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themaribatpit · 3 years

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Saturday Challenge: Continue a Fic You Wrote for Jasonette July

Written by: The Maribat Pit @jasonette-july-event Prompt: Continue a fic you wrote for Jasonette July Rated: M (for violence and strong language)

Then Perish : Part 2

Marinette tossed the helmet aside, she glanced over at the desk and grabbed a letter opener. She tried to take several swipes at him, all of which he evaded with ease before grabbing her by the wrist. Marinette tried to drop the letter opener into her other hand but he caught it before she did. “Nice try, mind telling me why you’re so desperate to kill me?” he asked, Marinette could just about hear him smirking under the mask. Up close, she noticed that, in addition to his dark hair, there was a white streak of hair framing his face. His eyes were still covered by the domino mask as they looked down at her. “You killed my parents,” she growled. “So is that what this is all about…tell me, what makes you so sure that I did it?” he asked. “I saw you, I saw people begging for their lives just before you killed them.” she recalled, “I saw you standing over their dead bodies.” He pushed her back with very little effort, but before she could charge at him again, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a gun. He tossed it to her and she caught it, the cold metal felt heavy in her small hands. “If you are so certain that I’m the one who did it,” he said, “then let the punishment fit the crime.” Marinette looked down at the gun in her hands, she knew exactly what he was asking her to do. She took aim with the gun, her hands shook as she pointed it at the Red Hood. Her eyes were wide, her hands were shaking, she tried to steel herself. She tried to ignore the voice in her head telling her that something wasn’t right. It couldn’t be this easy, there had to be a catch, a struggle, something. She brought her other hand to the gun, trying to hold it steady. She hoped he couldn’t hear her heart hammering in her chest, she tried not to think about how frightened or nervous she was at that moment. Meanwhile the Red Hood remained calm, beckoning her to shoot him. “Come on I’m right, here, need me to draw a bullseye?” he taunted. Marinette squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the trigger, she heard a loud BANG, followed by silence. She slowly cracked open an eye to see her target. “You missed.” Red Hood remarked. Marinette tried to make another shot, but the gun went CLICK, it was empty. She looked down at the empty gun in her hand, before glaring up at the Red Hood.

“Look kid, you’re after the wrong guy. I’m not the one who killed your parents.” he explained.

Marinette eyed him suspiciously “More lies.” she scoffed as she glared at him.

“Fine, but the camera doesn't lie,” he walked over to the laptop on his desk and pushed a button. A projector screen appeared and began playing footage from a camera during that fateful shootout. Red Hood continued typing away, until he found the right camera to see the events unfold. “There, camera 5.” he finished typing and turned to watch the footage with her.

Marinette stared at the footage, her eyes widening in shock. She saw their final moments and it made her heart ache. She watched them go looking for her while she was helping other people as Ladybug. She wondered if she had left those people to die in Park Row, would her parents still be alive and well? She watched her parents run into some mobster with a gun, he tried to mug them. Her father tried using his large size to threaten the mobster, but he had a gun and her father didn't. Tom Dupain was then shot in the head, Sabine held his dead body begging for the mobster to spare her.

Upon hearing her mother’s cries of mercy, Marinette dropped the gun and fell to her knees. Her hands were balled into fists, trying to latch onto the carpeted floor beneath her. There were tears dripping down to her cheeks and clouding her vision. Even so, she could not bring herself to look away, she had to know who this man was. The man then shot Sabine in the head. He ran away, just as the Red Hood showed up on camera to inspect the unfortunate couple who walked past Park Row.

Marinette wailed as the video footage ended, “No more, please no more,” she cried. “<Mom, Dad, I’m so sorry.>” she cried to herself in French.

Jason watched the girl cry her heart out after watching her parents get murdered. He couldn’t blame her, no one could. He sat on his desk, as she continued crying. He brought up zoomed camera footage and a mugshot up on screen. Once he was done he stepped in front of her.

The Red Hood standing right in front of Marinette was enough to stop her from crying, she looked up. “You want the man who killed your parents?” he asked. Marinette could only nod. “Luca Angelo, known associate of the Falcone Crime Family.” he stepped aside and pointed to the mugshot. “Last spotted in the Falcone Slaughterhouse.”

“You want him? We’ll go together at sunrise.” he told her. Marinette stood up and nodded, wiping her tears on her sleeve. “All right Suzie’ll bring you back to your room, they’ll pick you up again later.” Marinette then left the room, escorted by Suzie Su.

Jason looked over at his window viewing the Gotham Skyline. “I know you’re there Batman, come on in, it's unlocked.” Batman emerged from the shadows.

"Isn't she the French girl that was in GCPD a few weeks ago?" Asked Batman, staring straight at Jason.

"Yup" said Red Hood, "Sent back to Paris, if I remember correctly. Came back to Gotham thinking I was the one to kill her parents." Red Hood shrugged and sat on his chair, feet resting on his desk.

“She could have killed you.” Batman pointed out. “It’s nice to know you care, Bruce.” Jason said sarcastically, “You saw what happened there, she couldn’t even get a scratch on me.” he explained. “Not without her powers anyway,” he thought. “She could have killed me...just like how I could have killed the Penguin.” Jason told him. Batman sighed, remembering how Jason explained that the Penguin didn’t really die the night that he shot him. One of these days, Jason was going to give him a heart attack with all the elaborate stunts that he pulled.

"Why are you two going to the Falcone Slaughterhouse?" Batman asked, as Jason poured himself a drink.

"Closure." Jason told him, "You and Dick should know how important closure is when you lose your parents."

"Luca Angelo is dead." Batman stated, "That gang war was unsanctioned by the Falcones, they killed him to appease you and the Maronis."

"You're right, but she'll need to learn that herself.” Jason nodded in agreement, taking a sip of his drink. “At that moment she’ll have to make a choice, whether or not she wants to find peace or let her vengeance spiral out of control?” “That’s quite a risk to take,” Batman pointed out, “what makes you so sure she won’t choose the latter?” His eyes fell on the helmet that lay discarded on the floor. “Call it a calculated risk,” he said “sometimes you just have to give people a chance.” Batman narrowed his eyes, Jason looked back at him over the rim of his glass as he took another sip.

"Fine," Batman relented. "but I'll be there to watch you two." “Say hi to Yo-Yo Girl for me, next time you see her.” Jason said nonchalantly, “She was a huge help getting people to safety that night.” “Yo-Yo Girl?” Batman asked, Jason looked up and cocked an eyebrow. “Sorry, thought she was one of yours,” he said, before finishing the last of his drink. Batman decided not to ask anything more about it, before he crept back into the shadows and vanished. That morning, Marinette opened the Miracle box and took out Tikki’s earrings. Tikki gave her a sad look, “Are you sure about this, Marinette?” she asked in a soft voice. “I saw the man who really killed my parents,” Marinette told her, “if I let him walk free, all this would have been for nothing.” Tikki sighed but had no choice but to comply. “Spots on” she said, she transformed into Ladybug, ready to face the real culprit. When she stepped out onto the rooftop, Red Hood was waiting for her. He turned to see the Yo-Yo Girl who was getting civilians to safety that night, it explained how she managed to avoid meeting her parents’ fate that night. Still, this should be interesting. “So you got a name or is it really just ‘Yo-Yo Girl’?” he asked. “Ladybug,” she told him, “let's get this over with.” she said. Red Hood grappled away and Ladybug followed with a very creative use of her yo-yo.

Later, Red Hood and Ladybug snuck into Falcone Slaughterhouse. The pungent smell of blood gave Ladybug the sinking feeling that livestock wasn’t the only meat that was cut up here. They quietly knocked out the guards as they made their way in. Red Hood pointed to the door with a sign above the said "Foreman". He then kicked the door down, and they quickly subdued the two guards in the room.

"What the fuck?!" cried the foreman as Ladybug ran up and bashed his head with an ashtray.

She wrapped the string of her yo-yo around the foreman's neck. "Where is Luca Angelo?!" she yelled.

"Rat-faced Luca? Motherfucker's already minced meat by now!" the foreman laughed.

"W-what?" Ladybug stuttered, “No, you’re lying!” she yelled. This had to be a trick, he was probably hiding somewhere, relishing in the memory of making her parents feel helpless. She would not be so easily defeated.

"Are ya deaf? He's dead." The foreman drew a gun from his pocket and pointed it at Ladybug. A shuriken then hit the gun, knocking it away from his hand.

Ladybug tightened her grip on the wire. As she was strangling the man her hands shook as rage consumed her. The man gasped and struggled for air, but she held it tight. “Please” he croaked, “have mercy.”

“Why should I show you any? My parents were shown none!” Ladybug growled, baring her teeth. She pulled the string tighter, as if she was garroting the man. She pictured how her parents had suffered, her mother’s cries for mercy echoed in her mind.

“Please...I..have..a..daughter.” The foreman barely managed to speak, he tried to paw at the wire with his hands but it wouldn’t budge. Ladybug paused, she looked at her reflection in the window. She had seen what she had become.

Shame and guilt filled her as the man became limp. She let go of her yo-yo, and released the man. She brought her hands to her mouth as she stumbled back in fear and guilt. What would Tikki, Alya and her parents feel if they knew she had blood on her hands? Her breathing became more rapid as panic set in.

Red Hood calmly walked over, placed two fingers on his neck. “He ain’t dead.” he commented. Ladybug ran, tears streaking down her cheeks. Red Hood didn’t follow, he knew she needed time alone to think. He hoped what she saw was enough to give her closure. He tried to be optimistic that Ladybug would not walk the path of vengeance, but he wasn’t known for his optimism. Roy would have known what to say to her, but thinking of Roy at all made his heart sink.

Ladybug ran, she had no clue where she was or where she was going, she just needed to be alone. She didn’t know how long or how far she had traveled, she just found a secluded rooftop. “Spots off” she muttered, Tikki didn’t say a word as she looked up at her. They sat on the edge of the roof, watching Gotham at night. They both sat in absolute silence, as Marinette came to terms with the tempest of thoughts, guilt and anger that stirred in her mind. She wondered if she could bring herself to use the Ladybug Miraculous again? If she could trust herself not to lash out at innocent people? A part of her began to question if she was even fit to be Guardian of the Miraculous?

“I almost killed an innocent man,” Marinette croaked, tears welled up in her eyes. “I don't know what to do Tikki, the man who killed Maman and Papa is already dead. It still hurts.” she cried harder.

Tikkie floated in front of Marinette’s face. Marinette didn’t even try to look at her through the sheen of tears in her eyes, “Marinette, I know, everyone needs time to grieve and move on.” Tikki told her, trying her best to comfort her.

“How, how can I move on? What should I do now? Go to Shanghai and live there?” Marinette asked.

“Maybe I can help,” came a voice from behind. Tikki zoomed straight to Marinette’s pocket and hid in there. The figure walked up to her and took a seat beside her on the edge of the roof.

The man wore a leather jacket, looked like he was a few years older than her, and he held a takeaway bag with him. She was about to ask who he was until she recognised that distinctive white streak of hair. Her eyes widened as he handed her the bag.

“Go on, dig in,” he said, pushing the bag towards her. She apprehensively took the bag from him until the scent of freshly baked bread hit her nose. “I had a friend make those for you, he’s an amazing chef and baker.” he told her, “Don’t eat his waffles though, they taste like paste.”

Marinette gave a small chuckle at his joke, “Thank you” she quietly said. She opened and tearfully ate the baked goods. They were just as good as her father’s baking.

“There’s not much left for you in Paris, and I know you don’t want to go to Shanghai. Why don’t you stay here in Gotham?” He asked.

Marinette paused to think, she had no plans on what to do after she had her revenge. She had just spiraled into obsession. He was right, she had nothing left in Paris, and Shanghai would be a struggle to start all over.

“I know you’re underage, why don’t I be your Guardian until you’re 18?” He suggested, “Then you can swing away and do whatever you want.” Jason thought she could do a lot worse for a Guardian, besides, Batman and Catwoman weren’t the only ones who were allowed to take orphans under their wing.

Marinette stayed quiet, thinking of her options. It was either Shanghai or Gotham. After a few minutes of contemplation, she nodded her head.

“Name’s Jason, Jason Todd.” He held out his hand.

Marinette shook his hand, “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, but I guess you already knew that.”

“You don't have to call me ‘Daddy’ unless you want to,” Jason Joked. Marinette wrinkled her nose and playfully shoved him away. For the first time since her parents died, she actually smiled. “I’m already a Guardian myself” she said, “but I always wanted an older brother.” “I have one, trust me it’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said. They sat in silence for a long moment, “so what’s the story with you and Ladybug?” he asked. “I helped one old guy across the street, and he decided that was a good enough reason to make me a superhero.” she explained, “I had to fight against a villain who was using people’s negative emotions to control them.” “Well, good thing he hasn’t found his way here, plenty of those going around in a city like this.” he said, trying to make her feel better. “How about you?” she asked, “Were you always this big bad crime lord?” She said the last part as if it was merely a facade or the stuff of legend. “My dad was sent to jail when I was a kid, my mom didn’t last that long after that,” he told her, “so I spent a few years living on the streets of Gotham.” “Was it always like this?” she asked, her childhood in Paris was already looking rosier by comparison. “Gotham? Almost certainly.” Jason told her, “When I was 13, I thought I’d be joining my old man in prison sooner or later, before I met the Bat himself.” Marinette’s eyes widened, she remembered hearing Alya gush about Batman and his various sidekicks over the years. “I thought he’d just beat me up for trying to steal the wheels off of the Batmobile, instead he gave me a hot meal and a place to call home.” he told her. “You’re looking at the second Robin,” he said. Judging by the sad smile he had on his face, Marinette could tell this story didn’t have a happy ending. “So, what happened?” she asked cautiously, he took a deep breath as he tried to find the words. On the one hand, the last thing he wanted, the last thing anyone needed, was this girl making the same stupid mistakes that he did. On the other hand, she had been through enough, it would have to be a story for another time. “That’s a story for another day,” he decided “but I promise you, one day I’ll tell it.” Marinette looked down at the city streets before her, it was a far cry from Paris, but maybe one day she would come to see it as home. Batman watched the two of them from a distance and smiled slightly. Maybe this girl would keep Jason from going too far down the treacherous path he was on, much like Tim had done all those years ago after he lost Jason. Only time will tell if that proved to be true, but for now he was pleased to see the two of them getting along. He grappled away, leaving the two of them to talk, laugh and joke with each other.

#jasonettejuly2021 #jasonette #ml x dc #maribat

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red-winters · 2 years

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Non-Spoiler first impressions/stream of consciousness on The Batman 2022 (mostly just me gushing about Gotham City, tbh)

*In Which I Vaguely Allude to Some Things. It’s technically non-spoiler, but like in a very incoherent way. with quite a bit of hinting. maybe too much hinting. read at your own risk.

WOW okay they REALLY got Gotham right. Gotham City is as much a character as the Batman or his rogue’s gallery, and they got her right. There were some parts where I went ‘heh that’s Chicago’, but for the most part, it’s Gotham. With all the gothic architecture. Yes.

HOLY WAYNE-KANE FAMILY ORIGIN STORY BATMAN

thats all i’m saying on that front. don’t look up spoilers. don’t do it. just go to the theater and experience it. Enjoy the plot twist.

Andy Serkis as Alfred Pennyworth is a weird choice, but I think he nailed it. It’s just that….I can’t seem to see him as anything BUT Andy Serkis. That’s probably a me problem, I guess?

In addition to Gotham as a character in it’s own right—Gotham perfectly illustrating how and why Batman is needed there and why the Batman is definitely a product of the city and why no other hero outside the Batman and his family can survive there and just. Gothamites.

it’s a generational problem, definitely. possibly something in the water.

the FALCONES. THE MARONI’S. PENGUIN.

SELINA??? KYLE????

She’s perfect.

Commissioner Gordon’s actor was GREAT. He inhabits the character the same way Zoe Kravitz is Selina Kyle. and I love how they portrayed him. he’s not stuck perpetually on Bat-signal duty, eternally haunting rainy rooftops to be Batman’s quest giver. He makes me believe Gordon is a light in this city, despite all the corruption around him. He walks the walk. and the audience isn’t just told how good he is, we get to see it.

BATMAN IS A DETECTIVE HELL YEAH

wow Selina Kyle backstory my beloved

oh my gosh this is the perfect Gotham for the Court of Owls. I can really believe it when i see THIS Gotham. Not just the corruption and the existing criminal element, but like. the ARCHITECTURE. compared to the Batman movies from a couple years ago (with Christian Bale), which had a super slick and modern and, y’know, *cough*Chicago-with-a-color-filter*cough* kind of look, THIS city really looks like it could give birth to the Batman, Penguin, the Riddler, Joker, Poison Ivy, Killer Croc, and the rest of the gang. if you told me there was a man eating crocodile-mutant man in the sewers of THIS Gotham? I would believe you. You tell me the Court of Owls and their creepy undead Talons haunt the buildings of this city? I’d believe you!!!

the city really just has that atmosphere. like some of the criminal element in Gotham (like in the beginning of the movie), i too would be paranoid about shadows when living in a modern city that also somehow manages to look like Dracula’s playground

the Riddler. man. what the hell. they made him so scary. I’m so glad they didn’t use the joker??? but.

dang. kudos to the actor for consistently activating my CRINGE and FIGHT response simultaneously

every. time.

i would like to punch the riddler, but like. never be within 20 ft of the guy. yuck.

this Bruce’s bat suit. he really does look very rodent-like when flying

cryptid

raccoon. bat raccoon.

if we ever get a robin, specifically Dick Grayson, this man won’t know what hit him

well-adjusted? well-groomed? public image? Social interaction outside of the mask? business meetings? Bruce Wayne: “Whomst???”

he does not care. at all.

wherever Lucius Fox is, he deserves many fruit baskets. possibly an all-expenses paid vacation to the Bahamas. poor man.

this bruce has also probably never heard of a haircut either.

i feel for you Alfred

yes this is very much the Bruce Wayne we should’ve expected.

for when this takes place in his timeline, yes, this Bruce wayne makes sense

man if he’s already met Talia, i gotta wonder what she saw in him

a mess of man

he’s perfect as Bruce Wayne as Batman

if they go ahead and show him eventually setting up the “Brucie” persona moving forward, it’s gonna be priceless

this is The Batman

he’s still early on in his career

but he’s definitely got the spirit 👍

[THE ONLY OUTRIGHT SPOILER BELOW]

oh my gosh i thought it was gonna be joker free. i stand corrected.

it’s not mark hamill’s voice. or his laugh. the joker….is also young??? this is weird. unsettling. i am reserving judgement.

….but it IS weird.

#blogchatter

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river-bottom-nightmare · 3 years

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Nightwing 83 Review

guess who isn't weeks late this time. my opinion of the series is going up a little bit. it's still not great, but i'm not actively put off by it anymore the way i was after 81. not going to tag as spoilers, but be warned that they are under the cut

i’m sure you all are well aware of this but now, but dear god i love bruno redondo’s art. like, an unhealthy amount. the pink and blue is getting to be a theme with either him or just this run, but i am definitely enjoying it. the movement in this cover is clearly obvious, but well done. you recoznize right off the bat that the cover was drawn to drag your eyes down the page until you get to the bottom, but you enjoy the whole ride there.

also, redondo’s way of drawing a character in stages of action so we can see just how much they’re doing in a split second of movement is quickly becoming something i like to see drawn with dick, and any other character that has that sort of ease of movement and body sense, like cass or sin or maybe a super.

and he’s in action the entire time! there’s shot drawn just to show off a shirtless comic book character, the way nightwing is so often subjected to. he’s shirtless because he’s changing his clothes, and that’s all we see, no more and no less. very practical, very well done. i like it.

he looks so cute right here oh my god. the little squint, the hair curls. it’s adorable.

but also like. unless melinda has specifically outfitted the door spyhole so that the person on the other side can’t see dick looking through it (and in all honesty she might have) then everyone on the other side can see dick looking through that door.

bringing your attention back to the “i can’t see melinda’s fbi file oh no!! it’s redacted!! whatever can we do!!” stupidity. redacted files are child’s play for oracle, and definitely doable for both dick and bruce. so that’s bullshit.

now, melinda apparently grew up with the maroni family, then took down part of the family from the inside. the maroni family is a large and notable presence in gotham, one that bruce pays a respectable amount of attention to. he definitely would have grown suspicious when two members of the maroni family were taken down, and with some investigation, he would have discovered melinda’s plan. and it should go without saying that the majority of things you see batman doing? dick can do it too.

it’s not so much that i don’t like how clever the villains/antiheroes are getting. i don’t like how dc heroes are increasingly written as less intelligent. they seem to be relying on pure fighting skills or luck, which may be the case for a couple heroes, but has never been the case for most of dc’s big name heroes, the bat family included. it’s irritating to me to see this sort of stuff pop up as a major plot point when i know that, if dick or bruce had been written with the amount of skill and power that they canonically possess, this entire mess would have been sorted out years ago.

unrelated but dick and melinda have the same hair

this may just be me, but i was always under the impression that dick doesn’t really have a “double life???”

yes, he’s talented enough to create enough differences between robin/nightwing and dick grayson’s mannerisms, way of movement, voices, and speech patterns so that it’s very difficult to put the two together.

but nightwing has never been separate from dick grayson, not the way bruce and batman is. he’s always leaned more towards clark in that aspect: his hero persona is an exaggerated, stately, larger-than-life version of who he really is. there’s no second persona, no real “dick grayson identity” and “nightwing identity.” they’re the same person with the same goals, ideas, and skills. one just pretends to abide by the law, and one gives up pretense of that.

oh good thank god. if he’d trusted her right off the bat (hehe. bat.) i would have slapped him upside the head. at least he’s still got instincts.

gosh the colouring on this is cool. the red has enough purple and pink tones to it that it doesn’t abruptly ruin the tone of the artwork. but it’s definitely glaring enough to take the reader outside of this personal moment they had slipped into between dick and melinda, to put them back in the present where they’re reminded that oh yea there are people hunting dick down.

the next panel keeps this up too, in a less severe way. melinda’s bodyguard shows up (i forgot her name sorry :[ ) and subtly places us in the middle of an action scene rather than a private, personal scene.

laughing so fucking hard have our little vigilantes grown so accustomed to breaking into places that it doesn’t even register as a crime anymore??? tim coming in through the fire escape to pick bernard up for their date and being very much confused as to why bernard is freaking out.

i really like melinda’s shirt and now despite all the work i have to do and the fucking conference i have to host on monday i want to spend hours scrolling through clothing shops online trying to find this shirt. the mock neck/neckline is so cool i want it

so roland just assumes that a very dangerous vigilante who is highly talented in combat and a very dangerous bodyguard who is also highly talented in combat had a fight that ended with this very dangerous bodyguard being tied up and she looks completely fine? roland just assumes that her having no visible wounds or bruises means that they got into a fight and she lost that easily? uh. aight then

dick what are you doing. legitimately what the fuck are you doing. why are you posing oh my god. you are injured and tired and in absolutely no position to go hand to hand with one of main enemies. jesus christ run away or head to lower ground or something. don’t just stand around letting the floodlights show exactly where you are.

i don’t understand what he’s trying to do here??? blockbuster fully bought the story that dick fought them both, won, tried to get info out of them and failed, then hightailed it out of there. he didn’t have to draw roland out for a fight.

but it does look cool. the way the light just highlights his silhouette and the blue parts of his costume does look badass. he does get style points in my book for this.

w h a t d i d i f u c k i n g t e l l y o u , d i c k ?

very classic superhero line and it does sound like something dick would say in a fit of righteous rage but also it makes me laugh so hard because all vigilantes think they’re so powerful that the law doesn’t apply to them. dick vigilantism is illegal. you’re acting above the law and pretending it doesn’t apply to you. hypocritical much?

it happens so often in superhero movies, tv shows, comics, whatever and it makes me giggle every damn time.

pretty decent comeback but before i start seeing people writing blockbuster as a thug i’m going to remind you that he made a deal with a demon for genius level intellect. if this turns into another bane situation i’m going to be a little miffed. he’s a smart man, which makes him a dangerous and infinitely more interesting enemy for nightwing.

this is so horribly in character i want to scream. (or. at least. it lines up with one of the versions of nightwing i have in my head.) he’s running right towards the bullets, miraculously doesn’t get shot, while making a sort-of pun. i hate this so much. i love him.

this is cool. this art is really really cool.

he leaped from a building right towards a helicopter that’s actively shooting at him, but none of the bullets are touching him. none of the corruption of the city can touch him no matter how hard it tries, because he’s too good to be corrupted. Comic Book Logic Can Be Good Sometimes Actually.

batman’s belt what??? swiss army knife who?? sorry, i only know nightwing’s bright blue escrima.

this is one of my favourite things about heroes with exceptional abilities, even more so if the hero is human. the things they can do are so far beyond the realm of normal human abilities that it’s equal parts terrifying and awe-inspiring every time they act.

he just used modified grappling wires to hook to the door of a moving helicopter, swung around the helicopter safely without hitting the blades, gained exactly the right momentum to swing upward again right through the opening of helicopter, then fought and tied up the men before they had any idea what was happening. that’s near impossible to do.

it’s stuff like this where i just sort of sigh in contentment. no matter how many times they leave out dick’s detective skills or conveniently forget that he’s actually a master planner and team leader and make him out to be this forgetful dude who makes everything up on the fly because of his “circus roots,” at least they won’t ever take away dick’s sheer physical ability honed to perfection.

the art, too! in a few panels, dick’s drawn a little lightened or blurred. he’s moving so quickly and fighting so efficiently that he can barely be seen by the enemy. he’s got perfect form all the way through.

and THIS!

there was a helicopter that had five men shooting at him with what looks like machine guns. most people would be dead. some would run away, and be nimble enough to survive without fatal hits. there are very few people, even in fucking comic books, who can look at that hopeless situation and turn it around so quickly and thoroughly that he benefits from it instead.

i just. love nightwing.

it was funny the first time as a comic reader aware of the meme. it’s really not anymore. why the hell would you, in universe, be wearing a shirt that has a picture of your boyfriend being hit in the face by his father.

okay that was funny.

look at lil bitewing, so concerned for her human!!! love her sm.

also a question as to the timeline of things. is nightwing happening before or after urban legends?

i was so distracted by dick wearing a robe and briefs and nothing else that i didn’t register the second part until later. he slept for two days?? babs, baby, he recently had a very traumatic brain injury. why do you sound so nonchalant?

@TIM X COFFEE SHIPPERS GET FUCCCCKKKKEEDDDDD

ngl i totally forgot about that dude oops

this comic is giving so many reaction pictures. you know how you always use the worst possible picture of your friend for your friend’s contact picture? i’m just getting so many of these.

leslie!!! the titans!!! lucius!!! dick going to go see old friends!!!! the titans!!! this part made me so irrationally happy it really did. gar being the one to just. offer dick solutions with open arms. this was the best

i wish i could just copy and paste this entire scene, but that would take up way too much space, so i’m just going to talk about it instead.

you gave me my name, nightwing, and you gave me some of the best advice i’ve received in my life: beautiful little throwback to nightwing’s origin. you’d be surprised at the amount of people who don’t know where the name came from, or who don’t know how much clark means to dick. and the fact that dick still looks up to clark as a hero, recognizes that clark isn’t always perfect and yet continues to hold him in such high esteem, and still looks back on advice that clark gave him fondly just warmed my heart so much.

for a man who has fearlessly stood up to darkseid, bruce will do a lot to avoid a conversation: “grrr. i’m the BATMAN. i’m so DARK and MYSTERIOUS. nobody knows the true me. no one ever will. i will be LONELY for the rest of my CURSED LIFE. such is the price of a hero. ignore my farmer himbo husband in the background”

but i don’t think there’s anything heroic about being a billionaire: another nod to how much dick follows clark’s example rather than bruce. yes, this was a very poignant and important criticism, and i think it’s wonderful that this was published in a pretty popular comic book. but the thing is, there is a way to be a heroic billionaire, but only in fictional universes. the way bruce, ollie, t’challa only ever use their wealth to help people. they donate massive amounts of money to charities that they themselves create so they know exactly how the money is being used. they hire people who aren’t likely to get jobs anywhere else and pay them much more than what a base living wage is. they use their power to help push progressive laws and social change. they are helping.

dick doesn’t fully see it that way. he spent more than half his childhood the son of a billionaire, but still believes that one could be more heroic when one doesn’t have obscene amounts of wealth. whose example do you think he followed to come to that conclusion?

superman looked up to alfred pennyworth?: i mean yea alfred may have been a wildly irresponsible guardian and one hell of an enabler but goddamn if he didn’t love his kid.

you don’t need my input. you’ve thought it all through: ooooooh this line made me grin. for so long, dick’s treated clark as a mentor and a guiding figure. he’s still seen as a kid, an up and coming, snot-nosed titan with dreams of a better world. clark still thinks of him as a kid, despite watching him grow up. but this little line was something i think dick needed sorely to hear. he doesn’t need anyone’s guiding hand on his shoulder, he doesn’t need to ask for permission. he doesn’t need clark to support him the way he did when he was a teenager. he’s all grown up now, and he doesn’t need clark’s help. i imagine it was a bit of a surprise for dick to hear that.

honestly, i couldn’t think of a better role model: ohhh but it doesn’t stop there. clark just straight up turns the tables on dick. imagine you’re dick, and you’ve looked up to this one hero your entire life, and then one day he turns to you and says that he thinks you’re so kind and smart and worthy of a person that he wants you to mentor his son!? goes to show just how much clark trusts dick.

i swear to god dick probably cries every time he hears clark compliment him because bruce is so rare and sparing with his praise that clark giving him the slightest hint of approval is just a dopamine rush.

also, now deathstroke and superman have both asked nightwing to mentor their kids. the juxtaposition is fuckin hysterical. imagine either of their reactions when they realize what kind of company they’re with

lets talk colours for a second, because i absolutely adore how classic colour tropes have been subverted in this comic, and in this general run really.

warm tones have usually (usually, not always) been associated with light and comfort and friendship and,,,,,well,,,warmth. whereas cool tones are usually used to unsettle, or make a scene seem colder and put the reader on edge. this varies if a comic only uses cool tones, or only uses warm tones, but if a comic uses both, this is generally well-used.

that isn’t the case in this run.

dark red, orange, and other warm tones have been used to symbolize danger, action, attacks. hot pink isn’t usually included in this colour group, but it’s definitely part of it in this case. in contrast, scenes that have cool colours give us the impression of slipping into a comfortable, calm scene with babs, tim, the titans, and other allies. even the beginning scene with superman has this blue, but then it transitions into something more golden coloured. dawn broke over dick, as his new idea came to light, and that was reflected in the art (and the sunrise setting.)

have there ever been times when dick’s longed for the comfort of his mask because he didn’t feel confident as dick grayson? i can’t think of any. i may be wrong, but this struck me as pretty ooc.

am i just??? gay and reading this all wrong??

cause i was under the impression that when someone says they are grateful for your friendship you don’t immediately kiss them.

or is this like. normal straight mating rituals.

i mean he’s smiling afterward but still babs aren’t you supposed to at least make sure it’s okay first? you guys broke up a while back after you said something along the lines of “i want to be coworkers with you and nothing more because i don’t trust you or feel comfortable around you as a civilian anymore.” like lmao after you say something like that to someone i would assume that you don’t have the permission to just kiss them whenever you want.

show of hands who else got real sad when they realized dick was talking about himself in this.

sure, he could be referencing the things he’s seen blockbuster pull, and the children on the streets. but “i’ve seen money used for enforcement,” sounds a little too close to dick’s entire life being destroyed by one man threatening the circus to pay protection money for me to completely ignore. and “i’ve seen the poorest and most vulnerable blamed and punished rather than assisted” becomes a lot worse when you remember dick was thrown in juvie for a couple months until bruce was able to obtain legal guardianship, and in there, not a authority figure believed him when he told them his parents were murdered.

he’s lived this before.

a. mother. fucking. typo.

fucking why

i mean i’ve stated my distaste for the batfamily groupchat before but like. this is reaching new levels of ridiculousness. jason sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. tim sounds like he was written by a fanfic writer. steph sounds like she was written by someone who doesn’t know the first thing about steph and wanted to include her for “family points!!!!!” damian’s supposed to be completely off the grid, and everyone’s searching for him. i do love the way cass texts tho.

well god fuck now i’m crying

dick got a phone call, a sorry, and a thank you out of bruce. i feel so much secondhand happiness for him, if that’s a thing. we’ll just ignore the way bruce looks ugly af and focus on the good parts okay?

and again with the colour symbolism here!

i’m either going to love this or hate this. who knows, we’ll see.

something something hearts something something pink is an evil colour something something. i need to know more about this guy but there’s definitely symbolism there.

is it just me or does this dude look like the backstabbing traitorous absolutely motherfucking piece of shit villain that killed tadashi hamada in big hero 6?

taggggg list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @bikoncon @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds @comics-observer @buticaaba

#river thinks too hard #nightwing #dick grayson #nightwing 83 #dc #nightwing review #nightwing meta #dick grayson review #dick grayson meta #nightwing 83 review #nightwing 83 meta #dc review #dc meta

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stardancerluv · 3 years

Text

Love at The Black Mask Club

Summary: Roman grows annoyed and craves you in the middle of a busy night.

Note/Warning: I used a shot from Moulin Rouge, used Eric Roberts as Falcone instead Maronie, and shots of Ewan from Guys and Dolla. Dom!Daddy!Kink, possessiveness, wiling gagging, fingering female receiving, semi-public sex, also this is like 4 months into their relationship.

Roman pulled on his sleeve, the cufflink twinkled as his annoyance grew. Penguin was beginning to ramble. Falcone looked at him before pulling on his cigar.

He took a sip from his scotch. He let his eyes wander around the club. There was a blur of people dancing in front of the stage. He didn’t spot you. Where the fuck had you gone, he mused.

“So Roman, can I rent the VIP lounge Sunday?”

“Huh?”

“He’s looking for his girl.” Whispered Falcone to Penguin who sat near him.

“What was that?” snapped Roman.

Falcone shook his head. “Nothing of importance.”

Penquin’s beak twitched, he squawked mirth shining in his small black eyes. He readjusted his monocle. “I asked can I rent the VIP lounge on Sunday?”

“You won’t be bringing in a buffet of raw fish will you?” Roman asked dryly.

Falcone coughed, sounding more like a choke. “Roman come on, he didn’t really do that, did he?”

Roman rose an eyebrow, “You ask him.”

Penguin shifted. “I knew me and my crew would get hungry.”

Falcone made a disgusted face.

Roman rolled his eyes. “Are we done?”

No sooner did he ask than when the screechy voice he hated more than Penguin’s fishy scent called his name and she was across his lap, with a lazy arm around this throat and a clammy hand on his cheek. “Romy! I’ve missed you!”

He narrowed his eyes at her, he was in no mood. “Get the fuck off me.” He breathed. His anger bubbling in him.

“What? You’re not happy to see me? No kiss?” She drew close, her sickly sweet perfume began to fill his nose.

He pushed her off and stood up. Harley stumbled, but easily found her footing. Quickly, she was smiling and clinging to Joker’s side who had just walked up.

Falcone reached for him. “Calm down Sionis, she is only playing.”

He turned and looked at him.

Falcone raised his hand. “All right, she went too far.”

Joker’s cackle filled the still air that fell over the club. “I see my girl is getting herself in trouble.” He threw his head back and chuckled.

Roman looked over the club. People had stopped dancing and were gaping at the two of you. A huge smile spread across his face. “It’s not a party without a little drama, am I right?” He glanced around, he clapped his hands. “Come on! Turn it up! Shots on the house!” Cheers soon bounced off the walls competing with the music. The dancing and idle chatter started up once again.

He took a step toward the clown duo. He looked right into those crazy eyes, “Keep an eye on her. She’s in my club.” Turning towards the table, he pointed at Penguin. “Don’t bring any damn fish and you can rent the lounge.”

Penguin squawked. “Thank you.”

Falcone shook his head as he pulled on his cigar again.

Roman turned and went to finally go and find you.

*****

You had heard the cut in the music. Instantly, you knew someone had angered Roman. Probably fucking Harley. You quickly dipped into the ladies room. You had been dancing while he had a meeting. You made a silly face as you eyed your reflection. You ran your fingers through your hair, you still looked good.

*****

Gloved fingers wrapped around your wrist and pulled you against a solid warm frame. You smiled, you knew it could only be one person. “I was just looking for you.” You said brightly.

“I found you first.” Before pulling you close, he glanced at his watch. “I need you.”

“I’m-” He cut your words as he kissed you. It was an angry, hungry kiss. It made your heart race and excitement knot deep inside you.

“Follow me.” He rasped. You nodded and he practically dragged you.

“Of course.”

He tore open the door to one of the exclusive VIP rooms. The two of you nearly crashed into one of his event planners as he continued into the room further.

“Did you not want me to book this room?” Their voice shook.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Roman finally looked at them. He shook his head. “I’m just looking it over.”

The man rocked on his heels. “Oh good.” He gave a weak smile.

“Why are you lingering? Go and get the other room ready!” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

“Right! Yes!” The man hurried out.

The door whispered close behind him.

Roman turned to look at you, it made you shiver. He walked over to where you had leaned against the gold half wall. “Damn you look good tonight.”

You don’t know why, but you could not stop yourself but shimmy a little as he came up to stand behind you.

“Yes. You do.” His voice rasped in your ear after he pulled you roughly up against him. You could feel him.

“Thank you, daddy.” Your voice shook with excitement as you grew breathless. You watched as he pulled off a glove and stuffed it into his pocket.

He caressed your thigh. “Tell me baby.” His hand cupped you, pulling you closer to him. A soft sound came from you as you felt even more of him through his slacks. “Who do you belong to? Who does this belong to?” You grew wetter as you felt him squeeze harder.

“You daddy. I belong to you.” You whimpered as his fingers slipped under your panties and he cupped you once again.

“That’s right baby.” His breath was hot on your throat. “So good and wet for me.” He began to rub you. You swallowed hard, as your breath shallowed.

“Oh daddy.” You whimpered. “Please.”

He made a deep sound as you felt his lips on your throat. “Please what, baby?” You shook as you felt him slip two fingers in.

“Daddy.” You whimpered and now was not the time to pout as you felt his fingers withdraw.

He held you close. “Clean daddy’s fingers off. Daddy has to go out there soon.” He offered you his fingers.

“Of course, daddy.” You licked and sucked at his fingers, the act itself made you wetter. You loved when he reminded you who owned you.

“You are such a good baby.” He took his hand back and turned you to face him. You watched as he slipped his glove on. “I need you.”

“What do you want me to do?” Excitement curled in your stomach over what he could want.

His mouth twitched upward. “Go and brace yourself against that column.”

You did as you were told happily, watching as he came over to you while undoing the zipper of his pants. An ache in anticipation grew between your legs.

He came over and smoothed your dress up. “Ready for me?”

“Yes.” You breathed.

You felt as he pushed your panties aside. You gripped the column and a moan poured from your lips as he slid right into you. “That’s my baby. Letting her daddy take her whenever he needs you.”

All you could do was moan as he began moving in and out of you. A rhythm formed between you and him, he held onto your hips.

Suddenly the doors open and the murmur of excited voices filled the room. You glanced back at Roman, fear hit your stomach.

He looked past you and a smirk curled his lips. “Tightening in fear or excitement?” He gently teased.

“We can’t have them hear you, can we?” He reached into his pocket and took out his handkerchief. “Put it into your mouth.” You couldn’t believe this but you grew wetter as he spoke.

He thrusted harder and faster into you. You bit down and moaned around his handkerchief. You shook hard. “You better cum.” He hissed. “Or you will have to wait.” Nodding, you shook at his words.

You could feel him tremble, as he moved deeper. Shaking, you finally let yourself cum. His fingers dug in hard, making you wince as he held you tightly against him. You felt as he came hard in you.

Moments later you were handing him his handkerchief. He smiled at you as he tucked it back into his suit jacket. You smoothed your dress.

“I plan expanding this back area and maybe even a place for a DJ.” He said.

Your brow furrowed but then you realized. “Oh, that could be very nice.” You said sweetly and took his arm.

“Ooo the great Roman Sionis has made an appearance at my party.” A very happy but very drunk looking guy appeared as you two were almost out of the room.

“Just making sure things were tip top.” He smiled broadly.

“Well thank you sir, thank you.”

“No trouble. Right baby?” He turned and smirked at you.

“Not at all. Have a good party.”

*****

Once down another hallway and around a corner. He happily pressed you to the wall. “We almost got caught.” You looked so sweetly up at him. Your cheeks still flushed and your eyes bright.

“But we didn’t.”

He chuckled.

You reached up and gently caressed his cheek. He kissed you then, he was feeling good. Now he could face the rest of the night.

“Come join me for my last two meetings?”

You smiled. “I’d love to.”

With his arm tightly around you, together you weaved through the people. You felt his hand tighten as Two-Face was there flipping his coin up and down in the air.

Zsasz came over one side. The two of you stopped. He looked you up and down.

“Talk Zsasz, Y/N can hear whatever you have to tell me.”

A flush of happiness filled you at his words.

“Two-Face is not in a good mood.”

Roman rose an eyebrow. “Is he ever?”

You giggled into your hand.

They both looked at you. You grimaced. “He was grumpy even when I designed something for him.”

Roman smiled. “See Zsasz, he was even grumpy for Y/N.”

He scratched the back of his head. “All right.”

******

“He hired you?” Roman said as Zsasz walked ahead.

You nodded. “A two tone sofa.”

“Interesting.”

“It was. It took forever for both sides to agree.”

Roman chuckled then. “I bet.”

*****

“Y/N?!” He snatched his coin mid air instead of letting it fall into his palm.

“Hi Harvey.” You said sweetly. You

“I… We…” For once, you mused, both sides were speechless.

You glanced at Roman. “I’m Roman’s girl.”

His mouth twisted before smiling. “Great.”

“Two-Face, you and I were supposed to meet later.” Roman, looked kind of annoyed. “Where is Edward?”

“Batman.”

“Oh.” Roman muttered something you could not make out. “I wanted Y/N at my side tonight.”

He shrugged. “That’s fine. She knows where my hideout is.”

Roman raised his eyebrows at you. “Well, Harvey let’s be honest.” You put a hand on your hip.

He rolled his eyes, but still smiled. “All right, I gently had you blindfolded and brought over.”

“Exactly. But if you want me to flutter off I can.”

“No, it’s ok.” He flipped his coin and then his face grew dark. His eyes narrowed at Roman.

You held your breath.

“Roman, you better treat her right. She’s not one of us.”

You could feel Roman’s body stiffen under your arm that was wrapped around him. “She’s my girl. Of course I do.” You were touched, you had not realized they could be a softie. Harvey had always been very curt and clipped when talking or negotiating with you.

“Good.” He snarled before his face relaxed.

******

Happily you sipped at your drink while the two of them discussed business. All of it was beyond you, as they talked numbers and street names.

Your heartbeat still had not recovered from having his handkerchief in your mouth when he took you in one of the VIP lounges. As you grabbed your glass to have a sip, you felt him place a gloved hand on your thigh. He glanced at you and smiled as there was a pause in the conversation between them. You placed your hand over his. Sipping your drink, a giddiness came over you as you mused about being his girl these past months; it had been some of the most exciting in your life.

@darling-i-read-it @spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @nebulastarr @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @poe-kadot26 @babydoll97-blog1 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @starwarsslytherin @professionalclown @chogisss @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @blondekel77 @saphic-stories @drarrylov3r @i-cant-hear-you16 @deadlymistress24 @yesqueenofthelight @generallj @thebeckyjolene @captainjacklynmarie @villainmade

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huilian · 4 years

Link

Steph wakes up with her hands strung up above her, every single cell in her body shouting in pain, the taste of blood on her tongue, and thinks, not again. Once was more than enough, thank you very much. She doesn’t want to do this again.

A voice that sounds suspiciously like Bruce’s tells her to catalogue her injuries, review what happened that leads to her being here, and analyze where she is, who took her, and how bad the situation is. She is tempted to ignore that voice out of spite, but another voice that sounds suspiciously like Babs’ tells her not to be stupid and just do it.

She does it. She is not foolish enough to ignore Babs, even when it is just the fragment of her mind so used to getting Babs’ advice that it starts sprouting one of her own.

Okay. Bruised, maybe cracked ribs. A ringing in her ears that is the tell-tale sign of a concussion. Cuts and bruises all over her body. A gaping slash on her thigh, but nothing life-threatening. And of course, the afore-mentioned taste of blood in her mouth and just general aching.

Okay, check-list number one, done.

Now on to check-list number two. What had happened to lead to her being strung up here? She was having a normal patrol with Tim and Damian earlier tonight. It’s even one of the better nights, because Tim and Damian’s bickering is just enough to drive her crazy but not quite enough for her to consider murder. Or ratting them out to Cass, which might be the worse fate, actually.

Hmm, okay, she did ruin that deal for one of the Maroni mob last week, and then she helped Babs a couple of days ago with one of the Bird’s cases, so it could be either one, really. But then if it’s one of them, then Tim and Damian would also be strung up here with her.

Wait. Tim and Damian.

Shit.

She remembers now. Fucking ninjas. And fucking Ra’s.

Well, that takes care of checklist number three, too. She’s probably in one of the League’s hideouts, it’s Ra’s who took her, and the situation is Bad with a capital B.

Not to mention she doesn’t know where Tim and Damian are. From what she knows of Ra’s, and she knows quite a bit from all of Tim’s complaining, he’s going to be ‘persuading’ Tim to join him again. And probably also Damian.

And she is here, strung up like a pig to slaughter, forgotten just like that. That fucking misogynistic asshole thinks that Steph is not worth the effort? He thinks that he has Steph, just like that? Well, she’s going to make sure that by the time she finishes with him, he not going to make that same mistake ever again.

Steph doesn’t bother checking her belt and gauntlets. It’s not going to be there. She’s not too worried, though. She has back-up back-up back-up lockpicking kits hidden all over her costume.

(She knows that it wasn’t really because she didn’t pick the lock fast enough. She knows that it’s the combination of him being a sadistic bastard and not having the opportunity to actually pick her cuffs. But still, Steph knows the feeling of being helpless, unable to move and defend herself. She’s not going to be caught unprepared, not ever again.)

Steph moves the fabric of her gloves around, pushing out her first, and easiest to reach, back-up lock-picking kit. Ra’s shouldn’t know about it. It’s not part of a standard Bat gear; she specifically asked for Babs to build it in to her costume.

(And if she can’t reach it, or if it’s not there? Steph isn’t too worried. She carries a minimum of three lock-picking kits on her person at all times, all hidden in different locations, and even more than that when she’s in costume. Babs had looked at her with a mixture of pity and understanding and not a small amount of regret when she asked for more compartments to hold the lock-picking kits, but she didn’t say anything. After all, Babs knows the feeling too.)

Success! Steph hides a grin-- never know if someone’s watching, after all-- as she palms the pick and starts working away on her cuffs. Ra’s thinks that she’s an easy mark? Think again, asshole. She’s not an easy target.

Not anymore.

She worked too hard to ensure that.

(Steph ignores another voice in her head that chants, thank you for sending such lovely, poorly trained children; thank you for sending such lovely, poorly trained children; thank you for sending such lovely, poorly trained children. She hasn’t been a child since she took one look at what the asshole she doesn’t want to call her father was doing and decides that she was going to ruin him. She hasn’t been a child since she painstakingly stitched her own costume and dons the purple cape out to the rooftops of Gotham. She hasn’t been a child since she died in the same costume, striving for approval from another man who used her for his own gains.

She hasn’t been poorly trained in as long either.)

Steph turns the pick one more time, and the cuff falls apart in her hand. Good. One down, one more to go.

She shakes her wrist, because working a pick from that angle is awkward as hell, and starts working on the other cuffs.

She doesn’t hear any noise during the entire time she worked away on the cuffs. Where in the compound is Ra’s keeping her? And does she not merit keeping watch over? From the sounds of it, there’s no one, not even one lowly guard, that’s watching over her. She’s just strung up here and left alone. She is almost insulted, if the fact that no one is here works in her favour.

Okay, she is still definitely insulted. Not even one guard?

Steph makes quick work of the other cuff and starts working on the lock on the door. It’s a breeze, working that door. She has two functional hands and the angle is not all weird. She finishes in record time --and really? Just a simple lock? Not even any traps? She’s still Batgirl; she deserves more effort than this-- and pushes the door open.

No guards. Like she suspected.

Steph rolls her head and shoulders, loosening it up after being strung up for probably hours. She allows herself a small smile.

Ra’s won’t know what hit him.

***

Tim presses the ropes on his wrists together, making it look like they’re still binding him. He has gotten out of them almost half an hour ago.

Ra’s is losing his touch. Honestly, Tim expected more from him. He’s almost disappointed.

He glances at Damian, and one look at the brat tells him that Damian is feeling the same way. He knows that he can just give the signal and Damian would leap out of his bounds, ready to fight their way out.

The problem is, they don’t know where Steph is.

The ninjas had grabbed them in the middle of patrol, because apparently Ra’s, in his infinite wisdom, decides that that day is the best time to persuade Tim to join him again. Well, persuade might not be the right word. Threaten, more like. Or blackmail.

He really doesn’t want to listen to this again, but he can’t risk Steph. He knows Damian feels the same way.

God, what a thought. Him and Damian feeling the same way.

Tim manages to keep listening, simply by virtue of years and years of galas, both as a Drake and a Wayne. He is just going to tune it out, because Ra’s is repeating the same thing he’s been saying to Tim the last three times he did this, when he hears a distant scream.

He glances at Damian again. Damian glances back.

Huh.

Tim looks up at the still talking Ra’s, and hides a smile. Steph has really gotten good in the time he’s gallivanting around the globe, huh?

Tim turns back to Damian, waiting for the boy to look at him so that he can tell him when to start fighting, when the door opens.

“Batgirl to the rescue, boys,” Steph says, hitting a ninja in the head with his own weapon.

“Tt,” Damian says, ropes already down at his feet. “We hardly need any rescuing, Brown.” Then, he swipes a sword from one of the ninjas guarding them and starts fighting.

Tim sighs. The brat is going to hold this against him, isn’t he?

He lets his own ropes drop, giving Ra’s a small tilt of his head, and starts fighting back too. It’s quick work, between the three of them. So quick that he wonders if Ra’s was just bored and needed entertainment.

Oh well. It’s a problem for later.

#whumptober2020 #no.1 #waking up restrained #dc #fic #no tws because i'm just getting started and there's (i think?) nothing to warn for #stephanie brown #tim drake #damian wayne #lian writes

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thirsty4theextraordinary · 4 years

Text

Everything Burns - Chapter 15

Pairing: Ledger Joker X OC

Warnings: Fire, violence, implied violence.

Word count: 2081

Chapter 15: Better Class of Criminal

By the time midday came around The Joker and Jester were ready and waiting. He had briefed her on his plan or rather as he called it, 'idea' of going to pay Harvey Dent a visit in hospital.

He had asked Scarlett to get him a nurses outfit so early that morning she had gone home to raid her closet finding one that was given to her by mistake and was far too large.

It was an odd turn her life had taken but she was rather enjoying it and she could no longer see her life any other way, the thoughts of going back to work filled her with dread, but the thought of a life without Jack was even worse.

She had agreed to go with him and a few of the 'boys' to the meeting with the mob that afternoon, to pick up the Joker's payment.

Jester prepared herself to leave as she pulled on her boots, the boys switched on the TV and something caught her ear. With one boot on and the other off she hurried over in an odd limp-y fashion and snatched the remote out of the goon's hand before turning the channel back to what it was just on.

On the TV was the usual news anchor for GCN and below him was the caption.

Later on GCN

REVEALED: BATMAN'S TRUE IDENTITY

In the upper left corner of the screen was a video link to another man.

"He's a credible source, an M&A lawyer from a leading consultancy. He says he's waited as long as he can for Batman to do the right thing. Now he's taking matters into his own hands. We'll be live, at 5, with the true identity of the Batman. Call in at 5 to have your say." Said the News anchor and Jester quickly pulled on her other boot before running to tell Joker.

"So he knows who the Bat really is and he's going to broadcast it on TV," clarified Joker, looking up at her from behind his desk, she simply nodded. He burst out into hysterical laughter and she was a little taken aback. She had expected him to be pleased but not this happy, but then this was Jack and he didn't do things by half measures.

"Well you said there was a number do you remember it?" he asked and she nodded he held out a pen and scrap of paper and she wrote down the number that had come up on screen.

"Well done Jester!" he said laughing again before he pocketed the number and stood pulling on his coat.

At 3 thanks to the Joker's police 'connections,' they were told about Maroni going to see Gordon. They knew he had ratted them out, having told Gordon where The Joker was going to be. The 'boys' were sent on a small errand after that to fill the basement of Gotham General with a large amount of ammonium nitrate. They had it rigged up within the hour but were not back in time for the meeting so The Joker and Jester were left with just four goons. The hospital explosion would be the distraction they needed to get the cops off their backs while they paid Harvey a visit.

She was surprised how quickly the Joker could get things done, and it was somewhat of an honour to witness him at work.

He caught her staring at him when he got off the phone with one of the goons and shot her a quizzical look.

"What?" he asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Nothing. It's just awe inspiring to watch your brain work. I mean less than an hour ago you were told about a police ambush and already you have a way out and a pretty spectacular one at that. I just forget sometimes that you are an absolute genius" she said and he chuckled.

"Come on, let's go check on our guest," he said, as he walked past her his hand ran along her side, it was some kind of a habit now.

After a night in the boot of a stolen cop car, Lau was surprisingly well, and Jester squeezed his cheek playfully when they opened the boot to make sure he wasn't dead, yet.

The meeting with the mob was on a container ship, the money was already there and waiting. At 4 they left for the meeting, knowing full well the police were planning their ambush.

They arrived at the docks just past 4 and The Joker jumped out the van before offering a hand to Jester which she gladly took. The goons followed behind with a bound and gagged Lau. The docks were empty apart from the enormous red coloured container ship. It was enormous and Jester looked around the ship curiously. There must have been thousands of shipping containers all stacked at least ten high. As a door to one creaked slightly, something snapped inside of Jester and she stopped in her tracks. She couldn't tell if she wanted to laugh or cry. Joker turned back to look at her, watching the turmoil going on inside her head. The sound of a chainsaw motor rumbled in her ears.

"Come on Jester," he said and she seemed to come back to herself, a twisted grin spreading across her face. She skipped over to him laughing slightly to herself.

He led them down into a large room within the container ship, in the middle of the room was a huge pile of money. It must have been at least half a storey high and spread out across much of the room.

"Put him on the top" the Joker said to the goons motioning to Lau, and they dragged him up quickly. Either Lau was stupid or very clever as he did not struggle as the Joker climbed up the pile behind the goons with a chair. He placed it on the top and the goons pulled Lau into it before the Joker dismissed them and left them to go look out for the Chechen.

He began to tie Lau, who was now dressed in a straight jacket to the seat.

"He's here" shouted the voice of the goon no less than a few minutes later and the Joker looked up from his place, before ducking back down to continue tying Lau to the chair securely.

Jester stood back to lean on the wall as she heard footsteps approaching. The Chechen was a skinny man with a shallow face and sharp features and he smiled disgustingly at Jester as he entered the room.

"Not so crazy as you look." said the Chechen loudly to the Joker who began to stand up on top of the pile.

"I told you, I'm a man of my word," said Joker standing up fully, on top of the pile of money before he patted Lau on the head sarcastically and jumped down the pile, sliding down most of it to come to a standing stop in front of one of the goons. He looked back at the money as piles of it slid down in his wake.

"Where's the Italian?" the Joker asked though he knew full well that Maroni would not be coming.

"I don't know, but he's not here so he doesn't get a share. We go 50/50" said Chechen in his broken English. The Joker shrugged at this before picking up wads of money and beginning to launch them up at the Lau hitting him in that face a few times.

"Please" Lau begged and Jester laughed loudly as yet another wad of money hit him.

"Joker-man, what you do with all your money?" asked the Chechen pointing to the pile with his lit cigar.

"You see, I'm a guy of simple taste," said the Joker turning to the Chechen.

"I enjoy... dynamite … and gunpowder... and gasoline," he said the last one much louder than the rest. The Joker took a step back, as a goon with a gas can came in and began to soak the bottom layer of cash in petrol.

"What the...?" exclaimed the Chechen rushing towards the goon angrily.

"Ah, dah, dah. dah." sung the Joker pointing his gun at the Chechen who stopped dead in his tracks.

"And you know the thing that they all have in common?" the Joker asked the Chechen approaching him again.

"They're cheap," he said with a slight growl in his voice. Jester glanced down at her phone, checking the time, it was just past 5, and she shot the Joker a meaningful look.

"You said you were a man of your word," said the Chechen , the cigar in his mouth causing him to slur.

"Oh, I am." said the Joker before he pulled the cigar from the Chechen's mouth. He held the cigar up blowing on the end a few times.

"I'm only burning my half," he said before he turned and threw the cigar at the petrol-soaked pile of money. It was engulfed in flames in seconds and Lau began to wiggle in his restraints. The Chechen face went grey and he looked at the burning cash in horror.

"All you care about is money." spat the Joker to him.

"This town deserves a better class of criminal... and I'm gonna give it to them." said the Joker, his face close to the Chechen's.

"Tell your men they work for me now." said the Joker poking the Chechen hard in the chest with his gun.

"This is my city," he said and the Chechen moved his face away.

"They won't work for a freak," the Chechen said.

"Freak." mimicked the Joker making fun of the Russian's accent.

"Why don't we cut you up into little pieces and feed you to your pooches? Hm?" the Joker said as he brought his knife out and waved it in front of the Chechen's face.

"And then we'll see how loyal a hungry dog really is." shouted the Joker, as a tow of the Chechen men came up behind the Chechen and held a blade to the Russians throat, before pulling him away.

"It's not about money, it's about sending a message." muttered the Joker to himself, before he pulled his phone out his pocket and began to dial.

"Everything burns" he cried loudly as Jester began to laugh.

"I had a vision" began the Joker into the phone, after a few moments Jester moved over to him and began to play with the buttons of his waistcoat.

"Of a world without Batman. The mob ground out a little profit and the police tried to shut them down one block at a time. And it was so boring! I've had a change of heart. I don't want Mr Reese spoiling everything but why should I have all the fun? Let's give someone else a chance. If Coleman Reese isn't dead in 60 minutes then I’ll blow up a hospital" said the Joker before he hung up and pushed his phone back into his pocket. He looked down at the raven haired clown still playing with the buttons of his waistcoat.

He reached out and pulled her chin up so she was looking at him before his arms moved to encircle her waist, he leant in and kissed her hard and she let out a squeal of delight. He bit hard on her bottom lip, drawing blood and she grinned at him.

"Come on gorgeous," he said, taking her hand in his and leading her away from the flaming pile of cash.

The Joker really was a man of his word as before they left the ship, he did indeed chop the Chechen up into little pieces and feed him to his beloved Rottweilers.

"Can we keep them?" Jester cooed as she knelt down and stroked one's head as it ate lumps of its old master.

"You want to?" The Joker asked as she began to scratch the dog behind the ear, causing its back leg to kick strangely.

"Yes, please, they're so cute and they are trained as attack dogs, they could be useful," she whined looking up at him with big eyes.

"Sure, put the dogs in the van," the Joker said, turning to his new men, who without question led the three enormous dogs away.

"Thank you," she said getting up and moving closer to him.

"Anything for you" he purred against her ear as he brought her close to him again.

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Thank you so much for reading, sorry it took me longer to post this chapter but things have been a bit mad at home recently. Hope you enjoying please, please like and reblog.

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wordsfromthesol · 4 years

Text

I’m No One’s Princess (2/3)

Author: @wordsfromthesol Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Summary: You catch Dick’s eye at one of the infamous Wayne Galas, things took a turn and now he needs to find you. Warnings: The usuals Word Count: 1.3k

Part One Part Three

Dick nodded, letting his little brother take the lead as his imagination wondered with what he could have done differently to save you. As he pulled up to the batcave, he was on situation 35 where he could’ve grabbed you when he heard the men entering the gala instead of turning around. Thankfully, Tim interrupted his thoughts.

“Alright, Dick, you didn’t learn her name. But you talked about some stuff. Give me the profile.”

Dick shook his head, “It wasn’t anything useful.”

“You never know, your identifier was a very specific acrobatic move…How about her eyes?”

“They were the most striking shade of Y/E/C I have ever seen in my life.”

“Okay…Y/E/C.”

Dick rolled his eyes at his brothers lack of enthusiasm. “Uhm, she also said she sang and painted…” Dick thought back to your earlier conversation, “And she was not supposed to be at the gala. Couldn’t tell me her name because of that…and she didn’t want to be recognized.”

“Well with that mask,” Tim gestured to the piece of metal that sat on the desk beside him, “that part was obvious. Maybe we will get lucky and it will have some DNA on it.”

Dick nodded and carried it off, leaving Tim to his work.

You woke up tethered to a chair. Pulling your wrists apart, you felt a sharp pain in your wrists. Zip-ties. You looked down at your feet. Also zip-ties. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness you searched around the room. Thankfully, it was pretty empty. At least they hadn’t brought out the torture devices just yet. You heard the door creak and slammed your eyes shut, hoping they would leave you alone if they thought you were still passed out. No such luck.

“Come on princess, we know you’re awake.” You cringed at the nickname, the same one your father used. It only made you further refuse to open your eyes, until someone’s hand began to trail up your leg. The man backed away once your eyes shot open. “Told you that would work.” He backed away and nudged his partner.

“Whatever. Boss wants to know where your dear old dad is.”

“I wouldn’t know, and if I did…wouldn’t tell you.”

“Somehow princess, we aren’t inclined to believe that.” You turned your lips inward and raised your eyebrows. This seemed to just infuriate the first man, as he stepped forward until your noses nearly touched. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but I assure you, you will lose. Tell us and maybe the Boss will let you go.”

You thrust your head forward, forcing him to stumble away. “I don’t know what game you think you’re playing. Once again, even if I did know and I did tell you, I would be killed almost immediately. Or at the very least used for bargaining ship against my father. A bargaining ship your Boss knows would be pointless.” You smirked as you saw blood start to trickle from his nose, though you wish you hadn’t…it only brought his attention to the injury.

“You little shit –” He pulled a knife from his waistband and plunged in into your thigh. As you were left there screaming in pain, his partner pulled him out of the room, leaving the knife embedded in your leg.

You waited for the pain to subside before taking in a deep breath. You bent over and grabbed the handle with your teeth. Shutting your eyes tightly, you braced yourself for the pain as you jerked your head upwards. You spit the knife to your left side and rocked your chair until it clashed on the ground. Quickly, you maneuvered the knife until you were able to wrap your hand around the hilt. You attempted to conceal the weapon as much as possible, just as the uninjured man rushed into the room.

“Stupid girl.” He mumbled as he walked over and sat your chair upright. “You ain’t getting out of this one. Best just tell the Boss what he wants to know.”

You glared at him, unwilling to show any fear or pain in the moment. He just shrugged and headed back out. Why aren’t they just torturing me now? Your mind started to wander, but you soon shook yourself out of the fog. You needed a plan, even if you could free yourself, what then? There’s no way you could fight your way out. Hell, you didn’t even know what was on the other side of that door. There were at least two very large men. Once nothing came to mind, you began to work on freeing yourself from the chair.

“Hey Dick…” Tim summoned his brother a few hours later, “The good news is, it was fairly easy to figure out who she was. The bad news is, that’s because Maroni called for her capture.”

“Not kill…” Dick mumbled in relief.

“No, but that doesn’t mean –”

“Once Maroni gets what he wants he won’t. What does he want?”

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N, as in Maroni’s go-to hitman Y/L/N.”

“So, her dad went off the reservation. She’s both bait and a source of information…Do we know what men invaded the gala? Were they Maroni’s?”

“Not directly, but may be working for him.”

Dick nodded in understanding, “So that means more places they could take her.”

“That’s why I called you. I figured out who she was in like ten minutes, I think I have a hit on her location.”

“Send it to Jason and Damian, they are patrolling now. Hopefully one of them is nearby and can do some recon before we show up.”

Tim nodded as he sent the message out and trailed behind Dick.

Just as you freed your hands, the men re-entered the room. The first one’s eyes went wide as he looked at your leg. Shit. He knows.

“Alright, princess, where’s the knife?”

“Well, where did you last leave it?”

“Heh, here I’ll show you.” He stalked over and jammed his thumb into the wound, you grimaced but refused to scream. Quickly you slashed the knife across his face, his pain was not as reserved. He threw his hand up clutching the wounded cheek as he screamed. You were waiting for the other one to restrain you further, but he seemed to just be laughing at his partner’s pain. “That little shit just ruined my face! Aren’t you going to do anything?!”

“Hey man, I didn’t sign up for this. My instructions were to deliver her alive and preferably unharmed. Didn’t say anything about you.” As the two were bickering, you began to cut at the ties around your ankles. That, unfortunately, the second man could not allow. He sauntered over before you had finished and stepped on the knife. “Sorry, but I can’t let you do that.” He grasped your shoulders and shoved you back against the chair. Walking around to the back of the chair, he kept one hand against your shoulders and re-tied your hands. He paced in front of you, “I am sorry about this, no one deserves the Boss’ wrath.” He bent down and added an extra zip-tie to your ankles before picking up the knife.

A tear slid down your cheek as the man left your prison. You quickly realized your interrogation wasn’t over when the first man slunk back into the room, bandages covering his face.

“I’m going to have to make you pay for that, princess,” the man hissed out while gesturing to his battered face. He walked over and punched you swiftly in the gut. “Partner took my weapons…heh, thinks that can stop me.” He landed another punch causing you to cough. You looked down and saw blood covering your dress. The man’s hand tightly clasped your face. “Only two punches…what a shame.” He pushed your face backwards and headed towards the door, smiling to himself as he heard the crash of your chair. The force of the fall caused your head to knock against the concrete. Black spots soon filled your vision.

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calculatorz · 4 years

Text

Holiday Killer Revealed Pt. 1

(Yes, this is a shameless reader insert because I simp for Alberto)

Hello there, quick thing before I actually start writing this: I’m new to writing Alberto Falcone’s/Holiday’s character so I apologize in advance for any out of character moments! Also, I, Ollie, in no way shape or form am trying to “romanticize” the mafia/justifying anything done by the mafia. I adore Alberto’s character, motive, and backstory, so I’m sorry if I write stuff that seems very far-fetched or disrespectful. If in any way this story triggers you / causes emotional trauma, please contact me so I can put a warning where it’s needed.

(Starts In Your POV, may switch in between throughout)

“Alberto... Where are you?” I asked myself as I gazed through the ocean of people surrounding me.

Everyone around me was quite powerful. Some were business partners with “The Roman” Falcone, while others were family members, or like me; a friend of someone within the family.

The night was already beginning and Alberto Falcone, my friend of several decades, was no where to be seen. Most of the time, when someone’s missing or you just can’t find them the best thing to do is look around. Now, I’m in a ballroom filled with a few, if not hundreds, of criminals and killers. Searching for Alberto could possibly lead me to seeing something I’m not supposed to see, and that’s a bad idea to have. But, what did I have to lose?

I left the ballroom after establishing that Alberto wasn’t there and made my way upstairs towards his father’s office, and towards his bedroom. I knew checking with “The Roman” was not a good choice, but I needed to find Alberto before the night ended.

Right as I was about to knock on “The Roman”’s door, I heard a familiar voice call out to me;

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I turned around, beaming with excitement. I hadn’t seen Alberto since he left for Oxford, but he still managed to look the same, with his purple lens glasses and his formal attire. For a moment I forgot we were talking and blanked.

“A-Alberto? Is that really you? Hmm.... Wait no, it can’t be. Something’s different. You’ve gotten taller? Wait no... You’re smarter! That’s right, I haven’t seen you since you’ve left for Oxford!”

Alberto sighed at my extremely dull attempt at lightening the mood and cut to the chase;

“What do you want?”

I stood there, quite dumbfounded.

He did know that there was a party downstairs right? Or am I just imagining that?

“Well you see,”

I began, as I looked through a window to the current masquerade that was happening below us;

“I haven’t seen you in years, and I’ve missed you so much. I tried searching the party for you but you had vanished. Is everything okay? You seem more on edge than you did the last time we had seen each other.”

Alberto suddenly took me by my hand and led me into an empty room. He turned on the light and started to speak;

“I’m sick of this (Name). I’ve always been seen as the ‘good son’, the ‘perfect boy’. I want to join the family business. I don’t want to be seen as a failure in my father’s eyes. He knows that I’m fully capable, but he won’t let me prove myself. He sent me away to Oxford so I wouldn’t have to be his problem anymore, and frankly, I wish he didn’t. I spent several crucial years of my life wasting away to be in the same place I would’ve been in the past. I need to finally prove myself.”

I finally understand. I mean, I think I do.

“Then do it. If you think it’ll help you find a better mental state then go ahead. I just want you to be happy again.”

I meant every word of what I said. He seems different and I really hope whatever he does will finally give him the closure he deserves.

Fast Forward:

New Years Eve, Gotham Harbor

Ever since these “Holiday” killings have started everyone’s been on edge. For the most part, the only people who seemed to become victims were known to have some connection with the Falcone name. That meant that I could very well be the next victim.

What I didn’t expect however, was that tonight would cause me more pain than I ever could’ve imagined.

It was snowing quite heavily, and Alberto decided to go onto the deck to smoke a cigarette. I waited inside, hoping he would be back in time for the clock to hit twelve, so we could bring in the New Year together.

Impatient, I decided to go outside and check on him. Luckily, he was safe and not a victim of the “Holiday” Killer. I came up behind him and embraced him tightly;

“Happy, almost, New Years Alberto!”

He nearly had a heart attack when I surprised him;

“God... Do you have any warning? I could’ve thought you were the Holiday Killer and could’ve put a bullet through your skull.”

I let go of him and replayed his words in my mind;

“W-What...? A bullet through my skull? Alberto... that’s quite grim, even for you.”

It seemed as if he had suddenly realized what he said and began to apologize;

“(Name)... I didn’t mean it like that. We’re all scared about this whole tragedy and I expressed my feelings quite harshly. My apologies.”

I simply nodded and frowned, it was so cold outside;

“Don’t worry about it Alberto. I’ve just never seen that side of you before. It’s getting cold, so I’m going to head back inside. Please promise me you’ll come inside and celebrate with me.”

Alberto took a long drag from his cigarette and nodded;

“I’ll be inside in a minute or so.”

Without replying, I headed inside, unaware that this would be the final time that I’d have seen or talked to Alberto again.

After two minutes or so Carla Viti, Alberto’s aunt came running inside, yelling that Alberto was the newest victim of “Holiday”. I ran out onto the deck and fell onto my knees in shock.

He was just talking to me, and then he was killed... He wasn’t a bad guy. If anything, I should’ve been the one that was killed. Not Alberto Falcone, the bookworm who was anything but a criminal. The man I secretly adored and thought highly of was gone, another victim to the Holiday Killer. I was going to find whoever this killer was and make him suffer for hurting my friend.

One Time Skip Later:

After months of torment, the Holiday was finally caught. His final victim was Sal Maroni, another boss of another crime family. I swore vengeance on the Holiday killer ever since Alberto was taken from me, and I now had the chance to act.

I walked into the GCPD Precinct and asked to be escorted to where the holding cells were located. I was told that I couldn’t speak to the Holiday Killer, only family members could enter.

As I slumped down in defeat, I noticed a familiar face walking out of the holding cell area. It was none of than Alberto’s father, Carmine Falcone. I walked towards him hoping he could get me a chance to see the Holiday Killer, but I hadn’t expected what would happen next.

“Mr. Falcone...? I’m sorry if this seems indelicate, but may I ask you a favor?”

Falcone looked down at me with upset eyes and began to speak;

“Sure. A friend of my son’s is totally welcome to having a favor.”

I looked towards the holding cells and frowned;

“Mr. Falcone, you see, I tried to see if I could talk to the Holiday Killer, but was told no. Is there any way you could let them let me in?”

Carmine Falcone nodded;

“Just come with me.”

As we got closer to the holding cell “Holiday” was in, I became anxious. My mind was swirling with different emotions. I was finally going to meet Alberto’s killer.

As I had gotten closer to the room, I slowly started to make out a face to the killer. Eventually, we got close enough that I recognized who the “Holiday” Killer was.

It was Alberto Falcone, the person I loved the most.

Once I had reached the room where Alberto was seated I feel to my knees in front of him and cried. He made me believe that I was alone, when in fact, he was still there.

“Alberto you son of a...”

He stopped me before I could continue;

“I was only doing what you said.”

I froze in horror at his words;

“What? I never said for you to do this! You even faked your own death goddammit.”

He sighed, taking a long drag of his cigarette like he did on New Years Eve;

“You told me to do whatever it takes to make me happy, to make my mental state better. I wanted to show my father that I mattered. Now he knows that and I’m finally happy.”

Again, I was shocked with embarrassment;

“ALBERTO- I never meant for you to go around killing people! I thought you were going to get a therapist or something. Instead however, you faked your own death and left me lonely and depressed. You’ve gained respect from your father, but you’ve lost mine. You knew that I wouldn’t have approved of this, but you still did it. You risked it all. And you lost. You’ll rot away in prison before I’ll forgive you.”

Alberto stayed quiet for a moment before finally speaking;

“(Name) we all make mistakes. Let me learn from this. Please. I knew this would effect you the most, but I still did it. Yes, it makes me the stupidest man in the world, but I feel bad for letting you believe a false narrative. Please, forgive me.”

“I need some time to think...”

And just like that, I left Alberto to rot. Except, he managed to get out of Death Row and go to Arkham Asylum instead. I knew I’d see him again.

Part Two Will Be Out In Several Days, And Be Based Upon Dark Victory. Dark Victory has much darker themes (in my opinion) than Long Halloween so prepare for there to be a trigger warning list at the beginning. Anyways, have a wonderful day/night!

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captainlordauditor · 4 years

Text

300x3 7:02

300 words 3 times a week etc

I wrote this Tuesday and then just..completely forgot to post it. This is I guess the thing I’m gonna be poking at when I need a break from earth 988 but I’m staying in Batman? It’s basically the same concept of messing around with the timeline by moving up a character’s birth several years but with Jason, so I’ve labeled it earth 488. Timeline’s not super worked out so the ages are subject to change. 1729 words.

Warnings for brief mentions of drugs, CSA, etc, standard Batman warnings I guess

The kid’s in college when Bruce first meets him, or rather he should be; instead he’s hotwired the Batmobile and taken it for a ride, and Batman finds him several streets away from where he left it, grinning fit to burst, classic rock blaring out the open windows. He slams the brakes when he sees the local cryptid in front of him and stops just short of hitting Batman, but he doesn’t lose that grin the whole time.

“You gonna turn me in or what, Batsy?” His eyes are a rusty blue green like the water in the bay in the summer, and Batman sees a reckless storm in them. His eyes are like justice; his eyes are like liberty.

He should be angry, should be fuming, especially tonight, but he’s not. He laughed himself stupid when he found the car missing and it’s a struggle to keep himself from laughing again when confronted with the thief. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He tilts his head, easy, like he’s having the most casual conversation in the world. “Wanted to see if she drives as pretty as she looks.”

Batman sighs, watching him. “You must be very good, to get past the security measures.”

He shrugs. He’s too thin, too small, his jacket hanging off of him like Batman’s cape. “I do alright.”

The Bat glides over to the drivers side door. “Show me.”

He tries to drop the kid off at the only group home in the neighborhood, but the kid laughs his head off when he sees the building. “That’s my grandma's place,” he says. “Taught me all I know. She’s running a museum heist tonight, you know that?”

Batman’s heart stops. He turns his head, watches the thief in the seat next to him, his head rolled back against the seat. His red-black hair is mussed from the wind, his eyes are sparkling with laughter. He looks godly; he looks obscene. Batman wants to see him like this again.

“Goes to show, right?” says the thief. “Everything good in Gotham rots.”

Batman releases the parking brake. “That’s not true.”

“Sure it is. What’s rotting you, Batsy?”

“Which museum?”

He sees the thief again the next week, walking the Bowery without a shirt under his jacket. He saunters over to the Batmobile and drapes himself against the door, displaying his skinny bare chest for Batman to admire. Batman thinks of what it would be like to wrap him in the warmest blanket in the manor. “You finally here to rot with the rest of us, Batsy?”

“I thought you were a thief,” Batman says.

“I’m whatever you want,” he replies, and Batman doesn’t know why he was so much more attractive stealing a car than when he’s openly flirting. “I can even be your Robin for the night, if that’s what you’re after.” He tilts his head, smile fading. “Is that what’s rotting you, Batsy?”

Batman’s jaw twitches as he clenches it. He’s heard the insinuations before, and he’s never liked them. “I’m looking for Two Face.”

The man’s face turns from contemplating the edge of anger to a hard determination. Batman decides he likes it. “Yeah, I know where he is.”

Batman doesn’t know what it is that makes him unlock the door and say, “get in,” but he does.

“I’ll miss work if I do that,” he says. He leans in closer. “Or I could give you a discount. Call it two hundred for the whole night.”

In this area, Batman’s sure that’s not his usual pricing. “I’ll pay you after we catch Two Face.” Last week he ran off before Batman could talk to him; he doesn’t want to lose another chance for conversation.

He opens the door and settles in the car, sprawls on the seat, opens the window, lights a cigarette. Virginia slim. “Heard his guys talking plans two days ago. Were in the next room over from mine for the night. Said they’re hitting the Lucky Dollar Casino.”

“That’s in Bristol.” Bristol has looser gambling laws. It’s an effort to control vice, send it out of the city. Batman can’t say it works.

He shrugs, watching Batman through heavy lidded eyes. Batman thinks of what it’d be like to take that cigarette from his mouth and kiss him gently. Instead he says, “If Robin smells that on the seats, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

He laughs, a quiet genuine snicker of amusement, nothing like the shrieks of thrill and irony he gave last week. Batman wants to hear that sound again. “Where is he, anyway?”

“It’s a school night.”

He gets his wish. “You’re a wonder, Batsy. Didn’t know you cared so much about that punk.”

“He’s not a punk.” Alfred used to say he spent too much time in the past; maybe so, because this is still his reflex when people use that word, even if he knows it’s not what they mean.

“He’s out here running around with you, isn’t he? Beating up robbers in a pair of booty shorts.” He takes a drag on his cigarette and Batman looks at him and wonders that he knows what he just said.

“It’s a leotard. Acrobat’s gear.” He ignores the thief’s snort.

Two Face gets away, but Batman gets the hostage he took, so he considers it a half successful night. He comes back to the car where the other man is waiting, his feet up on the dash. He finished his first cigarette around the time they got here, but he’s already halfway through another one.

He taps his knuckles against the window, bounces his leg. “I know you said you’d pay me after you caught him, but I’m not waiting until tomorrow.”

“I’ll pay you tonight.” Batman starts the car.

His name is Jason; he’s nineteen years old. Batman’s glad of that, because from his height and build, he thought Jason was younger. He feels less guilty about looking at him now.

He eats steadily, watching Batman like he knows the food won’t disappear but thinks Batman might. He doesn’t, not yet; he’s finding he likes Jason when he’s not acting a part, or at least when he’s toned it down. He has a good brain and a quick wit, even if his humor is a little raw.

“Can you only steal cars?”

He shakes his head, licks ketchup off his thumb. It’s not sensual at all, just a habit gained from starvation, eating every scrap of food, and that makes it all the better. His eyes meet Batman’s over his hand. “M’not so good with safes, but I can do windows and pockets fine. ‘M a pretty good shot. Can do explosives okay, if you give me a gun I can probably fix it. I know how to dilute coke and what to do if someone ODs on Harry.” He takes a long drag of soda through his straw, not looking at Batman. It’s the first time he’s avoided eye contact.

After a moment, he looks back up. “I can conjugate German and translate Latin. Read the Odyssey a couple times. It’s better in Greek.”

His brain, unbidden, supplies him with the image of Jason laid out before him like a god, Bruce and poetry against his mouth. He would do for this Jason what Medea could not do for hers, he hopes, and win his loyalty.

He banishes the thought. No, this is not Jason; this is Ganymede, and Batman will not be as Zeus. “Why work the streets then?” He asks instead.

He pauses, looking at his food and then back at Batman. He’s leaning forward over the table and there’s barely a foot between them. “I like it,” he says. It has the straightforwardness of honesty. “If I do drugs or enforcement I’d have to work for someone else. There aren’t any gangs here I like enough to sign away my soul. Not yet.” He slides his leg forward to brush up against Batman’s under the table, so lightly Batman’s not sure he’d notice it if it weren’t for his training. There’s no shock, no static, but it feels electric nonetheless.

“There are options,” he tells Jason. He doesn’t dare move his leg.

“I haven’t been to a proper school since I was ten,” Jason retorts. “What options do you mean? Drown in debt to get through college so I can get a job above the table? A corporation’s just the same as a gang, except you can’t snitch and send them to jail when they treat you like shit. Besides,” he leans back, doubling the distance between them, stretching it into an infinity, slips his leg away from Batman’s. “You arrested Maroni. You took apart the Blackgaters.”

Batman looks away. Those eyes are piercing him, bearing down on him like the god of justice come down to judge him. It’s a rude reminder, that he doesn’t always do good; a stab in the gut that his choice removed that of somebody else, somebody with greater stakes in the game.

But Jason is right; Batman did arrest Maroni, and he did take apart the Blackgaters, for the most part. It’ll be a month or so before the void is filled where the fence was before, when the rest of Gotham is sure he’ll lose the trial. The Blackgaters will follow, only once they have a place closer than Penguin to sell the parts off the cars they steal.

And in the meantime, Jason will walk the streets. In December.

Batman never thought he’d feel guilty about arresting someone for a crime he knew they’d committed, but here he is. How many other car thieves are in the same boat? He almost wonders if he should let Two Face go, but then he remembers the shots fired and the hostage held tonight, and scolds himself for thinking such a thing.

Maybe Jason’s right, everything good in Gotham rots. Sometimes there are no good choices, no good answers.

He gives Jason his two hundred, in eight twenties, so it’s easy to break, tucks the lone fifty in his wallet over it and calls it a tip. Bruce Wayne may carry hundreds to give to the homeless like candy, but Batman doesn’t. He leaves it on the table beside the wrapper for a burger and when Jason goes to throw out his trash, he vanishes.

#brujay #fic writing #300x3 #arsonist's lullaby #make the night ours #batcest

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dragon-kazansky · 5 years

Text

Reasons - Joker [H.L]

Summary: Someone thought they could do better than the Joker. Isn't that funny?

The bag was pulled rather aggressively from your head. Darkness had been your companion for at least an hour. You had to blink several times to adjust to the light that was now exposed to you. It had all happened rather quickly, so you needed more time to adjust to where you were.

It was supposed to be another night in Gotham city for you. Creating chaos and distractions while the Joker pulled off one of his schemes on the other side of the city. You were good bringing the police to you and not him.

Now, you were aware that many of the cops were corrupt. Most of them working under Maroni. He paid them more than the job did. So when you saw two of them in front of you, grinning down at you, you weren’t all that surprised.

You rolled your eyes.

“You know I have a job to do.” You glared at them.

“Yeah, we know what you were doing. Joker ain’t gettin’ away this time.” The one in front of you chuckled. “I wonder what he’ll do when he finds out you failed him.”

“You think he’ll kill me?”

“Isn’t that what he does to people who fail him?” He laughed.

“Yeah, but he also kills people just because he can. He doesn’t care about any human life. He’ll probably kill you first anyway.” You grinned up at them.

The second guy didn’t like your answer and chose to hit you over the head roughly. You groaned and glared up at him.

“The hell was that for?”

“You talk too much.” He spat.

The truth of the tale was that you would walk away just fine. Sure, the Joker had very little regard for others' lives, but you were of importance to him. He wouldn’t want to waste your skills like that.

This wasn’t the first time the corrupt cops of the city had ‘kidnapped’ you.

“How did you end up working for that freak anyway?” The first man asked you. He was a little fatter than the other man, older looking too.

“How did you end up working for Maroni?” You grinned, sarcasm written all over your face.

“He pays.” He stepped a little closer. “Now answer the question.”

“It’s nice of you to make conversation before you hand me over to the Joker, but I can’t help but see the contracdiction in your stupid plan.” You sighed, bored of their stupidity.

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, look at it this way: I’m here tied to a chair, so the police will end up in the Joker’s location and arrest him on sight, unless of course he has a back up plan, which isn’t unlikely by the way, so he’ll be transported back to the GCPD. Therefore, won’t be able to come over to kill us all. That means you’ll have to kill me, which defeats your purpose for kidnapping me in the first place.

I mean, bravo, you caught the Joker, but I’m sure there will always be someone else to break him out. He’s clever, he’ll have thought of something already.

Then I’ll have died for nothing at the hands of two morons who will be killed by the Joker’s men because he’s still alive and will have given orders to someone on the outside to come and find out why I didn’t do the thing I was supposed to do.”

They both just stared at you.

Then the second guy hit you again.

“For the love of-!”

“Shut up.” The older of the two spat at your feet.

“This one has an imagination.” The second one chuckled.

“You didn’t answer the question.” The first one knelt down in front of you. “Why do you work for the freak?”

“Is that really all that important?” You scoffed.

“Curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat. I really don’t see you walking away from this.” You smiled. “You’re screwed.”

“Just answer the question.”

“Does there have to be a reason? I don’t know. I met him ages ago, this is what I do. I enjoy it. You guys clearly like the criminal life more than the justice life. You work for Maroni. Why do you do it? Because of the thrill? The pay? Because you can?”

He just glared at you.

“I give you about ten minutes.” You smiled up at him.

“For what?”

“In about ten minutes, either the Joker himself, or his followers, will come through that door guns blazing. You’ll die first.” You looked at the older man. “Then you.” You smiled at the younger man. “Then I’ll be freed. If the Joker isn’t the one to do it, I’ll grab a gun myself, take your car keys and I’ll make my way to the GCPD. I’ll free my boss and the pair of us will disappear under their noses. In a few days we’ll be back, calling out to Batman, and doing what we do best.

If the Joker comes through that door. I’ll apologise for messing up and letting this happen. He’ll silently forgive me because he’s not one to express that kind of thing verbally, he’ll tell he has a plan, and we’ll go mess with Batman tonight.”

“You’re crazy!” He got to his feet and stepped back a little.

“I’m glad you noticed.” You smiled.

The door on the opposite side of the room opened. It made a loud noise as it banged against the wall.

Both cops pulled out their weapons and pointed them in that direction.

“Not even ten minutes.” You began to laugh.

The Joker walked in, a gun in one hand, his gaze instantly landing on you.

“This is funny.” He licked his lips and silently judged the cops where they stood. “Your distraction didn’t happen, so I had to improvise and get out of there.” He pointed his gun at each of them slowly. “Didn’t take me long to work out where you were.”

“These two morons messed up.” You popped the ‘p.’

“I’m going to kill you now.”

“No wait!” The older one held up his hands, dropping his gun. The Joker shot him first.

The younger cop freaked out and shot at the Joker, missing every bullet, his gun emptied and he dropped it, taking a bullet to the chest.

The Joker sighed, as if that was a complete waste of his time, and dropped his gun, coming over to you.

“You know, it’s your job to get me out of these situations, not the other way around.” He untied your hands and then your legs.

When you were free you rubbed at your wrists.

The Joker got to his feet and brushed his mucky green hair back.

“Yeah well, I messed up this time.” You straightened out your coat and turned to him. “Next time I’ll be ready for them.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” He gave a quick grin. “Now hurry up, Batman’s in town.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile and grabbed the car keys off the older man. Joker went ahead and picked up his gun, waiting for you at the door. You hurried over, not wanting to keep him waiting.

“Just remember, next time you get caught I’m blowing the building up. No exceptions.” He walked ahead.

“I won’t get caught then.”

At the end of the day, your reason for working for the Joker was as simple as you liked him. You liked him in all his craziness. He did what others were too afraid to do and didn’t care if he died in the end.

As long as he goes out with a bang.

No one will ever really understand why you work for him, but it’s not of their concern.

You will continue causing trouble with him until one of you dies.

Tags:

@ntb-outsider @awyr @fandombeehive @charmed-asylum

#joker #joker x reader #heath ledger #the dark knight #dc

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chibinightowl · 5 years

Text

Dinner, Dancing, and a Dog

For the @jaytimsecretsanta 2018, I received prompts for @brightestdaay and chose fake relationship for the mission. Beta read by @comebackolivia.

Enjoy!

~*~*~

It starts with a favor, as things involving Jason so often do. Tim adjusts the phone against his shoulder and blows his bangs out of his eyes with an impatient huff. “You want me to what?” “Be my date for the night. It’ll make my cover more complete if I have some arm candy.” Yeah, that’s what he thought Jason said the first time. “You do know that five hours before isn’t exactly the best time to ask a favor like this, right?” He can hear the frustration in Jason’s voice. “I know, I know. But it’s just dinner at Scarpetto’s. Guy or gal, doesn’t really matter to me.” “No, but it matters to the Sicilian mobsters it sounds like you’re trying to nail.” Tim eyes the clock on his desk. If he leaves now, he’ll have enough time to shave and tame his eyebrows into something vaguely feminine that won’t take forever to grow back. “You owe me.” “Done. I’ll pick you up at 8.” Tim glares at his phone. One of these days, he’s going to collect on all the little favors Jason owes him. Big time. ~*~*~ Jason lets out a low whistle when Tim opens the apartment door. Traffic had not been kind earlier so he’s glad the rush job passes muster. “Wow, I’ve heard some stories about the things you can do with makeup, but this is top notch.” Tim shrugs and the fabric barely covering his shoulders flutters slightly. “If I’m going to crossdress, I’m not going to half-ass it.” “Nope, I can see that.” Jason nods approvingly. “Perhaps you can teach me a few things.” It’s hard to keep a straight face because Jason’s idea of a disguise tonight is a goatee. Tim can’t spot any telltale signs that it’s a fake, so it is entirely possible that the dark facial hair is real. He supposes he can give him a bonus point for dyeing the white streak on his brow. It stands out. “About what?” Tim replies blithely as he grabs a coat. “Padding? Falsies? Gaffes?” Jason pales slightly. “I was thinking mascara and eyeliner. There’s a club I need to hit up in a few nights where that kind of look is in.” Tim flashes him a bright rosy smile. “Darling, that look hasn’t gone out of style for ages.” He takes Jason’s arm and marches him out the door.

The target is Paul Giannini, an up and coming mobster who Jason believes is the newest hitman for the Petrillo crime family (the irony behind the name means nothing to Jason, so Tim doesn’t elaborate). They’re relatively new to Gotham, transplants from New York, and seem to be trying to rebuild what was once Carmine Falcone’s little empire. Not that this has a chance in hell of happening under Batman’s watch, but it’s nice to let these guys spin their wheels before showing them the ugly reality of what doing business in Gotham really entails. Jason isn’t doing more than surveillance tonight and for his own reasons that have nothing to do with Bruce as he was quick to explain during the drive to the restaurant.

Tim doesn’t care. He’s the one in a dress after all.

Dinner is good. It always is here, and Tim makes sure he bats his eyes and coos at appropriate times. Jason tries to play along as best he can, but it soon becomes clear he has no idea what to do with a date. “You’re acting like you’ve never done this before,” Tim says quietly once the antipasti is devoured. He may be playing a simpering girlfriend but damn if he’s not getting a free meal out of it. The faint reddening of Jason’s ears is all the answer he needs. “I haven’t exactly dated much,” he admits quietly, which is more than Tim expects from him. “Time, inclination, you name it. I always worry I’m going to hurt the other person.” Tim can’t fault him for that. “I get it. I really do.” Jason smiles crookedly and huffs a small laugh. “I’ve heard about your track record.” “It’s nowhere near as bad as Dick’s,” Tim replies with a cheeky grin and takes a sip of wine. The woman Giannini is with gets up and heads toward the bathroom. Tim glances at Jason and he nods wordlessly. She’s almost as important as the mobster so he follows after counting to ten. Sauntering into the women’s bathroom like he totally belongs there, Tim pauses at the mirror to check his makeup since the woman he’s tailing is in a stall. Nothing wrong there so he freshens up and shares a smile with the bottle blonde when she emerges. The smile drops when she draws a gun. Tim is moving before she has a chance to aim it, gripping her wrist tightly and forcing her arm away from them both toward the floor. She’s shouting at him, screaming about how they can’t pin anything on Paul. He doesn’t know or care how they knew they were being spied on, all he’s focused on at the moment is not getting shot or his eyes clawed out by the woman’s free hand. He shifts slightly and puts more pressure on her wrist, forcing the woman to drop the gun. She shrieks as he kicks it into one of the stalls and Tim blinks from the sheer volume she manages to reach. The gun is out of the way, so he pins her against the countertop and forces both arms behind her back. “Would you please stop that?” he says in a low tone. Too low. Her eyes widen. “You’re not a woman!” she manages to get out before Tim claps a hand over her mouth to muffle her. In the brief silence, they both hear the gunshot from the dining room, followed by loud shouts and screams from the other guests. It’s impossible to say who shot who from in here, but Tim just hopes that Jason isn’t involved.

This is all going to hell. The blonde tries to headbutt him and Tim decides he’s done with her. A quick nerve strike has her limp in his arms, her eyes wide in shock from the sudden paralysis. “You’ll be up and making trouble in less than ten minutes,” he says as he tucks her inside one of the stalls and closes the door. “Enjoy the view.” Retrieving the gun with a tissue, he hides it in his purse and peers out the door to get the lay of the land. It’s pure chaos in the dining room and Tim doesn’t spot Jason immediately. He does see Giannini laying against an overturned table with blood streaming down one shoulder, gun in hand and shouting at some unseen person about his innocence. What he’s saying doesn’t make sense though, not for what Jason dragged them here for, so there’s a distinct possibility this isn’t Jason’s fault at all. Tim keeps low and carefully creeps out. It’s a challenge in three inch heels but he manages. As soon as he emerges, a voice speaks up from behind him. “Thank fuck that’s you.” It’s Jason. Glancing over his shoulder, Tim finds Jason peering out from the men’s room. “What are you doing?” he hisses and tries to crab-walk backwards. Again, heels. “Can’t a guy take a piss in peace?” “You’re on surveillance. Hold it.” “You went to the bathroom!” Tim wants to throw up his hands and scream. This is what working with Jason always does to him. “Whatever. You get what you need or is that little firefight out there not the kind of trouble you feel like jumping into?”

“Those are Maroni’s goons out there. I think they’re gonna take care of my problem for me.”

That sounds awfully permanent. Tim scoots past the men’s room door and hides behind a large planter. Taking his phone out of his purse, he sends a quick text to Barbara via one of their encrypted numbers for police backup. She replies back an instant later saying they’re already on the way, with the SWAT team en route too.

“Time to leave,” Tim announces and darts down the back hall to the employee only door. He’s been here enough to know it’s actually the backdoor to the restaurant that leads out into the alley.

“What the hell?” Jason protests as he follows. “Since when were you in charge?”

“Since SWAT is on the way and we really don’t need to be stuck here for questioning later.” He also doesn’t want to be here when the nerve strike on Giannini’s girlfriend wears off as she’ll easily point him out unless he gets gone now.

“Works for me.”

They’re barely outside when Jason wraps an arm around Tim’s waist and hauls him close, the hiss of a grapple line firing up and into the night. Tim has a brief moment to hold on tight before he’s swept off his feet like the proverbial damsel in distress.

“What was that for?” he asks once they’re on the rooftop, feeling slightly breathless. He smacks Jason upside the head for good measure, which makes him feel much better.

Jason growls and rubs his head. “I have a safehouse in this building. We can lay low for a couple hours, watch a movie or something, and then I can take your bitchy ass home.”

Tim wants to protest but his ankles hurt and the sooner he’s out of these shoes, the better. “Fine. But I’m picking the movie.”

~*~*~*~

After the other night, Tim should have seen this coming. At least this time, he has more than twenty four hours notice, which is good since his ankles are still sore.

“What time?” he asks with a long suffering sigh.

“Nine?” Jason replies hesitantly. “Your place because I still can’t quite get the hang of that thing you showed me with the eyeliner?”

This, at least, he did see coming. “Fine. What club are we going to?”

Jason rattles off the name of a gay club in the Upper East Side that Tim is rather familiar with. “I know it. I’ve picked up my fair share of drug samples there.”

“You don’t need to wear a dress,” Jason adds, clearly trying to be helpful since he knows Tim is doing him yet another massive favor.

He’s glad they’re on the phone because Jason would probably try to deck him if he saw his hugely exaggerated eye roll. “Well, I could, but that would send the wrong message. I’m more believable as your date if I’m in pants this time.”

“Huh?” Jason sounds confused.

There’s a growing suspicion in Tim’s mind, one that is going to have him on the floor laughing once this call is over. “Jason, you do know this is a LGBTQ club, right?”

The long silence is answer enough.

“Right,” Tim replies matter of factly. “In that case, make sure you wear a pair of tight pants and a t-shirt that’s one size too small for you. Anything else and you’ll probably stand out too much.”

Considering Jason’s considerable physique, he’s already going to stand out. Tim has a feeling he’ll be the one doing the real work.

“Okay,” Jason agrees in a slightly taken aback tone. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Later.” Tim hangs up and glares at his phone. Why is he putting himself through all this? The favor he’s going to call in at some point will need to be a doozy.

~*~*~

Tim totally called it earlier. For all the guys whose type is tall, dark, and muscular, Jason is a piece of meat they can’t wait to get a chance with. Most aren’t pushy once they see him all but clinging nervously to Tim, but a few are forward enough to keep the taller man close. They put out a cover story that fits all too well — this is Jason’s first time in a club like this and he’s a bit overwhelmed.

Proud to be out with his boyfriend, but still overwhelmed.

Another new suspicion grows in Tim’s mind, one that harkens back to their dinner conversation the other night. Jason doesn’t date much. Or very possibly at all. This would explain volumes as to why he’s asking him of all people for assistance. Sure, Jason has to know he’s opening himself up to Tim’s ridicule but what he has to dish out is lightyears weaker than the constant ribbing from Dick.

So Tim plays the role of the more experienced boyfriend, laughing and teasing his significant other lovingly as they maneuver slowly toward the VIP rooms where a drug dealer on Jason’s radar has taken up residence and uses a handful of people here as runners who scope out potential deals, from those who just want to have a little fun to others looking for a more serious fix.

Jason isn’t after him tonight, he just wants to see what he’s pushing.

“I’ve heard a rumor that he’s got access to fentanyl,” he explains to Tim out on the crowded dance floor, their bodies pressed together firmly. When he’s not stressing over where to place his hands, Jason is a decent dancer. “If it’s true, then I want to know where he’s getting it.”

That is definitely something Tim can get behind. He nods and wraps his arms around Jason’s neck, drawing him closer so he can speak without shouting. “Any idea what the street name is around here?”

If he’s going to be asking around, knowing the right terminology for this part of town will help. What Jason’s real interest is here remains to be seen, but there has to be a connection to the Bowery and Crime Alley if he’s wandered out of his usual haunts.

Jason frowns, but whether that’s from Tim’s breath tickling his ear or because he doesn’t know, Tim can’t be sure. “I’ve heard both Jackpot and Murder 8 on my streets.”

Tim knows quite a few more, but this doesn’t do him any good. “We may need to do this more than once. Establish ourselves, work our way up.”

“I thought you’d been here before?”

“In various disguises.” The one he’s wearing now is a bit more eye shadow heavy than usual and for once in his life, a five o’clock shadow hides the shape of his jaw. It irks Tim that it still takes him a few days to grow something that Jason, Dick, and Bruce all have to shave off twice a day if the need calls for it. Perhaps he’ll get lucky the further into his twenties he goes.

The first night is a bust, even if they do score some rather questionable lollipops in a bright shade of blue that would make Dick proud.

They come back several nights later and Tim manages to buy some oxycodone from the backroom dealer. Apparently, the man doesn’t trust his little army of tweekers with the real cash deals. He drops a hint that he’s in the market for something a little more potent and the dealer gives him a smarmy smile, openly eying Tim in his too tight pants and stylishly ripped t-shirt.

“I’ll see what I can do for you,” is all he says, and Tim takes that as his cue to leave.

He makes his way toward the bar where he left Jason and stops short, fighting down the impulse to laugh. It’s way too loud in here for it to carry far, but he’s undercover.

Jason has two men practically wrapped around him, one with a slender build Tim would probably have if he didn’t have to work out so much while the other guy is a bit more compact. He can’t help but notice neither one of them is any taller than him. What’s even more hilarious though is Jason’s deer-in-the-headlights expression. He’s on the verge of bolting, Tim can tell.

Well then. He can’t have that.

Tim strolls up to the bar, letting just a hint of predatorial intent enter his gaze. Right here and now, Jason is his and those two guys are poaching on his territory.

The things he does to maintain a cover.

Jason spots him and shoves away from the bar, completely ignoring the two men pouting and pleading with him to stay.

“Thank fuck,” he says as he all but hides behind Tim. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt more like a piece of meat in all my life.”

Tim makes sure to smirk at the other men before turning his attention on Jason. “I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” he asks, wrapping an arm around Jason’s waist and dragging him out to the relative safety of the dance floor. They can’t leave quite yet. “Do I need to put a collar on you? A leash?”

“You’re such a shit, you know that?” Jason comments as they find the beat of the music and settle in.

“You’re the one who’s a trouble magnet.”

“I didn’t ask those guys to climb all over me!” Jason’s ears are more than a little red.

Tim wraps his arms around Jason’s neck and tugs him down slightly, his mouth pressed close to Jason’s ear. From the right angle, it looks like he’s mouthing a line up the side of Jason’s neck, which is the point he’s trying to make to the two men who are still watching them closely from the bar. “You need to relax. We’re undercover and you’re the one acting like the shy virgin. In case you’d forgotten, we’re a couple here. Act like it or these things will keep happening.”

This close, he can feel Jason swallow even as his back stiffens. Before Tim can even register it, he’s shoved away from him. His protest dies on his lips as Jason spins him around, slotting himself against his back, hands falling to Tim’s hips like they belong there.

“Better?” Jason’s voice is rough and low in Tim’s ear as they start dancing again.

Tim swallows, startled by the overwhelming sense of how right this feels. He’s no stranger to being held like this, some nameless person grinding against him while his attention is elsewhere following his target. His body reacts as it never has before and ever so briefly, he wishes that Jason’s hands would slip just a little lower.

Reality comes slamming back into him when another dancer accidently jostles them. What the hell is he thinking? This is Jason Todd, the same man who has tried to kill him more than once. A few years may have passed since then and they’ve managed to forge a pretty good working relationship, but to say they got off on the right foot would be a complete and utter lie.

So why is Jason making him feel this way?

A little too late, Tim nods his head, remembering the question. “Yeah. Fine.”

They leave a short while later, Tim hoping that Jason doesn’t notice the slight awkward shuffle to his steps.

Third time is the charm, a fact for which Tim is glad for because once they hit the dance floor again and Jason’s big arms wrap around him, his body starts to betray him once more. He’s never felt so glad to see one of the drug runners and hit them up to see their boss.

Tim pays out the ass for the fentanyl, not quibbling because this guy knows he’s got the money and is marking it up.

That night after they leave, he and Jason part ways to change into their uniforms and return, staking out the front and back doors of the club. It’s late by the time the dealer exits through the employee door. They tail him all the way to Burnley and into a nondescript townhouse.

Jason lowers his binoculars. “Well, thanks for helpin’ me out. I think I got it from here.”

Tim frowns, but doesn’t argue. His part in all this, pretending to be Jason’s boyfriend to create a believable cover, is over. “No problem. You still owe me one.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know I’m good for it.”

Surprisingly enough, he does.

~*~*~*~

Tim drops his box with a heavy thunk. Inside, something crunches and he takes a certain amount of petty delight in Jason’s frown.

“What if I told you the coffee mugs are in there?” Jason says. He’s arranging the silverware drawer.

“That’s your problem, not mine. I have travel mugs that don’t break.”

Tim stalks away to grab another box. How the hell he let himself get talked into this, he has no clue.

This being the third time in less than two months that Jason has asked him to help out with one of his cases. Or, more specifically, asked him to be in a fake relationship to help establish his cover. He’s starting to see a pattern here.

“Why the hell did I say yes?” Tim mumbles as he grabs another box from the back of their small moving van.

He knows all too well why he did. It’s the same reason that’s been haunting him for the last six weeks. The same little feeling that keeps reappearing anytime he even so much as gets a text from the man.

This isn’t happening to him. It can’t be. He does not find Jason attractive.

“His face is stupid,” he mutters, then sighs.

Leaning against the back of the van, Tim closes his eyes, trying to calm himself even as he toys with the wedding band resting on his finger yet again. There is nothing to be worked up over. It’s not as though Jason is doing this on purpose. He really does need his help here because a single man living in a neighborhood like this one is going to catch someone’s attention, especially since Jason needs to make himself visible and approachable. He gets to be the house-husband while Tim toddles off to work every morning and returns in the evening. Their marriage is a complete and utter sham. Nothing to get worked up over.

Besides, it’s not like Jason even sees him the same way. This is just a job. A case. Bad guys to be caught.

The drug ring Jason has been after is much bigger and better organized than he originally suspected, the trail leading into the suburbs of Gotham Heights, a solidly middle class neighborhood where crime is more of the white collar variety than anything else. This particular subdivision is relatively new though and when Tim poked around, there were more income figures in the upper five digits and lower six than the rest of the area. Wannabe real housewives of Gotham is what Jason called them and Tim has to concur. In fact, it’s what they’re hoping for. Two good looking gay men moving into the area is bound to attract the kind of attention they want, and Jason is fully ready to play house-husband and collect all the gossip while Tim is at work.

“Here, let me get that one.” Jason’s unfairly big arms reach around Tim to grab a larger box.

Tim huffs and blows his bangs out of his eyes. He needs another haircut but decided against it as it’ll help detract from how similar he appears to Timothy Drake-Wayne. That and the glasses that are perched on the end of his nose, ones that he never lets himself be seen in public with for this very reason. If it works for Clark, it’ll work for him, at least to the casual observer.

“I had that.”

“You’re supposed to be the computer nerd, remember? Lifting big boxes isn’t in your repertoire.”

Tim eyes the muscles flexing under Jason’s t-shirt, easily managing the weight. “Fine.” He picks up a large plastic tub labeled Bedding and takes it into the house.

There are three bedrooms in the house, but from what Tim understands, one is being used for their surveillance equipment and the other for the makeshift office where Jason is ostensibly writing a novel. The current plan is to rotate sleeping in the master bedroom while the other sleeps on the sofa.

Right. Tim heaves a sigh as he drops the bin on the floor and stares at the unmade king-sized bed he’d help set up earlier. “This is gonna suck.”

~*~*~

Two weeks later, Tim is ready to revise that statement. His life doesn’t suck. His life is a miserable living hell.

The routine he and Jason have fallen into is, well, domestic. Every morning, he’s out the door no later than eight to do battle with the evils of rush hour into the city where he mucks around and does casework from the quiet safety of his apartment in Crime Alley. Every evening, he makes his way back out to the suburbs, rolling in no later than six.

Thank god they have a garage because Tim is pretty sure he’d die if he had to go through the front door and make a show of kissing Jason for anyone who is watching.

“Honey, I’m home!” Tim calls out with more than a little bit of sarcasm coloring his voice.

“Fucking finally.” Jason sounds frustrated over something.

It’s probably dinner. He’s taken to watching cooking shows in the afternoon and applying what he’s learned.

Tim kicks off his shoes in the laundry room and crosses into the wide open kitchen.

Jason is wearing an apron. It’s a crying shame he’s also wearing jeans and a faded blue henley.

Son of a fucking bitch. Not again. Tim swallows hard and thanks every god he can think of that the man is facing away from him and can’t see him flounder.

“Rough day?” he manages to say without stumbling over his words.

“Just a shitty one.” Jason points toward the sink. “Wash up, then grab your plate. We need to talk.”

Great. Just great.

They sit at the kitchen counter, Jason taking a large swig from his beer bottle before digging into his meal. Tim is a little slower to start and fiddles with the wrapper on his. “What happened?” he finally asks.

“I think I’ve narrowed it down to which house around here is our real target. I finally saw that pool maintenance truck pull up today.”

The fentanyl and possibly some other drugs are being funneled into the city with vehicles that appear to be for legitimate small businesses, like plumbing contractors or yard maintenance trucks. Vehicles that wouldn’t catch anyone’s attention with drivers who actually make a show at doing what they’re there for. Or so Jason says from what he’s observed.

Tim perks up. “That’s not bad news.”

“No, it’s actually pretty good,” Jason concedes. “The problem is that I can only take so many walks through the neighborhood and chat with so many people before it starts to look strange.”

“Okay…” Tim doesn’t see where this is going.

“We need a dog.”

He blinks and drops his fork. “What?”

“We need a fucking dog. One with a good amount of energy that gives me an excuse to wander around.” Jason viciously stabs some broccoli and stuffs it in his mouth.

“And just what will happen to the dog when we’re done here?” Tim asks. He’s always wanted a dog but doing so for the sake of a mission isn’t exactly the best reason.

Jason gives him a look that clearly says he thinks Tim is being an idiot. “We find it a good home, duh.”

Right. Because that’s totally going to happen.

~*~*~

The dog’s name is Darcy because this is what happens when Tim lets Jason name things. He’s a two year old black-and-white American bulldog who thinks he’s a lapdog and drools more than any creature Tim has ever seen.

For some bizarre reason, he also adores Tim and tries to sleep with him on the sofa instead of on the big beach towel they’ve laid out on the bed in the master bedroom.

“Ugh, get off me,” Tim says, trying to shove Darcy aside one night. “You’re supposed to sleep with Jason.”

He’s tired. Really tired. All this sleep he’s been getting can’t be healthy because pulling an all-nighter didn’t used to be this challenging.

Darcy whines and gives him the big sorrowful puppy dog eyes that never fail to melt Tim’s heart. How anyone can say no to this dog is beyond him. If it weren’t for the fact that most people thought he was a pitbull mix at the pound, he’d probably have been adopted sooner.

“You’re a big baby.” Tim yanks at his blanket. More of it needs to be over his shoulders and not pooled around his waist where the dog has made a nest from it.

“I can’t believe you let him walk all over you like this.”

Tim looks up to find Jason leaning in the hall entrance. Apparently, his battle over the blankets caught his attention. “I do no such thing.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Come on. The bed’s big enough for all three of us.”

No. No no no no no. This has been what Tim’s resisted most from the moment they moved in together last month. Living with the man that he’s finally acknowledged to himself that he has a crush on is painful enough. Sleeping beside him is a whole different ballgame.

“It’ll be okay,” Tim says, trying to find an out. “If you can just get Darcy in there, that should be fine.”

Jason is already shaking his head. “He whines at the door to be let out. Get your ass in there. Or are you afraid I’ll smother you in your sleep?”

Tim would almost prefer it if it means he can escape what are likely to be some very awkward morning boners. “I starfish in my sleep.”

“What does that mean?”

“I tend to sprawl out. There’s a reason my bed at home is a king.”

Jason runs a hand through his hair and yawns. “We’ll fuckin’ deal with it if you start kickin’ me. Now, get in there and go the fuck to sleep.”

“I want to state for the record that this is a bad idea,” Tim comments as he stands. Darcy ever so helpfully jumps off the sofa, freeing the blanket.

“Noted.”

~*~*~

The case drags out for three months, two of which Tim finds himself sharing a bed with Jason. And Darcy, because the dog somehow manages to sleep between the two of them on his beach towel.

In the end, Jason not only manages to figure out the supply route, but also where he needs to head next.

“Montreal is not where I expected this case to go,” Tim says one evening as they’re eating dinner. “But it’s not entirely surprising. Canada has a pretty similar problem.”

Jason nods thoughtfully. “I’m sure I’ll end up in China at some point, but the base of this particular supply line seems to end there.”

“Well, my Mandarin is a bit rusty, but if you need help, gimme a call.”

“I will. And don’t think I’ve forgotten what a massive favor you’ve done for me with all of this.” Jason gestures to the house around them and the home it really has become.

Tim frowns and glances down at Darcy, who’s waiting ever so patiently for any crumbs or slivers of meat that may fall to the floor. “Yeah, about all this… Umm… I really don’t care about the house, but… I don’t want to give up that overgrown lapdog.”

Jason smiles fondly at the dog. “Neither do I. You’ve got the space at your apartment, right?”

“Yeah, but I’m busy. Face of WE and all that crap.” Tim scowls and leans down to rub behind Darcy’s floppy ear. The dog’s tail thumps loudly against the flooring. “He needs more attention than I can give him on my own.”

“Well, I can always stop by. To help.” Jason’s gaze darts away in a brief flash of uncertainty that Tim hasn’t seen since that neighborhood barbeque they went to last month where they had to act like the married couple they’ve been pretending to be. Holding hands was enough to make Jason’s ears turn red, although he tried passing it off as too much sun.

Tim narrows his eyes, a suspicion rising in the pits of his heart that almost feels suspiciously like hope. Before he can talk himself out of it, he reaches out and takes Jason’s hand.

Cue the red ears. And a faint flush that reveals a slight scattering of freckles over his cheeks.

“What?” Jason asks, clearly startled by Tim just randomly holding his hand. He looks everywhere but at him.

“Jason,” Tim says slowly, carefully because he really doesn’t want to be wrong. “You do know you can come by my apartment to see me, too. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

He doesn’t let go of Jason’s hand.

“I… uh… Are you sure?” There’s that insecurity again, but Jason’s giving him a hopeful look, one that makes him appear so much younger than he is.

Tim raises their joined hands to his mouth and presses a kiss onto the scarred knuckles. There’s no mistaking the heat that flares in Jason’s eyes. “I’d love it if you did. Perhaps we can take Darcy out together. Have a cup of coffee somewhere.”

“Yes!” Jason all but shouts, then blushes harder as Tim chuckles over his enthusiasm. “Fuck, we kinda went at this ass-backwards, didn’t we?”

“Well, this is actually one of the longest relationships I’ve ever had, but it’s also the first one where I haven’t gone on a real date. How about we fix that before you go to Montreal?”

Jason nods, then bites his bottom lip. “Umm, does that mean I can’t kiss you until after the first date?”

“Hell, no.” Tim pushes their mostly empty dinner plates to the side and seats himself on the counter. He tugs Jason to his feet and the taller man slots himself between Tim’s parted thighs in a way that he can’t wait to explore in more explicit detail later.

Their mouths meet, hesitantly at first as Tim lets Jason set the pace, then harder as Jason’s confidence grows.

Jason moans against Tim’s mouth as he tugs lightly on the short hairs at the back of his neck. The moan quickly turns into a groan as Darcy launches himself up from the floor, whining and barking as he tries to get in on the action.

Tim starts to laugh, even as the dog manages to get his front paws up on the counter. “I hope he doesn’t do this all the time.”

“Something tells me he’s going to be a worse cockblock than Dick.”

#chibinightowl writes #brightestdaay #jaytimsecretsanta #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Darcy the Dog #JayTim #Eventual Relationship

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knightwingyj · 5 years

Text

Little Do You Know Ch 5

The background was coming together nicely and would certainly draw the viewer’s eyes to the center of the piece. Markus placed his brush to the side and took a cleansing breath. The color was muted, not much different than the original color of the canvas but it had a few shades and breaks to avoid feeling too empty. His phone buzzed on the side table, breaking the calm environment he had created and startling him a bit. Annoyance pinched his face as he snatched up the Plastic-wrapped device. The annoyance vanished with a grin when he saw who had texted him.

‘Why the fuck are there so many shades of white?!’

Shaking his head, Markus typed back a response with paint-stained fingers.

‘Hello to you too, Conner.’

The young CFO only tended to curse when he was beyond frustrated with something and whatever it was had to be particularly grating to warrant the drop of the F-bomb. It wasn’t long before his phone buzzed again.

‘Seriously, white is white.’

‘And hi Markus.’

The painter chuckled.

‘What has white ever done to you?’

‘Besides supposedly having more than one shade?’

‘Having my fiancée and her mother asking me whether cream or eggshell goes better with eggplant.’

‘EGGPLANT MARKUS!!!’

A laugh escaped him on that one. It seems Conner is in desperate need of saving.

‘Tell them to go with a bright white.’

‘Anything else and it’ll just look dirty.’

The phone in his hands remained still as he patiently waited for the verdict. Ding.

‘They officially believe me to be a color genius.’

‘Thank you!’

Chuckling softly, Markus typed his reply.

‘Glad to be of service.’

‘I expect payment in the form of Pauli’s giant caramel mocha shake.’

‘You got it.’

That winky face at the end did things to Markus’ insides that should be considered illegal. Cheeks aching, he set his phone down and set about cleaning up his supplies. He was in the middle of cleaning up his brushes when his phone suddenly blew up. A little startled, he dried his hands as quickly as he could and hurried to grab his phone that was doing it best impression of Carol of the Bells. “Jesus, Conner,” he muttered to himself, opening his messages.

‘This was a huge mistake.’

‘Mayday! Mayday! They want my ‘expertise’ for the rehearsal dinner place settings.’

‘I don’t know anything about place settings!’

‘Markus, help me!!’

‘Why are there so many shades of the same color?!’

‘MARKUS!’

‘Oh, why didn’t I lie?!’

‘I blame you for this.’

‘No shake for you.’

His smile grew wider with each new message and he could practically hear Conner’s panicky voice in each one. The last one had him dissolving into chortles and scrambling to answer back. The deliciousness of Pauli’s shakes was on the line.

Conner sighed and rubbed his eyes. Figuring out the color schemes for the wedding ceremony, reception, and rehearsal dinner compounded into a migraine despite the marvelous tips from the man behind the curtain, or massage as it were. He could hear Hank’s hastily muffled laughter as Chloe dragged him from one set of China to another. It was unfortunate that his bodyguard was immune to his glares or we would have been a steaming pile of goo on the department store floor.

Rubbing his temples, he almost didn’t notice Conan approach him. “Headache?” His brother asked.

“Unfortunately.”

“I’ll have someone bring you an aspirin, but for now,” the slight warning tone in Conan’s voice set Conner on edge. “She wants to see you.”

Something akin to ice flashed through his veins and all expression slid from his face. “Thank you for informing me.” Conan nodded seriously. A hand on his bicep squeezed reassuringly before he mounted the stairs.

The door was closed, it always was, and he allowed himself a moment to purge and collect his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he turned the brass knob and entered. Her office at the manor was almost identical to the one at Cyberlife, all cool colors and sharp edges. He avoided this room like that plague when he was a kid, afraid that he would somehow impale himself on the furniture or art around the room. There was even the accent wall with blood red roses creeping up to the ceiling. That’s where he found her, carefully pruning the flowers she loved so much.

“Good afternoon, Conner.” Amanda greeted unbothered to turn and address him.

Conner stood stock still, hands clasped behind his back, ram-rod straight, and eyes fixed on a point just above her head. “Good afternoon, Mother.”

“How was your time with Chloe?” Those hands, thin but precise, snipped the dead and dying leaves and blooms from the healthy ones.

“Productive. We managed to finalize the color scheme and place settings for both the rehearsal dinner and reception if you should want to review it.”

“I’m sure what you two have chosen with be sufficient.” She dismissed the suggestion with barely a wave or her shears. “And Chloe? How is she handling everything?”

“Remarkably well. She had booked the venue for both events and the ‘save the date’ cards have been delivered.”

“Excellent. Very good, Conner.” Snip. Snip. “And how much time have you spent together?”

Conner’s brow pinched as he attempted to understand her question. “We were together today during the selection.”

“I meant outside planning for the wedding and your work at Cyberlife.” Snip. “How much time have you spent together recreationally?” Snip. Snip. Snip.

A pale hand tightened around a thin wrist, sending pens and needles dancing down his fingers. “Not much, I’m afraid.”

Amanda hummed, displeased with his answer. “Take her out tonight. Spend some downtime with your fiancée. If you want to form any kind of relationship with her, you actually have to put in the work.”

Her tone dictated that this wasn’t a suggestion and Conner’s own grip was becoming painful. He was probably leaving behind bruises. Tonight was supposed to be his night with Markus. They had planned a Star Trek marathon after the artist discovered his lack of sci-fi knowledge and was determined to make him a ‘true Trekkie’. Now, it would seem that he’d have to cancel. Nails dug into the flesh of his wrist to keep his expression from voicing his displeasure.

“You may go, Conner. Enjoy tonight.” Snip. Dismissed.

“Thank you, Mother.” Conner bowed his head to her back before walking out the door and calmly closing it behind him. He sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not how he imagined this day going.

Retreating to his room, he barricaded himself in and hit speed dial on his phone. He counted three rings before it was answered. “Well, hello there stranger. Thanks for all the text messages, you kinda blew up my phone.” The sound of Markus’ voice never failed to put a smile on his face.

“Sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was a pleasant distraction.” There was the sound of rustling as if Markus had shifted the phone to a more comfortable angle against his ear. “So, what do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

For a split second, Conner had forgotten why he had called, content to just listen to Markus speak, but the question brought him back to the true purpose of the conversation and his smile fell. “Markus, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to cancel tonight.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Depends on your definition.” He took a deep breath. “Amanda has informed me that I have been neglectful in my duties to Chloe and has…suggested that I take her out this evening. I won’t be able to attend out marathon.”

“Okay, raincheck then,” Markus replied pleasantly.

Conner blinked. “You’re not upset?”

“Not, why would I be?”

“…because I wasn’t able to stick to the original agreement we had made?”

“And that’s okay. You’re human, Conner. Things are going to mess up our plans all the time. You just have to adapt a bit. Nobody’s perfect.” There was silence as Conner tried to process what he had said. “I’m not mad, Conner,” Markus assured softly.

“Promise?” Conner cringed at the very child-like question that slipped out.

“Promise.” He could hear the fond smile drifting through the speaker.

Conner practically deflated with relief. “Okay. I just wish…”

“I know. Me too.” Not for the first time, Conner wondered how he was lucky enough to warrant having a friend like Markus. They took a moment to just listen to each other breath, each morning for their lost time and secretly yearning for the next to come. “Go see Chloe, Conner. We’ll hang out another time.” Markus said softly breaking the fragile silence.

“Alright. Goodbye, Markus and don’t watch any without me.” The last part was added hastily and was only partly playful.

“Of course not,” there was that smile again. “Goodbye, Conner.” There was a faint click and Conner pulled the device away from his ear. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it would have to do for now. Finding himself sighing again, Conner typed out a quick message.

‘Would you care to join me for dinner tonight at Maroni’s?’

Chloe’s response was almost immediate.

‘I would love to!’

‘I’ll pick you up at six.’

‘Can’t wait!’

Chloe’s emojis didn’t make him smile quite like Markus’ does.

Here he was in another suit at yet another event he had no desire to be at. Chloe sat across the table from him, a vision in lavender, delicately spinning her pasta with her silver fork and spoon. His own ravioli was slowly cooling in the white china dinner plate in front of him. Hank sat at the table next to them, silently enjoying his own meal while scanning the area around them and not-so-subtly rolling his eyes at their inability to fill the space between them with any type of conversation. Conner took small sips of his wine from the spotless crystal glass, eyes fixed on the candle flickering the silver candlestick in the center of the immaculate white table cloth.

His eyes flickered to Hank, who gave him a pointed look and gestured to Chloe, mouthing an aggressive ‘talk to her’. He cleared his throat. “How is your food?” He asked and Hank face-palmed.

“It’s delicious,” Chloe replied with a polite smile. “And yours?”

“It is very good.”

“That’s good.” The silence was back, and Conner could feel Hank’s unimpressed glare heating up the side of his face and he pointedly avoided looking over. He was getting a lecture on the finer point of social conversations on the way home tonight for sure.

“I wanted to thank you for taking me out tonight.” She said fork pushing the pasta around her plate. “I know we haven’t seen much of each other these past few weeks, with both of us being so busy.”

“I know,” he acknowledged. “I apologize for neglecting you.”

“Oh, I’m not upset or anything. I mean, both of us have lives to live. I just wanted to thank you for taking the time to spend tonight with me. That’s all.”

“Oh…” he didn’t really know what to say to that. “You are welcome, I suppose.”

She smiled warmly at him. “Were you able to watch the play the other night? Or did you give the tickets away?”

“Right, the play. Um…” his mind flashed to Pauli’s dinner, laughing and enjoying great food with a certain beautifully mismatched man. He couldn’t decide if this feeling was bitter or sweet to the taste. “I went for a portion of it but wasn’t able to stay for the full performance. Special…circumstances arose that required my…immediate attention.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Chloe’s hands disappeared beneath the table. “I would have liked to hear how it ended.

That bittersweet taste soured, and he swallowed the rest of his wine to chase it away. The awkward silence was back, making his ears ring painfully. The conversations of the other patrons nor the soft music playing over invisible speakers did nothing to dispel it. It was, of course, Chloe that broke it. “Do you remember that carousel that we used to ride all the time when we were kids?” She asked looking away as her hand tapped her chin. “I can’t remember the name of it.”

He knew exactly which one she was referring to. “The Cullen Carousel.”

Her eyes lit up. “Yes, that’s the one.”

“Yes, I remember it.” He smiled. “I also happened to remember that your brother challenged us that we couldn’t ride it without throwing up.”

She giggled, hand covering her mouth. “Yeah, and each of us rode it till we did.”

“If I remember correctly, you beat us all. Rode it ten times.”

“You were a close second.”

“Then Elijah.”

“Then, of course, Conan.” She giggled again. “Poor Conan, he was never very good with rides.”

Conner shook his head fondly. “He had a weak stomach. He would get so mad at me when I forced him onto anything with any kind of spin to it. He’d always end up a little green afterward.”

They laughed lightly together, bonding of memories of their shared childhood. “Those were the days, weren’t they?” She said wistfully. “No work. No responsibilities.” She shifted slightly in her seat, the mood dropping quickly with her tone. “Whatever happened to those days, Conner? We used to be such good friends and now…now, we hardly talk to each other.”

Conner looked away, staring into the bottom of the wine glass rolling between his fingers. He couldn’t answer her. So much had changed since then. He had changed.

“Hey,” a perfectly manicured hand reached across the table and gently grabbed his wrist. He glanced up at his…fiancée. She smiled softly at him, blue eyes glowing in the candlelight. “Why don’t we go?”

His head tilted. “Go where?”

“Back to the carousel. I’m sure it’s still there. We could go back to those days. Just for a little while.”

His mouth opened to refuse her. There was no use in dwelling in the past, but…maybe…just this once. The smile grew on his face. “Let’s go.”

Grinning, they stood together, and Conner helped her put on her coat. Hank glanced at them confused. “Just where are you two going?” He asked standing as well.

“On an adventure,�� Chloe declared giggling.

“Would you bring the car around Hank?” Conner asked slipping into his own coat. To his credit, Hank just shook his head and did as he was asked.

They paid the bill and were soon cruising toward Cullen Plaza and the childhood memories hidden there. They could see the operator starting to close down the carousel and ran the rest of the way. “Wait, sir! Wait!” Chloe called trying to catch her breath.

“I’m closing up for the night, guys.” Said the man with the name tag the read, ‘Jerry’.

“We know. We would just like a few minutes. Please?” Conner asked.

Jerry’s eyes flicked between the two of them, taking in their ruffled evening clothes and faces filled with childish hope. He sighed good-naturedly and smiled. “A few minutes.”

Chloe bounced in excitement and Conner thanked the man and handed him a hundred for his trouble. They opened the gate and rushed to the glowing carousel. Chloe chose a beautifully-painted white stallion and Conner mounted the chestnut one next to her. The music started up and the ride began to spin slowly. Chloe giggled and for a moment, Conner could see the little girl he knew years ago. Platinum blond hair up in pigtails and chubby cheeks pink with laughter. Feet barely able to reach the stirrups and safety belt wrapped around her waist. What had happened to the feeling of freedom that came with those days? How did things get so jaded with age? That little girl was one of his close friends and now? Now, he found himself engaged to her with no desire to replace what they had back then. Why did life have to taint those good memories?

The carousel slowed to a stop and they got off, Chloe still giggling. They thanked Jerry and walked back to the car where Hank was waiting with an amused smile. The ride back to the Kamski’s mansion was filled with Chloe reminiscing about their childhood and Conner doing his utmost not to ruin the mood.

Ever the gentleman, Conner walked her to the door. “Thank you for tonight, Conner. I haven’t had fun like that in a while. Hopefully, we can do it again soon.” She said hesitantly, brushing a stray curl from her face.

“Of course, Chloe,” Conner replied with a polite smile. “Goodnight.”

As he went to turn away, a hand on his arm stopped him. Resting on the step just below her, Chloe was able to look him in the eye and she stepped toward him. The same panicked feeling from that afternoon in his office bubbled up inside him, threatening to burst. His muscles seized as her warm breath ghosted over his face and he held his breath to keep from hyperventilating. The moment her glossy lips met his, his hand flew to her arm as if to push her away.

A little voice in the back of his head informed him that this is what an engaged couple does. They were affectionate, intimate, with each other. Be affectionate, Conner. That sounded too much like Amanda. Swallowing down the panic, he forced himself to loosen his grip and just allow what was happing.

Encouraged by his reaction, Chloe’s head tilted, slotting her lips against his closed mouth. Her hand held the back of his neck, keeping him from escaping.

You can stop now, he pleaded. Please stop. It was as if she heard him as she finally, finally, broke the kiss. She seemed more relaxed in her smile as she gazed lovingly at him. Don’t do that. “Goodnight, Conner.” Her voice was husky, and he shivered. It had nothing to do with desire. She turned away and headed inside, and Conner could finally breathe. A shaking hand wiped at his mouth and he desperately tried to calm his racing heart.

The night seemed like a success. He had spent the adequate amount of time with Chloe and was even affectionate towards her. The little trip down memory lane was unexpected and it wasn’t clear if it had been welcome. Amanda would be proud. So, why did he feel like he was going to be sick?

#my fic #markus x connor #dbh markus #dbh connor #dbh hank #dbh jerry #rk1000 #rk900 #emotional manipulation #arranged marriage #human au #slow burn #ao3 #i can never remember all of my tags #dbh chloe #dbh amanda

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lfthinkerwrites · 5 years

Text

A Riddle for a Bat, pt. 12

Surprise early update!

Title: A Riddle for a Bat

Fandom: Batman

Pairing: Riddlebat

Rating: T

Chapter Summary: Two weeks after ending their partnership, Bruce meets Edward again.

Previous Chapters: 1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11

AO3 Link

It had been two weeks since the murders that had rocked Gotham's criminal underworld. Two weeks since O'Reilly, the confessed murderer, had been killed himself. Two weeks since Bruce had last seen or spoken to Edward Nigma.

It felt like longer.

He'd spent the first few days in the Bat Cave, going over every detail he could find of O'Reilly's life, trying not to waste time looking at Edward's profile, Edward's picture. That was done.

O'Reilly had been a courier, had served time in New York for arson and assault, and at the time of his death, had a little over $22,000 in his bank account, $20,000 of which had been a cash deposit the day before the bombing of the Maroni restaurant. If there was a direct link between him and Thorne, Bruce hadn't been able to find it. He'd hit a wall after three days. He'd finally left the Bat Cave on the morning of the third day, looking for O'Reilly's girlfriend, but she'd disappeared back into the shadows of Gotham City. Bruce could only hope that her disappearance was voluntary. Falcone had been moved to an undisclosed hospital somewhere in the city limits and Maroni had been taken into federal custody on tax evasion charges. The Maroni and the Falcone crime families were as good as dead, which left Rupert Thorne as that last mob boss of any significant standing in Gotham City.

So for most of the past two weeks, Bruce waited and watched. Most of the foot soldiers of the Maroni and Falcone crime families had gone underground or joined Thorne's organization with little violence. Now that his hired gun was gone, Thorne had seemed to go back to his previous, more cautious demeanor, but sooner or later, he'd slip up. He'd get overconfident, he'd make one fatal mistake, and then Bruce would have him. So he waited.

That wasn't what kept him up at the wee hours of the morning though.

Every night before he returned to Wayne Manor from patrol, he would stop the Batmobile by Edward's office and look up, to make sure that the light was on, that Edward was still there. Each night, the light would be on, and Bruce could just make out a figure pacing through the office. Each night, he'd be tempted to go up that fire escape, to open that window, to tell Edward that he was sorry, to tell Edward that he-but each time, he'd remember Harvey and Andrea and he'd drive on.

Exactly two weeks to the night that he'd called off their partnership, Bruce was sitting in the Batmobile, craning his neck to look up at Edward's office and waiting to catch a glimpse of the man in the window. He hadn't caught sight of Edward since telling him to back off the case, but somehow Bruce knew that he was still investigating. He'd almost hoped he'd catch him out on patrol, so he would at least have an excuse to see him again.

"Master Bruce?"

Alfred's voice on the Batmobile's communications brought Bruce out of his trance. "Go ahead, Alfred."

"It's after 2 am Sir. How goes it out there?"

Bruce caught movement in the office and he sighed. "Quiet. I'll be heading back shortly." He let his gaze linger for a moment longer before he shifted the car into drive.

He heard Alfred's voice continue. "It's just as well. We do have that charity function we're hosting at the manor tomorrow afternoon."

"Don't remind me," Bruce groaned. A charity function was the last thing he wanted to be involved with right now, but he'd hosted this gathering to raise money for his mother's charity for the past ten years. He couldn't cancel or choose not to make an appearance. "I'll be home in about thirty minutes."

"Very good." There was a pause before Alfred spoke again. "Did you at least speak to him tonight, sir?"

Bruce didn't answer.

Twelve hours later, the cream of the crop of Gotham's upper class was gathered under the roof of Wayne Manor. At least twenty people were gathered in the main hall, while others were scattered about the outer grounds. Dick was sitting on the sofa, dressed in a tuxedo and entertaining the younger women with tales of made up exploits and having his cast signed. Bruce himself was in the living room, making the rounds. "Nice to see you again, Mark. Looking good, Rita. Thank you for coming Paul." It was routine hand-shaking and small talk, but Bruce felt exhausted. As he shook another hand, a flash of red caught his vision. He turned around, dropping the hand in his haste. Was it-The man with red hair turned around and Bruce recognized his old school friend Tommy, who waved. Bruce waved back, trying not to let his disappointment show.

"Bruce! Darling!"

Bruce had to let out a smile when he saw Veronica pushing her way through the crowd. "Hi, Ronnie."

Veronica grabbed his hands and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "You've outdone yourself this year, Brucie. The home looks beautiful! And Alfred outdid himself on the Hors d'oeuvres this year."

"I'll be sure to tell him that," Bruce said. "How have you been?"

Veronica laughed. "I can't complain! Oh, it seems like forever since we've seen each other! How's Dick?"

Bruce nodded towards the sofa. "He's fine. I think he's enjoying the attention."

Veronica laughed, then her face fell a bit. "What's wrong?" Bruce asked.

Veronica played idly with her necklace. "It's Eddie. He's been a bit of a funk the last two weeks. He won't go out, he won't talk to anyone. It's almost like he had his heart broken."

Bruce felt his stomach drop. I think he's in love with you. "And you have no idea what happened?"

Veronica sighed. "None. I actually dragged him out here today to see if a change of scenery would do him any good, but he's hardly said two words to anyone-"

Bruce raised his hand as Veronica's words finally sank in. "Edward's here?"

Veronica nodded. "Yes. Last time I saw him, he was heading out to the balcony." Veronica turned to point to the glass doors in the living room that led to a balcony that overlooked the bluffs. "You know what? Maybe you should try talking to him!"

Bruce shuffled. "Ronnie, I don't think-"

"Oh come on, Bruce! You two seemed to hit it off well enough at my party! Maybe he'll be more comfortable talking to a man than to me about whatever happened."

Veronica clearly wasn't taking no for an answer and there was no way Bruce could tell her that he was the absolute last person who had any right to talk to Edward. So Bruce gave Veronica a quick tight smile and walked towards the balcony.

Sure enough, Edward was standing out on the balcony looking over the bluffs to the sea, his back to the doors. He was only wearing a green suit coat today and no hat, leaving his auburn hair free and blowing in the breeze. For a long moment, Bruce stood behind the glass doors, watching the man he'd broken the heart of, the man he'd wanted more than anything to see the past two weeks. Finally, he opened the doors. Edward jerked up a bit when he heard the noise and hastily raised an arm to wipe something off of his face.

"Edward Nigma, isn't it?" Bruce asked in his practiced jovial tone. "It's been a while." Edward slumped a bit, not looking behind him. Bruce frowned a bit, then continued on. "I'm not sure if you remember, but I'm-"

"Bruce Wayne," Edward said absently. "I remember." His voice was hoarse, far from the confident, brassy tone he usually possessed.

Bruce sighed, then walked to the edge of the railing right next to Edward. "How have you been?"

Edward slowly looked up at him and Bruce quickly sucked in a breath. There were large dark circles under Edward's eyes, stubble on his jaw and his eyes, his brilliant green eyes, were dull and red-rimmed. He looked at Bruce with a glare. "I remember when we last met," he said. "And you didn't want anything to do with me. Why are you checking up on me now?"

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck. He'd have to be careful in what he said to the man. "Ronnie's been worried," he offered as an explanation. "She's a friend of mine and you're a friend of hers, I assume."

Edward seemed to deflate, then turned his gaze back towards the horizon. "Ronnie's a sweet woman, under that society girl nonsense," he murmured. "But she couldn't understand."

Bruce stepped a bit closer. "Understand what?"

Edward sighed, then looked down at his hands. "You're a renowned playboy. Tell me," he said in a small voice. "Have you ever met someone who makes you feel alive? I mean, really alive?"

Bruce looked down at his own hands and thought of Andrea, of Edward himself. "Once or twice."

"I've always had a bit of trouble connecting with other people. Finding people who really understand me, people who I can fully engage with." Edward let out a small laugh. "And then one day, he shows up at my fire escape and it was like a lightning strike. It was so easy to converse with him, it was like he knew my every thought before I could even think it, it was..." he let out a sigh. "It was the most alive I've ever felt. And then as soon as he was there, he was gone, and it's like he took a part of me with him." He shook his head. "Just my luck, I'd have to fall in love with the Dark Knight. I must be either the biggest lunatic or the biggest idiot in all of Gotham."

There it was. The confirmation of Edward's feelings for him. This should be a problem, but instead, Bruce felt almost...elated. He wanted to take the man into his arms when he remembered. It was Batman that Edward loved, not Bruce Wayne, and Batman couldn't be with him. "You wouldn't be the first to fall for him," Bruce said. "I think Ronnie had a bit of a crush on him a while back."

"Why am I not surprised?" Edward asked. His face darkened. "Did he break her heart too?"

Bruce fiddled with the cufflinks of his dress shirt. "Not as far as I know. What happened?"

Edward stared at him from the corner of his eye for a moment, before he continued. "We were working on a case together, I won't bore you with the particulars, but we were making progress. He said he trusted me. And then, he told me out of the blue that not only was our partnership over, but he also didn't want me to be involved in the case at all anymore. The case I've spent so long working on! How could he do that to me? How could he go from trusting me one night to not wanting anything to do with me the next?"

"Maybe it wasn't about trust," Bruce said. "Maybe, he was trying to protect you. Maybe he did what he did because he wants what's best for you." That was what Bruce told himself on the nights he was out of the car and had his grappling hook aimed at the fire escape outside of Edward's window. It was for the best. Edward deserved more, deserved better than to be dragged into the dark with Bruce.

Edward's voice cut through these thoughts like a knife and his words were just as sharp. "The best for me? How would he know what's best for me? He's never bothered to ask me!"

Bruce looked at Edward and was surprised at the look of anger on his face. "Arrogant, self-righteous-" Edward made a frustrated noise. "I'll admit, I don't have quite the physicality he does or the flair for the dramatic, but I'm not some helpless damsel in distress either! If he had genuine concerns for my safety, then he should have at least had enough respect for me to have a conversation with me, not dictate orders!" Edward folded his arms in front of him. "It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he must have had some kind of trauma in his life. No man would put on a suit and fight crime otherwise. Whatever it was, it's clearly affected his ability to really interact with people. I wish I knew what it was. Maybe I could have-" Edward's voice trailed off before he spoke in a softer tone. "If what you say is true, then I don't think he was trying to protect me. I think he's trying to protect himself. I think he's trying to spare himself any more pain."

For a long moment, Bruce didn't know what to say. Was Edward right? Before he could say anything, Edward let out another sigh. "I don't want to talk about him anymore."

"Alright," Bruce said. "What do you want to talk about?"

Edward gave him a wry look. "You don't have to mind me, you know. I'm sure Ronnie will understand if you have a few more rounds to make."

"It's no problem at all. To tell the truth, I think I've made small talk with just about everyone else here. How about I show you around the manor?"

Edward rubbed his chin in thought. "Well...alright. I'd like that, Mr. Wayne-"

Bruce held up a hand. "Please. Any friend of Ronnie's is a friend of mine. Call me Bruce."

Edward smiled a bit and Bruce felt his own heart lift at the sight of it. "Alright. Bruce. Lead the way."

Bruce led Edward off the balcony and back into the Manor proper, giving only cursory waves to the people inside. "So where exactly are you taking me first?" Edward asked.

Bruce hadn't actually thought of that. He knew he shouldn't linger so long in Edward's company, but he didn't know when he'd see him again. A part of him wanted to take advantage of this. "I guess the library would be a bit cliche, wouldn't it?"

"It would," Edward agreed. He shrugged. "But I'm not complaining."

Bruce grinned a bit. "Great. It's just down this hall." Across the room, Bruce caught sight of Alfred passing out drinks to the other guests. Alfred glanced his and Edward's direction and gave Bruce a knowing smirk. Bruce ignored him.

Edward let out a low whistle when he saw the sheer amount of books kept in the library. "No offense," he said. "But I never pictured you having a collection this size."

Bruce shrugged. "None taken. Not all of them are mine. Some of them are Dick's."

"Your ward, right?" Edward's eyes darted between the shelves, before he settled on one hardcover in particular. "Does he or you like to read Chandler?"

"Both of us, though that copy's mine," Bruce admitted. "Do you read Chandler?"

"Do I?" Edward said, opening the book and flipping through the pages. "Only once a year. Double Indemnity is my favorite. You?"

"The Big Sleep. I got into pulp detective fiction for a bit when I was younger, after I watched The Grey Ghost."

Edward looked up, his mouth open slightly. "Did you and I share a childhood? I used to watch The Grey Ghost too! I've got a signed poster from Simon Trent in my apartment."

Bruce had missed that when he'd been in Edward's apartment. He smiled fondly at the other man. It seemed that they had more in common than either could have anticipated. "I used to watch it with my father."

Edward's face grew serious and he placed the book back on his shelf. "You were close to him?"

"Yes. To him and my mother."

"Ah." Edward pulled at his fingers a bit. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to dredge up bad memories."

"It's alright," Bruce said. This wasn't what he wanted to dwell on in Edward's company. "What was your favorite episode?"

"The Mad Bomber, of course," Edward answered the lightness back in his voice. "I figured out how the bomber was committing his crimes before the end of the episode, of course."

Bruce chuckled. "Of course you did. You know, I've got the whole run of the Grey Ghost on film, if you want to borrow an episode."

Edward's face fell slightly. "I'm too busy now, but believe me, I'd love to take you up on it." Edward fidgeted with his hands again before he spoke. "You know, you're not at all like how I imagined you were."

"Oh?" Bruce asked. "I get that a lot."

Edward smiled a bit. "If I didn't know better, I'd almost think that the playboy image was an act."

Bruce nearly did a double take, before he willed himself to relax. Edward was a detective, past and present. Of course, he'd pick up on things. "I could say the same about you," he countered. "Having an autographed poster of The Grey Ghost doesn't exactly fit with your image of 'genius private detective'."

Edward shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a man of hidden depths. You are too, I think."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Bruce chuckled. Edward joined in a bit. Whether he was fully thrown off the scent, Bruce couldn't say. "You know," Bruce said. "When I first saw you on TV, I thought you were a smug jerk."

"Rude!" Edward admonished. "But not entirely inaccurate I suppose."

"I was wrong," Bruce said. He licked his lower lip before he continued. "I don't think that anymore. I think you're a good man."

"Well, thank you, I-" Edward's eyes went wide. "Wait. What did you say?"

Bruce realized that he'd said too much. Edward was looking at him, his brow furrowed as if he was putting the pieces of a puzzle together. "I-"

"Ah, there you are, sir!"

Bruce and Edward both turned to see Alfred at the doorway. Bruce had never been happier to see him. "Ms. Vreeland was wondering where the two of you had gone."

"Well, best not to keep Ronnie waiting," Edward said, walking over to Alfred. He held his hand out to the old butler. "Edward Nigma, Private Investigator."

"Alfred Pennyworth, the butler. I've heard quite a bit about you." Alfred shook Edward's hand politely, then scrutinized his jacket. "Chiefly about your taste in attire."

Edward looked down at his jacket. "Well, I do have an aesthetic to maintain. So, you've been here for a long time, I take it?"

"Before Master Bruce was even born," Alfred answered. "I have many stories I could share about his youthful misadventures-"

"None of which we have the time to get into right now," Bruce said, almost pushing Edward out the door. "Let's go find Ronnie."

Edward pouted a bit. "You're no fun anymore."

"There was something I've been meaning to ask you about Ronnie," Bruce whispered as soon as they were down the hall and out of Alfred's earshot.

"Ronnie?" Edward asked, a confused expression on his face. "What about her?"

"You know she has a crush on you, right?"

Edward's face turned a bright pink. Ronnie had been right all along. The man was adorable. "She-really? Oh. Oh my."

"You really didn't know?"

"I-well, I thought she seemed a bit friendly, but oh my," Edward stammered. "Poor Ronnie. Maybe if she were a Ronald, but-Oh dear. I've never been the one to do the rejecting."

"Don't worry. She'll get over it," Bruce said. "She'll probably still drag you out on the town though."

Edward laughed, dissipating his nervous energy. "There are worse fates, I suppose." They were about to walk back into the crowded living room when Edward reached out to touch Bruce's shoulder. "Thank you. Not for telling me about Veronica, though I did need to hear that, but thank you for talking with me. You really did make me feel better."

Bruce smiled, but inside, felt nothing but regret. "You're welcome, Edward."

Edward smiled again, then walked off to join Veronica, who was engaged in an animated conversation with Dick on the sofa."

"Eddie, darling!" Veronica called out, waving him over. "There you are! I was afraid you'd left me!"

Edward flushed a bit at the endearment but recovered. "Never, Ronnie. Who's this?"

"Dick Grayson, I'm Bruce's ward," Dick said, holding out his hand. "You're the Private Eye, right? I've seen you on the news a lot! Nice to meet you!"

"Nice to meet you," Edward said. Bruce realized that his attention was solely on Dick's cast. "How did that happen?"

"Some jerk ran a red light and hit my car a few weeks ago," Dick answered without missing a beat. "Want to sign?"

Bruce watched Edward rub his chin. "A few weeks ago..." Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. "Why not? You can keep it as a souvenir." He leaned down and signed his name with a flourish. "There you are."

Bruce watched from the corner of the room as Dick and Edward engaged in banter, with Veronica chiming in ever so often. After today, he didn't know when or if he'd see Edward again. He wished he didn't have to leave. Bruce was so wrapped up in watching the scene he almost didn't hear Alfred walk up behind him. "He is quite a character, isn't he, sir?"

"Yes, he is," Bruce said softly.

"I can't help but notice that you seem to be in a better mood than you've been for the last few weeks. And I don't think Mr. Nigma's presence here isn't related to that."

Leave it to Alfred to notice. Bruce sighed. "I can't be with him Alfred," he said. "I want to be, more than anything, but it's too dangerous."

"For him, or for you?"

Bruce stiffened. He felt Alfred place a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know how many people you've lost, Bruce. I know that you've been thinking of Harvey and Andrea. But Mr. Nigma is not Harvey or Andrea. He does not deserve to be treated as if he is."

"I know he doesn't Alfred, but he deserves better."

"Isn't that his choice to make?"

He didn't want to admit it, but deep down, he knew Alfred was right. Bruce watched as Edward laughed at a joke Dick made. "What should I do, Alfred?"

"Go to him. Perhaps not tonight. Perhaps not tomorrow, but go to him. Tell him everything you feel and then leave it in his hands. Let him decide for himself."

Bruce watched for a few minutes more, until Edward and Veronica got up, and headed towards the door. Edward turned back to Bruce and waved. The light in his eyes was back. Bruce never wanted to see that light go out again. He'd do it. Tomorrow night, after patrol. He'd go to him and tell him that he was sorry. He'd go to him and tell him he wanted to make their partnership permanent.

He'd go to Edward and he'd tell him he was starting to fall in love with him.

Across town, a very different man was having a very different gathering.

"Cheers boss," a crony in a cheap suit toasted, holding a glass of champagne in his hand. "To being the only crime boss in town!" A chorus of cheers came up from the crowd of men sitting around a long oak table.

At the head of the table, Rupert Thorne held his hand up. "Gentlemen. Thank you for everything that you've accomplished, but our work's not quite over yet. There's one more thing we have to do before we can truly take over this town."

"What, boss?" The man seated to his right asked. "Maroni's going to Club Fed and Falcone's a dead man walking. Who's left to stop us?"

Thorne's black eyes narrowed. "Batman, that's who. If we're going to be the Top Dog in this town, we need to take him down."

To his left, a young woman dressed in red leaned forward. "I may have an idea for how to go about that Rupe." She pulled out a newspaper from her briefcase and set it down in front of him.

Thorne took a glance at the headline. 'Private Detective Edward Nigma cracks the case of Vreeland Jewel Robbery'. The rotund gangster smiled. "I see. Very well. Stop by his office tomorrow Candace and tell him he has a new client."

#A Riddle for a Bat #riddlebat #oh bruce #you finally acknowledged it #just in time for a bomb to drop

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sure-as-eggs · 7 years

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Cards on the table: I love Oswald most of all. I am #TeamOswald to a probably irritating extent. I also hate all the ways he’s (both knowingly and unknowingly) taken advantage of Ed.

I think he hates it too, honestly?? I think regret is part of the love-based weakness he’s vowed to do without; to even attempt to make things right with Ed would require him unraveling the way he sees the world like he did after his mother died. Self-preservation is one reason he won’t do that, yes, but I think it’s more complicated than that.

Oswald has never argued that Ed didn’t deserve revenge for Isabella. That wasn’t just killing someone Ed cared about, it was using the fact that Ed trusted him against him. It was reveling in the knowledge that Ed would never suspect anything was wrong, no matter how irritatingly obvious Oswald was about hating Isabella or how obnoxiously he reassured Ed that nothing had happened to her. Oswald is a good liar. He enjoyed not having to be. He enjoyed conflating the fact that Ed wouldn’t pick up on the warning signs with the idea that Ed loved him. (Hi, Ed is autistic, thanks for your time.)

He fucking knew this was wrong, he flat-out admits it when Barbara threatens him: he should have been thinking about Ed, not himself. He forgives Ed everything Ed has done to him in 3x14, forgives the destruction of the things he cared about and the fact that Ed took advantage of intimate secrets, because he did the same to Ed and he knows it. He’s forced to confront the fact that he hurt Ed, and he’s willing to die to prevent Ed from getting hurt again.

That first warning not to shoot him is so good: it’s so sincere, framed simply and clearly in a way that’s focused on Ed. (“I love you. I’ve proven that today, you were there, you can trust it. Listen to me when I say you’re about to hurt yourself.”) It’s so so far from the frenzied way he warns Fish against Maroni in Season One, deliberately inflammatory, trying to incite intrigue and argument and give himself a chance to escape. He has to know that sincerity isn’t going to work, that he’s ruined any chance of Ed actually listening to him now that he’s taken advantage, but he still tries. He physically reaches out even though he has to know it’s only going to make things worse. None of that is manipulative. That’s all completely honest, that’s him totally focused on Ed and how much he loves him and how well he knows him and how desperately he doesn’t want things to end this way.

Then Ed makes him mad and he goes on the attack, playing off of fear and insecurity because he can, he knows Ed’s weak points, and it’s what he’s always done. If you watch Ed’s face, it works. Oswald’s getting somewhere, he’s shifting the scales, making Ed doubt himself. Despite what Ed says about Oswald not being able to talk his way out, he very nearly does. If he’d pressed his advantage and kept going, or gotten Ed off-guard enough to take him by surprise, he could have walked away.

But, incredibly, he pulls himself back. I’ve always loved the way he begs Ed to “say something,” because it’s such a huge departure from everything we’ve seen of him up to that point. From the way he chatters desperately to Jim in the Pilot to the way he perfects his speeches in Season Three, talking is Oswald’s primary weapon and his only real defense. He gives that up in this scene. He leaves himself utterly vulnerable, maybe more so than in being willing to sacrifice himself earlier in the episode; at least there he had Ed’s safety to win by his death, and it was an active choice. He turns this scene back over to Ed, leaves it all in his hands, just like he does when he forgoes last words the next time around: he doesn’t want to live or win or lash back as much as he just really desperately hopes that Ed doesn’t want him dead. The only way he’ll know is to let Ed make that decision.

He understands why Ed shoots him. That’s what breaks his heart: knowing that he deserved it and that they both knew it. That’s why he comes back ready to fight instead of to apologize or to manipulate things in an attempt to win Ed back and get what he wants: he doesn’t expect Ed to forgive him, and doesn’t want to lie his way out of this. Oddly, you can read it as a sign of respect, that he accepts his culpability and is willing to play on the Riddler’s terms because it’s the game Oswald has resigned them both to, even if it breaks his heart.

He never wanted to fight Ed. I absolutely believe he would have let Ed walk away the second time if he hadn’t pulled the trigger, that he used having the upper hand as a chance to try one last time for something that worked for him, something more nuanced, something salvageable. But it was black and white for Ed, and he accepted that. He tried to make it black and white on his side too, tried to use Ed’s logic, used his horrible gloating over having Ed as a trophy to mask the fact that he’d kept him alive, tried to stick to the “love as weakness” philosophy he’d learned from Ed in the first place.

(”You killed her, so you die.”

vs.

“No one does what you did and lives.”)

Ed wants to hate him in Season Four, and Oswald gives him every excuse; he never defends himself during their entire argument, despite briefly looking like he’s been stabbed when Ed accuses him of causing the brain damage. He even plays the mustache-twirling villain to some extent.

We know that’s not how he feels. We know he doesn’t give a shit about riddles, and that he already knows he can “””outsmart””” Ed, so there’s no real reason for him to feel validated or amused by Ed’s brain damage. We know he doesn’t hate Ed, that he talks to him when he’s lonely, when he’s frustrated, when he’s afraid of the price he’s paid to come out on top. We know this isn’t about revenge for him, or that if it is, it tears him up inside to convince himself of it. (“Which one of us is frozen?”) He’s being heartless and winning at all costs because that’s how Ed’s playing it, that’s what Ed thinks of him and wants him to be, and it’s so much easier to win at this than to confront how much he’s lost.

And he’s good at playing the villain. He knows just where to hit, knows how Ed sees the world. He talks down to Ed, simple three-word insults, isolating him by ridiculing his poor communication skills via his riddles. (Hi, Ed is still autistic, thanks for your time.) This isn’t how Oswald treats people he doesn’t care about. If he was really this unimpressed, he wouldn’t bother with all the drama, wouldn’t be gloating and performing and expending so much effort to target Ed’s insecurities. He wouldn’t bother trying to convince Ed there was something wrong with him, or pause to scare him with the threat of being frozen. He wouldn’t be laughing frantically with tears in his eyes, any more than he’d scream “it is my turn to kill you!!” in 3x22 if it wasn’t the game Ed had picked to play.

He pulls up short when Ed changes the rules by surrendering, because that’s not how it’s supposed to work. Oswald doesn’t even want to be fighting, so there’s no fucking point to this feud if Ed’s not getting anything out of it either. He gives them both an out, a chance to let Ed figure out what the new game will be. It’s not about punishment, or at least not the lion’s share of it. Long, drawn out “fates worse than death” have never been Oswald’s M.O. If he hated Ed or wanted him to suffer, he never ever would have let him walk away; there is no catharsis if it’s not happening right in front of him, no revenge if he’s not directly involved. (See: Theo Galavan.) And if he was truly indifferent, he would have shot Ed and been done with it. Letting Ed just… walk out? Oswald has no idea how to feel or what the fuck to do. He’s let Ed set the terms for everything ever since Isabella, ever since he realized how much he’d ruined everything, and he’ll let Ed set the terms for wherever they go from here.

(You’ll never convince me that “you’re not him, and you never will be again” isn’t a goddamn challenge. Ed’s out of it right now, but if anyone knows him well enough to make him mad enough to prove something, it’s Oswald. Just like Ed saved the day in Season Two with the hideously awful, semi-true accusation that Oswald got his mother killed by loving her, Oswald knows right where to hit Ed with a hideously awful, semi-true insult of his own. Ed can’t go back to being the man he was in previous seasons, Riddler or otherwise. None of that was stable, none of that was him. He’s been pretending to and pinning his identity on other people since we first meet him at the GCPD, following Kristen around and getting crushed whenever the detectives dismiss his riddles.

Oswald might never get “his” Ed back, but he’d rather fight the Riddler to the death than watch any version of Ed give in. He’ll wait for somebody to walk back through his door in a terrible outfit with an obnoxious grin and he’ll love that man, too. They’ll be best friends or worst enemies, Oswald doesn’t care. It’s too late for him to let go, and he didn’t let himself lose when it counted, but he can’t keep winning at Ed’s expense; it’s killing them both. Ed needs time to figure out what he wants, what he really wants, what will make him happy to get, and Oswald is perfectly willing to give him all the time he needs, even if the answer still turns out to be a fight to the death.)

#Gotham #Nygmobblepot #Oswald Cobblepot #Oswald critical #(look I adore him but he's not a good person??)#god this is long #tl;dr: where this ship goes is entirely up to Ed and always has been #...also I have a fic idea now goddamn it #my stuff

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digressfromreality · 7 years

Text

The Day The Tables Turned

Synopsis: This was PERSONAL. That much was obvious. What does one clown do when a mobster doesn’t learn his place in Gotham’s new criminal hierarchy? Of course, kidnap their life blood, the one that literally means more than the filthy air they breathe. First he isolates her, second manipulates her, third the mutual companionship was completely unexpected. Revenge at its finest.

Original Inspiration: Heath Ledger’s Joker Part 6 of 6

Warning: SMUT, DEATH, my terrible grammar lol

THE END

“I don’t want to do this.” Rose whispered. He didn’t appreciate her answer, no, no after all the trouble he went through to give this to her. She had to follow through.

“I.” Slam. “Don’t.” Slam. “Care.” Slam. He wouldn’t let her have her hands to calm her now pounding headache.

“But Joker, please?” He licked his lips, grinning down at her trembling ones. She could always get him going. He wondered if maybe they would have enough time to make her lower lips match. The very thought made him acutely reminiscent of their first, intimate encounter.

“As much as hearing you beg usually persuades me-ah,” he pinched the side of her face, “we gotta keep our appointments today. I’m a man of my word.” His three-day threat was almost over. He focused his attention back towards the streets. He had patiently listened to the chatter; his biggest appointment today was awaiting him old candy factory. Oh, the delight, a sweet for his sweet. Rose was going to answer the looming question today, was she going to give in? Was she…

“Holy shit! Watch out for that!” The delivery vehicle took a harsh veer to the left, nearly missing a mailbox and a few pedestrians. The Joker let out an exciting laugh. She had reached into his pants, in hopes of distracting him, not trying to nearly kill them in the process! Her pounding head was long forgotten in the now present thumping of her heart. They had almost crashed an account of her.

“Oh doll, your frantic screams are hard to pass up!” He swung a sharp right, driving them into a secluded parking structure. Her chest smacked the dash with a thud, when he slammed on the brakes. “Now, we’ll have to make this quick.” He pointed to his bare wrist, as if he had a watch that she couldn’t see there.

“Come ‘ere.” She slid closer to him in the seat, ready to grasp him once more, now that they had parked. He slapped her hands away. She looked at him confused, as he began to empty his coat pockets. Lint, lint, knife, paper, knife, an ear, Rose grimaced watching, knife, knife, gun, stray bullets, and a walkie talkie.

“I don’t understand, don’t you want me to,” she cleared her throat, “take care of you?” Her cheeks flushed red as he smiled bigger than she had seen before. His lopsided scars stretched across his face. He rolled up his sleeves, yanking her lower half forward. Her shoulders hit the bench seat hard as he hooked her legs up on his shoulders. His fingers made quick work of pushing her dress up, she was already worked up for his lesson.

“Today is about you!” He bit her inner thigh hard, dragging his teeth slightly. Her muscles clenched because of the pain, but he knew ultimately, she would enjoy it. She seemed to always see it his way, eventually. Obedient to a tee, but wearily, enough to keep him wanting, no needing more. Just as she did.

“Can’t I show my number one girl a good time?” She bit her lip, trying to think. He didn’t wait for a reply, he needed a response! An urgent one! He plunged forward slamming his lips on her well-groomed ones.

He began to viciously tongue fuck her. Slurping, nibbling, sucking, and generally licking, her beautiful screams practically lit the air around them. His dick throb at the delicious sounds. It only seemed he was going for probably about a minute, but that’s all he needed apparently. She came, and came hard, he tried to lap up her fluids as they squirted against his mouth. Rose was panting, she hadn’t thought he could make her orgasm in minimal time, but again she was proven wrong.

She shivered feeling him lick the remainder of her cum off her. He smeared his paint up and down the sides of her thighs, unknowingly to her, but strategically for him. Another reason for papa Maroni to go on a tangent about this clown, tasting his daughter. Joker smiled, seeing her writhing form.

“Maybe we have a few minutes, to-ah return the favor.” He lifted an eyebrow and gave a cocky smile.

———————————————-

“He’s upstairs Boss.” Joker slapped his hands together in excitement.

“Oh goody!” He snatched Rose’s hand, pulling her nervous body towards the stairs. “Move, move. Move it!” Clowns were trying to move out of the way quickly, some weren’t as lucky, Joker pushed several over the stair’s banister. Some with just his elbow, others with the end of his knife. The thugs cleared the doorway as Joker threw Rose into the dim room at the top of the stairs.

Different types of sweets permeated the air, expensive chocolates, delectable toffees, and blood? Rose looked towards the ground seeing blood stains across the floor. She tried to avoid looking at the drag marks to adjacent corners of the room. Whoever lost was probably in pieces.

“Hello?” She watched as four clowns were pounding on someone. The man was trying to put up a fight, but there was only so much that could be done in their position.

“Rose?” A familiar voice snapped her out of her daze, she feverishly threw the attackers away from him.

“Get off him you animals!” She shrieked, her father was bloody and disheveled. She was sick to her stomach. She held her father’s face in the palms of her hands as he began to slide down the wall. She knelt with him. She could hear Joker whistle at the others, making them leave the room.

��Are you okay? Can you breathe?” She started to wipe some of the blood from his sweat slicked hair. He pushed her back slightly, his arm weak from the beating. His forces were dropped all around him, he hadn’t a chance to flee.

The last three days had been hell for him, trying to evade angry citizens, keep his distance from corrupt police and disloyal servants. He was going to die, to be throw in the heaps of bodies lying beside him. Oh, had he wished death would have come sooner, he didn’t want her to see him like this. He glanced at his daughter’s legs, snarling in disgust. He narrowed his eyes at the clown behind her, taking in the scene before him in sick pleasure. He split out some blood before speaking.

“You sick…freak. How dare you!” Joker cackled, his personal touch to Rose had gained the attention he wanted.

“Me?” He shook his head, trying to contain his excitement with fake woe. “I didn’t initiate any of that. I practically had to fight her off as it was.”

“What are you babbling about?” Rose felt as if she had missed something important. Her father’s eyes blazed into the Joker’s. Her father pushed her back again, her legs let go from her crouched position.

“You smell like sex, grease paint and him!” She looked down to see, dried cum and grease paint up and down her legs. She just wanted to cry, she was a whore. Getting fucked in an abandoned area while her father was gambling for his life. “You did this to her! You ruined her! You destroyed her innocence!” Joker cackled again moving to Rose’s side. He patted her on the cheek.

“Far from innocent. Your little girl here, she taught me a few tricks that I didn’t even know.” He had been theatrically gesturing crudely, “There’s few that can one up my experience, but there she is taking as much….” Rose shoved the Joker back enraged herself. She stood up glaring at Joker herself.

“You asshole! What the hell is the point of this?” Joker grinned, she just wanted to slap it right off his face.

“I’m here to snuff the light right out. I want to watch you truly lose yourself to the madness. So, what’s it going to be? Kill or be killed!” Rose stared at her father, she couldn’t lose him. Everything she had, her smile, her devotion, her mother’s legacy, her everything would be gone.

“I’ve killed plenty before. Why do I have to do this?” Joker knew she was trying to stall the inevitable.

“Because it’s the ultimate test, prove sanity or… Insanity.” He released a maniac laugh. She looked at the Joker and looked back at her father. She loosened her grip on the gun, Joker pushed it firmly back into her hand. “Loopholes aren’t at play here. To win the prize, you must play the game.”

“I can’t.” She cried out, she didn’t want to choose between the two and it sickened her.

“Trouble baby,” she swooned at her childhood nickname, she turned her attention back to her father who was backed into a corner. A little bruised, a little broken, mostly unsure. “Who is the woman that you want to be?” Joker clapped his hands in excitement, a menacing grin spread across his face.

“Yes, trouble what kind of chaos do you want to create? Show us the woman you want to be?” Joker picked up her hands cocked the gun towards his temple. He guided her fingers to the trigger. “Let’s create some chaos-sah.” His dark eyes dared her, they made her itch to squeeze the hard trigger. Her body ached, constantly reminding her of the hell he had put her through. The cutting of words, of skin, of everything that was good in her life.

She snapped her head to the right, as if to push the thoughts away. He had freed her, liberated her from the lies that she was buried beneath. He made her understand the passion she had been looking for, had always been dreaming for. She was never destined to live in the shadows, she was never destined to live the simple content life of a nobody. She was somebody, she was Salvatore Maroni’s only heir.

“I won’t.” Joker lowered the gun, grinning widely as he patted her on the shoulder. He always had good odds at this game.

“You made the right choice doll. Now we finish the job.” He pulled the pistol from her grasp and towards to the unarmed mobster.

“Wait.” The Joker paused, “let me do it.”

“Ha ha ha. This is too rich.” He pushed the warm metal back into her hand. “One shot doll. Don’t miss.” He licked his lips in anticipation.

“Rosalyn Christine.” She stepped closer to her father, “Rose.”

“Mr. Maroni,” she shook her head, “father.”

“You don’t want to do this.” He raised his hands reassuring her he was unarmed. Her eyes began to blur with tears she wiped her eyes on her shaking arm.

“You’re right I don’t,” she softly caressed the side of his face, “but I have to, it’s the only way.” He noticed the gleam in her eye, he had the same look when his mind was turning. She was trying to think on her feet.

“What you are playing at Rose?” She backed a bit away.

“Yes, Rose-ah. What are you doing?”

“I’m going to finally win.” She cocked the gun pressing it to her temple. She turned staring at the third figure that had largely went unnoticed the last thirty seconds, the Batman.

“Don’t you dare, this is not how the game played.” Her finger ghosting over the trigger. Joker roared, “ROSE!” Bruce was torn, would he take his opportunity to take down this psycho, or stop a corruptible girl from meeting her end. He would be too slow to make his decision.

“But for once, I’m going to play by my rules.” She turned facing the men, Joker was quickly advancing towards her, Batman aiming his grappling gun at him, while her father was staring at her in disbelief. Without clarifying who, she whispered, “I love you.” And she pulled the trigger.

#joker smut #joker imagines #joker imagine #joker fanfiction #heath ledger joker #the dark knight

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