosting at the hospital instead of a fancy hotel. He makes a mental note to check the guest list.

“Several of Dr. Mercer’s co-workers talked to me before Mercer died. And now they won’t talk to me. That means someone or all of them are dirty and in someone’s pocket.” You explain and your eyes are lit furiously from within, “I hoped I could use Dr. Crane to reach the other employees of Arkham and this is my chance.”

“Do you think Falcone is involved?”

You shrug, “if not him then it’s another one of Gotham’s criminals.”

Bruce considers this information. It’s a decent lead. You aren’t looking at him. Your eyes are glued to the computer screen as your fingers move across the keyboard in quick, precise strokes. He could watch you for hours but those are hours he doesn’t have. Gotham needs him. As much as he wants to linger in your presence and kiss you—those are luxuries he cannot afford despite his generational wealth. He sets the invitation back onto the table.

“What’s your plan?” He asks.

“It’s simple. I go to the charity, talk to anyone that I think is involved, then we meet up during the auction itself.” Your eyes flick up and down, but he gets the distinct sensation that you’re not sizing him up in a flirtatious manner. Your expression, your tone, and body language is cool and professional. It reminds him of the early days working together...before he kissed you and pressed you against the windows of the Wayne penthouse.

“I assume you’ve got a way to enter Arkham without being noticed.” You return your attention to the screen, “we can snoop through their offices.”

“They’re likely to increase security during the event.”

You wave a hand, “that’s why I’m telling you now. It gives us time to prepare.”

He clenches his jaw. You are an unstoppable force when a story is involved. Your safety might not matter to yourself, but it matters to him. He can do this alone. He can visit Arkham while the charity takes place and discover whatever Crane or Dr. Mercer’s associates are up to. You don’t need to put yourself at risk. Even the small risk of arrest makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. He can’t protect Gotham and you at the same time.

He says, “I’ll go alone.”

“And do what?” Your nostrils flare, “punch some confessions out of doctors? No way, Batboy. I’m not letting you try and take this one from me. This is my story.”

“All you need is evidence.” He counters, “I can get that for you.” You stand from the couch and place your hands on your hips. You’re shorter but you glare up at him with the heat and intensity of a car lit by a Molotov cocktail. He holds your gaze and cherishes the burn he feels prickle across his skin.

“I need firsthand accounts.” You say, your voice firm and unyielding, “you could rifle through their paperwork and take pictures of every record available and it would take us months to find what we’re looking for. And who knows! Maybe Arkham will smarten up and wipe everything clean before I have the chance to publish.”

“You think people will talk to you at the auction?”

He watches your chest rise a little with your inhale. The way your eyelashes flutter close. You always closed your eyes before saying ‘yes’ to him. He wonders if you ever notice this little tell of yours—if it ever registers that the boy you scraped knees with and the man standing before you in black armor are the same.

“Yes,” You reply while opening your eyes, “I do.”

“Fine.” He bites out. Arguing with you is akin to arguing with a brick wall. “But, I’m not sending you in there without protection.” He won’t let what happened with you and Falcone happen ever again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You toy with the little black bracelet on your wrist. A gift from Vengeance. It’s simple and straightforward. All it takes is one little press of a button near your wristbone and it releases an electric shock more painful and debilitating than your average taser. He explained that he wanted you to have something in case anyone got ‘too close’. Honestly, you hope you don’t have to use it.

Arkham’s charity event is being held in the new wing of the hospital. There are currently no patients, but it’s the perfect location for the chairmen and board members to show off the latest technology, the new rooms, and convince Gotham’s rich and powerful to make donations.

You let out a small breath of relief as you take in the freshly painted walls and large windows covered by thin, latticed metal. At least it’s spacious.Some of the other wings within Arkham State Hospital tended to trigger your claustrophobia. The murmurs of conversation float through the circular room above the music of stringed instruments by the door. The windows within the high ceilings look down at you like large black eyes as they reflect Gotham’s dark skies.You think, they should’ve made this a daytime event. It would’ve been more remarkable.

The pamphlet in your left hand boasts about the ‘benefits of natural light while providing safety, comfort and security for our patients’. In other words—Arkham has patients that can’t go outside due to the security risk and this newly built wing is their solution.

The two other exits lead into hallways but those doors are closed and guarded by security. A sign is posted nearby that reads: For Private Tours – Inquire with Director Susan S.

“I was wondering if you received my invite,” a smooth voice says from your right side. You turn to see Dr. Crane wearing a tuxedo, his brown hair slicked away from his angular face and shining beneath the warm florescent light bulbs.

“Did your secretary not pass along my RSVP?”

“She didn’t,” His sharp blue eyes drop to your shoes and then rise to your face, his look appraising and yet distant, “but she’s new and you look gorgeous so I’ll let it go.” Dr. Crane offers you his elbow and you politely take it, sliding your hand into the crook of his arm and allowing him to lead you through the swarm of well-dressed and perfumed bodies.

Youdon’t know how Bruce stomached these events. His parents were socialites and humanitarians who believed in a brighter future for Gotham.Youwonder what they’d say about Arkham's recent addition.

Crane passes you a flute of champagne and you use the opportunity to ask him how he’s settling into Arkham. His lips tug into a smile that feels secretive. He bows his head toward you and his breath ghosts along your cheek and neck.

“Some of my co-workers dislike me,” says Crane, “but I don’t take it personally. Every place has their hazing routines, their cliques, and established loyalties.”

You notice the discreet looks being tossed your way. Bored, inquisitive, jealous, and others are outright scandalized. You suspect that someone’s told Crane who you actually are by now which means he invited you for a reason. Time to find a thread to pull, you think.

You ask, “did you invite me as your plus one to disrupt those routines and loyalties?”

His eyes glimmer, “I did.”

“I’m honored.” You press the rim of your champagne glass to your lips, then lower it, watching Crane’s gaze as they follow your every movement. “Why me, though?”

“I see myself in you,” Crane guides you to the middle of the room where some of the guests are dancing in slow waltzes and whispering business deals to each other. The dark sky of Gotham—light pollution never allows for twinkling stars—peers down at you like the eyes of a shark. You can guess where this is going. The music and conversation provides enough white noise to muffle your conversation as long as you and Crane continue to whisper. You set your champagne glass on a nearby tray.

Crane gently takes your hand and your black bracelet slides on your wrist. “I’ve done my homework after our first meeting.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t do research prior to our first meeting.” You chastise as one of your hands settle on his slim shoulder, “I gave your secretary my real name.”

“A mistake I intend to never repeat.” He leads the dance. It’s a simple box step that doesn’t require much effort nor skill, “thank you for that lesson.”

You smile. “The first one is free.”

His hand slides to your lower back as he nudges you closer, “you really are determined to uncover Arkham’s secrets, aren’t you?” He whispers into the shell of your ear. You glance around the room, ensuring no one is watching—and if they are—well, all they’ll see is Dr. Crane getting close to an attractive woman. He’s good at this. Something in your gut urges you to be careful and play it safe.

“I’m here for the auction, Crane.”

“You’re here for more than that.”

You avoid his keen perception and change tactics.

“You said I remind you of yourself. That’s a bold statement considering we’ve spoken once.” You narrow your eyes over his shoulder at a familiar face. A part-time nurse named Jessica who refused to speak to you after Dr. Mercer’s death. The color of her dress washes out her complexion and the necklace around her throat sparkles like freshly fallen snow. Crane pivots and you lose sight of her.

“I’m a good judge of character,” he replies without missing a step. “In fact, you and Dr. Jacobs...”

Dr. Jacobs. He was on your list as one of Dr. Mercer’s associates, but you never had the chance to interview him. In fact, you planned on following up with Dr. Jacobs after Mercer’s death, but the man wouldn’t return any of your calls. You chalked it up to grief. But now...

Crane continues, “you both have an inner fire that cannot be understated.” He slows his step and tilts his head back to meet your eyes—steady and true. Dr. Crane looks at you as if he’s gazing into a house fire. You swallow.

“They called you ‘quicksilver’ didn’t they? At the Gotham Gazette?” You sense his questions are rhetorical. “I found that fascinating. They named you after a chemical element, a Roman God, because you--” he says your name “—are a force to be reckoned with.”

He leans in, speaking low, “and I pity anyone who underestimates you.”

You comb through his compliments, his lingering looks, and piece together your response. His hand on your lower back threatens to burn through the fabric of your clothing. What will Crane gain by helping you? Does he know that Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer knew each other? And if he’s not helping then he’s...merely pointing out that he sees your ambitious nature...and signaling that he’s the same.

You reply, “maybe I’ll talk to Dr. Jacobs tonight and find out if we’re as similar as you say.”

“I’m afraid he’s not here.” Dr. Crane sighs, “I believe he mentioned a family obligation conflicted with this event.”

Good. His office will be clear to search.

“That’s too bad.”

Dr. Crane smirks lightly, “indeed.” He leads you to the edge of the circle, “I believe I’ve monopolized enough of your time tonight.” He took your co-joined hands and pressed a polite, chaste kiss against your knuckles. Your gaze darts away from him. “I need to speak with a few of my colleagues.”

Finally! The sooner you can snoop the sooner you can leave Arkham.

“Of course,” You step aside and try to not let your eagerness show on your face, “I should go to the ladies room before the bidding begins.”

“I’ll save you a seat.” Dr. Crane says.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Arkham’s security is not without its flaws. He and Alfred decided it would be more useful and less disruptive to hack into the system and program the cameras to play a loop of footage rather than try and disable the system from the outside. Thankfully, you needed access to the doctor’s offices which were far less patrolled and monitored than the area where Arkham housed its full-time patients.

An alert pings on his device. That’s his cue. He cuts through the skylight with a thin, blue laser. Then, using a handle with a glass-safe suction cup, he pulls the glass free and carefully sets it aside. Ideally, he’ll return through this skylight once the job is done.

He stands from his crouched position by the window and tests the tension in his repel line.It feels good, secure. He drops into Arkham State Hospital with a faint ‘zzzziiippp’ sound and lands behind you.

“You made it.” You whisper, relieved.

“Worried I wouldn’t?”

“More worried someone would catch me wandering the halls.” You smile a little and his heart squeezes, “I can only use the ‘I’m drunk’ excuse so many times before it gets suspicious.”

“We’ll be quick.” He checks the time, “Alfred said the camera feed will give us an hour, but we should plan for less.”

You set off toward the offices while holding up the flashlight on your phone, “we need to check out Dr. Jacobs’ office.”

The wood-paneled hallways are dimly lit and the only light source is the exit signs glowing red above doorways. The thin dark green carpet helps to muffle your footsteps. He takes a moment to appreciate you walking in front of him. He loves how efficient you are, how fearless, even when it threatens to give him a heart attack. And your ass looks incredible.

You stop in front of the metal double doors. A key card reader glows a muted yellow on the wall.

“Okay, your turn.”

“Why Dr. Jacobs?” He asks while approaching the key reader. He inserts a featureless key card into the slot. It’s attached to a device in his hand by a wide and thin wire and several numbers rapidly scan across the screen and illuminate his jaw in a greenish glow.

“Crane mentioned him.” Your rub your hands over your upper arms, “he said that Dr. Jacobs and I are similar because we’re ambitious. I don’t know. Crane doesn’t strike me as the type of person to say something without it meaning anything. He’s too smart for that.”

Bruce ignores the twinge of jealousy in his stomach. You aren’t interested in Crane. He knows that. You’re using Crane. But it still feels strange to hear you mention another man with a hint of admiration in your tone. He clenches his jaw. Crane isn’t that smart.

Bruce doesn’t look up from the device. “And you think he’s involved in Mercer’s death?”

“Mercer and Jacobs worked together and I never had the chance to interview him before Mercer died.” You lean in to watch the gadget in his palms, “I figured we would search the most likely suspects instead of digging through everyone’s desk.”

You continue, “we start with Jacobs, then Crane, and lastly Haywood.”

He mentally reflects on your files and notes. He should have known that you wouldn’t remove Crane from your list of suspects. Just because Crane wasn’t at Arkham at the same time as Mercer didn’t mean he was off the hook. You regarded everyone at Arkham with a low-level of suspicion. It didn’t matter if they were a groundskeeper, security, or head of the boardroom. Falcone’s payroll is the greatest mystery and it served to err on the side of caution when dealing with a dangerous criminal.

“Jessica Haywood?”

“Mhm.” The device beeps, the light turns green, and the doors click unlocked. “The jewelry she’s wearing tonight is well above the pay grade of a Per Diem nurse.”

Bruce unhooks the device from the reader and opens the door for you. You slip past him and for a brief second—the air lingers with your scent. His eyelashes flutter. It’s getting harder and harder to be this close. He pushes the thoughts from his mind and follow you into the personal offices of the doctors.

He says, “if Haywood is a part-time nurse, then she won’t have an office.”

“We’ll check HR for pay stubs and the nurse’s station log to see which floors and patients she’s worked with.”

Bruce grunts.

“You’ve thought of everything haven’t you?”

Your smile threatens to topple the walls inside his heart and drag his loyalty Gotham into the ocean.

“Mostly.”

Dr. Jacob’s office smells like cigarettes. Together you meticulously comb through his files, check under seat cushions, and search for false walls. Bruce plugs a USB into the ancient computer desktop. In ten minutes, he’s obtained the contents of Dr. Jacobs hard-drive and sent it to Alfred for decryption.

On the way to Crane’s office, he asks, “are you still going to re-interview Mercer’s patients?”

“Assuming my relationship to Crane allows me access then yes.”

His heart ignites, burning hot inside his chest, and he exhales sharp through his nostrils.What happened tonight between you and him?He clears his throat and says, “relationship?”

You laugh quietly. “Professional relationship, Batman. Like us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You realize how silly your words are the second they leave your mouth. Batman stops short and pins his steely blue gaze on you. You shouldn’t have compared you and Crane to you and Batman. They are completely different. Your relationship to Batman almost borders on friendship. Or maybe it’s more like...co-workers who never dated, but did hook up and now have underlying sexual tension.

“Okay, not like that.” You lift your hands, “I’m not out fighting crime with Dr. Crane.”

Some of the tension in Batman’s jaw lessens. “We don’t fight crime together.”

“Well, that’s because you haven’t taught me to fight.” You wiggle your bracelet wrist, “and honestly you’ve been overprotective lately.”

“You’re a civilian.” He counters gruffly.

“So are you.” You lean your shoulder against the wall as Batman crouches at Crane’s door to pick the lock. “Unless you’ve recently been hired by the PD?”

Batman looks up at you and all that dark makeup around his light blue eyes highlights their color and depth. Your skin prickles, hot and sharp and painfully—painfully aware of what those eyes look like during the throes of desperate and sweaty sex. You want to kick yourself. You’re loyal to Bruce, you want to be with Bruce, but that doesn’t erase the attraction you feel towards Vengeance. His eyes drop back to the doorknob and he leaves your question unanswered.

Dr. Crane’s office doesn’t smell like anything which is a relief to your nostrils after the toxic and cloying scent of stale cigarettes in Dr. Jacobs. There isn’t a desktop in Crane’s office which leads you to assume that he takes his laptop home with him. You start with the filing cabinet that Crane glanced at during your interview with him. Batman searches his desk. And you work in comfortable silence. The anticipation gnaws at your stomach.

Come on, Crane.You need something tangible so you can start putting pressure on the doctors and nurses who are involved. Yourfirst article proved that the corruption within Arkham travels all the way to the administration. Mercer said they were powerful which means other doctors are involved. They have to be. So what did Jacobs do? Why did Crane mention him?

You step from the filing cabinet and pace the small office with your arms crossed.

“Dr. Mercer was afraid. He didn’t want to keep giving the police drugs and administration told him to stay quiet. His patients spoke highly of him. His co-workers liked him. Mercer dislike how the administration ran things.” You repeat the story to yourself in the hopes that you’ll find the piece you missed.

“Then, he dies two weeks after I present my article and the Gazette fires me. That’s not a coincidence.”

Batman opens one of the filing cabinet drawers. You let him continue his work as you talk yourself through the file details. There were plenty of co-workers of Dr. Mercer that have issues with Arkham but they were typical standard labor complaints—not enough holiday time, staffing issues, or personality clashes with other doctors. Who else could you talk to?

“I can try Jessica. She stopped talking to me after his death, but I know she idolized Dr. Mercer. Maybe I can appeal to her. Find the humanity.” You pause and press your fist against your lips.

There’s no way she could afford that necklace. Either she has a very wealthy partner or she’s accepted a bribe to stay quiet. But why? What does she know? Or are they just afraid of anyone who MIGHT talk?

A low ‘thump’ noise comes from Batman’s corner of the room.

Batman asks, “what’s Dr. Jacobs title?”

“Chief Psychiatrist.”

You hear him move closer and you turn to meet his stormy eyes. “Quicksilver, you need to see this.” The filing cabinet drawer is open, but a hidden inner compartment is unhinged and Batman grips a thick manila folder.

He opens the folder on Crane’s empty desk. Your heart bottoms out into your shoes and you clamp your fingers over your mouth to muffle your gasp.

“Holy shit!” you breathe.

The file spills out with evidence of experimental trials on patients. Experiments aren’t uncommon at Arkham. Sometimes drug companies and Arkham will partner up to test treatments, but it goes through a whole process of licensing and legal clearance. But this--? You steady one palm against the desk and your knees threaten to collapse from under you. The experiments involved sedating the patients with experimental manufactured opioids and then exposing them to high-stress situations—like torture—to see if their bodies and minds could withstand the pressure while on the experimental pain medication.

“Dr. Mercer…” His name glares in black ink like a gallows noose tightening around your neck. He was involved in this?!

You recall his final words to you before his death, “The guilt,” Dr. Mercer said, his expression pained, “I think it might eat me alive, Silver. I can feel it’s teeth in my heart.”

Your fingers tremble as you lift your phone to take photos of the files. The tests, the results, the sign offs of two prominent doctors: Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Mercer. Your eyes scan through the dates. Eventually, Dr. Mercer’s name stopped appearing. The files shift into another direction. The pain medication is no longer the focal point. Instead, the abstract of the experiment is: ‘To discover the effects of hallucinogens on recovery and behavioral control.’

“Wait,” you flip the pages and count the dates, “what happened to the pain medication trials?”

“It looks like they started a new project.” Batman’s hard and armored shoulder brushes against your body and you tremble for an entirely different reason. You bite your lip and refocus your attention.

“Why didn’t Dr. Mercer tell me? He said he was giving drugs to cops not--” You let out a frustrated sigh, “subjecting mentally ill patients to torture and experimental off-market drugs.”

Gotham, even on her worst days, manages to surprise you. Youbelieved Mercer was one of the good ones. He wanted people to get better. He wanted to help. How could this get so twisted?

“Why does Crane have all this?” he grumbles.

“What do you mean? It’s obvious.”

Batman turns his head toward you, his eyes questioning, and you close your eyes.

“Dr. Jacobs has some big skeletons in his closet. There’s no saving his reputation from this. Arkham will have no choice but to fire him to save face and claim they knew nothing about this. And an internal investigation will likely take place after Jacobs is fired.” You gesture to the files on the desk. “That means Crane, the new blood of Arkham, has the perfect opportunity to apply for his position.”

You recall Crane’s secretive smile, his perceptive gaze, and deliberate and careful words. His glances at this cabinet during your first meeting were planned. He curated this moment from the start.

“He doesn’t want to be the one to blow the whistle on Arkham.”

“Because it would impact his chance at the job,” Batman guesses. It’s a fair enough assumption. You’d bet money on it if you were a betting woman.

You reply earnestly, “no one likes the person who reveals the truth.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Batman places his gloved hand over yours and gently squeezes your fingers, “Gotham needs people like you, Silver.”

Your lips shift into a grateful yet embarrassed smile.

“I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ARKHAM’S CORRUPTION BROUGHT TO LIGHT. The bold text slams across the headline with a grainy, colored photo Dr. Jacobs being arrested outside the hospital.

Every news outlet whether newspaper or television is reporting the story you wrote. The story secretly bankrolled by Bruce Wayne. Your childhood friend and sort-of boyfriend (you haven’t discussed labels yet). The article was published with an independent paper outside of Gotham. It spread like wildfire online and took Gotham by storm. The rest of the media vultures were forced to scramble to keep up.

And—it wouldn’t have been possible without Gotham’s caped crusader. Vengeance. The Bat. He cross-engineered the pain medication and it matched the drugs on the streets. Then, in a surprise twist, he revealed to Gordon that the ongoing hallucinogenic trial had components that matched your blood sample from your time with Falcone. Was it a little weird knowing Batman had your blood samples somewhere? Yes. But it led to the greater good so you chose to accept the weirdness.

The complied evidence encouraged Gordon to look into it. He obtained a warrant to search Dr. Jacobs home and office. His hard-drive contained copies of patient medical history and backups of all of his unethical experiments. ‘Sadly, the documents we found at his office were only the tip of the iceberg when it came to Jacobs little pet projects’, you think.

However, the search for his co-conspirators is in process. It’s likely that Dr. Jacobs provided Falcone with the drugs he used on you and the other girls, but you’re doubtful Falcone will face any justice for it. Falcone is too slippery and influential. It’ll take something big to take him down.

Everything was connected just not in the way you imagined.

You click away from the news article.

Arkham’s official statement is “we are saddened to hear that our chief psychiatrist took advantage of our patients and staff. His actions were never sanctioned by our hospital and our thoughts are with the families of the patients at this time.” A rather magnanimous statement considering they’re scrambling for any good PR coverage lately.

You grab your coat from the edge of the couch and check your phone.

The text from Bruce reads: I’m outside.

You haven’t processed everything that’s happened in the span of a week. Gotham Gazette offered you a job with a pay raise and corner office. Dr. Crane mailed you a thank you note for attending the charity auction. The words were typed, concise, and polite. But you see it for what it truly is—Thank you for taking out the competition. Dr. Mercer’s involvement in the experiments is a tender sore on your heart. You never uncovered if Falcone or someone else killed him and now it’s over. You wish you could have put Falcone and his associates behind bars. But you’re forced to settle for shutting down Falcone’s drug connection.

It’s a victory. Victories are rare in Gotham especially for those on the side of justice. You try to remember that.

Arkham will move on. Gotham will move on.

And you have to move on too. There are other stories to be written, truths to bring into the light. You have a date tonight with Bruce and you’re determined to enjoy it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You loop your arm around Bruce’s elbow as you walk down the sidewalk toward his car.

“I appreciate that you came out, you know.” You say with fondness laced through your tone. “I know you prefer staying in.”

He’s a recluse, but he comes out to meet you every time you ask. You’re grateful the paparazzi are too swept up in the Dr. Jacobs story to care about the enigmatic Bruce Wayne. You know how he feels about being in the public eye and you don’t want any unnecessary strain added to this new, budding relationship. Life feels almost normal when you’re like this…There’s no lead to chase, no witnesses to interview, no late night sleuthing through the library archives.

His lips twitch upward. “I don’t mind it.” His clear blue eyes glance sidelong toward you, his sooty eyelashes flutter against his pale cheeks, “as long as it’s with you.”

“Hmm?” You lean closer into his side and let the expensive woolly warmth of his jacket seep into your elbow and arm. “Sounds like you’ve got a soft spot for me, Brucie.” You use the nickname from your youth and Bruce reflexively cringes.

“Maybe,” he teases, “but can you blame me?” He suddenly draws to a stop and cradles your cheek with one hand. You lean into the familiar mounds of his palm, the curve of his fingers. The chilly air of Gotham drifts through your legs and curls around your ankles. Every nerve in your body sings with joy at his closeness. Who knew you’d go from childhood friends, to strangers, to this? The tender display of public affection is enough to send your heart into overdrive and your pulse throbs inside your ears.

He gazes at you, pupils dilated, lips softly parted. You think he might kiss you at any moment. Bruce tends to get this look before kissing you—like he can’t believe it, like he thinks he’s dreaming. Your faces draw imperceptibly closer as if pulled by an invisible string. His breath is warm on your lips. It’s a delightful contrast to the chilled wind that tugs at your coat and sneaks cold kisses behind your ears. Your eyes slip shut.

“Oof!” Bruce exclaims. A blunt pain ricochets into your side. Your eyes spring open. You have barely enough time to throw your hands out and catch yourself as you’re knocked sideways and onto the hard and uneven asphalt. You wince as your skin scrapes against the ground. Bruce is on his hands and knees, his eyes wide, hair falling in dark strands in front of his face. A masked assailant towers above him with a wooden baseball bat. Oh God. Oh God.

“Story should’ve stayed dead, bitch!” Someone shouts before their boot stomps into your lower spine and pins you to the asphalt. Instinct takes over. Fear overrides logic. Your breath comes out in haggard puffs. The dark bracelet from Batman glimmers in your peripheral vision. You just need to get close enough. The boot lifts from your back. Someone grunts. The sound of shoes scuffling on the pavement reverberates in your head. Now is your chance! The boot returns with a swift, hard kick into your rib cage.

The air is forced from your lungs in a pained exhale. Everything feels raw. Your throat constricts. Another kick. The world blurs with tears. Your body instinctively curls like a wounded creature. One arm wraps around your stomach and the other to your head. The bracelet dangles like a cherished heirloom in front of your eyes. Batman showed you how to use it, but you can’t activate it from this position, can you? You need your hands free. The next kick hits your shinbone. The pain is acute and travels up your knee. You squeeze your eyes shut. What about Bruce?! You hate this stupid parking lot. You hate that no one is stopping to help or intervene. You hate that you can’t think and that your body is tense and trembling in preparation of the next blow. You hate the helpless feeling that’s building inside your chest and shaking salty tears from your lashes.

Someone is laughing. A slurred, drunk sound. “This one’s got some fight in him!”

“Whadda you think we should we do with him?”

“Just knock him out!” The one above you yells, “we’re here for her. Not him.”

Three. Three voices. There’s three of them. The next kick hits your shoulder and your forced onto your back. There’s no time to prepare, no time to cry out, as the boot presses into your throat. Fuck! You glance quickly to where Bruce was and see that he’s fighting—you gurgle as your assailant applies pressure to your neck and glares down at you through the holes in his ski-mask. A ski mask? What a cliché. An unexpected, hysterical laugh bubbles out of you. You flail and scratch your nails against his denim covered leg.

“This is what happens to nosy journalists in Gotham,” he sneers from above, “you should have just kept your pretty mouth shut and wrote stories about missing puppies and shit.” Several white dots dance around your vision.

Bruce grunts in pain. Your worry for his safety abruptly overrides your fear and hysteria. You don’t care if these guys are here to kill you or scare you, but you aren’t going to let them keep hurting Bruce. His only crime was being close to you. If he wasn’t here with you...then this never would’ve happened. You aren’t powerless. You aren’t helpless.

You release your hands from the thug’s leg and grab your bracelet. Muscle memory takes over. You presses into the spot near your wristbone and the bracelet hums to life. Two prongs like a spider’s fangs eject from the edge of the bracelet near the back of your hand. You slam the fangs into your assailant’s leg. They easily bite through the fabric of his jeans. The electric shock throws him off-balance and he convulses with a screech of pain. Your lungs rapidly expand as if to greedily swallow the air you were denied. You roll onto your stomach, onto your hands and knees, before pulling yourself upright. The scene comes to you in broken, jagged pieces.

The leader in the ski mask is on the ground sprawled out and twitching. If he’s dead then good riddance even though you’d like to know who sent him. The other two thugs are on the ground and Bruce is standing over them—chest heaving, his dark hair in disarray, his bloodied fists clenched at his sides, his chin smeared with blood from a split lip.

You exhale, “Bruce.” It’s unclear who moves first: you or him. Your arms encircle his middle and he clutches you to his chest like you’re going to fade into smoke.

“You’re okay?” His voice is raw and trembling, he strokes the sides of your face, your arms, your shoulders with desperate and careful motions, his eyes roam every inch of you, “you’re okay?”

You manage to nod. It’s surreal. You’re no stranger to violence in Gotham. You’ve run from drug dealers, used pepper spray on someone trying to steal your car, veered off the road due to a high speed chance, and not to mention your time with Falcone—your investigative journalism is a high risk occupation. But you’ve never been scared like this before. You can’t help but wonder if it’s because Bruce was involved. You feared for his safety. You refused to entertain the thought of losing him.

“Let’s go—let’s go.” He urges, pulling you by the elbow to his car, “c’mon, Silver.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I’m so sorry.” It’s your fault. Bruce paid for the story, but you’ll pay the price of exposing Arkham for the rest of your life. “I’m sorry...”

Bruce shakes his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You don’t recall the drive to Wayne Penthouse. You sat in the passenger seat with your eyes closed, your hands cupped around your head between your knees, forcing air into your lungs and exhaling slowly until your heart regulated. Bruce is painfully quiet. You don’t register anything until the purring car engine shuts off.

“Bruce,” you begin, lifting your head, “I’m so sorry.” Bruce is staring straight ahead at the concrete wall of his garage, raw knuckles clenched around the steering wheel, his eyes closed. His expression pained and closed-off. Your feel your heart drag across razor blades. He fought for you, bled for you. You’re relieved he could hold his own and grateful that the thugs didn’t bring any weapons besides wooden baseball bats and bare fists. You don’t want to think about what could’ve happened if any of them had a gun.

He rasps, “Don’t.”

You unbuckle and angle yourself toward him. Your bruised skin bristles with pain at the twist of your spine and shift of your hips. You need to explain. You need to help him see. This is an unfortunate part of the life you lead. He once joked that you were a ‘journalist with a death wish’. It’s not true, of course. You have no desire to die. But you have and will continue to suffer for the sake of Gotham’s truth. When you pursue influential people and start airing their dirty laundry, they will use their power, wealth, and any illegal or legal resources to try and scare you away.

Unfortunately for them, you aren’t easily cowed. What was it Falcone said? You’ve got Gotham in your blood. Gotham raised you. She taught you how to read people, and be resourceful, and hungry for truth.

“Bruce—they wanted me. They wanted to punish me for the Arkham article.”

“I know.”

“If you weren’t with me…” You trail off and look at the center dashboard of his expensive designer car. The guilt gnaws at your bones, threatening to break them. Bruce grabs your chin. His grip isn’t painful—it never is—but it is pointed, urgent, and he yanks your face toward his.

His lips press into yours without warning. Your mouth opens for him and a faint taste of copper bites your tongue. You’ve kissed Bruce more than a dozen times. But never like this.

His tongue moves in desperate, messy strokes and each movement sends a hot and powerful spark to your core. He groans loudly into your mouth, cupping the back of your skull, keeping you close, not even allowing you to break away to breath. You inhale raggedly through your nostrils and push your fingers up along his chest. Something fragile and tenuous shatters between you. He’s alive. You’re alive. It was a harrowing experience—but you are here. Together.

“I need you,” He gasps, “please.” He presses his forehead against yours and his sweet blue eyes bleed into yours. Up close, you can see the reddish-purple swell of a bruise forming on his cheekbone. His lips are raw, bloody, the split lip likely re-opened and aggravated from kissing. You close your eyes to collect your thoughts. You know Bruce. You know him like the lines on the sidewalk outside your childhood home. You know him like the curved handle of your favorite coffee mug. You know Bruce isn’t lying when he tells you he needs you and you know he’s not exaggerating either. You’ve wanted him for years. Ached for him. And this moment might not be perfect, it might not be what you imagined, but God—you’re not going to turn him away. Not when you need him just as desperately as he needs you.

“Okay,” You swipe your thumb across his bloodied lip, “yes, Bruce. Yes.”

Bruce’s expression crumples with relief and he presses his lips to yours. The kiss is slower this time. You take a moment to savor it. Your fingers card through his silky, dark hair and he sucks your lower lip into his mouth with an appreciative hum.

His cool and calloused hand pushes along your upper thigh.

“Right here?” You guess.

“Right here.” He adjusts and grabs your hips to pull you over the center console and into his lap. Your ass bumps against the steering wheel. At least it’s private, you smile at the thought. No one is going to come wandering into Wayne’s personal garage. Except for maybe Alfred? But you assume the old man has enough sense to give you and Bruce plenty of space. Bruce’s lips travel down your jaw to your throat and you angle your neck back to allow him more space to explore. His kisses are light and exploratory, slightly roughed by the dryness of his mouth and gentle scrape of his stubble. It feels better than you could’ve imagined.

Bruce exhales, his voice pitched low and gravely, “I’ve wanted you for so long,” his mouth closes over your collarbone. Your heart leaps at his words, at the implication, at the idea that maybe...just maybe...you weren’t the only one yearning and hoping for years on end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His body is sore. He forgot how much things can hurt when he’s not in the suit. But nothing is going to tear him away from this moment with you. He’s careful where he touches. He knows that low-life got more than a few kicks onto your perfect body and if he had been alone then he would’ve broken every bone in that man’s body as recompense. His anger threatens to boil to the forefront of his mind, but Bruce wrestles it back. Now isn’t the time.

He tugs your dress off your shoulders and his cock twitches at the sound of your pleased sigh. Your breasts are perfect. Perfect shape. And at this angle? The perfect height for him to bury his face between them and trail kisses across your skin. He’s never had the opportunity to worship you like this. To press his lips and tongue against your skin, taste your sweat, feel your heartbeat against his nose. His lips enclose around one of your nipples and you cry out, your fingers entangling in his hair to pull him closer, and he flicks his tongue against the hardened nub.

“Fuck,” he moans, his hot breath pants against your skin, before he cups the breast in his hand and holds it while his tongue and mouth lavishes across your nipple over and over again. Your hips cant into his, seeking friction and release, and he trembles as your clothed cunt grinds into his hard cock.

“I’ll give you what you want, Quicksilver.” He promises and you whimper in reply to his words, “Shh.” His bloodied knuckles shine in the light as he kneads your other breast beneath his palm. “I’ll take care of you.”

He wants to make this memorable. He wants it to mean something. He’s outside the shadows with you for the first time. He isn’t hiding behind the cowl, behind his loyalty to Gotham. He is raw, and bloodied, and trembling with anticipation. Your fingers fumble with the hem of his long-sleeved dark shirt and yank it upwards in a graceless motion. He winces as he leans back, his arms overhead, and the shirt is tossed to the passenger side.

“Oh, fuck, Bruce!” You blurt and place your hand above his right pectoral. He winces again at the pressure, but gently places his hand on your wrist. His heart swells with pride and appreciation at his bracelet dangling from your wrist. It saved you when he couldn’t.

“It’s okay,” He looks toward the cut. It’s shallow. Superficial. It likely won’t scar. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He guides your chin, meeting your eyes, and his heart capsizes at the concern pouring from your gaze. “I’m okay, Silver. I promise.”

He holds your chin and kisses you before you have the chance to apologize again. It’s not your fault. It’s his. He got complacent after the article was released. He made a grievous error through his lack of vigilance. He should’ve been more careful, should’ve had Alfred checking the footage to see if you were being tailed, should’ve suggested you stay at the penthouse for a few days until the dust settled. People at Arkham and people connected to Jacobs and Falcone are going to try and settle the score.

He won’t let that happen, though. He feels you relax beneath his touch, feels your lips move urgently against his, how your body arches into him and your hardened nipples press into his bare chest. Bruce shivers. God, it feels so good to be skin to skin with you. He is wholly without armor in both the physical and metaphorical sense and it’s terrifying and electrifying.

He wonders if you know how you affect him. His hands cup your backside, squeezing, pressing you closer into him and pressing his agonizingly hard length between your legs. You make a sweet, soft sound and Bruce swallows back his groan. Everything you do is intoxicating to him.

“I’d like to do this again after we’re inside,” he says to the hollow of your throat, “properly.”

“Properly?” your laughter runs like a vein through your voice, “like with candles and roses?”

“Something like that,” he bunches the bottom of your dress until its hiked up in a ruffled heap around your hips and his gaze snags on the bruises on your ribs. “I’ll leave it to your imagination.” He says with a small grin.

“Ohh, a surprise.”

“Mm.”

He pushes his hand between your legs and discovers the dampened fabric of your underwear. Fuck. You’re always so wet for him. Bruce’s eyes roll back into his skull and he hisses through his teeth.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were worried the sight of Bruce’s injuries would be a deterrent, but it isn’t. His bloodied lip, swollen cheekbone, and the bleeding cut on his chest are proof that he lived. A little scuffed up, but whole and alive and touching you with comfortable ease. You whimper at the first touch of his thumb across your swollen clit. Your body thrums with frustrated desire. He’s already made the tempting promise to continue once you’re inside the penthouse and quite frankly—you want to two things: for Bruce to be inside of you and then to see what he has planned in the comfort and luxury of his home.

“Bruce, please,” Your fingernails dig into his shoulders, “don’t make me wait.”

He buries his face between your breasts, his kisses sloppy, and mumbles, “I want you to come first.”

Always a goddamn gentleman!

He arches his neck, leaning his head back against the headrest of his seat, and gazes up at you with fervent adoration. You open your mouth to quip at him, to tell him the car is cramped and you’re feeling impatient, but then the concentric motion of his fingers tightens, adding pressure, and the effect is dizzying. Your mouth lets out a garbled “please” instead of articulating any of the other thoughts inside of your head. You lean forward to kiss him, feeling his nose press into yours and the coppery taste of his kiss blossoms on your tongue. Your hips thrust and chase the movements of his hand.

Your hands glide across his chest, his arms—which are surprisingly sinewy—and your fingertips catch along ridges and bumps that can only be attributed to scars. But scars from what? Before the thought can form, Bruce’s index and middle fingers plunge into your wet cunt and your spine convulses and your walls clench around his digits. The world goes muted and soft. Gotham narrows into two souls in an expensive, black car within a private garage beneath a penthouse.

You pant into Bruce’s mouth, sweat collecting on your temples, as he strokes and coaxes the fire burning low and hot in your lower belly.

Bruce says, “you’re so beautiful.” His words are quiet, bashful. And your neck prickles at the compliment. It means more coming from him than anyone else in the world. You hide your face in the crook of Bruce’s warm neck and pepper kisses along his jaw and the side of his face. The windows fog. The sound of his fingers moving slick and fast between your legs fills your eardrums. Your thighs shake.

“F-fuck.” You choke out, “close.”

“That’s it,” he whispers, “that’s my perfect girl. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

The orgasm hits you slow and serene and drawn-out. Your neck arches and your chin rests on Bruce’s forehead as the quakes tremble through your body in throbs of heat and euphoria. Bruce keeps his hand there, poised within as your walls rhythmically squeeze around his fingers, and he doesn’t pull away until your head drops against his shoulder and pant onto his damp, bruised skin.

He kisses your temple. “Are you ready for me?”

“Yes.”

It’s awkward. You lift your hips and your arms tremble as you hold yourself steady. He struggles to unzip his pants. You only get a brief glance of his cock before he positions himself between your legs and motions with his other hand for you to lower yourself. You brace yourself on his shoulders and Bruce looks up, holding your eye-contact, and is unwavering as the tip of his cock slips between your folds.

His teeth bare into a snarl, “Oh, fuck.”

The blue of his eyes are nearly swallowed whole by his pupils. He moans your name like it’s being ripped from his soul. You let out a breathy chuckle, allowing yourself to close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you as Bruce sinks into you inch by inch. It feels so good you don’t want to move. You rock your hips back and forth instead of thrusting and it creates a deep and wonderful sensation that travels from your head to your toes. He fits perfect. His mouth travels hungrily across your chest and neck and jaw. His tongue licks glistening stripes of sweat from your skin. His hands knead and squeeze your ass. You feel as if Bruce is trying to melt your bodies together, consume you, and you find yourself copying his motions. You kiss him, bloodied lips and all, and drink in his low and deep groans. Your hands, even as they smear with the blood from his cut, travel across the muscled expanse of his pale chest and your fingertips occasionally dig in when he thrusts up into you. You’ve passed the threshold of your earlier desperate frenzy to touch and be touched, to feel alive and safe together.

These movements, these gestures, speak to the deep cavern of tenderness that is shared between you. Your throat tightens. Bruce’s fingertips trail along your spine and he turns his head to whisper your name into your ear.

Time doesn’t move. It melts. It shapes condensation on the windows. It pools at the dip between Bruce’s collarbones. It glistens where your bodies are joined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Afterwards, you cradle his face between your hands and touch sweaty forehead to sweaty forehead. Your heart is pounding. Your dress is crumpled around your hips and stuck to your skin. Your bruises pulsate with muted pain. Bruce’s dried blood peeks between your fingers. And yet you’ve never felt more at peace.

He says, “stay with me.”

“W-what?”

“Stay with me,” he repeats, unfazed by your confusion, “for a few days. Maybe a week.”

You swallow. Okay, stay calm. He’s not asking you to move in. Your smile breaks across your face and Bruce’s eyes widen at the sight of it. As if bearing witness to your joy is a privilege and not something he’s earned.

“We’re having this conversation now?”

“Silver,” he chuckles dryly and your smile widens. It’s so wonderful to hear Bruce laugh. “Someday, I’d like to ask you a question and get a straight answer.”

“I’m a journalist.” You roll your eyes, “asking follow-up questions is my forte.”

Bruce takes your hand between his and intertwines your fingers, “and you’re the best journalist Gotham has.” He meets your eyes, “so, will you stay?”

You should tell Bruce ‘no’ from time to time. It’ll be good for his pride. Today, however, is not the day.

“Yes, Bruce. I’ll stay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake during the night. Bruce’s bedroom is cozily lit from the bedside table lamp and you reach across his back to shut it off. Your hand freezes in mid-air. They are scars. After you and Bruce left the garage, you meant to ask him about it, but his hands and mouth were...too distracting...and you lost all train of thought. You sit up and analyze the serpentine shape of his spine, the moles totting his skin, the curve of his shoulder blades, the cream colored sheets wrapped around his slim waist.

You resist the temptation to trail your fingers across the scars. You don’t want to wake him.

You hope that those thugs didn’t leave him with any scars. He claimed the one on his chest would heal fine. But, how does he know? He isn’t a doctor. You shift and sit upright. Your instincts flare. A gut reaction hits you like a punch to the throat. There’s blood in the water. There’s bones under the soil. A story. Another thread to pull. You carefully climb out of bed and grab a few pieces of blank paper from Bruce’s desk.

You start with today—it’s fresh in your mind.

The bracelet. Bruce didn’t notice or make comments when you first began wearing it. He didn’t ask any questions after seeing the bracelet electrocute someone into unconsciousness. Okay. A little odd, right? But there’s a few possible answers. Maybe he didn’t see it happen. Maybe he assumed you used a standard taser.

You write ‘why didn’t Batman come for me?’ on the page and stare at the letters. Batboy always has a knack for knowing when you’re in trouble. He didn’t show today. You know you aren’t his first priority. You know he’s got an entire city to look out for. But…

You write ‘Security’ on the page. Alfred told you that the Wayne home has ‘top of the line’ security. How the hell did Batman break-in without tripping any of the alarms? You’re certain that Bruce or Alfred would’ve mentioned something if they were worried about the security of the home.

You write ‘Falcone’. You sketch out the timeline out of instinct. Falcone is well-known around Gotham, but when you and Bruce reconnected, you never explicitly told him you were investigating Falcone. It was better to keep that sort of thing under wraps. It’s safer that way.

After you were released from the hospital, Bruce said something like ‘Falcone can’t hurt you’ right? You rub your hand over your jaw and frown. This is a long shot. You grab your phone and text Gordon the following message: ‘Hey, did you tell Bruce that I was drugged by Falcone?’

You scribble onto the page and let your mind wander. You doodle a little flower. And the memory hits like a freight train. Bruce’s flowers. They said ‘to my perfect girl’. Never in your time together had Bruce used that nickname. Batman, however, did. Your heart leaps inside your throat and your phone buzzes in your hand.

Gordon replies: God, kid. What are you doing awake at this hour? To answer your question, no. When I called Mr. Wayne, I informed him that you were caught in the middle of an active investigation and dosed with an unknown drug. I might have mentioned Falcone while ya’ll were together in the room, but I never directly stated that Falcone harmed or drugged you. Now get some sleep!

You reply a quick thanks and set your phone down. This is crazy. Bruce is Batman? He’s Vengeance? You press your fingertips into your tired eyes and your thoughts circle like sharks. And if he is then why didn’t he tell you? You huff and stare at your quick notes scribbled on various pieces of paper scattered on the carpet.

It isn’t so unusual, is it? He’s grossly wealthy, intelligent, and without a social life which gives him lots of free time. And you recently learned that Bruce can fight! Those scars of his aren’t from kitchen mishaps or car accidents.

“What’re you doing?” Bruce’s groggy voice lifts from the frumpy bed sheets.

Well, it’s now or never. There’s no way you’re going back to sleep with this question hanging like an anvil over your head.

“Are you Batman?”

Bruce sits up.

“Or Vengeance? Whatever you like to go by, I suppose.”

He rubs his hand down the length of his face. His shoulders are stiff. You watch as he swings his legs and clambers off the bed with clumsy grace. His boxer briefs hang low on his hips and as he stands before you in the light of his bedroom you can’t help but notice the scars on his chest.

His eyes scan the disorganized and chaotic papers on the floor. His expression is unreadable. You lay your palms on your knees and wait for his reply. Although you think his silence is answer enough.

“Silver…” He says with a minute shake of his head, “can this wait until morning?”

“No.” You deadpan, “I won’t be able to sleep without knowing.”

Bruce slowly lowers himself to sit across from you on the floor. Suddenly, you are eight years old again and having a sleep-over party at the Wayne’s. His mother is downstairs making popcorn. You both won’t stop arguing over which movie to watch. Your heart clenches. You blink away the memory. Once upon a time, you called Bruce Wayne your best friend.

He sighs.

“Bruce,” you wait until he meets your gaze and you hold it, “I want the truth.”

“I know.” He drags his fingers through his messy dark hair.

“Is that something you can give me?” You swallow the lump in your throat. If he can’t be honest, if he brushes it off or refuses to reply, then you know this relationship—hell, your rekindled friendship—is dead in the water. Even your partnership to Batman will be forced to end. He peers at you through the strands of his hair falling in front of his forehead. You wait. He can agonize over his response all he wants. The truth, as always, is the only thing that matters.

He finally says, “yes.”

“Yes as in you’re Batman? Or yes as in you can tell me the truth?”

“Both.”

You tap two fingers against your papers on the floor, “ha! Knew it.” You scoot closer to Bruce and his eyes widen.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You gaze up at the high ceiling, your brow furrowed in thought. You slept with Batman—Bruce – twice and he never thought about revealing his secret? Would he have just continued to live a secret double life while dating? Did he seriously expect that you wouldn’t figure it out someday?

“I wanted to keep you safe.”

“After today,” you chuckle, “I think I have more enemies than Batman does.”

Bruce says your name softly, “This is only the beginning for me, Silver.” His hands curl into a fist, “Gotham needs me.”

“Gotham needs me too, you dork. You said so yourself!” You smile. “None of these other freelance journalists have the courage to take down the big fish. We both are driven by our love for this city. We both take risks. If you can continue to do your job and I can continue to do mine then I don’t see any issue.”

He stares at you and his lips part in awe.

“I thought if you knew...” says Bruce quietly, “you’d leave.”

You reach out and wrap your fingers around his curled fist. “Bruce, I – well—I endured several years without you and you know what? Those years sucked.” You smile, a timid and gentle smile, and more vulnerable than you’ve ever given him.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bruce. I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Bruce leans in and rests his forehead on your bare shoulder.

He murmurs, “I don’t want to be anywhere else either.”

“Then it’s settled. We stay together and fight crime and change Gotham for the better.”

Bruce lifts his head and levels you with a serious look, “you are not fighting.”

You tease, “okay, you say that now, but I’m already work-shopping costume ideas and team names.” You cup the side of his face, “The Silver Bat? Mercury and Vengeance? Batboy and Journalist Gal?” You ramble off your ideas until Bruce’s serious expression melts away and his lips twitch in a begrudging smirk.

#bruce wayne x reader #battinson x reader #happy halloween #battinson imagine #batman x reader #batman x you #dc fic #the batman fic #bruce wayne x you #battinson x you #fic: from above gotham glows #kinktober 2022

[gffa]

what order would you recommend reading the batman comics in? also where do you find the comics?

"What order would you recommend reading the Batman comics in?" only has one answer and that answer is for me to immediately burst into tears. Okay, this list is designed around what I think is most likely to get you into comics and having a good time, if you're enjoying the kind of posts that appear on this blog: - Nightwing 2016, you can start from issue #1 and just keep reading (well, once you hit the Ric Grayson arc, you can skim if you want) because it's a fun, light-hearted series that's just very easy to read and is my comfort series in a lot of ways. I enjoy Dick Grayson's character, it does a lot of work to establish him in his own city, but also touches on his relationships with his family, and I think is a great starting place. You can start with Better Than Batman, Back to Bludhaven, Nightwing Must Die, Blockbuster, Raptor's Revenge, The Untouchable, The Bleeding Edge, Knight Terrors (not to be confused with the 2023 event of the same name!), Burnback, The Gray Son Legacy, The Joker War, Fear State Then there's something of a 'soft reboot' where the volume numbering starts over (but issue #s keep going) with: Leaping into the Light, Get Grayson, The Battle for Blüdhaven's Heart - Robin & Batman (2022), a beautifully illustrated series from the early days of Bruce and Dick, where Bruce is not exactly the world's greatest parent, but he's trying, there's an amazingly emotionally satisfying hug, and it shows what a delightful hurricane child Dick Grayson was. - "The Murder Club" is just one story out of many in Batman: Urban Legends but it's a fantastic one, with beautiful art and a story that's about Thomas and Martha Wayne traveling forward in time to see what's become of their son, and they don't necessarily approve--until Dick and Damian are basically impossible to ignore and they see what Bruce is fighting for. For more general Batman stories (rather than ones focused on my Blorbo), I'm enjoying: - The Court of Owls [vol. 1][vol. 2] by Scott Snyder, which is a solid case story and introduces the Court of Owls, which I genuinely like as a relatively recent addition to Batman's rogues gallery! - Batman 2016 is a bit of a controversial pick, because not everyone enjoys the authors writing for this series, but I've had a blast with a lot of Tom King's writing, personally. I especially enjoyed a lot of the run-up to the Bruce/Selina wedding with Rebirth book 3 (there's a double date with Bruce/Selina and Clark/Lois that's just a silly, fun good time!), The Rules of Engagement, Bride or Burglar, The Wedding, and Cold Days. I wasn't really a big Bruce/Selina shipper before those issues, but they really won me over because I love a good hot mess of a couple that have a bunch of thorny issues between them, that Selina loves Bruce not as some mythic figure but as the dumbass guy she loves, and then some bonus quality content with Bruce's kids, especially once the wedding falls apart and he's in such a bad place and Dick Grayson is so good at stabilizing Bruce that it's unreal. (You can also read Preludes to the Wedding in around here, if nothing else the Dick + Hush one was really, really fun! Clark and Dick take Bruce to Batburger for his bachelor's party because they're horrible people who think they're funny, and it's DELIGHTFUL.) - Batman/Superman: World's Finest (2022) by Mark Waid is also more light-hearted, but is so much fun, the characters banter with each other, but you can see their genuine friendship and how it became to be one of foundational relationships in both their lives, and plus Dan Mora's art is always TOP NOTCH. (Plus, volume 2 is out as well.)

I limited myself to anything from the 2016 reboot ("Rebirth") because I think that's easiest to draw someone in and these are the starting places that I would enjoy, though, they do assume a fair amount of pre-knowledge about Batman characters, like personally I enjoyed Batman & Robin Eternal but I don't think it's a good starting point for what the comics are actually like. As always, if someone has a good suggestion for a newer fan, I'd love to hear them! Especially since I tend to be Nightwing-focused, that's where my area of expertise is, if you have some good Tim or Jason or Damian recs, feel free! Though, in general, I think you can pick up almost any trade paperback and it'll be designed to be read without too much confusion, so just find a character you think you'll like and jump in! :D (p.s. I'm linking to Hoopla pages because, if you have a library card with your local library, you can use it to sign in to Hoopla!)

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #dick grayson #comics recs

[ewzzy]

In "Batman & Superman Magazine" #3 there's preview of Mask of the Phantasm that includes early sketches by artist Todd Winter of what would become the movie poster.

One of those sketches would go on to become the cover of the novelization.

There are some INCREDIBLE paintings included in that magazine. These are always credited to Kevin Altieri online, but I don't think that's the case.

For one thing, it says "Painting by Todd Winter" right there on the pages. The "A" signature seems to be out of place, but it's also on the novel cover. The credits on the table-of-contents reads:

Cover: pencil art: KEVIN ALTIERI; painting: JOHN CALMETTE; Phantasm cover inset: JOHN CALMETTE; Batman cover inset: TODD WINTER; Atom cover inset: pencils: MIKE PAROBECK; painting JOHN CALMETTE

Magazine credits are so messy. It's tiny and sideways on the page. It credits an Atom cover inset that isn't in Magazine. The Altieri/Calmette credit is for the cover which Altieri did pencils for and Calmette did the painting. They did multiple together.

This has all be an excuse for me to scan a bunch of art. As a bonus, here's a detail shot of the novel cover.

#batman #btas #mask of the phantasm #todd winter #concept art

[murphychips]

a treacherous descent into werewolf romance fiction

okay so. this story begins with me being on facebook, scrolling through videos, and getting these adverts at the end of EVERY video clip from these sites:

and i mean EVERY single one. and out of deranged curiosity i ended up clicking them and checking out their previews only to find maybe some of the more garbage i've ever had the displeasure of reading. each advert was different and each story varied, but all of them had dogshit quality.

eventually, i wondered who was making this stuff; MULTIPLE apps were being advertised to me under a bunch of different names, and all of them were centred around werewolves or mafia or billionaires. sometimes all three!

so i downloaded a couple of apps to see if i could identify an owner, but those all varied too! most don't even have websites; the app is the only thing they have. almost none of them have author names, or any way to identify the writer, and there's no way to submit to most of them. eventually, i chased up a few of these apps on reviews to find most appear to be stealing content from across the internet:

some of these are stolen from amazon, others are stolen from similar apps are cross-posted, others--as one comment says--appear to be scalping from wattpad (and likely AO3 and fanfic.net, although i'm currently trying to find examples).

HOWEVER

one app that crossed my phone was Letterlux, which does feature a submit page and appears to actually promote original work! the genres remain the same--werewolves, billionaires, mafia, etc--and so i was like alright. this appears to be a publishing outlet of SOME kind. what's the catch?

the catch is the abysmal fucking offerings:

the 'exclusive' contract here is if you do the whole 'submit a thing and they extend an offer', whereas non-exclusive is you just posting the thing. but look at the numbers! look how low they are! $450 if your story is above 200,000 words????????????????? and you have to post EVERY DAY for the update bonus; if you miss more than 4 days, you're out of the running. HOLY EXPLOITATION BATMAN. never mind that for the non-exclusive, you get a measly $250 for 200,000 words and NO update bonus. with the signing bonus of a whole $50, that's $300 for 200,000+ words: a whopping 0.0015 per word.

another app that appears to promote original work is Galatea, owned by inkitt; it appears legit in that it's been advertised by a bunch of different places, i.e. Writer's Digest, and has a fairly slick site, but reviews from users say it's a scam--a less predatory scam than usual, but still a scam.

TL;DR, if you write heterosexual steamy werewolf romance, your shit is likely making money for some company in whoknowsistan, who use microtransactions to make you pay for individual books. and i haven't even TALKED about how some of these apps have some of the most crazy IP protection i have ever seen, such as banning you for an hour if you screencap ANYTHING, and hiding recorded videos:

but despite all this, and this horrible rabbithole of novel apps i've fallen down, nothing compares to me having to read all this fiction and realising that we are ignorant to the quantities of sheer bad werewolf writing out there, so much so that i'm honestly tempted to post my own straight-bait just to see how far i can get. things that i've noticed:

all the female protagonists start off as abused or hated and are saved by some Alpha/Alpha King/Alpha Demon/idk man

sometimes the werewolf aspect is just an inner wolf who like. yells at you sometimes?

there's gamma rank werewolves?

there's DELTA rank werewolves?????????????

i honestly think i'm becoming addicted to finding out just how unhinged some of these stories get, but that is beside the point: in the end, for the love of god, don't be a dumbass and use these shady apps, and do NOT submit to places who won't even give you an entire penny per word. also, check your shit; it might have been scalped for someone else's profit. okay. ciao.

#what do i even tag this with tbh #just don't be a moron okay #sdfghjsdgfhjk #anyway back to reading awful werewolf stories on wattpad from the actual authors

[bigfan-fanfic]

Bruce being super present on social media, being that type of person who post at least 30 stories a day so he can keep the playboy persona, m contrary to him, batdad being extremely low profile and having like 3 post from 2 years ago.

Bonus: Gothamites being extremely thirsty for batdad content and looking every Bruce's post trying to see if they can find a trace of batdad.

Bruce has the Batcomputer running a subroutine that posts for him, especially when he's doing Batman stuff so any future hackers can see Bruce Wayne posting from a completely opposite end of the city, so it looks better as an alibi.

But also yes definite Batdad thirst and loving the rare content he posts, although he's incredibly protective of the kids under his guardianship and will almost never post anything about them

[reveluving]

It's missing Rick hours, so why not talk about Rick and (Y/N) (crazy) family fluff!

warnings: fluff & humour!

a/n: Dysfunctional but lovable family fluff >>> Hope you guys enjoyed this as much as I had fun thinking about it! Don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

check out my j. kinnaman m.list for more Rick content!

Do you guys remember the Dee Dee twins from Batman Beyond? I know they're supposed to be Harley's granddaughters but imagine if this takes place post-TSS events, and yes, Rick lives, okay?

He's always been—mf engaged to (Y/N) the second he woke up from unconsciousness and has lived together in a quiet lil' neighbourhood since.

But anyways!

I can't stop thinking about them being Harley's goddaughters or protégés instead, and one day, she begs you and Rick to take care of them for the week while away for a once in a lifetime gig. 

“You listen to your aunt (Y/N) and uncle Rick while I’m gone!” She’d say, though, she should’ve known better than to think her own carbon copies, of all people, would listen. 

I can just imagine you and the girls being joined at the hip, telling them stories from your days as a criminal, even if you’ve left that life behind. Rick’s the ‘grumpy uncle’ they love to annoy. But! They may be opposites, but the second someone talks bad about you?

Rick will see red, no doubt, but if he hears the girls discuss on how to get rid of the loud-mouthing pos, he wouldn't encourage it. But he sure as hell won’t stop them either—these are Harley girls we’re talking about; it’s not like they listen to him all the time. And, well, if they proceeded with whatever they had in mind, well, the bastard deserved it, didn’t he? Nobody really liked Mr Walker anyway.

What they'd do throughout the week their beloved aunt (Y/N) and uncle Rick, a headcanon:

Switching conversation topics when they're bored at the flower shop you work at. One second, it would be about the flowers, which, let's be honest, they're barely listening to, only to excitedly ask about what crimes you've done were the most memorable ones. Without the presence of customers, of course.

Pranking or scaring away any women who visits Rick's workplace solely for the purpose of gawking or flirting with the man, despite knowing he's married. A simple hiss or a quick display of the baseball bat they had with them ("We like playing baseball, don't we, Dee Dee?" "Yes, we do, Dee Dee!) and the visitor's out of the door!

Not once have you nor Rick seen these two play baseball.

They just really love their aunt (Y/N) and uncle Rick, okay!

BONUS: If you also have to babysit Bruce the hyena, the twins would sneak him out of the house at 3 AM, purposefully messing with Mr Walker's front yard and making sure he sees it. He didn't see the girls, however, so, when he tells his neighbours about a hyena on the loose, most of them just he was the one with the loose screws.

I initially thought Rick would work as a lumberjack, but, imagine if he was the sheriff of the neighbourhood?? Mr Walker calls him to complain about the hyena problem, obviously unaware of the culprits silently snickering at one another as they watch him desperately demand for 'justice'.

"Mr Walker, I personally don't think it's possible for a hyena to cross the city undetected for the sole purpose of terrorising just your garden," Rick responded calmly, though, he was unable to bite back the condescending hint in his words, "But, we'll look into it."

Once Walker's out, looking more stressed now that even the sheriff himself was looking at him funny, Rick would glance at the twins, raising a questioning brow at their futile attempts to look innocent before returning to his report.

"Good job." He'd say nonchalantly, and rather than looking peeved or disappointed, they spotted the small smile on his face. He didn't bother turning when they high-fived.

But other than the fact that he's been cockblocked since their arrival, and honest to God, it's been driving him nuts, they've made your and his days much livelier than the usual.

I can see it now; you're all watching TV, Rick holding you against him with one arm around you while he leisurely pets Bruce's mane with the other. Similar to the beloved house hyena, the twins sat on the floor in front of you, listening to them cheer for the antagonist and argue about what's for breakfast tomorrow.

Yes, the Flag's were quite the household, it seems.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚ 

#— reve's reverie 🌹 #is this idea in my drafts #maybe #missing rick hours #rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag x female reader #rick flag x you #colonel rick flag x reader #rick flag fluff #tss 2021 #harley quinn #dee dee twins #delia dennis #deirdre dennis #dc #dc x reader

[lily-lilou]

Hi everyone! Long time no see!!! I haven't come here in Eons, but what better motivation that earlier release of S5!!!

So! My thought on 5 without spoiler and out of context?

We don't see a lot of Aaravos but almost everything he says has a double entendre. He knows it, you know it. The writers know it. EVERYONE KNOWS IT!

Terry is a dork. 

Callum is a dork. 

Everyone is a dork!

Amaya and Janai: I'll jump into danger without hesitation and make difficult decision for my people. What? Picking flower? Impossible, I can't!

Also that scene with Zubeia who goes full Batman-dramatic-entrance - It was amazing, it was cliche (because hey! No risk to squash the little humans?) and no, I won't give context!

Bloodmoon Huntress. Seriously!

PIRATE KING!!!!

trust issues

control issues

daddy issues

lot, lot of issues! Especially for Viren 

Worst of ALL THINGS: that 5 seconds of Ethari content in the credits. Yes, you heard me! This is so cruel :’( 

But also, my thought/comments on S5 WITH spoiler (just after seeing the whole thing)? 

my old theory about the first time using dark magic, the person might have a choice to do through that weird dream?? Check, apparently (Claudia: "it only happens when you use dark magic for the first time!") 

BABY SOREN AND BABY CLAUDIA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The 4th coin was: Viren’s master! hehehehe! ... eh? I didn’t see that one coming! (and apparently Rayla... let it rot on the dungeon floor?... maybe not?

Also: Viren + twin Peaks. That's all, I won't comment more on this. 

The Jailer! Please. I want to know more. She was human? what kind of magic did she use? who is she? Where does she come from? I WANNA KNOW!!! EXPLAIN!!! 

theory? Yeah, she’s related to the crow lord!

Ocean arch dragon? 3 minutes on screen, but yes, I already love you!

Karim is stupid

Queen Aditi!

Sol Regem: I want context. "I lost my hope long before I lost my sight"? CONTEXT PLEASE! Also I repeat: KARIM IS STUPID!!!! AND WHAT WITH THAT PRIEST!!!

You know Callum, you could have just taken the book with you from the start. or just come back the next day... >_>’

Also, speaking of corruption: the mushroom mage. Great, but... could he have helped with Lux Aurea? Or something?... no? Just me? 

who cares, I already love him =D

Who's that dude in front of Aaravos's statue? You know, the other statue LOTR like? Is he also a startouch? Seems like it. Who is he? 

Next season objectif? Saving the coins with magic cristals because imediate crisis averted (pfff you bet!). And hey! What a coincidence, magic sword to kill a startouch in the same package! 

That weird old skywing with bandaged eyes in the credits. Pretty sure he’s in that tower with the sword

Bait + Baitlings: yes!

PIRATE KING!!!! (a crafty jerk, but we like him anyway - I do hope he’s not dead). Also, Villads and Nyx. 

Callum: gets punched in the face a few times, read a poem, get a weird advice from an old hermit-crab-lady and bingo! Ocean arcanum reached + bonus speech about control issues! (or did I miss a few things?)

Everyone has been shocked to hear Aaravos saying "our child" to Viren (the viraavos shipers will implode, with that one) - anyone notices it means Claudia and Soren have a half-sibling, now? 

will Viren survive? Will he reach an arcanum? ohohohoh! I wanna see! (Stupid theory: Aaravos is schocked his pawn isn’t moving according to plan, but will test his resolve before actually saving him... of doing it through Claudia)

last thing: squid Claudia. yes! you heard me!

Pfioooo! What a ride! That’s all for now. I’m gonna digest all of this. 

#the dragon prince #TDP #Viren #Aaravos #Season 5 #Spoilers #Season 5 spoilers #it was amazing #in my eyes far better than s4 #And I'm saying that knowing ETHARI WASN'T IN IT!!! #THE UNFAIRNESS!!!

[reachartwork]

Noblesse oblige isn't any more leftist than the individualist power fantasy tho 😭 That superhero post is such dogshit I seriously can't believe u reblogged it without comment... I'm at a loss for words how can anyone think that's compatible with any kind of progressive thought and not just white supremacy/white man's burden repackaged in a kinder, empathetic wrapper?? Like I'm not demanding u take it down or anything (which would be silly to expect regardless of content) I literally just want to understand how someone otherwise reasonable and generally thoughtful can square such a thoroughly reactionary concept with an otherwise progressive value system (which admittedly is something I've projected onto you as I don't actually Know you but seems a reasonable assumption to make based on how you present yourself)

note: extremely sleep deprived but also i think the point of noblisse oblige requires one be of noble status or otherwise privileged which the common superhero fantasy is not really about! almost every single superhero in modern times "lucked into it", iirc even superman is just normal without our super special sun empowering him or some shit like that (if you point out batman to me i'm throttling you, with love). anyway, nitpicking aside:

with all respect anon i think framing the idea of "someone getting power and using it to help people instead of becoming a tyrant" as something that's bad is an antisocial point of view, to say the least. i think framing it in the language of the white man's burden is......... strange, to say the least. there's a severe difference between "the supposed obligation of white people to manage their supposed lessers because they're supposedly too dumb to do it themselves" and "saving people's lives in an emergency situation". helping people is good! having the ability to help people and not doing so is bad - in my religion (judaism) it's in fact explicitly prohibited[1]. wanting the power and ability to help people because you as a normal mortal person feel helpless in the modern world is not exactly a power fantasy i would call "white supremacist" in its core messaging, even if many modern cape comics and stories end up taking that bend by virtue of many authors just being bad.

the *reason* i reblogged that post was mainly to make a pithy joke about chum. but also i think if you view the idea of craving the ability to be a helper in the world we live in the day as, like, a reactionary concept, i think that says more about you than it does about what is otherwise a fairly milquetoast feel good post.

if i had superpowers i would become a first responder with them! this is something i think about all the time, so much so i have written 250,000 words about it in the past three months.

works cited:

[1] Shulchan Arukh, Choshen Mishpat 426

bonus reading:

The Golem and the Jewish Superhero, Jacob Geller

#superhero #superheroes #discourse #anon #ask #not art

[ramenflavoredchaos]

More Sanrio Batman content!

Bonus transparent-

#art tag #dc comics #batman #edward nygma #sanrio #keroppi #possible print #teru teru

[artbribery]

i was looking through the daily wikipedia things, as you do, and this was fun

the Ruddigore; or, The Witch's Curse, and the picture of the day:

depicts a scene from the opera in which the ghosts of Sir Ruthven Murgatroyd's ancestors step out of their picture frames and accuse him of not having committed a crime every day in accordance with the family curse.

which i didn’t guess was a common theme but i should’ve. there has to be a meme about the amount of times a ghost has come out of a portrait to haunt a relative.

then there is this about the song “When the night wind howls”

When the night wind howls in the chimney cowls, and the bat in the moonlight flies, And inky clouds, like funeral shrouds, sail over the midnight skies – When the footpads quail at the night-bird's wail, and black dogs bay at the moon, Then is the spectres' holiday – then is the ghosts' high-noon!

 that had an ancestor in the song “The Ghost to his Ladye Love” and it goes

Fair phantom, come! The moon's awake, The owl hoots gaily from its brake, The blithesome bat's a-wing.

if this isn’t dpxdc content waiting to happen. what with all the bat, bird, and ghost imagery.

Someone in Gotham has a problem. There are strange happenings happening and they call for help.

This might involve the Bats. This might involve a charity party. Like murder mystery. 

The “owl hoots” could be a reference to the court of owls

Maybe there is a gathering and the ghost of the talon’s mothers come to seek vengeance instead of being ancestors to a cursed lineage

(could just be the ghosts of the unwilling talons.. the place has a lot of them, who’s to say they don’t see them as expendable)

(i don’t actually know much anything about the talons or the court :D)

(MAYBE it’s just the bat family being the cursed lineage even through adoption and they have to deal with this every century or so)

(well. i mean, anyway)

The gathering is in one of the high rankings house, i have spontaneously decided it is that hotel owner i just barely glanced through

or for higher level of indulgent story telling, it could be happening at that Orchard Hotel that was founded by the father of guy who got talon-ed for running away to the haly circus (and maybe, say that it was conveniently where the talon-ed guy was stationed at? and maybe also dick’s talon-ed great-something-grandfather is there too,, for fun and profit,,,)

Understandably, there are no picture frames but there might be files and copies. Imagine a hurricane of pictures and papers surrounding the host and angry faces sometimes peaking out of them, maybe pointing hands and claws 

The women/people become a murder of ghost harpies (meaning snatchers, more wikipedia✨, they were said to steal food from their victims while they were eating and carry evildoers (especially those who have killed their families) to the Furies, the three main girlbosses on revenge and judgement of mortals(?) “spite, anger and destruction”

(tho this could mean anything, like the three furies could be three main ghosts/mothers that became more powerful than the others or 

actually be tucker, sam and danny sharing monarchy custody, as it says they are “daughters of hades and nix” meaning, yknow, death 

and darkness, so you could also say they are batman and red hood and nightwing in this context, idk)

(and that could mean that the someone calling for help was the harpies, which means maybe ominous messages and blood letters, maybe screaming and breathing on a call, or plain “anon tip” call for help)

this mostly has a little to do with the original start but i’ll find som- wait

bonus!

it’s ya boi john constantine!!!

he is the cursed!! the 👏 cursed 👏 lineage!!

Hear ye, this man already knew of the curse, and the curse is that he has to make deals with demons. trade his soul/firstborn or whatever away,

but he decided he didn’t want to just do that, it’s his soul and he decided to break tradition and began what he is known for

the ancestors are a little impressed but still 

every once in a while he will trade a bit of his soul to keep the ancestors from nagging too much. 

and once he hit the required age to ride that malefice roller coaster/curse, he got a too big family reunion of too cunning (read:smartass) and annoying relatives 

the thing is that his house is so magical that most ghosts of his ancestors could be there the whole time 

this is like dora the explorer only they are telling swiper to swipe, and so, john to deal with demons 

So: 

if i want to involve danny in this as the ghost king, and of course i do, it could be about him finding out: 

1, the amount of paperwork he has because of this guy, why is this his afterlife 

2, the guy is actually a heritage student in the very exclusive school of cursed, 

and 3, well, 3 is that now he has to help this guy become uncursed to stop the pile of work on his desk from growing and safeguard the poor smithereens of John’s soul

and his first order of business: being horrified by all the soul thing and tired from looking at the work ahead of him, 

second, because he doesn’t know about the curse, is to be indignant because why are these ghosts just encouraging him to trade his soul (something already terrible) but also make him more paperwork 

and then indignant and angry because they are shaming this guy into it and berating him “you haven’t done your chores”-style like What the hell?

Cue finding out that it’s a condition and being sympathetic and deciding to help

Bonding???

Bonus bonus? 

constantine ancestors: this one came like this, we are moderately proud

john: 🕵️‍♂️🤷‍♂️✨

danny: 👀👄👀

#dp x dc #dc x dp #i've had this one in my pocket since jun 8 #the bonus bonus? opens interpretation of eldritch danny #i like wikipedia a lot alright #just ghosts coming out of the woodwork #someone please reblog with a meme about haunting your ancestors #me: no post only anxiety- also me: post for the sheer gremlin energy- do it #then back away into darkness once more #sidetracking gives me double the fun #me after months of not looking at tumblr: where is the draft section??? #also making sense is for other posts/people #I FORGOT #THE SONG CALLS FOR 'THE FAIR PHANTOM' #and i was cackling at that