#that’s Jim Gordon off to the right but I didn’t draw much of him

[ktsghost]

in case I don’t finish my actual Valentine’s Day drawing

[multifandomfanficss]

It’s About Time

Ed Nygma/The Riddler x Reader

Prompt: Ed offers to help you with time management when you tell him you’re stressed at work. Your conversation is interrupted by an attack on the GCPD by the Maniax.

Warnings: Mentions of murder, cannibalism, r*pists, abuse, and general graphic violence. Gotham typical violence. Mental health struggles. Sensory issues and meltdowns common with autism. Panic. Near death experiences. Claustrophobia. References to being buried alive. Nightmares.

A/N: I’m rewatching Gotham and I didn’t realize the missed potential for hurt/comfort the first time I watched this show 7 years ago. My work load has been really heavy lately, but this show broke me out of my writers block and I made time for the writing bug. This takes place in the middle of Ed’s Riddler arc. He hasn’t fully become the Riddler yet, but he has already made his first kill. The reader has qualities of an autistic person, but is not explicitly said to be autistic. I accidentally code a lot of my characters to be autistic because I am, but this was more intentional to reflect Ed’s autistic coding. Feel free to read into it or not! You don’t have to be autistic to read and hopefully enjoy this! Crossposted on my AO3 adriansglasses.

“I’ve been so stressed lately.” You sigh. “It’s like I can’t get anything done that I actually need to get done.” You stand in the hallway of the precinct talking to your friend Ed. You were stressing about this case and Jim Gordon was making you go through hundreds of old files for him. You were never part of the real action, but the horrifying crime scene photos and evidence you had to pull through everyday was taking a toll on you. Gordon’s time crunches never helped either. You understood that lives were often on the line, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“What can some people never get enough of and others say is too much? What has the ability to fly when having fun or is stuck completely frozen when you need it to move?” He smiles. You stare at him blankly. You had not been getting enough sleep. You loved hearing his riddles, but you were never the best at giving him the answers. It was so hard for your mind to keep track of it all. “Do you give up?” He asks.

“My brain just isn’t braining right now.” You laugh. “What’s the answer?”

“Time.” He beams, happy with himself. “You should try to implement a better time management plan. You look tired all the time. It’s like you’re not even sleeping.”

“Thanks, Ed.” You give a dry laugh.

“You know what I mean.” You nod in an agreement with him. “You might be the only person who usually knows what I mean.” He says, fiddling with his fingers and the buttons on his coat.

He was right. Nobody quite seemed to get him, but nobody quite seemed to get you either. You had always felt this odd draw to him that you could never quite explain. Truthfully you think you have feelings for him, but you always bury them. He saw you as a friend and he really needed a friend. Besides he had been pinning over Kristen since before you even got to the precinct. You had mixed feelings towards her. On one hand you felt bad for her. She was always getting mixed up with shitty boyfriends who treated her poorly, but on the other hand she had a mean streak. You never liked how she treated Ed. It was like he wasn’t a person with feelings to her and that made you so angry.

“You’re right. I haven’t been sleeping.” You tell him.

“Why is that?” He asks.

“We live in Gotham. With the terrifying shit we see everyday, I don’t know how anyone sleeps.”

“Are you having nightmares again?” He asks, his face painted with concern.

“It’s fine. It’s just work stress. It’s just this case. I’m fine.” You smile. It wasn’t a real smile. Your smiles always came so naturally around Ed that he knew something was off. He was about to press when you heard gunshots coming from down the hall. Your body immediately froze like a dear in headlights in the middle of the hallway.

You’ve had violent people in the precinct before and it always made you nervous, but this was different. The Maniax were on the loose and you knew they were too unhinged to care about survivors or bargains. With Jerome Valeska at the helm, along side cannibals, rapists, and murderers you were terrified. They’d escaped from Arkham days ago and already managed to murder dozens of people. This was far too close to the action for you, as you heard Jerome’s laugh bellowing down the hall from the bullpen; a laugh you remembered from one of your early cases at the precinct. You had felt bad for him and tried to help him when his mother died. You will never forget the laugh he let out when Jim realized he wasn’t as innocent as you’d thought. It ran a chill through your spine.

Everything started moving too fast when you realized you were being pulled down the hall quickly. Once you realized you were holding hands, you tightly grasped Ed’s hand, not wanting to be separated from him. He brings you further down the hall into the ME’s lab.

“W-where are we going?” You stutter. It’s like your mouth can’t keep up with your racing mind.

“Do you trust me?” He looks at you trying to stay calm.

“Ed, what are you doing?” You’re panicking. He can tell. It’s not hard to tell, as your hands fidget and your breathing is heavy. You’re trying to stay calm.

“(Y/N), I need you to trust me.” He places his hands on your shoulders in an effort to ground you with the pressure. You close your eyes and nod, hesitantly. You do trust him.

Ed runs to the cold lockers and opens one, checking to see if it’s empty. He finds a dead body inside. You cringe. Seeing bodies is rare for you and you’re still getting used to it.

“Oh dear… okay… second times the charm…” He mumbles to himself trying to find an empty locker. “Bingo!” He smiles, finding an empty one. The wheels start to turn in your head.

“No! I’m not getting in there!” Your panic increases. Ed shushes you.

“This is our best chance. I promise I’ll let you out as soon as I can.”

“We won’t be together?” Your eyes start to burn. You try to keep back tears. You’re shaking.

“We won’t both fit in the same one. I’m gonna go in the one above you-“

“No no please I- I don’t wanna be by myself! Please don’t leave me!” You cut him off and beg him. Ed awkwardly rubs his thumbs across your shoulders where he places his hands again, still trying to ground you. It’s awkward, but it’s still somewhat calming.

“I’m not leaving you. I would never leave you. I’ll be right next to you the whole time. I promise. I need you to trust me.” You’re not sure if it’s because it’s life or death, or if it’s because it’s Ed, but you reluctantly let him help your shaking body into the mortuary cabinet. When it comes time to let go of his hand and close the cabinet, you don’t want to. Despite quickly running out of time, he knows he needs to be patient. He knows how hard this is for you. He’s always known you’re a bit claustrophobic. He had no idea one of your worst fears was being buried alive. Being stuck in a cold locker wasn’t too far from either of those things. He can hear footsteps far down the hall. The Maniax were never subtle. He kisses the hand he’s holding quickly before closing your locker and climbing into his own. You were surprised by the kiss, but you couldn’t think about that right now and what it could have meant. Your mind couldn’t keep up. He had to leave his own locker unlocked, unable to properly close it from the inside, but he locked yours to make it look more convincing.

When Ed heard you cry, he began to whisper, hoping he could be loud enough for you to hear, but quiet enough for the Maniax to not notice. “It’s okay, (Y/N). I’m still here.” It was enough to quiet your sobs. Tears silently streamed down your cheeks. Ed’s voice had a certain gentleness to it when he spoke to you. He was being especially gentle now. You had seen him angry, upset, anxious, energetic, but his calm voice was reserved for you. Even in this moment when he was admittedly not very calm, he was trying his best to mask his own fears to keep you safe.

You always reserved parts of yourself for each other; parts of yourselves that the other person enabled you to be. You were never as bold as you wanted to be, but when people were rude to Ed you stuck up for him. He brought out a more confident version of you. For Ed, he knew you struggled with staying calm when you were stressed, upset, anxious or scared, even when you were happy. All of your emotions were so big and you rarely knew how to contain them. He tried to stay calm because he knew you saw him as a calming person in your life. He liked being your hero when everyone else only saw him as a weak, odd, nuisance. He also liked that he could read you and that you were honest with him. He trusted you and it helped keep the voice in his head at bay. He didn’t have to question himself with you. He didn’t have to take advice from the voice in his head.

You tried to keep your meltdown as quiet as possible when you heard footsteps approach. They were heavy, not ones you recognized. You knew it had to be one of the Maniax, probably the cannibal. You tried to make your breath as quiet as possible. After what you assume was a poor sweep of the room, the man leaves.

After what seems like hours of being trapped in a corpse you finally hear sirens and then chatter. You hear Ed climb out of the locker above you. He opens your locker and you let out an audible sob.

“I think they’ve gone.” He says, pulling out the drawer to let your body get some much needed air. You start gasping and sobbing, shaking on the drawer of the mortuary cabinet. Your body jolts up. You just want to get away from the locker.

“You’re okay! You’re okay!” Ed catches your body, as your start to fall from the drawer to the floor. You sit on the floor and cling to him, sobbing. At first awkward, he runs his hand along your back, trying to sooth you with the repetitive motion.

“I felt like I was dead- like- like I was gonna get buried alive-“ You gasp for air, sobbing between your words. Ed shushes you.

“We’re okay. They’re gone.” He promises.

You hear fast approaching footsteps. Your brain is moving too fast to decide if the footsteps are familiar or not. You just bury yourself further into Ed’s chest.

“Detective Gordon is here.” He informs you and you relax only slightly.

“Nygma, are they okay?” Jim asks.

“No mortal wounds, they’re just a bit shaken up.” He lets him know.

“You two should probably still get checked out. I need to finish scanning the building for everyone else. So far we’ve got 9 cops dead in the bullpen and… and the commissioner is dead.” He says. It’s almost like you hear Jim, but you don’t. Your mind can’t keep up with anything that’s happening.

After a while you find yourself sitting, waiting for Lee to check you out. Ed had been pulled away for a few minutes to do his job. He didn’t want to leave you, but you assured him you were fine. You didn’t feel fine, but you knew they needed him. As long as you could see him on the other side of the bullpen, you were reluctant, but okay with him stepping away. He left his jacket draped around your shoulders. It helped to be surround by his smell and warmth.

When it was time to go home, Ed guided you to his car. You hadn’t spoken much, but at least you’d finally stopped crying. The car ride was quiet. The only thing that filled the air was Ed’s occasional hum with the radio. Neither of you quite knew what to say. It was a bit ironic considering usually nobody could ever get you two to shut up. You didn’t speak up until he turned onto your street.

“I don’t want to go home.” You said quietly, feeling the panic rise again at the thought of being alone at home again.

“That’s understandable. Would you like to stay at my place?” He asks. You nod, silently. He flicks his turn signal and starts the drive to his place.

“Welcome to Château Nygma.” He smiles, turning on the light. You still have his jacket wrapped around your shoulders. Despite the terror you’ve been through today, his smile is refreshing. You don’t question how he can stay so seemingly sane in times like these, but you’re just glad somebody is. You need that. Maybe you should have questioned it, but you didn’t. He has a nice apartment. It’s not too big. Why would it be for a man who lived by himself? It’s just the right size with cool windows and a comfortable setup.

“Do you want something to eat? I’m a good cook.” He smiles. You don’t know how he can continue to smile, but you’re glad. It starts to make you feel safer. It’s nice to be in a locked apartment with just you and Ed. It’s nice to be in a quiet, secluded place, but not feel alone. It’s far better than sitting on your bed, scared of any serial killers that could be hiding underneath the frame and jumping at any people you hear in the stairwell of your apartment, with an open case file sitting next to you, worried the killers you’re reading about could be onto you any second. Today was a very close call. Too close.

“If you’re not sure, that’s okay too.” He continues, noticing you’re deep in thought.

“Oh…uh yeah… I’m not sure what I want… It’s like my body needs things, but I’m just a little bit too overwhelmed to figure it out.” You look down, shyly.

“Do you want to just sit? I can put on some music?” He questions referencing the record player with his hands.

“That sounds okay. I think I can do that.” You nod. He puts on some quiet music, not too loud to overstimulate you and you make your way to the couch. He brings you a glass of water.

“I can imagine it might be hard for you to have an appetite given your increased levels of adrenaline today, but you should at least drink this.” You take the water from him and begin to sip it. You didn’t realize how nice cold water could feel. You drink it quickly, before setting the glass down.

“Thank you.”

Ed sits down and you gravitate towards him.

“How do you do it?” You ask.

“How do I do what?” He looks for clarification.

“Your job. There’s so much death everywhere.”

“I don’t know. I just sort of do. Honestly I think it’s fascinating…” He pauses, looking away from you. “Sorry. That probably sounds weird.”

“It does, but that’s okay. I like the fact that you’re different and you’re honest. It’s comforting. You’re a better man than all of those crooked cops walking around beating up women and mobsters alike.”

“You think so?” He asks.

“Yeah, I do.” You smile. This time it’s a real smile. Ed smiles too. It’s nice to know after everything he’s done for you to make you comfortable, you can say something to make him feel better.

“I’m sorry all of this has been so awful for you.” He says.

“I know we’re doing good and it’s important to do good in a world of so much bad, but sometimes I just wish nobody had to do it. I can’t even fathom what would make somebody what kill another person. Maybe out of necessity, but it scares me that people actually enjoy it.”

“Yeah.” Ed shifts uncomfortably. You think he must agree with you and that’s why he’s unconformable. You don’t know that he killed Officer Doherty for abusing Kristen just over a month ago.

The two of you talk for quite some time until you end up falling asleep next to him on the couch. He doesn’t mind when you fall into his lap. He lets you sleep, smiling down at you. He didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to wake you. He was afraid of breathing too deeply and shifting too much underneath you. He eventually falls asleep sitting up with you still in his lap.

Everything is peaceful until you shoot up screaming, in a cold sweat. You’ve had another nightmare. This time is different. You’re disoriented. You don’t know where you are. You feel hands touching you.

“(Y/N), it’s me! It’s Ed! You had another nightmare.” You look at his face to see him distraught, unsure of what to do. Your tossing and turning had woken him up. He was awake only seconds before you.

Your eyes begin to well with tears. “I just want it to stop. When will all of this stop?” You cry.

“When will what stop?” He asks.

“Everything! I just want to stop feeling like this. I want to stop being afraid. I should be used to the job by now.”

“Maybe you just need more time to get used to it! I know we talked about time management earlier. I can help you with your schedule.” He offers.

“I don’t want to manage my time. I just want it to freeze. I just wish time would freeze so I could just breathe and catch up!”

Ed looks at you defeated. He doesn’t know what to say. He likes riddles because riddles always have answers. He doesn’t know what to do when there’s a problem with no solution.

“I’m sorry.” He settles with saying. “Would a hug help?” He’s just grasping at anything he’s seen people do when trying to comfort other people with problems and no solutions.

“Yes.” You say quietly, burying your head in his chest. Despite being the one to offer the hug, he’s a little awkward at first. He eventually settles in.

“Is this helping?” He asks.

“Yes.” You tell him. Of course, Ed being who he is, even now he’s still looking for a solution. He doesn’t realize he may be the solution, or at least someone to help make the problem smaller. “You always help.” You add.

“I’m sure most of our coworkers would disagree.” He laughs.

“I never thanked you for earlier today.” You say quietly.

“It was nothing.” He smiles.

“No, Ed. Keeping me safe in a life or death situation isn’t nothing.”

“I’m sure anyone would have done it.” He argues.

“No, they wouldn’t have.” You tell him.

“I’ll always protect you.” He pulls you closer, shifting awkwardly underneath you. “You know… my apartment is always open if you want to sleep with me- I- I mean sleep with me in attendance- I- I mean sleep with each other- I- I mean near each other- you know! In case you have nightmares!”

“I might just have to take you up on that. This is the first night I’ve felt okay enough to be able to maybe go back to sleep afterwards.” You smile, trying not to laugh. You don’t want him to think you’re making fun of him. Truthfully you think he’s sweet and funny.

“You should go back to sleep and since I didn’t get to make you dinner I’ll be making you the best breakfast of your life tomorrow.” He beams.

“You better.” You snuggle into him. Ed is too awkward to suggest you go lay in his bed tonight and you’re too tired to care. You spend the rest of the night on the couch together. You can save the bed for tomorrow night. You know when you wake up in the morning you’ll be coming back. It was the most sleep you’ve gotten in weeks.

Ed wakes up before you and sneaks off the couch to start breakfast. He truthfully was a very good cook. His own sensory issues with food made him very particular about how it’s prepared. You wake up to the smell of something good in the oven. Ed is nowhere to be seen, but you hear him in the bathroom. He’s talking. You knew he often talked to himself, but he sounded like he was talking to someone else. Maybe he was on the phone. You were sure you were hearing one half of a conversation.

“I told you we could trust them. They like me for me. They think I’m a good man.”

[riley1cannon]

So, back in the year 2012, and before I had completed my LiveJournal to Tumblr move, I snagged this Superbat prompt about how Krypton didn’t go kablooey, and Kal-El was taking part in a ritual to find his life partner--who would, of course, be Bruce. Why I thought that would be a breeze to pull off I cannot say, but there I went, plunging off the deep end. To be fair, the queen of Superbat, @mithen​, was there to give me some advice, so I wasn’t completely without a clue.

Nonetheless, after posting two chapters of As You Wish*, the story went into limbo. Initially that was because Man of Steel was soon to hit movie theaters, and I was curious to see what that movie might add to Kryptonian lore, and if it there would be anything I’d like to incorporate. There was, and notes were jotted down, plans were made... But other fic came along, and distractions multiplied, and here came the mother of all writing blocks barreling down the road, and here it is, nine years later and the WIP has languished; neglected, though fondly remembered.

Until now. 

Whether the wait will have been worth it, I cannot say. For me, personally, it is one hell of an accomplishment, however. Just writing again, never mind picking up the reins of a fic that has sat idle that long. Wasn’t remotely sure I could, but dang. So, yeah:

Anyway, there is more than this excerpt. Posting the complete story in one go may be asking too much, but I am shooting to be able to put up as substantial a third chapter as possible. In case anyone in these parts is a fan of the fic, though, here’s a sneak peek, picking up where things left off with Jim Gordon on his way to the manor...

*I have no recollection of why it’s called “As You Wish.” There is not the slightest whiff of A Princess Bride to be found. Probably seemed like a good idea at the time. Probably hoped to come up with something better before posting and making it official. :shrug:

As You Wish, cont.

“Chapter Three”

“That will be Commissioner Gordon,” Alfred said as the doorbell chimed. He looked at Dick for direction, prompting him after a moment. “Master Richard?”

Barbara had given them a head’s up that her father was on his way over, and that he’d looked like he was on some kind of mission. That could mean so many things, none of them good. 

Jim Gordon knew, of course. There was no way he hadn’t put everything together years ago. If Gordon had still been wavering, Batman turning up with a 10-year-old sidekick right about the same time Bruce Wayne took in a kid named Dick Grayson would have sealed the deal. So, yep, everybody knew, nobody acknowledged, and life spun merrily along as always.

Right up until the early hours of this New Year’s Day, when Bruce had seemingly vanished off the face of the Earth. And since people didn’t just--poof!--disappear, that had to mean only one thing.

Bruce was dead. 

What else could it be? What else would bring Jim Gordon to their door on a snowmageddon day like this?

Alfred raised an eyebrow as the bell chimed a second time.

Nothing for it but to face it head on. Dick knew that. He’d learned that one a long, long time ago. Shoulders squared, he nodded. “Let him in.”

Alfred inclined his head a fraction. “Very good.”

Watching after him, Dick had to wonder how Alfred had stood this for all these years. Every time Bruce went out could be the last time. Did all the close calls, the last minute escapes only make it worse? Did it only stoke up awareness that fate could only be tempted so many times before it finally came to collect what it was due?

It was a startling thought, and one he would return to--but later. Right now he needed to do something, anything, or he’d be swinging from the chandelier before much longer.

One look at Jim Gordon’s face did nothing to kick all the turmoil to the curb.

Gordon trudged into the drawing room, snowflakes melting in his hair, expression grim and determined, and with a lock box clamped under one arm. He set the box down on the coffee table and looked from Dick to Alfred and back again.

“Okay, how about we cut the crap?” he said without ceremony. “Bruce Wayne’s not at home, and neither of you has heard from him since around one o’clock this morning. Am I right?”

“Why since one o’clock this morning?” said Alfred. “If one may ask.”

“One may,” Gordon took a seat on the sofa. He looked like he needed it. “That was right about the time Oswald Cobblepot and I watched Batman get beamed up to the starship Enterprise.”

Actually, Dick thought, sitting down sounded like a really good idea.

Alfred stayed on his feet, but it was Dick’s opinion that, for someone as eternally nonplussed as Alfred Pennyworth, he sure as hell looked plussed right now.

“Ah,” Alfred was also the first to recover himself, “I’ll get coffee, shall I?”

“Won’t say no,” Gordon said.

“Sure, coffee’s good,” Dick said. He was already on the verge of jumping out of his skin. What was some more caffeine, one way or another?

He leaned forward, head in his hands as he tried to sort out the possibilities. He didn’t want to say the first one that popped into his head. If nobody spoke the words, it wouldn’t come true. They bounced around his head anyway and tried to push their way past his lips Words like zapped and death ray. “Did it look like-- I mean…”

“Son,” Gordon’s voice was grave, but there was a comforting warmth in it too, “for whatever it’s worth, I didn’t get the feeling it was meant to hurt him.”

That was worth a lot, actually. Dick didn’t even care if there was no actual way Jim Gordon could know something like that. He was Commissioner James W. Gordon, and by God if he said there hadn’t been a death ray, then Dick wasn’t going to argue with him.

On the other hand… Dick raised his head as Alfred returned with coffee and sandwiches. “Can I ask why you think that?”

Gordon accepted a cup of coffee and nodded his thanks to Alfred. “The...beam, whatever it was--it was tinkling like a windchime. The damn thing sounded cheerful.”

Dick traded looks with Alfred, now seated in a chair. “Cheerful?”

Gordon shrugged, took a slug of the coffee. “That’s the only way I can describe it. Like… Mission accomplished, fuckin’ A.” He pulled a face at that and concentrated on the sandwich he took from the plate.

“Soooooooo…” Dick stretched the single syllable out as far as it could go. “What are we thinking?” He looked from Gordon to Alfred, the possibilities jumbling around his head focusing down to one specific prospect. “Bruce was kidnapped by aliens?”

[persephonessunflowers]

A little batjokes fic I have been working on. It’s also on ao3 but I’m kind of at a loss of which direction to go with it at this point. So I figured I’d post it here for now until I figure it out .

I fell in love with an idea. A picture I had created that was never meant to be. There was never any possibility that we could be happy together. That a life where only the two of us existed could be possible. Not when every part of me craved the adrenaline from a night of violence and waking up to new scars that defined who I was. And you with your savior complex, thinking the whole world would fall if you went away. Needing the praise even in anonymity. Hiding the scars that defined you with a well-dressed suit. It could never be. But I would be a liar if I said every part of me didn’t ache for the possibility of existing.

Joker rolled over. His thoughts had once again turned the bat. He would never admit that he spent countless hours losing sleep considering the possibility of a normal life. One where his past had not led him to this place. One where he could casually run into a beautiful man while doing something completely mundane. Maybe walking down, the street, perhaps in a coffee shot, or even stealing passing glances on the subway. Finally, one would make a move. They would go on dates, share laughs, and slowly fall in love. He grabbed a pillow lying next to him a slammed it into his face, an attempt to eradicate these thoughts. The joker wasn’t a romantic. He was tyrannical, a leader, the bringer of chaos.At least in his mind this was how he chose to believe he was perceived. Sure, some would say he was insane, psychopathic, a cold-blooded killer, and well truthfully, he was these things. So, these romantic urges that kept coming over him where very detrimental to the brand that he had built around himself. For God’s sake if a hot intelligent blonde woman in a skintight suit who was utterly devoted to him never did it for him then why the hell was he fantasizing about a grown man in a cape. Joker groaned again because it wasn’t just any man in a cape, it was Bruce fucking Wayne. Leave it to him to fall for an eccentric billionaire with a savior complex and moral compass to match.

If you had told Joker a few months ago, the man he was caught in this never ending dance of justice with was Bruce Wayne he probably would have laughed in your face and depending on his mood that day, you might have also not survived the interaction. He did have a flare for being dramatic and something about senseless murder just made him positively giddy. Rumors have always spread in Gotham City’s underground. And why would they not, everyone wanted to know who was truly under the mask that continuously foiled their plans. Most wanted to know so that they could end him for good. Or at the least target those closest to him in order to prove a point. Joker had never particularly cared about the identity of his sworn enemy. He much preferred the tango the two performed without any outside views of who the other was. Both pushing each other to the right to the edge, waiting for the other to overstep their boundaries and go too far. Names could ruin that. There was something about the not knowing that added to the thrill of it all. That made the excitement of both men rise. Joker couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of it. But now he had name to the face behind the mask.

It had started as a relatively normal day, when Joker received word that a Mr. Bruce Wayne had been seen sneaking around one of Joker’s new warehouses. Of course, this had piqued his interest. Why was the elusive billionaire in such a bad area of Gotham, it’s almost like he’s asking to be robbed. It’s not as if he could blend in, everyone knew his face. And secondly the only ones in the know about this newest warehouse were Joker, his most trusted henchman R, Harley, and a certain bat who had found out and stopped by for a visit a week ago. Of course he had found nothing, and the camera only caught him for a moment before he flung one of those damned batarangs at it and every other one he found. Joker sighed, batbrain probably never even considered the expense Joker would have to incur to replace those. The warehouse was nothing, more of a safety net if he ever needed the space. Or more than likely it would be converted to a place for those who worked for him to stay. God knows the filthy animals couldn’t keep a living space to save their lives. And providing living arrangements, food, drugs, and booze was generally the best way he had found to keep street thugs loyal to you. He may be insane, but he wasn’t stupid. And of course, he knew word about his new endeavor would draw the bat in. If there was one thing batsy couldn’t resist it was a hot tip about a new diabolical plan the Joker was forming. And so, what if Joker had his henchman anonymously tip off Jim Gordon knowing he would immediately find a way to alert the bat. Sometimes you have to force fate to get what you desire. And that night what he desired was not a fight but just to watch batman in action.

From his hiding spot the Joker could see everything his bats did. He watched him canvas the area and could hear the frustrated huffs he let out every time he again came up with nothing. He watched as bats paced back and forth clearly trying to figure out what angle was being played. Listened as he radioed Gordon filling him in on the nothingness the warehouse held. They went back and forth wonder what plan was being devised for this place. God Joker could watch him forever. Studying his lips, the way his jaw clenched when he was unhappy. He longed to see his face, to touch him. On the other hand, that would ruin their game and Joker really really liked games. It was fascinating to him that even though the bat had found nothing he stayed there pacing. Glancing at the door every few moments. Joker almost wondered if the bat was waiting for him to show up. Did their little fights give the bat the same thrill Joker got? The way both of their adrenaline rose, their hearts beating fast, and their breathing getting deeper. The pain was so intoxicating and led to the ultimate pleasure. Nothing else could top it. But not tonight. Tonight, Joker wanted him to squirm. And squirm he did. In semi defeat, the bat sat down on a box in the corner. Hidden in the shadows waiting. He waited the entirety of the night, unaware that the Joker was sitting merely feet away. It wasn’t until light started to seep in that the bat finally sauntered away. It was curious. Surely there was other crime going on in Gotham. Honestly when wasn’t there crime in Gotham, the city was a cesspool of it. He’d even heard tell of a heist the Penguin was planning that night. And surely Bats had been made aware of that. And yet he never left the warehouse.

Snapping back to the present Joker frowned at the tingly feeling the memory had given him. Now onto the pressing issue of why Bruce Wayne was at his warehouse and how he knew it was there. He gathered himself, choosing his most basic suit. It was navy blue and had none of the flare that he had come to appreciate. He also forewent applying his face makeup to appear more normal. After a moments thought he also chose to grab his sunglasses, gloves, and a hat in an attempt to slightly disguise himself. He doubted this would do much as he slid a hand across the white skin of his face. It was an aspect of himself that he struggled to hide. It was why he preferred the night over day. In the darkness he could appear normal, avoiding the judgmental eyes that the daylight cast. He had learned throughout the years of course. Purchased wigs and learned how to properly put them on so they looked real, he had found contacts that closely matched the color his eyes had once been. But he was unable to find anything for the skin. He had tried foundations but none of them worked. He often questioned if it was due to the acid, this led to a spiral of remembering the events that caused him to fall. He never spent to long considering it otherwise his mind began to drift to a dark place. A place that scared even him, one where he could feel his mental state slipping. Slowly succumbing fully to the madness. Joker shook his head, bringing himself back to reality. After a final glance in the mirror, he slipped out of his apartment to find an available car. He hoped Wayne would still be there, thankfully it was only about a 10-minute drive from his place. He had made this decision deliberately hoping that no one would consider he lived close to his investments and would rather stay far away from them to avoid suspicion. Once in the garage, he chose a simple black car and started the drive, preparing for a confrontation with the treasure of Gotham, Bruce Wayne. As Joker pulled into the warehouse drive, he could see a small blue car parked not far off in the distance. It was pulled off to the side of the road just slightly, he assumed the placement was meant to make it look like the car had broken down there but due to the current situation it seemed like it may be Mr. Wayne’s. He pondered whether he should go search the car before heading to the warehouse, ultimately deciding against it in case Wayne decided to stop whatever he was doing and head back. Joker put his car in park and turned off the engine. He felt it best not to alert the man breaking into his building. As he walked up the gravel, almost by divine intervention a certain someone was crawling out of one of the first story windows.

“Uhm, excuse me sir. I don’t usually like finding unknown men crawling out of my buildings.” it seemed best not to start off too accusatory in case there was a valid reason a billionaire was snooping around his property.

“Oh, uhm, of course I am so sorry about this.” He stopped and cleared out his throat. “I am Bruce Wayne, I uh wasn’t aware that someone had purchased this property. I had been informed it was for sale and wanted to check it out to see if it would be a good space for some new developments at Wayne Industry.”

Wayne held out his hand and Joker realized he intended for them to shake hands. How disgustingly formal. He slowly reached out a gloved hand to shake, watching as the man’s hand nearly covered his own. The strong grasp jolted through Joker and he quickly pulled away wiping the glove on his pants as if this would establish some kind of unspoken boundary between the two. Joker kept his gaze on the man, there was something so familiar about him. Maybe he was making it up it was completely feasible that he had just seen an interview the man was in. His excuse was reasonable as well. The property had only been off the market 2 weeks at most, but why bother sneaking into it and distancing your vehicle from the building?

“Oh, I see. I’m Jack. Jack…Sawyer. Do you always examine potential investments by climbing through the windows?”

The man’s face reddened. “The uh, the door was jammed and when I was assessing the outside of the building, I noticed one of the windows was ajar and figured it wouldn’t hurt to use that as an entry.”

“Hmm understandable. Well, I would be happy to give you a tour of the building, but I am afraid that it has already been purchased by me, so it would be no use to your company endeavors.”

Clearly embarrassed by having been caught the man stood there fidgeting. His jaw clenching and unclenching. His eyes darting to the gate. He wasn’t scared, no Joker knew fear, and this was not it. Nervous perhaps? Anxious? Something was off but Joker couldn’t quite place it. His voice, his mouth something about it called to Joker.

There was a long uncomfortable pause before Wayne looked at Joker and said, “Yeah, I…I would love a tour. Do you have any plans for the building?”

Joker hadn’t expected this. It was more of pleasant offering rather than one he actually wanted to do. But, maybe during the tour he could pinpoint what it was about this man exactly.

“I’m not really much of a planner Mr. Wayne. To be honest the price of the building was such a steal I couldn’t pass it up. I’m sure you understand that you don’t become a billionaire by spending recklessly now do you? I am considering using it as a storage facility. I own a bar you see and the storage capacity there is really lacking so I figured why not buy a cheap warehouse.”

The man seemed genuinely taken aback by this statement. His jaw clenching again. His eyes searching Jokers face as if he was trying to pull something out of him. Joker stared back, his eyes never leaving Wayne’s. It was as if they were locked in a battle only Joker wasn’t sure what exactly they were battling for. Surely Bruce Wayne wasn’t so pressed for a warehouse building that he was going to come for some lowly bar owner. And that was when it clicked. Jokers’ eyes broke the stare and fell to the man’s clenched jaw. He knew that clench. He knew that mouth. As if he hadn’t fantasized about those lips on him for months now. Bruce fucking Wayne was Batman, unbelievable. In his surprise he let out a not-so-subtle gasp.

“Are…are you okay Mr. Sawyer?”

“I uh oh yes of course, sometimes my mind escapes me, I suffered an accident sometime ago and the effects seem to pop up at the most inopportune times.”

Wayne dropped his gaze and shifted uncomfortably. “You said you owned a bar. What’s the name of it maybe I’ve visited there?”

“Oh, I highly doubt that Mr. Wayne. It doesn’t usually bring in” he paused looking the man up and down “your type, but….If you’re ever feeling frisky, it’s called The White Knight.”

Joker stopped to look at the man after saying this. He knew damn well that Batman had no idea of the existence of this place. He had undergone every security measure to ensure so. But he knew that this would elicit a response from the bats. How could it not? The Joker owning a secret bar that batsy hadn’t been informed about, on top of the bar being a mockery of his title. It would make Batman seethe.

Wayne’s eyes darkened and his nostrils flared, it was slight, but it was enough for Joker to confirm what he already knew.

“Thank you for the offer to show me the building Mr. Sawyer, but I’m sorry I just realized I have to go.” he glanced quickly at his watch, “I forget I had a meeting to attend. This has truly been an enlightening afternoon.”

“I agree Mr. Wayne, it certainly has been. Are you sure you don’t want a quick tour?”

“No, uh thank you but no. I truly have to go.” And with that Joker watched the man saunter down the driveway. He pulled off his glasses and stared after the man. This newfound information complicated things but it also gave Joker leverage and God knows Joker liked having leverage.

What to do with this leverage? He could let it slip…no…no he didn’t like that. Freely handing out this precious information to those lowly Neanderthals. No, they would go after him, and while Batman would never stand down, they would probably kill him. The bat would die at the feet of those he spent so long pursuing. He grimaced picturing the scene. He couldn’t let them kill Batman. Batman was his. Joker felt that nagging voice in his head again, the one he constantly tried to keep at bay with Scarecrow’s medication.

if anyone is going to kill the bat it’s going to be you right?? You could never let anyone take him from you. He’s yours, yours yours. HAHAHAHAHA.

He took his hands, slamming them to his ears. “Shut up, shut up, shut up I do not want to kill him.”

Of course not, maybe just torture him a little bit until you can’t stop, poor Joker always unable to prevent yourself from going to far.. Drag the knife across his throat, cutting a tad too deep. Tie him up. Let him bleed out while watching you perform. That’s what you want isn’t it? For the bat to bleed, his pretty red blood spilling across the floor. And as he falls to the ground ceasing to exist so does his deluded version of Gotham. You, standing strong watching the city succumb to crime and destruction. Knowing they will not mourn him. Gotham doesn’t care. Gotham feeds on destruction, chaos, and the ruin of its citizens. If you’re born here you don’t stand a chance. There is no good in Gotham, so you must kill the only thing that believes it exist. Kill the bats, Kill the bats, Kill the bats.

He felt his mouth curving up into a terrifying smile as a fit of giggles erupted from his mouth HAHAHAHAHA.

His hands fell from his ears to clasp over his mouth, an attempt to silence, well really everything. After a few minutes, the laughter subsided, and the thoughts quieted. He sank to ground resting his chin on the top of his knees. His faced ached from the experience as it usually did, tears began to well in his eyes, a product of self-hatred, anger, and sadness.

He didn’t want the bat to die. Or…or maybe he did. Things would be far less complicated if a certain dark knight wasn’t involved. Unfortunately, a part of him wanted to be held by the knight. His slight framed wrapped in the strong arms of his enemy. Letting his body go limp as he breathed in the comforting smell. Hands running through his hair. Soft whispers trying to convince him that the world isn’t all bad. But it is isn’t it? There’s no good here, no God exists because if he did, he would surely drown this city. This hell on Earth, putrid and reeking of sin. Never allowing happiness to live within its borders. Joker pulled himself upright and violently wiped away the tears that had covered his face. He was the goddam Joker not some pathetic schoolboy with the luxury of pathetically crushing on the most popular boy in the grade. Brushing off his pants from sitting on the ground he began to stroll back to his car. Tonight, he would choose chaos. Perhaps a robbery he hadn’t performed one of those in a long while. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text to Harley to get the men prepped and to choose a nice jewelry store for their night out. Yes, a robbery sounded splendid. Maybe tomorrow he would figure out what to do with Mr. Wayne. Or maybe he would do nothing at all, just keep the information in his pocket. After all what was the point in ruining their game?

"Mr. J, if you don't mind me saying, you're uh heart didn't seem to be all into the score last night..." Harley's eyes didn't quite meet us. No doubt they were fearing the repercussion these words would bring. She would never say it but she liked the anticipation, the not knowing what was coming. Perhaps she even liked the pain when it came. But, perceptive as ever she was correct.

Sighing Joker looked over at her. "Harley I've told you time and time again please do not call me that. Just Jack is fine. Please just Jack. I was merely distracted last night. There's some financials issues with the club that I need to work out."

She walked over to him, placing one hand on his. The other at her side twitching to cup his face, knowing he would withdraw if she did. "I can't call you Jack anymore, it's too...personal." Then she jumped back and just like that her mood changed and smile erupted on her face "Besides Mr. J is so much more fun to say, wouldn't you agree? It gives you authority and I love a man who has power." The deviousness written across her face.

"Damn it Harley. Then call me Mr. Napier if you insist on acting this way about it. Also cut the showbiz act. It makes you seem desperate and pathetic." He knew the words would sting her. He wanted it too. He hated her for bringing out the worst in him. But that nagging voice loved her for it. Together the two could be unstoppable, maniacal. It's why he had broke it off. She was smart, brilliant even. She knew what his inside voice wanted and she knew how to provoke it out of him because in that world at least they are together. Part of him wanted to snap her neck and that be the end of it. And yet another part knew he could never do that because he cared for her in the way only two people with so much history and tragedy could. His gaze fell to her stomach, wondering what could have been. "Leave me alone Ms. Quinzel, your presence is pissing me off."

Tears gathered in her eyes as she turned to leave the room, slamming the door for effect.

He winced at the sound. Going after her would just provoke her wrath and he didn't have the energy to deal with that. It's best to give it a few days. He shouldn't have lashed out at her. He was frustrated. The bat had failed to show up last night, which meant the thrill he normally got from nights like that was nonexistent.

There was no point feeling sorry for himself. It never led to any place good. He stood up grabbed his jacket and headed for he bar. At the very least he could use this energy to get something done and for the sake of his workers hope that none of them were stupid enough to tantalize him tonight. His bloodlust was encompassing him and anything could set him off at this point.

The walk from his apartment to the bar wasn't a far one but the cold air made it seem like miles. Joker shivered trying to shake the chill that encompassed him. Gotham was always cold. It didn't matter what time of year it was. Sure the air warmed but you could still feel the breeze nipping at you, waiting to drop. He glanced at the sky, dusk was settling. It didn't matter, the sun never quite shown here in Gotham either. It was gray, just consistently gray. But it never seemed to bother any one else, or at least not that he had noticed. It's where his flare for colors came from, he wanted to break away from the gray.

He was merely feet away from the opening of the bar, the music creeped onto the otherwise silent street. He smirked, the song playing was one of his favorites. He leaned against the brick wall feeling the vibrations of the loud speak reverberate through calming him. He closed his eyes and just listened. Sighing as the song ended he felt a little better. Perhaps he would just go to his upstairs room and let the music take him away for the night. He would never admit the sway the sounds had over him. Finding comfort in the beats a rock song would produce.

A rustling sound came from the doorway, making him straighten quickly, keeping his face a blank canvas. He could already hear the gossip from his men if one of them found him out here basking in the sound of the music. Especially, with how he talked about it in front of them. Calling it a pointless waste. No. His entire personality was to remain hidden. To them he was a maniac, always angry, and mere moments away from snapping. Everything was jokes and crime. Not an entirely wrong synopsis but he was never to be seen as human, because that meant weakness and he would never again be seen as weak.

Fortunately, this was just a drunk patron stumbling his way out. In his drunken state the man couldn't particularly walk straight and managed to trip over his feet, his face colliding with the Joker shoulders. Finally a reason to have some fun. In less than a second Joker twisted away and wrapped his hand around the patrons throat, with full force he pushed him into the wall. The mans head collided with the brick, a sickening thud could be heard. Joker smirked, even drunk he could feel the mans fear radiating off of him. His adrenaline keeping him alert. His eyes screaming for help in ways his mouth could not. It was heaven. Joker leaned into the man, "Didn't your mother ever teach you that you should watch where you're walking?" He could feel his smile widening

"I.....I......uh.....I....I'm sorry sir." He gasped between words. Jokers fingers were wrapped so tightly around his neck it was a miracle he was able to get any words out all. With a glance down, Joker could see that the man had wet himself. Well this is no fun, the poor sap isn't even going to fight back. His smiled faltered where's the fun in that?

Just kill him, he isn’t worth anything. No one would miss him. Snap his neck, feel his bones crush beneath your strength. Come on you know you want to. You want to feel that rush. See the light as it drains from his eyes. Pleading until the very last second.

Joke could feel his smile widening again. His fingers twitched as he started to laugh. The man's eyes grew large with realization. He knew that laugh. All of Gotham knew that laugh. His body started to shake as tears streamed down his face.

See how pathetic he is. He doesn't deserve to live. You know you want the high this will give you.

And with that he gave in. His fingers tightened and with a final gurgle the mans will gave and his body slumped. The Joker let go and gasped at the feeling it gave him. He was positively giddy. Perhaps this wasn't such a bad day after all. He pulled out his phone and called one of his men to come dispose of the body. He didn't need anyone poking around his bar. A worker came out the side door and Joker motioned him over.

The worker glanced briefly at the body "Geez boss what'd he do to you?"

With a sneer Joker spat back "Not that it's any of your business but he bumped into me. Now get rid of the scum."

Recognizing his boss's mood the man quickly grabbed the body and retreated.

Joker turned away walking into the bar. He was ready to have some fun.

[camsthisky]

Bruce crouches on the ledge, hidden by shadows, just out of Commissioner Jim Gordon’s sight. It’s easier with the bat signal lit up, and usually Bruce would play up the dramatics, try to see how long his partner could keep a straight face.

Tonight is not a usual night, though.

For one, his partner is missing. They’d split up to investigate a warehouse, but ten minutes in, Bruce had gotten a panicked, “B, they’re—”

After that, nothing but static on his comm. Bruce had searched the warehouse top to bottom three times.

No Robin.

And now this. The bat signal lit up. Bruce had no clues as to where Robin could be, and he can only hope that this interruption is connected.

He slips from the shadows just as Gordon turns to light another cigarette.

“Holy—”

Gordon startles at the abrupt sight of him, clutching at his chest. Bruce’s heart aches at the lack of Robin trying to muffle his snickers that usually accompanied the reaction.

His grief doesn’t show on his face.

“Would ya quit scaring me like that? I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Bruce says nothing. Gordon sighs, fishing something from inside his coat and holding it out for Bruce to see.

“A kid from Gotham University showed up at our front door about twenty minutes ago, absolutely scared out of his mind. He gave this to us,” Gordon lightly shakes the object—a communicator, Bruce realizes. Sleek. Small. Too well-made for any of the usual Gotham suspects. “Kid said it’s for you.”

“And the student?” Bruce asks, taking the communicator from Gordon.

Gordon stuffs his hands into his coat pockets. “Conference room downstairs. I asked one of the ladies at the front desk to watch over him and take his statement since I’m pretty short-handed tonight. She should be finishing up soon.”

“Hn.”

“You’re real talkative tonight.”

Bruce doesn’t bother to respond to that. He growls, “What else.”

“Nothing we can’t handle ourselves,” Gordon sighs. “Nothing urgent, at least.”

He sounds exasperated, and Bruce knows from talking to Gordon during the day that the GCPD is slammed with cases that the city council won’t sign off on asking for Batman’s help. Not to mention all of their internal affairs issues.

Downstairs is probably a real clusterfuck.

Still, Bruce has other priorities.

“Any leads on the sender?” Bruce asks.

Gordon pinches the bridge of his nose. Migraine, probably. “No. Apparently, the kid was drugged and kidnapped. He woke up a few blocks from here with a note.”

“The note?”

“Being processed as evidence,” Gordon tells him. He hands over a photograph. “Here. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

The note. Bruce doesn’t recognize the handwriting. There’s no signature, either. Just a few words: Go to GCPD. Device must go to Batman.

Vague. Bruce should get back to the Cave and analyze it right now. It may be connected to Robin. He has what he needs from the Commissioner, and usually by now, he’d have vanished off into the shadows.

But tonight’s not usual. For some reason, Bruce hesitates.

The communicator crackles to life.

“I assume that my lovely device has reached the fabled Batman’s hands,” a voice says. “That’s good. I was getting tired of babysitting.”

Bruce stiffens. Definitely connected, then. Gordon blinks at the device, his brain starting to connect dots. Unfortunately, he’s missing some of the key dots. He’ll only be working with half a picture.

Bruce doesn’t draw it for him. He stays silent.

“I’m assuming you’re listening,” the voice says, and this time, Bruce can hear a commotion in the background. “Bring the brat over.”

Gordon’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Fuck you, you bald jerk!” Bruce’s pre-teen ward yells out, and if he didn’t have the cowl on, Bruce is pretty sure he’d be heaving out a sigh, because of course Dick is antagonizing them. “I’m pretty sure I know exactly what I’m talking about. The color scheme is atrocious. No flair, or anything. What are you, second-rate kidnappers? Where’s your pizazz?!”

“Will you shut up?!” another voice cries, probably whoever was ordered to bring Dick over to the first voice.

“It’s literally illegal for me to stop running my mouth. If I’m quiet for more than thirty seconds, the world’ll explode. Now let me go so I can kick your mustached, jumpsuit wearing asses ten ways to Sunday!” Dick yells.

“Not happening,” the first voice says.

“Ow!” Bruce’s heart seizes at Dick’s short cry of pain. “Hey, Mister, I think you missed your calling as a meat tenderizer!”

“Batman’s on the line,” the first voice tells Dick, and this time, Dick does go quiet. “You wanna speak to him, then you behave.”

There’s one, two, three, four, five seconds of silence. And then—

“B?” Dick call out, sounding tentative in a way that puts Bruce’s nerves on fire. There’s static in his brain, and he’s barely able to push past the fuzziness to hear Dick ask, “Are you there?”

Somehow, Bruce manages to sound like his normal, gruff, Batman self when he says, “Robin.”

Dick exhales loudly. And this time Bruce can’t help the fond eyeroll when Dick starts chattering again.

“Good golly gosh, Batman,” Dick says, sounding ten times brighter than before, like he hadn’t just been using language that would have made Alfred wash his mouth out with soap. “You wouldn’t believe how dull this place is. I mean, you’d probably like it with how dark and dreary it is. Perfect for bat brooding.”

There’s more commotion, some angered and exasperated shouts from the background of the communicator, but Dick keeps talking.

“And holy Batman, B, when they surprise adopted me I did not think that I was gonna have to deal with more black. What’s with old guys and monotone colors? D’ya think it makes you look manly?”

“That’s enough, kid,” the first voice says. Then, to Bruce, “If you want the chatterbox traffic light back, you’re going to meet me on 32nd by the old batting cages. Oh, and you’re going to bring me a file from the GCPD.”

“File?” Gordon finally steps in.

“Ah, so the Commish was listening in. Oh well. Yeah. Jaquelyn Briggins. Her file, or you don’t see the kid again.”

“Fine,” says Bruce, before Gordon can put his foot in his mouth. “Fifteen minutes. The batting cages on 32nd.”

The line goes dead. Bruce makes sure it’s temporarily disabled for sure with an attachable EMP.

“Get the file,” Bruce demands.

Gordon sighs, exasperatedly, but walks towards the roof’s door. “I’ll get it. Meet me in my office.”

Bruce goes from roof to window in seconds, slipping into Gordon’s office before the commissioner gets there. Once he brings the file, they pour through it.

Thirteen minutes.

“What’s this guy want with Jaquelyn Briggins?” Gordon asks. “There’s barely anything in here.”

Which is better for them, Bruce thinks as he scans the two sheets of information a third time. More information would take time to sort through things that don’t matter. In this case, all the info Bruce needs is right in front of him.

Eleven minutes.

Bruce takes a picture with his cowl lenses. “I’m borrowing the file.”

Gordon doesn’t look happy. “That’s illegal, you know.”

“So are vigilantes.”

“Bring it back,” Gordon sighs.

Bruce grunts an affirmative, and then he’s off.

The journey to the meet up place is practically a blur. He’s at three minutes when he reaches 32nd street. He reaches the batting cages at two.

He perches from a nearby roof ledge, scanning the area.

Dick’s information is as accurate as always. Four men stand outside the batting cages. There are two men holding Dick, one grabbing each arm. Dick’s staring down a third man, and the last is looking around the practically abandoned street.

One is bald. Two have mustaches. All of them are wearing black jumpsuits. The one standing in front of Dick is wearing rings, which match the scratches on Dick’s cheek.

Nothing else is out of the ordinary. He double checks, sends a discreet message to Alfred to prep the first aid kit and start researching Briggins, and makes sure Superman’s frequency is on hand if things get dicey.

Then, Batman gets to work.

Dick knows he’s there. The way he squints his eyes and grits his teeth as he chatters—yells, really—at the ring-wearer is enough for Bruce to know that much. The kid is yelling louder, now, raving about the goons’ lack of fashion.

It’s agitating them enough for Bruce to slip from the rooftop, landing almost soundlessly in the shadows. He tenses, waits for one of the goons to start yelling at Dick, and then rolls out smoke pellets. They work almost immediately, and Bruce makes his move.

It’s only been a few years since he and Dick have started working together, and even less since they’ve worked together well enough to seamlessly fight half-blind. But, Bruce is careful, and soon, he has the lookout and one of Dick’s captors knocked out with well-placed blows, and as Dick takes out his other captor, Bruce catches the throat of the ring-wearer and slams him up against a chain-link face.

“Who is Jaquelyn Briggs?” Bruce growls out. He pays no attention to the fight behind him. Dick takes the last man out in less than ten seconds. The ring-wearer’s eyes are wide. Bruce slams him against the fence again. “Tell. Me. Now.”

“My—She’s my cousin, man!” the guy croaks, hands scrabbling at the glove crushing his windpipe. “The police—hrk—covered up her death! I know it!”

Bruce lets the ring-wearer fall to the ground. He starts to tie him up after he alerts Gordon to the situation.

Dick crouches down by the restrained ring-wearer, head tilted. “I don’t get why you had to surprise adopt me to find out whether or not the police covered up your cousin’s death. You could’ve just asked Commissioner Gordon and he would have helped you!”

Bruce sighs. “Robin.”

Dick looks up at him. “What? It’s true.”

“Stop using the words ‘surprise adopt’. It’s not funny.”

Dick smirks. “Au contraire, Mister Batman, sir. I think it’s hilarious.”

Bruce rolls his eyes under the cowl. He’s going to be hearing this one for a while. But, he thinks that he can probably live with it, now that his kid is back where he’s supposed to be—right next to him.

“We’re leaving, Robin.”

“’Kay! Bye, surprise adopted father who is no longer my surprise adopted father!”

“Robin.”

“Just say I’m funny and I’ll move on.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re probably right.”

Bruce rolls his eyes again, fonder and even more exasperated than the first time. He ushers Robin forward, and then they disappear into the night, the only trace that they were there the four men they’d tied up and left for the police.

Dick chatters the whole way home. Bruce wouldn’t have it any other way.

[mummykink]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13422138

Middle-School Tim Drake is on a field trip to the Science Museum, but with a WE exhibition of top-secret new technologies being staged in the basement, Tim separates from his classmates and breaks into the staff-only areas by using the skills he's developed over years of stalking Batman and Robin.

Current-Robin Jason Todd catches him in the act, but he's not there to confront Tim for trespassing or truancy - he's there because there's a rumor on the street that Tim Drake knows Batman's real name. And the rumor's gaining ground, quick, drawing in the wrong kind of attention.

When a Drug-Lord decides to take the rumor seriously enough to kidnap the little genius, Jason jumps into the crossfire.

It all goes downhill from there. Fast.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13736214

Alfred is Magic.

His sheer epic-ness shows itself clearly as he raises an unruly flock of baby birds.

A new drug is sweeping through the streets, killing almost everyone it touches. GCPD's given up on finding the culprit, of even figuring out what the new drug IS, and Batman is on the case. He, Nightwing, and Robin are actively investigating with support from Batgirl and a very special stalker who's becoming part of the family faster than anyone realizes.

Except Jim Gordon... Jim Gordon is not surprised. He would be amused if not for the ridiculous caseload on his desk and the hopelessness of the new drug to which most of his cases are linked. But perhaps the new kid can help.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/658106

It almost feels like camaraderie when Jason gives him a two fingered salute, "Till next time." (All time favorite Jaytim fic 😩)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6984493

In which Jason and Tim develop a relationship when Jason first becomes Robin.

It changes everything while at the same time changing absolutely nothing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13802349

"I'm sixteen and pregnant," she began. There was no one else in her life that Stephanie could talk to about this, so Stephanie spilled her guts without caring that the man she was spilling them to was a crime lord. "My baby daddy fled the city during the cataclysm. My father is in jail because he was a supervillain and my mother is coping with that so badly that there's absolutely no way that I can tell her about this pregnancy. I kissed Robin a few times, but he has a girlfriend. Even if he didn't have a girlfriend, it's not like I could ask him to help me with the baby because a: it's definitely not his and b: he won't even give me a hint about who he is."

Stephanie wasn't sure what she was expecting the Red Hood to say about everything she dumped on him, but there was absolutely no way she would have guessed that the next words out of his mouth would be, "Well, do you want my help?"

or: Stephanie and Jason meet when Stephanie's pregnant and it changes both of their lives.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979837

Kyle Rayner understands loneliness. When he was a child, his mother loved him but worked long hours to keep them afloat. When he was fourteen, he was the last Green Lantern. At fifteen, he spends too much time in space to make proper friends on Earth. Things start to change when he overhears a conversation between Jason Todd and Bruce Wayne at the watchtower.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/746341

When Jason was ten years old, he met a really weird kid on a fire escape who asked him to marry him. He said he’d think about it. (It was one of the first I read, so it holds special place in my heart)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17865500

"Why did you take a picture of me?"

"I didn’t!"

"Don’t fuck with me."

Tim gulped. "I— I wanted to just take a picture of the Batmobile," he said quietly.

In which little Tim goes out to take pictures of Batman and runs into a boy trying to steal the Batmobile's tires. It leads to a friendship neither of them expected.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18318833

Tim runs into Jason while he's disguised as Caroline Hill. Jason doesn't see through the disguise and becomes increasingly fond of this mysterious woman. Shenanigans Ensue.

------

Tim scowls at Jason’s innocent act. “Miss?” he repeats, thinking for a moment Jason is mocking his disguise.

“Uh, Mrs. or- fuck- it’s probably, Doctor, right?”

“You…” don’t know who I am, Tim realizes. “You can call me Caroline.”

“It’s nice to meet you Caroline,” Jason says, and Tim almost laughs at how absurd it is to have Jason being polite to him. “I’m Red Hood.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509726

Tim stumbles forward, arms flailing out in an instinctual response to catch himself. Except he hits someone else before he hits the ground, hits someone hard. Tim watches in horror as Jason stumbles forward from his accidental shove, before spinning around to face him.

“You want some too then, ya stupid fuck?!” Jason’s eyes are emerald flames as he stomps over to Tim.

Tim raises his hands in what he hopes is a placating gesture. He realized too late that, in his nervousness, he’s clenched his hands into fists, so now it looks like he’s squaring off against Jason. It excites the crowd even more. There’s a loud ‘Ooooooooh’ that fills the hallway around them. Tim has no idea where the other two boys went. He should stop worrying about them though because Jason is coming at him fast.

“N-no wait! I didn’t mean-“ Jason’s fist slams into Tim’s jaw and Tim falls to the ground, passing out for the second time in less than week.

Bonus:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035113

Dick’s first house is haunted, Jason doesn’t believe in ghosts, Tim is a pizza delivery boy they won’t let leave, and Damian has unfinished business. (The first DC fic I read, so its ✨special✨)

[dibs4ever]

Grieving

Nathan Gordon smiled at the little red headed bundle in his arms. So tiny, and new. Only a month old and so much had already happened to the poor child she had already gone through so much. Her mentally unstable mother running off in the night with her 4 year old brother.

Leaving her father alone with the newborn and a paper signing her rights over. Why keep one but not the other?

Nathan couldn’t understand it

Then again Barbara Keen never was exactly right in the mind

“Dad thanks again for offering to do childcare.” The voice of Jim Gordon spoke

Nathan looked up at his son and shook his head “Think nothing of it. It’ll give me something to do with my days now that I’m retired” he smiled bringing his infant granddaughter to his shoulder

Jim smiled “Well there is absolutely nobody else in the world I’d trust Barbara with. You raised my sister and I on your own which wasn’t exactly common in the 70s and 80s “

Nathan chuckled “Your mother was involved.”

Jim looked at his father over the brim of his glasses. Okay so maybe he did raise the kids on his own for the most part

Little back story on Nathan Peter Gordon

After getting an honorary discharge from the Vietnam war due to an injured leg he did what all the war men did and found a wife to marry and settle down with. It was 1962 he was 25 years old when he married Francis.

She wasn’t like his friends wives, she wasn’t sweet or doting. She didn’t ask him how is day was

She was a bitter women who wouldn’t stand for anyone who didn’t agree with her.

If he was being honest with himself the only reason he married her was because that’s what was expected of him. Women weren’t where his attraction laid. But being a gay man in the 1960s was just asking for a lifetime of criticism. Besides Francis could give him what he desired to be most. A father. Which happened in 1963 when his his daughter Hannah was born and then 3 years later when James was born

He absolutely loved being a father but always feared leaving them with Francis when he left forgot work as an attorney . She was cruel to them.

In 1970 after years of verbal abuse and accusations from Francis he finally confessed to the woman that he was gay.

They promptly divorced, Francis shocked the judge when she requested only to have the children every other weekend. Allowing Nathan to be the primary caregiver.

Something he thanked it was probably the only nice thing she ever did for him. Although he was certain she didn’t want them anyways. It wasn’t easy being a single dad but he wouldn’t trade it for anything, he supported and loved his children. Praising their accomplishments. Hugging them when they were downs and giving advice as they grew up under his wings.

Fast forward it’s 1996 and he’s holding his 30 year old sons newborn daughter.

Nathan takes care of his granddaughter every day and some nights for the next 5 years as his son worked his way up in the GCPD.

Then in 2001 she starts kindergarten and he only has her after school and some nights. It’s a bittersweet moment for both Nathan and Barbara. The two of them were each other’s best friends

Nathan waited outside the school with the other parents and caregivers. The school doors opening

“Grandpa!” The five year old shouted running across the school courtyard and into his arms with a flying leap.

She snuggled into his chest “I missed you.”

He chuckled lightly “So did I, come on little one, let's go get ice cream. It's Friday after all.” He smiled

4 years later he’s on his way to pick her up from school again. He hadn’t been feeling right . He has a coughing fit, then looks down at the kleenex...blood. Something wasn't right

Stuffing the napkin product in his pocket he decided to put on a brave face and go pick the light of his life Barbara Gordon up from school. She’d help him relax till his Doctors appointment next week

Nine year old Barbara opens the back car door and climbs in

“Hi grandpa.” She smiles leaning over the seat to plant a kiss on his cheek “Did you make any snacks at home? I’m starving.”

Nathan smiled, he almost always prepared a small snack for his growing grandauter to have when she returned from school. But today he had felt so ill and afraid due to coughing up blood that he completely.forgotten be had planned to make a her-her favorite snack of homemade nacho.

”I thought we’d get ice cream” be spoke looking back at the girl in the rearview mirror as he pulled out of the driveway

She laughed lightly he freckles doing a little dance when her nose scrunched up. He adored her freckles “Grandpa it’s only Tuesday. We only get ice cream on Friday’s.”

He shrugged “Who says we gotta play by the rules.” He winked

Barbara smiled at him

The following year Nathan Gordon passes away from cancer. He’s surrounded by his daughter Hannah, her husband and their children along with his son and Barbara.

Barbara Gordon sat in the office chair of her fathers office. Since her grandfathers recent passing her dad had yet to make arrangements for a new childcare provider.

Not that she needed a babysitter. She wasn’t a baby. She was 10. Besides the past couple months her grandpa had been so weak she basically took care of herself anyways

Her dad had been gone for a while. Where to? she didn’t know. He never told her anything anyways.

She sighed and continued drawing random doodles on the piece of copy paper she’d been using for the past 30 minutes to occupy her time.

The door opened. Her dad stepping in. But he wasn’t alone . A boy with dark hair, shorter than her but probably around her age stood at his side. This she knew wasn’t common. Very rarely did her father handle children personally like this at work. The boy was looking down sadly.

“Why don’t you take a seat son” her father waved to the pair of seats that sat infront of his desk. The boy nodded then moved and took a seat in one of the chairs

“Barbara this is Richard. He’s 10 like you. Why don’t you keep him company while I make some phone calls in the hall.” Her dad informed

She nodded and watched him walk out, the office door closing behind him

After a moment of Richard not looking up, Barbara moved and switched seats to the available one beside him

“I’m Barbara, how are you Richard?” She asked

He shrugged

“Not much of a talker Huh? It’s okay I’ll talk. I’ve been bored out of my mind all night. My dad thinks I need a babysitter but I don’t. I mean I’ve literally been sitting in this office by myself all night anyways so tell me what the difference would be if I was sitting at my home all night alone?”

Silence

“I’ll tell ya, nothing. I finished all my homework within 30 minutes of being here. My grandpa had me on a strict routine. If dad was ever around when I got home from school the past 5 years he’d know I always finish my school work promptly. What grade are you in Richard?”

“Can you call me Dick?” He spoke softly

Barbara grinned “He speaks....uhh sure I guess. Like I was saying my grandpa. He knew, he always said I should skip a grade. Grandpa knew more about me then my dad.”

Dick looked up at her “I’m in 4th grade. You talk a lot” a small smile played on the boys lips. Although his blue eyes were still filled with saddness

Barbara flashed him a smile back “Sorry my grandpa always said I talked a lot when I was nervous and you being so quiet kinda brought it out.”

Dick nodded “You and your grandpa are close? You’ve already talked about him 3 times in the past 10 minutes”

Barbara inhaled a breath at the mention “We were he Umm. He died last month.”

Dick looked down again “Oh”

She nodded “First time someone close to me has ever died. Have ugh have you ever lost someone. Maybe you could help me, give me some advice.”

Dick was silent “I’ve lost someone. But I don’t have advice.”

Barbara tilted her head “Who did you loose?”

He took a deep breath “My parents.” He squinted his eyes

Her eyes widened she couldn’t imagine loosing her father. Loosing her grandfather was tearing her up inside as it was “When?” She wondered. They were only 10. How young was he when he became an orphan?

“Tonight-they were murdered. I saw it.” He choked

Barbara’s jaw dropped. That explained why he was here “Dick, I’m so sorry!”

Tears began to flow slowly from the boys eyes

Not knowing what to do, the young girl moved her hand grabbing the fellow boys hand and lacing their fingers. To her relief the boy squeezed hers tighter. Letting her know that the small movement was just the right amount of comfort he needed at that moment. Together the two adolescents sat holding hands. Tears slowly streaming down their faces. Finding comfort in their newfound friendship and grieving their recently lost loved ones

[gumnut-logic]

Reactions (Bit 11b)

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Always in a hurry, damit. Language warning on this one.

For @soniabigcheese cos she did it.

-o-o-o-

All three brothers sat down on the lounge, Scott directly next to Virgil and Gordon one seat over.

They were hovering.

He shunted the reason why aside.

Staring up at his holographic brother, he found himself missing John in the flesh. Instinct wanted to draw his family close and keep them safe from whatever the hell was going on, but John, as always, was far, far above them.

Alone.

“Can I tell him now?”

Well, maybe not quite alone.

“Eos!”

“It’s not fair to Virgil. You tell me to be honest and open and yet you treat your brother like this? Not very consistent at all.”

Virgil stared at John and his brother suddenly appeared uncomfortable.

Turquoise eyes darted to Virgil’s left...and back.

On Virgil’s right, Gordon sat up straight. “What is going on?”

Already barely composed, Virgil continued to stare up at John as the astronaut fidgeted before sighing and letting his shoulders drop. His eyes darted once again to Virgil’s left and the engineer knew who was truly hiding something.

Honestly, he had had his suspicions. Scott had been acting weird since London and the roof.

Hovering.

Was it logical to avoid looking at his eldest brother? As if not seeing eye to eye could avoid discovering something he knew he really didn’t want to know.

But he did.

“What did you find out?” The words were pushed through his larynx and his vocal cords creaked.

“Virgil-“

He spun where he sat. “For fuck’s sake, Scott, what is it?!”

Shocked silence as blue eyes widened. One advantage of being the sensible and stable one was when you did crack, it had impact.

Calmer. “What are you hiding from me?”

Young and flippant. “It’s quite simple really-“

“Eos!” John’s tone was sharp enough to cut cahelium.

Virgil turned back to his holographic brother. “No, John. Let her speak.”

“Virgil-“

He cut his brother off. “Eos, report!”

“Okay.” Her high-pitched voice was almost eager with glee. “I found something. It was quite a challenge. Triple layer encryption, hidden, not even on a hard-wired network. I had to sneak in on a mobile connection and decode onsite.” She was obviously quite proud of herself. “John was impressed.”

John obviously wasn’t quite as impressed right now, his arms folded across his chest, his expression both sad and pissed off at the same time.

Virgil forced what little calm he had left. “What did you find, Eos?”

“Notes. From a meeting. Not very legible. Her handwriting is atrocious.”

“Whose?”

“Councillor Wainwright. Honestly, her phone is a mess.”

“You hacked a World Security Council phone?”

“Hmph. Hacked is such a human concept. I simply visited.”

He refused to look at Scott. Refused. “What did you find?”

“A photo of notes. A short list of International Rescue’s vulnerabilities.”

“Vulnerabilities?” Gordon was definitely stoking a fire. Virgil was unsure whether the note-taker or a couple of brothers were going to be the ones roasted. “What vulnerabilities?”

A photograph of scrawled notes appeared beside John. Paper was rare and obviously used for security reasons, but to then photograph it and turn it digital…someone was an idiot.

Virgil frowned at the barely legible handwriting. The letters ‘IR’ were scribbled at the top, Five Tracy names scrawled below, each crossed out except for Virgil. Scott’s and Gordon’s name had the word military in capital letters next to them. ‘Space’ was written next to John and Gordon.

Further down the page, almost at random in relation to the rest of the scribble, was the word ‘Vulnerabilities’. Underneath was a list. A very short list.

1.     Popular opinion

2.     Political standing

3.     Virgil Tracy

Something else was scrawled next to his name, but it was illegible having been crossed out quite vehemently.

Virgil swallowed. “Who wrote this?”

It was John who spoke up, his voice wary and a little hesitant. “Handwriting matches Wainwright’s.”

“Why?”

“It’s bullshit, Virgil.” Finally, Scott said something.

Virgil turned to face him. “Yet, you hid it from me.” The hovering. The visit to Jack.

Jack.

“You told Jack.”

“Of course, I told Jack.” Scott threw himself to his feet, obviously unable to contain himself any longer. “It’s a threat from the government. Our own government, Virgil.”

John cut in. “No, it is from one councillor.”

“One bitch.” Gordon was on his feet now, echoing his eldest brother with his furious energy, unable to keep still. “Wainwright obviously has an agenda. An agenda that doesn’t care about those sixty-three people!”

Virgil flinched.

“We have no proof that Wainwright is connected to today’s incident.”

“Circumstances disagree, John.” Gordon was glaring up at his holographic brother. “I find it hard to believe that Thunderbird Two’s scanners being messed with and the resultant media shitstorm is not related to this. Too much of a coincidence. They’re targeting Virg to take us down!”

“Gordon!” Scott’s voice cut across the room.

Virgil let it all wash over him. He was being used, he was a vulnerability, but that wasn’t the important thing.

Not important.

Not important.

He pushed himself to his feet. Gravity seemed more of an opponent than usual. He straightened up, looking up at his holographic brother as if he was some deity offering answers.

“Why?”

“You’re not a vulnerability, Virgil.” John’s voice was soft and concerned.

Virgil had no patience for it and waved it away. “No, why are they doing this? Why does someone, Wainwright or whoever, want us out of the picture?”

“Because they want to replace us.” Eos’ voice was far too chirpy and bright for the topic of conversation.

“Eos, tact.”

“What? Oh. Sorry. Please let me rephrase.” A moment that allowed John’s lips to thin just that touch more, the tightly strung muscles in his shoulders prominent enough to stand out in relief despite his uniform. “There is a possibility that the World Security Council is seeking expressions of interest from business entities interested in providing first responder services for the government.”

Virgil blinked.

Beside him, Scott shifted. “What? John? Explain.” Virgil didn’t have to look at Scott to know the frown would be cavernous.

Their space brother sighed. “Eos has tracked a number of gaps in calendars, meetings that didn’t happen, several coincidences that are far too coincidental to be genuine. Lady Creighton-Ward Senior contacted me about half an hour ago with some information that confirmed my suspicions.” There was something in John’s expression.

Scott frowned. “What aren’t you telling me?”

John looked down a moment as if steeling himself. “You know Lady Penelope identified several upper echelon GDF suspects following the Janus incident.” His eyes latched onto Scott’s as if in challenge. “What you don’t know is that we have had them under surveillance since that time.”

“We?” Scott’s tone was cold.

“IR security.” John’s tone was unapologetic. “Kayo, Lady Penelope and myself. There were things we needed to know.”

“And I didn’t?”

“Not at the time.” John shrugged, but Virgil could see it was forced nonchalance. There would be discussions later, but to be honest, Virgil hadn’t expected anything less.

Virgil ignored Scott. “Who is involved?”

“Wainwright, General Strond and the CEO of Robotics Industries, Jim Lucas. Eos has only just now collected enough data to confirm the connection. Lady Creighton-Ward’s advice backed up the conclusion.”

Scott was a pent-up explosion waiting to happen beside him.

Virgil just felt numb. He held out a hand. “So, these people want us replaced. They’ve found our...weaknesses...” Gordon literally snarled beside him. “...and they have succeeded in shutting us down. The question remains...why?!” And if that last syllable came out louder and a little more desperate, so be it.

John shrugged. “As Parker said, ‘Power’.” His brother frowned and looked off to his left, a hand poking hidden buttons. “And, I suspect, control. We are free agents, not under any direct chain of command. We are an unpredictable variable. You do realise how much power we can wield, Virgil?”

Virgil let his shoulders drop. Power, other than to help people, really wasn’t something he cared about, but John was right. The IR logo inspired a lot.

Or it used to.

He sat back down on the sofa and rubbed his face with his hands.

His military brothers remained standing. Gordon started pacing, the aquanaut’s furious energy spilling over onto the floorboards.

Scott looked like he wanted to stab someone.

Virgil was busy not thinking about the sixty-three people he had killed just because some asshole wanted to control-

“So, what do we do?” Gordon was standing almost on Scott’s toes. “We can’t just sit here.”

“I’m aware of that, Gordon.”

“Then what’s the plan?” Russet-brown eyes stared up at their eldest brother and Virgil found himself hoping to god that the commander had an answer.

“We shutdown, lick our wounds and bide our time.” Gordon opened his mouth and Scott held up his hand. “For now.” It was firm and declared no argument.

Gordon let out a disgusted sound, but deflated.

Scott turned back to John. “Thunderbird Five, you will send me a full report...immediately.”

“FAB.”

“Gordon, contact Brandy. Enquire with caution, but find out if WASP has any information on the topic. We do not want to alert those involved that we know what we know. Be subtle.”

Gordon grunted. “I can be subtle.”

Scott’s mutter was non-committal. “Virgil, you need rest-“

“No. I’ll be in the hangars repairing Two.” He stood up and turned towards the elevator.

“Virgil-“

“NO!” Both his hands were up, defensive. “No, Scott, I’m...I’m just going to fix my ‘bird.” He didn’t give his brother any more time to protest, spinning on his heels and stalking out of the room.

He didn’t bother to look back.

-o-o-o-

Next

[buzzdixonwriter]

Federal Operator 99 review

“Sophistication” isn’t a word one hears applied to serials very often.  Federal Operator 99 aims for sophistication and surprisingly hits the mark more often than not. 

It’s not a uniformly smooth attempt and the rough spots are noticeable, but for the least expensive of Republic’s three serials in 1945 (and lordy, were Manhunt Of Mystery Island and The Purple Monster Strikes inexpensive!) Federal Operator 99 is solid entertainment. 

Let’s start with the script, often the least sophisticated element of a serial. This time instead of Wild West adventures or sci-fi thrills Republic writers Albert DeMond, Basil Dickey, Jesse Duffy, and Joseph Poland under the guidance of studio story editor Ronald Davidson focused instead on a very human scale criminal enterprise, led by a colorful / complex / conflicted crime lord, Jim Belmont (George J. Lewis) with a penchant for fine art and piano concertos. 

Belmont is no typical Republic supervillain but a very human — albeit murderously eccentric — criminal. All of his plots are plausible and doable. Conquer the world? Hell, no.  Steal jewels then double cross when paid a ransom?  Oh, yeah. 

That alone is a refreshing change of pace for a serial of this era. 

His opposite number is our eponymous Federal Operator 99, Jerry Blake (Marten Lamont).  Serial leads (other than costumed heroes) tend to be played as just regular folks; the audience appeal is that we like to think we would be just as heroic under similar circumstances.

99, in contrast, is presented as debonair and dashing, super competent and equally as cunning as his quarry, and speaking with a faint English accent.  It’s not much of an exaggeration to say he’s a prototype of another JB with a number:  007. 

And speaking of JBs, notice how both hero and villain share the same initials as well as equal expertise in their respective fields, and a taste for the finer things in life. “Avoid giving your characters similar names” is one of the fundamental rules of genre fiction, and for Davidson’s tribe of scribes to give both the same initials indicates they were quite consciously trying to link the two on some level. 

One of the best things about this serial is 99 is not a reactive hero, waiting for Belmont to strike so he can pursue him, but is actively trying to trick Belmont and lure him out into the open where Blake’s team can arrest him. 

Despite this, Lamont comes across as a rather lacklustre leading man, while Lewis’ screen charisma is so strong we’re disconcerted to find ourselves actually rooting for him at numerous points in the story! Republic missed a bet by not swapping their two leads; it would have made for a far more dynamic story line.  

The script doesn’t help much, either.  While it’s always hard to tell who wrote what parts of any serial, one of the writers here clearly had a much better grasp on what they were trying to achieve and it reflects in good dialog and strong scenes. 

Other writers give us the equivalent of juvenilia with their unimaginative flat declarative sentences, the single biggest drawback of this serial. 

While she ended up a Republic Western heroine under both this name and Adriana Booth, Lorna Gray as Rita Parker is two lethal steps up from the typical supporting villainess.  She’s not decorative arm candy but a willing and ready partner to Belmont’s crimes.  

Of her counterpart among the good guys, let’s be generous and say Helen Talbot as Joyce Kingston is fetchingly cute and enunciates all her lines quite clearly. It’s not uncommon for serial stars, especially the ladies, to be tied up at some point in the proceedings but Ms Talbot is restrained so often and in such a wide variety that it’s clear somebody in the production had an affinity for this sort of thing.  She also spends an inordinate amount of time being driven about in the trunk of various automobiles. 

You do the best with what you’ve got and I’ll leave it to the reader to decide if this applies to Ms Talbot or the production. 

The automobiles bring up an interesting point re Federal Operator 99’s meager budget. The serial uses a lot of stock footage and to disguise the fact some of it is well over a decade old, the script draws attention to certain cars being earlier models and not the more contemporary ones seen elsewhere. 

Likewise, nobody changes clothes unless it’s to match stock footage; this is especially noticeable for Gray and Talbot. 

Federal Operator 99 has a very lean look to it, past the opening chapters (typically used to sell the serial to theaters) there’s never more than four characters on camera at any time. Those familiar with Los Angeles and the San Fernando Valley will spot many landmarks and familiar streets. The production does enjoy a bigger feel than other Republic serials of the era, and I think this is because they managed to use a number of sets left standing after feature films finished production.  

Where the serial really shines is in the direction. As typical of the era, more than one director handled that chore.  Usually studios had one director for dialog scenes and another for action, or one for interiors and another for exteriors, but Federal Operator 99 has three (!):  Wallace Grissell, a film editor who became a director presumably because he knew how to intercut stock footage well; the legendary Spencer Gordon Bennet, who directed more serials than anyone; and Yakima “Just stay in the chariot and we’ll see you win the race, Chuck” Canutt, who handled the action scenes and boy, howdy! did somebody make the right call there!  Federal Operator 99 is crammed with chair splintering / table flipping action from crotch to sternum, Canutt’s philosophy being no self respecting hero should ever walk through a door when he can dive headfirst through a window, gun blazing. 

If I didn’t know better, I’d think chapter four was originally shot in 3D based on the amazing number of objects and human bodies Canutt sends hurtling straight at the camera. 

The cliffhangers are good, better than most comparable serials, and there’s nary a cheater in the bunch. The Lydecker brothers round things off with a superlative display of exploding miniatures. 

Serials are noted for their casual use of violence, but Federal Operator 99 is significantly more gruesome than most. 99 meets Kingston — elaborately bound and gagged in a closet, no less — right after shooting and killing one of Belmont’s men; the two then have a cheery conversation about what to do next despite the fact there’s a corpse laying literally at their feet!  Various underlings and innocent bystanders get shot in the back or stomach, Belmont is freed in an expertly staged train rescue where a cohort as an afterthought casually shoots and kills the escorting agent, a woman screams off camera as Parker tortures her with a cigarette lighter, a criminal dies twitching under a hail of bullets, one bloodied mortally wounded minion takes a minute to heroically crawl to a detonator because how else are we going to get a satisfying Lydecker ka-boom?, and Belmont himself makes his on camera hard goodbye by plunging four stories to solid concrete.  

The gruesomeness brings up two plot points that raise questions for me:  First Belmont has a phone conversation with an unseen spy in Washington then discusses with his cohorts the spy by name and how vital he is to their organization…and we never reference said spy again; next Belmont mentions four members of his former partner‘s gang by their names, gives a brief run down on each, mentions how they might know where the hidden loot from a bullion robbery is…and in the next cut Blake is reading a newspaper story about how the four were brutally tortured and mutilated before being executed gangland style. 

Say wha — ?  I’m guessing Federal Operator 99 was originally conceived as a 15 chapter serial only to be truncated to 12 in preproduction (Manhunt Of Mystery Island and The Purple Monster Strikes were Republic’s last two 15 chapter serials, everything after that was either 12 or 13 chapters). Rather than waste more time and money rewriting the script, they just whacked out three chapters worth of material but didn’t change the dialog. 

The gruesomeness of Federal Operator 99, and its more realistic scale and script make me wonder if it didn’t start life as a development for a Dick Tracy or Rex Barton serial; the format certainly fits both. 

Not the best serial Republic ever made, but better than most. 

 © Buzz Dixon 

[thedreammweaver]

Draft Dodgers Chapter 3 (Nygmobblepot 60s AU)

Chapter 2

(A:N: This chapter took so long I can’t be bothered with doing a drawing for it)

Warnings: violence

It was nightfall before Ed made it to Oswald’s house. He panted as he finally came to a stop, he had run a mile or two at least without stopping. After catching his breath Ed picked up a stick and chucked it at Oswald’s window. “You better not be asleep.” Ed mumbled. He was about to look for another stick when the window opened.

 “Eddie!” All of Ed’s anxiety melted away for a moment when he heard the love and excitement in Oswald’s voice. 

“Did you remember to pack everything?”

“Yes, Ed. You gave me a list,” Oswald rolled his eyes “What, you think I can’t read?” He joked.

“Okay, smartass, good job. Now get down here.” Ed chuckled.

Oswald put his backpack and walking stick onto the slope of the roof below his window before maneuvering himself out.

He winced a bit as he had to put pressure on his right leg. His stepbrother and his buddies had gotten drunk and decided to pick on Oswald a few months prior which wasn’t an unusual occurrence but this time Charles had been feeling extra mean. The group had beaten the shit out of Oswald, broken his leg too. of course when he told his stepmother Grace she didn’t believe him or didn’t care to, she definitely didn’t care enough to get him the medical attention he needed. She’d rather keep him on his feet all day doing chores. So now here he was, needing a cane most of the time and crying himself to sleep some nights because of the pain. He scooted down the slope of the roof, throwing his bag and cane down to the grass by Ed. He stopped when he got to the edge though. “What is it?” Ed asked.

“I’m..scared.”

“Oswald, I’m gonna catch you I promise.”

Oswald relented and pushed himself off the roof and down the eight foot drop to Ed’s arms. Ed did manage to catch him though and set him gently on the ground, handing him his cane as well. Oswald cleared his throat “I know you said not to tell anyone what we’re doing but...I mentioned it to Zsasz and he said we could stay at his place tonight and then he could drive us out of town in the morning?”

“Oswald..”

“We can trust Zsasz, I promise!”

Ed sighed, he didn’t know if he completely trusted Oswald’s judgement of people considering his fondness for one of the detectives at the GCPD. Jim Gordon had been the only one to even attempt to investigate the weird circumstances surrounding the death of Oswald’s father and from that moment Oswald had imprinted on the man like a baby duck. He’d accused Ed of being jealous but that sincerely wasn’t the case, Ed was just worried that Oswald having his guard down around one of them would get him hurt. Another thing adding to his hesitation was that Ed didn’t know Zsasz very well, he only knew from what Oswald had said that he liked men and women like Ed himself did, with that information he felt a little more inclined to trust the strange man. “Okay.” Ed relented. Oswald hugged him “Thank you! I don’t know if I could do all that walking tonight..”

Zsasz’s place was... interesting to say the least. For someone who wore so much black his room was mostly pink. Pink carpet, magenta curtains, pale pink countertops. Since it was late Zsasz had just told them to make themselves at home on the of course pink sofa and retired into his bedroom. After Ed had laid down Oswald laid on top of him despite the pillows and blankets Zsasz had laid out that they could’ve used to sleep on the floor. The pair preferred to be as close as possible. Ed slept better than he had in weeks knowing that Oswald was safe and sound right there in his arms, snuggled into his chest instead of across town with his horrible step family.

When Ed woke up he could feel that Oswald had gotten off of him. He stretched and yawned as he sat up and put on his glasses. Oswald was on the floor eating cereal in front of the television set, Mighty Mouse playing on the screen. “Zsasz is out, he’ll probably be back soon.” Ed got up off of the couch and went over to Oswald’s bag, wanting to make sure he’d actually packed everything on the list. Everything was accounted for but Ed noticed an odd crinkly mass in one of the pockets. He unzipped it and inside was a bunch of crumbled up money. “Oswald?” Ed questioned, holding up the bag. “Oh, I stole that from Charles’ room.” Oswald explained nonchalantly. Ed rolled his eyes and rezipped the pocket before putting the bag down to go over to Oswald and kiss him on the cheek. They were both semi-startled by the door opening, it was Zsasz. He looked a bit bothered. “Fellas, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but, Ozzie, your step-brother and Ed’s old man were at the police station saying a bunch of crazy shit that I’m pretty sure you guys wouldn’t do...anyways, the pigs are totally looking for you now.” He explained. Ed got up from the floor “What??”

“I mean, I’ll still drive you out of town and everything but we better do it sooner rather than later, you know.” Zsasz reassured.

“Thank you, Zsasz,” Oswald said sincerely “You’ve been a very good friend.”

“So have you,” Zsasz mumbled, sincerity not feeling natural to him. “Just give me a minute to shower and then we can split.” He said before going into his bedroom. Oswald’s brow furrowed “Eddie, I’m scared.” He mumbled. Ed sat back down beside his boyfriend “Shhh, everything will be okay, Oswald.” He said softly, cupping the other man’s cheek “I’ll keep you safe.”

[ty-talks-comics]

Best of DC: Week of February 26th, 2020

Best of this Week: Batman: Curse of the White Knight Book Seven - Sean Murphy, Matt Hollingsworth and AndWorld Design

Batman is Dead.

The last issue of Curse of the White Knight gave us the last in the story of Edmond Wayne and revealed that the man that Bruce thought was his ancestor, turned out to have been the family to Jean-Paul Valley instead. Bakkar of the Order of St. Dumas killed Edmond after betraying and stealing Gotham from under him, thus assuming the name of Wayne and forming the city to his vision. With this newfound information, Batman has found himself a man with a lineage of thievery, especially after finding out that Gotham’s Elite have been funding their crime through Wayne Enterprises.

This issue begins with a somber flashback to a moment before the funeral of the Waynes. Bruce cries and blames himself for their deaths because he wanted to see The Mask of Zorro. He had always wanted to use the rapiers that his father kept on display and figured if he learned to use them from the movie, then he would be able to impress his father enough. Alfred, always so caring, tells him that if he’s able to go to the funeral, then he can hold a rapier. He then vows to teach young Bruce how to use it for the next danger he may face.

Matt Hollingsworth colors this flashback in a cool blue hue, emphasizing both the sadness and the hopefulness of the moment. Murphy portrays Alfred as being caring and shows that even with the tears, Bruce shows his ability to rise up and become the hero that people need. Though the rapier is far too large for his kid body, Bruce holds it firm in hopes of protecting Gotham in the future.

As we cut back to the modern day, Bruce faith in himself and his dreams of becoming Gotham’s knight are shaken. He was never a Wayne by blood and he sees himself as part of Gotham’s cuse. Many would be right to see him as such given Gotham’s crime initially started off as petty stuff and eventually escalated into battles with The Joker, Two-Face and others with Gotham being caught in the crossfire every time. He didn’t even know that his company was being used by criminals because of his singular focus on fighting crime.

Murphy draws Batman as being tired and ashamed of himself for only just now understanding Jack Napier’s vision and why Batman is just as bad for Gotham as The Joker was. His expressions are melancholic, Murphy makes excellent use of shadow to try to hide some of his shame and body language to make him look like an old man that’s been sitting on a lawn chair for eighty hard years. Harleen Quinzel acts as his voice of reason during his pity party and actually shows concern for him.

Harleen has been a central character in this world since the very first issue of the original White Knight and that doesn’t change here though her own personal arc is over. The last issue saw her do her best to bring Jack Napier out of Joker’s mind for one last time for information and to save her children. In the end, she had to shoot Joker in the head to let Jack rest and rid herself of the monster that had been plaguing her for years. She still finds herself at Batman’s side as one of his most trusted friends.

Bruce still has one thing that he can do to make sure that Jean-Paul doesn’t get away with his crimes and Harley convinces him that Gotham will forgive his transgressions like they did for the former Joker in Napier. At the same time, Azrael is still out there and Murphy and Hollingsworth give readers an AMAZING shot of the villain in his updated Knightfall costume. He grabs onto the nds of his cape as he soars backwards into his hideout. The lights of the city contrast with his blacks, yellows and blues to just give us a pretty damn good shot of how powerful he feels in the suit.

This is contrasted by the next few set of panels where he’s puking out of his mask after escaping from the GTO (Gotham Task Oppression Unit). This version of Azrael has been diagnosed with terminal cancer and as such needs medicine to live and suppress the symptoms. With little dialogue and some telling panels, we see that Azrael has empty bottle after empty bottle of pills in his cabinet. He’s starting to look a bit more gaunt than the first time we saw him. He’s withering away slowly and only has one more pill to spare for his coming battle with Batman.

I love the details that Murphy and Hollingworth add here. There’s blood in his vomit and it maintains after he pukes on his leg. His ribs are starting to show and we’ve seen just how jacked he was in the issues prior. His hair doesn’t appear as long as it did, even pulled into a bun/ponytail and there’s just something so final about the “shit” he gives after finding out that he only has one more pill left. In that singular moment, his mistakes come back to haunt him after killing his, admittedly, treacherous employer.

Soon after, Bruce makes amends to Barbara Gordon after inadvertently causing the accident that almost saw her completely lose use of her legs and effectively getting her dad killed. Barbara has always been resilient and we all feared that that issue #5 would be yet another Killing Joke, but here she is, using crutches to try walking again. The scene takes place during the bright Gotham day and this signals a brighter future for their relationship.

Bruce had always gone to Jim Gordon for advice on what route he should take, but without him, Bruce is missing one of his moral compasses. Barbara is the next best person because she has always been smarter than her father and Bruce has a ton of guilt to get off of his chest and Barbara handles everything like the mature adult that she is. She doesn’t blame Bruce for what happened, even though she said horrid things in anger, but can anyone blame her? She cries at the mention of her father and embraces Bruce, encouraging whatever his decision may be.

Of course, with this being the penultimate issue in this particular storyline, it only makes sense that we see a grand revelation come out of it. Murphy and Hollingsworth set the stage with Hollingsworth coloring the afternoon skies of Gotham with an orange-red kind of hue. We see various shots of different places in Gotham from public libraries to the streets themselves as Batman appears on the giant monitor of Gotham Square. Everything feels hot and sort of uncomfortable.

Bruce gives his appreciation and thanks to the people of Gotham for allowing him to serve as their protector and we continue to get these various shots of people. There’s auto mechanics watching the broadcast in their shop, people in a bar and kids watching on a cell phone with their dog. Murphy uses this to illustrate that Gotham is far larger than we think it is and that there are many people that Batman has saved from every corner of his beloved city, but he hasn’t done enough yet. So what’s the final step?

Batman reveals himself to be Bruce Wayne and dismantles WayneCorp.

Bruce finally becomes the knight that Gotham needs by giving back to the people. By destroying his company, he gives back to the people of Gotham by giving all of his money to nonprofits, schools, homeless shelters etc. It’s everything that Batman detractors have been saying Bruce should have done for ages. In doing so, he offers Gotham a better future than he could have as Batman, but he only asks them to stay off the streets of Gotham for one night while he takes care of the Azrael business. Murphy shows Bruce holding his cowl one last time, standing tall by his heroic decision.

Back at the GCPD, he gets lambasted by Commissioner Montoya for going off and doing his own thing again, but counters by saying that he trusts in the people of Gotham and they all formulate their battle plans. It’ll be his last time taking the reigns before he turns himself in as well, so he might as well make sure that everything goes according to plan.

As Montoya tells Batman that Azrael destroyed most of the other Batmobiles in his assault on bruce in Book Four (I think), she reveals that one survived and I see that Sean Murphy is a Batfan after my own heart. The Batmobile that survives is the badass one from the Animated Series, what this book is supposed to be the “sequel” to. It's sleek and well designed thanks to Murphy’s own love of cars. From the presentation, readers can tell that this is one of the pages he took serious time with as the Batmobile is given so much respect.

After a short conversation with Dick about what Bruce is going to do when he catches Azrael, Batman drives away, leaving his sidekicks concerned about his state of mind and we get one last splash page of Batman standing in the middle of Gotham Square without his cowl and the sky is a blood red. The Batmobile looks sexy in the background and this was all just so amazing.

Sean Murphy is a comic book treasure. His art and his writing truly made this an experience and a Batman story worth standing the test of time. It had the action, the drama, the stylish sequences and several twists and turns that make a story great. He’s made Batman his own in a grungy style much like how Scott Snyder and Greg Capullo have in a heavy metal manner. Murphy’s Gotham is a masterpiece in crustpunk with social problems that Batman’s always had in the periphery of his character and every issue has been better than the last.

Matt Hollingsworth brings it to life with his perfect colors; Whether they’re making use of the blues of Gotham’s clear skies or the light purples of the night sky, Hollingworth makes Gotham look distinct no matter the time of day. Scenes are given hues to match the tone of the pages whether they’re full of intense anger or incredible sadness, Matt Hollingsworth sets the mood no matter what

I really enjoyed this series, but I can’t wait for the next and final issue of it just to see that confrontation between Batman and Azrael. It’s been a long time coming and the fallout from Bruce’s decision as well… it’ll be too much, but yeah High recommend!

Also, support me on Patreon:

patreon.com/TyTalksComics

[jeromesxreader16]

Such A Joker 33

SAJ Part 32

If you want to be tagged please let me know!

~

My father is back in Gotham.

Jim Gordon is back in his favorite place to ruin lives.

His own home.

I toss another plucked petal of the rose onto the grave of my lost love. "When are you going to pick a different flower? We're sick of roses." Little J says sitting next to me. "Fucking deal with it kid." He giggles and continues to nag. "Just think if older me and you had a kid... That would literally be me!" "Ha! Yeah right! My child would be so much better!" "BUT IT WOULD BE HALF OF ME!" "And then 50% of me to make you not suck. Can't you go play with the dead birds or something? I'm trying to think." Little J huffs and fades away leaving me alone.

Quite. Finally.

"(y/n)!" I huff and look over to the right seeing Barbra walking towards me with a frown. "Hey. What are you doing?" I look at the grave with my lovers named engraved in stone. "Nothing. Just didn't know where else to go." She smiles sadly at me. "It's alright. I just wanted to warn you about Jim. I've moved all your stuff into the apartment and here is your key. I'm going to miss you." I smile at Babs and hug her tightly. "Me too Barbra. Maybe things will get better." She holds my cheeks and smiles. "They are getting better. You can do this." I nod start to descend down the hill away from the grave.

--

I hang the framed photo of Jerome and I up on my wall letting a tear roll down my face. "Aw, would you look at that! I grow up to be very handsome!" I look down at little J laughing. "Yeah. That's the love of my life right there. Now he's gone." J shrugs. "I mean only one of is." I furrow my eyebrows confused. "There is only one of you." J shakes his head giggling. "He never told you! He never told you! He never told you!" "Told me what?"

Knock, knock, knock.

I open my door to reveal the face of Jim Gordon. "Jim- Dad! Hi! When did you get back?" He hugs me laughing and holding me tightly to him. "Aw (Y/n). I missed you." "Yeah me too Dad. Mind letting me breathe?" I laugh as he releases me and smiles at me warmly. "Where did you find me?" "Harvey. Said you moved here this week." He walks around my apartment and stops at the hanging picture.

"You... You remember this boy?" I smirk and stare at the fear in his eyes. I walk over and touch the glass. "Kinda. It's foggy. No name, no recognition of personal memories with him, but I know I loved him."

If he knew I had remembered he would find some way to make me forget again. Jim looks at me and sighs. "You did. Very much." "I understand he's not around anymore. I figured if he was here he'd be with me." "He ran away. It broke your heart when he told you he found someone new. I'm sorry you don't remember."

Liar.

"Oh, well then. I guess I should... take this down?" Jim nods and takes the photo down quickly.

"How about some dinner? I'll buy." I smile and nod grabbing my coat. "Let's go, Jim-Bo!" He stops in his tracks and looks at me. "What dad?" "Nothing. You just don't call me that a lot."

Yep. Jerome always did.

------- Time Skip -------

I walk down a path in the woods feeling the cool Gotham wind hit my face. Hiking never has been a thing of mine, but it's the only thing that feels right at the moment. Knowing Jerome will never come back has numbed me completely. I always had hope, but that light has died. He's driving me insane.

At night the only rest I truely get is when I dope myself with sleeping pills, but even then my mind becomes a prison I cannot escape. His face as his neck is swiftly stabbed into replays in my mind. He's intoxicated my every thought once more.

I walk further into the wilderness and soon hear leafs crunching under someone's feet. I still my own feet allowing myself to pinpoint the sound. "I'm not even supposed to leave, and now I have. Do you know how dangerous this is for me? Next time we have to be more careful. No, no I'm not yelling uncle. I understand... I'm sorry. It's just scary... I am not!" " I see a ginger-haired man on the phone walking quickly.

Jerome?

He turns his face, catching my eyes and he stills completely. "J? I-is that you?" His breath hitches as I draw closer. "You're okay." I place my hand on his cheek and let a tear fall. "You're safe." I cling to him and pull him close. "I- who-" I cut him off by pressing my lips to his. He panics for a moment but soon rests his hands on my waist.

I deepen the kiss and hold onto him even closer. "Meet me later. Go to the place we first met at 11. It's not safe out here." I pull away and run quickly leting my mind wander. He's back! Jerome's back. I knew he wasn't dead!

-------

"Jerimiah? Kid, you there? Are you there-" "I have to go." Jerimiah says and hangs up the line watching the wild girl trot off with a skip in her step. "Who are you?" Jerimiah whispers to himself as he watches the beauty walk away with the memory of his lips in her mind.

------

That night (y/n) drives to the old grounds where the big tents and lights use to sit. She sits and she waits and gets stood up by her dead boyfriend once again. She waits for hours upon hours with no show of who she thought was Jerome.

The insane girl lays on her back looking up at her car roof when she sees lights pull up behind her car.

"Jerome?" She calls out.

Jim Gordon stood in the dark shadows watching his own daughter crumble before him. She cried and throws her body to the seats. "STOP!" She screams at the space in front of her. "Leave me alone! All you fucking do is whine and piss me off. You're not him! YOU'RE NOT JEROME!"

Jim covers his mouth and steps to her once more. "(y/n)?" He asks opening her car door and crouching next to her. "STOP!" She screams and tries to push Jim away, but he catches her hands and fights her struggling. "(y/n)? Look at me please." She cries and collapses into her father. "Help me, Dad, please. I see him everywhere, and now I don't think he's breathing, but he's here. He's in here." She points to her head with tears lining her cheeks.

"Who?"

"Jerome. I see him everywhere. I know everything. I remember it all. The longer I go the harder it is to live. I've been trying to push past it and all I see is him." Jim Gordon holds his little girl close as she cries. "Shh honey. It's okay." Jim finally did something he thought he would never do. He lets his daughter's past become true.

"I know (y/n). I know you loved him so much. You changed your life for him and he took care of you... in his own way. I know you hate it, but he's gone. He is gone and I promise I will do everything to help you. You have to allow me to help. You need to accept his death." She nods battling with her mind and the feel of the lips of the man she kissed in the woods.

[thegreenfairy13]

No Country For Heroes (Part 3)

Originally a drabble written for the prompt ‘beg’ by @justsimplymeagain ,this escalated into a full story. You can read it here on Ao3.

Plot: The GCPD turns Jim Gordon in for their protection. Set during the No Man’s Land story arch. 

Jim was a man who used to believe in innocence. He didn’t need proof, didn’t look for it, never searched it where it came to his conviction that ultimately the human race was - at its core - good, worth his protection. But that’s the thing with faith, it’s unprovable, it can be shaken, and it can get lost. Children, who are regarded as the prime example of innocence, can do horrid things without even realizing the brutality of their act, oblivious as they are. Maybe that’s true innocence though, doing the most hideous crime and not understanding the implication of your action.

Oswald looks at Jim with huge, shining eyes, his mouth forming a perfectly round ‘O’. It’s the expression of a kid when being told that, yes, it can have the entire birthday cake, all the presents are indeed theirs, and there won’t be any repercussions for just diving right in and taking it all.

He reaches out with a movement full of adoration and even with the cop slumped against the bedframe, clutching the metal for support, Oswald seems to be staring up at him. Biting his lip and tilting his head, he offers Jim his hand for support.

Enraged, the cop swats it away, watching how the gangster’s features contort in rage. He really is a kid, Jim thinks, as Oswald huffs out an offended breath, instantly pulling his hand back. The cop waits for him to go into one of his rants, his little fits of rage, in which he starts lashing out like a kid who had been denied his will.

Jim can’t help it. Despite, or maybe because of his tremendous fear, he fights back. He was never one to sit in the corner for long. Hell, he went up against Falcone, tore down the city’s old order single-handedly, shook Gotham to her core, tossed her into chaos, and gave his everything to pull her out of the abyss. If the Penguin wants not only his life but his entire being, he’ll have to earn it.

It is stupid, Jim knows that. But he’s just the kind of man who reacts to immense terror with rage. He’ll bite back, fight like a force of nature until his heart stops beating. They have that in common, he and the Penguin, that untamable temper.

“And this woman, Grace, she was right,” Jim pants once he can stand somewhat steadily. He grinds his teeth together in an attempt to suppress the violent shivers and waves of heat rocketing through his body. He can almost taste the darkness about to take him over. His body is failing him, or protecting him - Jim isn’t quite sure - as every fiber of his being screams for him to lay down and collapse again.

“You said you want to turn me into a zombie,” he accuses, still not really capable of fully grasping the concept. His initial shock morphed into incredulity as the minutes passed by. He partly wants to laugh all of this off, drop back on the bed, and trust that once he wakes, he’ll be back in his shitty apartment, waking from a particularly vivid nightmare.

And then this is just Oswald. The boy he pulled from death’s grasp, the little wannabe who had a gigantic crush on, adored him like a lovestruck teenager.

Jim wishes he had the strength to pin him to the wall like all those times before, fingers just itching to squeeze the life out of him because he always knew. He always had a foreboding the gangster would be his downfall.

There had always been something about him. Something that likewise attracted and almost disgusted the cop, a draw he fought but could never truly deny. He should have known he lost the fight the third time the Penguin rose to power, became the King of Gotham once more, and instead of being the man of the law Jim once vowed to be, he didn’t use all the obvious evidence connecting the criminal to his elegant system of organized crime but decided he’d rather see him thrown from his throne again than behind bars.

It had been Oswald he chose to sacrifice his principles for - all of them - for better or worse. It started with them murdering a man together instead of arresting him, went on with betrayal when turning a blind eye to Oswald being tortured, and now this shall end with a vengeance.

Jim always hoped though. Hoped the love the Penguin felt for him would protect him. But he said he used to love him. Now with the protection gone, Jim feels desperation rising up his throat. He said he still felt desire though, and that's the chance Jim tries to latch onto.

“Don’t you realize that if you turn me into your puppet, you’ll just have a doll with my face?” he barks out. “How is that not taking love by force as you put it?” he demands to know.

The muscle in the corner of the criminal’s jaw twitches, silently indicating the oncoming storm.

Unable to stop himself from pushing the criminal further, Jim raises his chin defiantly. He must be a sight, rumpled and beaten down, not even remotely attractive, and still, the Penguin follows his every movement, completely enraptured.

"If that is what you want, I'll get down on my knees and suck you off," the detective offers, and he's not joking, even if it sounds like he does.

Oswald weighs the cane in his hand deliberately, plays silently with the handle they both know contains a deadly dagger. The mobster blinks and Jim is almost certain he tries to hide some excess moist but that might only be his hope again.

“No, I don't want you to,” he then says quietly. “Not like that.” The Penguin sighs with compassion. “Jim, really, you should sit down. You’ll pass out again,” he adds gently. “Can’t really catch you with my bad leg,” he informs him with a wry smile.

“As if you’d care!” Jim snaps.

Oswald looks genuinely shocked. “I’d care a great deal,” he replies. “I thought that was obvious.”

Leaning heavily on his cane, he chooses his next words. “The thing is, my lovely detective, I might have, and I apologize for that, not picked the accurate words when presenting you with my plans for you. Arkham,” he pauses, scrunches up his face at mentioning the name of the facility, “Zsasz...they can’t procure anything that isn’t there. Not really.”

Looking up at the detective, the gangster observes every twitch of Jim’s face. “When Zsasz reprogrammed Butch to follow my orders, he played on his desire for guidance, for a firm hand. He only broke free when being presented with something he desired much more - and that happened to be Fish. When Strange reprogrammed me to be good, he played on my desire to be good .”

Oswald lets out a shuddering breath. “I wanted to be good, loved. I wanted to be someone you could want. That was the reason it worked so well - for a while.” His voice cracks and Jim senses there is still much unsaid. He remembers the criminal coming to him after being released, the excitement written all over his face when turning up at his doorstep, the amount of trust…Jim swallows heavily around the lump forming in his throat. He didn’t believe him back then.

“I’m sorry,” Jim whispers, meaning it. There’s not much more he can offer.

Averting Jim’s eyes for a moment, the gangster looks at the floor in shame. Shaking off the unwelcome feeling, he directs his gaze back at Jim. “That’s why it would work exceptionally well on you, though.”

“How?” Jim asks, caught off guard for a moment.  

“Because I’m convinced,” Oswald starts walking up to Jim, all but trapping him against the tiny bed, “it works better the more the other man wants what you are forcing him to do.”

He pushes Jim onto the bed, meeting almost no resistance. “Cause see, Jim,” he continues as he gently wraps the blanket around the detective’s shoulders, “brainwashing doesn’t mean forcing someone to do something they don’t want to, but eliminating the characteristics, the barriers in your personality preventing you from doing what you denied yourself originally.”

Oswald places his hand lightly on Jim's shoulder. It’s a motion meant to help him focus on the mobster’s words.

“You can’t stop shaking,” the Penguin remarks. “Poor thing,” he adds, and there is it again, this worried tone. Damnation comes in the form of the most captivating man Jim has ever met.

“I’m cold,” he chokes out, reaching for Oswald’s hand.

“I know,” he nods. “I’ll take care of that,” he vows. “I should have never treated you like that, my Jim.” A blissfully cold hand is being placed on his forehead. “The way you have been treating me all those years…”

Jim wants to offer an explanation but Oswald is quicker - as always. “You just couldn’t admit you wanted me too, isn’t that right?” His eyes widen as he comes to the conclusion and Jim lacks the strength to protest.

It’s not untrue anyway. Biting his lip, Jim tries to hide his reaction yet to no avail. His eyes drop to the Penguin’s mouth and for a moment, he allows himself to imagine what giving in would mean.

Something changes in the Penguin’s posture then. He tenses up and relaxes at the same time.

“You’d have to wipe out what you like about me in order to force me to act out on that desire though,” Jim argues. “I’d never ,” he emphasizes, “I could never choose you knowing what you did, what you’ll continue to do.”

Oswald nods silently.

“You have no remorse,” Jim acknowledges. “There’s nothing you wouldn’t do to gain power. And you don’t care how many get hurt in the process,” he finishes.

“I’m very driven, just like you,” the Penguin admits lightly. Pursing his lips, he studies Jim’s disheveled form. “Don’t think I’m not considering what exactly I’d have to break to get what I want,” he hisses.

The detective grits his teeth in defiance.

“But then we share so much,” Oswald muses. “All you’d have to do was see the world from a different angle, from my angle to be precise. If you’d just understand.” Leaving the sentence hanging, he tilts Jim’s head up.

“And if I told you I do understand?” the detective challenges. “Being selfish is so much easier,” he scoffs.

To his surprise Oswald laughs. “You know, I wanted to wait until you are better,” he shares. “But you are right. I am selfish. And now that I have you in my possession, I can’t wait.”

At a snap of his fingers, the door opens, revealing none other than Victor Zsasz.

“Jim,” he promises, “True selfishness means absolute freedom. And I have every intention of giving it to you.”

And so it starts.

[malereader-inserts]

Emperor’s New Clothes

Fandom: Gotham Pairing: General & Male!Reader Summary: Done your time and served your sentence, dressed up and watch Gotham die. If it feels good, taste good, it has to be yours. Word Count: 1,655 A/n: I just binge-watched the first three seasons of Gotham and I just had to write more psychopathicish reader. So, Gotham request is open and I will accept: Oswald Cobblepot, Ed Nygma, Victor Zsasz, Jervis Tetch, Jim Gordon, Jerome Valeska (not Jeremiah yet because I haven’t encountered him yet - just started season four)

“Didn’t you hear?”

Nathanial Barnes looked up from Jim’s old desk, he had been hearing whispers and gossips around the station and had wondered what had gotten people in such a wary state. He looked at Jim, who had been wandering in and out of the station, who shrugged his shoulder before the two looked over to Hervey, his feet on the desk and leaning back on his chair.

“(Y/n) (L/n) is back in town,” Harvey spoke, as the two men looked confused, “(Y/n) is part of a very influential and powerful family in Gotham. Rumours about him are quick to be spread around.”

“I’m guessing that’s what everyone is talking about,” Captain Barnes huffed, almost a growl escaped his lips.

“Pin on the murder of his family,” Harvey mentions standing up and handing over a file of you, “Some says he’s killed more than three dozens people, therefore making him the most dangerous person as of now due to having the most murders in Gotham. He’s the only one who could inflict so much fear within Gotham in a space of an hour.”

“Then we arrest him.”

“No can do,” A voice appeared behind Harvey.

Harvey jumped as he turns around, Jim and Captain Barnes looking up from your criminal file. Captain Barnes locks his jaw as Hervey widens his eyes and shuffle back a bit.

There you stood, young and devilishly handsome. Unlike, Penguin, you dress down. A man in his twenties rather not flaunt around in suits or three pieces. If you were to murder someone you couldn’t risk staining a ten gran suit with a speck of blood.

You were far more modest.

Calculating eyes, your hair all nice up as stand against the stair railing. Your arms crossed over your chest and your right leg crossed over your left, your toe against the hard wooden floor. A smug smile had appeared on your face, charming.

“How do you know that?” Barnes challenged, his eyes hardening but you didn’t falter.

“Mr Cobblepot is still running around, in fact, he’s running for mayor - correct?” You spoke, slow and rough. Your chest heaved up as you heavily inhale then exhale, “He’s one of the most notorious criminals and yet he’s running around as a free man, certainly you have no evidence against me and any of my rumours to put me in Arkham.”

“We’ll be putting you where you belong.”

“Gotham is my city, gentlemen, see I haven’t been home for a few years and things have changed. My family has always put their opinions in the wellbeing of this fine city, I aim to take back what once was mine.”

“You mean your family, your crime family,” Jim spoke, your lips thinned before you stood up straight a smile returning on your face.

“We could stick it to your way, Gordon, but I’ve done some digging on the way here. And let me tell you, James Gordon, Captain Barnes, you’re not as innocent as you seem. Gotham runs on villains, murderers, psychopaths, freaks, monsters.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Jim threatened.

You looked around your surroundings, your eyes flickering up and down the building, a simple gesture of silence wouldn’t be so threatening but there was something about you was uneasy.

“You’re not a cop anymore, James,” you drawled out as his stares at you, “I may be young, but I know my stuff and I know it well. Before you know it, Oswald Cobblepot won’t be a threat to you.”

“I’m sensing that’s a promise.”

You grinned at the men before you.

“In every moment a choice exists. We can cling to the past or embrace the inevitability of change and allow a brighter future to unfold before us. Such an uncertain future may call for even more uncertain allies. Either way, a new day is coming whether we like it or not. The question is will you control it, or will it control you?”

“What do you mean (Y/n) is back?” Oswald growled in his seat, his eyes piercing into Butch. 

Ed looking lost, your name was familiar, but he tended to keep to his little bubble while working with GCPD. Butch shrugged his shoulders, sitting across Ed but staring at Oswald, who had his hand to his lips deep in thought.

“I don’t know boss, with Falcone out in retirement and Fish not being here. He’s back for revenge.”

“The man killed his family,” Oswald gnarred out, as if it was the answer to everything, “How could anyone follow him? He’s a psychopath!”

“Perhaps that’s why they’re following him,” Ed spoke, suddenly finding a voice in the matter, “People tend to follow out of fear, whoever (y/n) is, must be bad news.”

“Of course it’s bad news, the last of the (L/n) crime family, he has spies all over Gotham, men who would do anything at his feet.” Oswald takes a harsh sip out of his wine.

Ed flickered his eyes between Butch and Oswald, who was freaking out. Edward had sensed a new villain had returned to Gotham, someone who was unpredictable, mad, psychotic. Oswald lets out a shaky breath, by Ed’s judgement, Oswald was very afraid.

Oswald had a vague idea of what you wanted. The last time he had seen you, you had blood around your hands and on your pretty white shirt. You hadn’t falter to the look of Fish before you send her a wicked smile. You were merely eighteen years old at the time, you had been in Arkham before - the youngest yet. Now, you’re twenty-three years old, with a thirst of vengeance and Arkham wrapped around your pinky.

Oswald wasn’t like you, you had been brought up in the nature of crimes whilst he was simply introduced to it. Madness is in your blood, you were far more intelligent than he was with the crime. You know of sacrifices to need to make, games and plans to think out. 

Your dangerous trait was you were patient. 

You like to draw things out because you could, and that’s what truly terrified Oswald.

“What should we do, boss?”

Ed was excited to meet you if you could cause fear just by returning, what hell would you unleash? He’s a rookie murderer, but he could certainly look up inspiration.

“Find him, tell him we come for peace, take Zsasz with you too. That guy has a weird bond with (Y/n) and we need to be friends with him.”

“Should I invite him for dinner?”

“Yes, Butch!” Oswald snaps almost to say if it was that obvious.

Ed smiles, this year is going to get better.

The Sirens was packed with people, you stand in the back of the club with a glass of whiskey and a curious stare. Barbara Kean, Tabitha Galavan and Jervis Tetch in one little place, your eyes flickered to the hypnotist, who locks eyes with you, you send him a smile - inviting yet cold.

He was instantly drawn to you, there was darkness in you. Jervis was a man of mind control, he could feel anger, fear, regret within you but it wasn’t yours. Instead, you’re motivated by the three emotions to your biddings of crime. Jervis found you fascinating, someone he certainly wanted to know.

“Who’s he?” Barbara asked, whispering to Tabitha, staring at you.

Barbara looked over her shoulder to see who Jervis was staring at, found you watching the show. Tabitha looks over to you as well, shrugging her shoulder, to her you seem innocent and just out for a good time.

“Someone who you don’t want to mess around.”

An unexpected voice had caught the two women off guard as they turn to see Butch. He seemed nervous, unguarded as his eyes scan the venue, stopping momentarily to watch the show that was happening before meeting an angry gaze of his girl, Tabitha.

“What are you doing here, Butch?” Tabitha had scowled at the big man.

“I was looking for (Y/n), I heard enough rumours to know that he would like to find a crowd,” Butch looks over to you and see you greeting Victor Zsasz, “He’s dangerous, killed more than thirty-six people including his family. His family was one of the most powerful crime family there was, the (L/n)?”

“I was expecting more,” Barbara looked dissatisfied with the result of your name as she heard Jervis coming down the stage, “Great show again, Mr Tetch.”

He sends a grateful smile, “Is that someone important?” 

The four of them looked over to where you were standing, your hand in your pocket as you down that of your drink. You looked over to the group, locking their gaze as you tilt your head ever so slightly, a charming smile graced your lips as you blinked slowly and send them a polite wave, two fingers and a thumb before engaging your attention to the assassin in front of you.

Tabitha feels threaten with your innocent facade as she turns to look at the hypnotist.

“Important? Dangerous? Take your pick Mr Tetch, this is Gotham after all.”

You looked at Victor, who was almost a kid like Christmas when he heard you were back, as you smile at him.

“What do you plan to do first?”

“Make Gotham suffer, show who is really in power. I want them to fear me,” You responded, Victor started to laugh when your eyes darken - oh how much he missed you, “Want to help?”

“Obviously,” Victor stopped laughing, his drawl caused you to turn away and lock eyes with Butch.

“But, first I need you to fill in what I missed.”

Victor lets a peal of laughter pass his nose as he nods. He looks at you, satisfied there was someone who would actually treat him more human. Despite Falcone’s niceness, you were a tad more humane to interact with him.

“Come, Vic, tonight we shall make Gotham remember me.”

[slashersrus]

Jerome Valeska x Reader Smut- Give me an O!

Warnings - smut, swearing, sadism,kinky, this is kind messed up.

Cringing in annoyance, pathetic chanting burned through my ears as I sat watching the preppy cheerleaders sing and giggle, their pigtails swinging back an forth as they swayed excitedly. What I would give to be able to reach up and choke them with their pretty pigtails until their chants died and bubbled in their throat, their makeup coated faces turning blue. Biting my lip, I smirked at the thought, I knew I shouldn't be turned on by the image, but I couldn't help myself. My 'loving' mommy and daddy took me to a psychiatrist, apparently I'm a sadist, taking pleasure from inflicting and seeing pain. This revelation only made my parents hate me more. I was the black sheep of the family. My sister, a couple years younger than me, sat at the front of the bus dressed in her perfect cheerleading assemble as she flirted with her jock boyfriend and giggled with her prissy friends, she got good grades and was the school 'sweetheart', everyone loved her. I, on the other hand, regularly skipped classes, got into fights and have been in and out of juvie for years. The only reason I was on this stupid bus in the first place was because I was 'too unpredictable to be left alone' and so I had to stay by my sisters side when not at home.

Kicking my feet up onto the seat headrest in front of me, grinning when the girl sat in the seat flinched as my feet knocked her head, I leaned back in the seat to continue my daydreaming.

A loud honking of a horn broke me from my fantasies, leaning forwards to see a large oil truck cutting the bus off, causing the driver to slam the breaks harshly. A red head jumped from the truck, casually dancing up to the bus and knocking on the glass doors with his gun, more men climbing from the truck behind him, all dressed in strange straight jacket type outfits. Smiling manically, he climbed onto the bus, shooting the diver whilst a large man with a scruffy beard walked down the bus, handcuffing everyone.

The sight of handcuffs sent a thrill through me, sarcastically raising my wrists to be cuffed as the guy approached me, the red head still giggling at the front of the bus. The sudden realisation hit me as the red head started to talk, this was Jerome Valeska, the boy who killed his mother. I always do extensive research when a new murder pops up, and Jerome Valeska always stood out, he was a charming guy after all.

"I want you all to know, this was a very difficult decision for us. It was between you and a senior citizen bingo party." Jerome paused dramatically as he began to waltz up the bus, pointing his gun to the head of a crying cheerleader.

My veins filled with envious heat as I glared at the back of her head, I couldn't help but feel jealous of her. She had Jerome Valeska, who was wearing very sexy leather restraints, within touching distance as he held a gun to her head and all she did was cry? Ungrateful bitch.

"In the end, we decided to skew a little younger. Youth won the day. Sorry." He muttered unapologetic as he got to the back of the bus, his gaze flickering over me in my normal leather attire instead of the cheap cheerleading outfits.

"You know, ginger, you could point that someone far more fun...unless you're just using it for overcompensation." Shrugging, I flicked my hand in the direction of the gun as he paused in front of me, a grin on his face.

"Oh?" His voice drawled as he sat in the unoccupied seat next to me, the gun pressed into my cheek, "And what's your name, gorgeous?"

"And why would I tell you my name? Where's the fun in that?" Tilting my head to the side, unbothered by the gun in my face, I reached out and licked the tip of the muzzle seductively, watching in pleasure as his eyes widened.

"Ooo I like you dollface." Leaning in with a predatory gin stuck on his face, his eyes filled with lust, he was interrupted by none other than my baby sister.

"Y/N! Don't! Leave her alone!" Rolling my eyes, watching Jerome's eyes flicker to her in annoyance, I spat right back at her.

"Shut up bitch, can't you see I'm busy here? Jeez do you have any siblings? Ugh." Directing the last bit at Jerome, his eyes darkened for a moment before he burst out into sinister laughter.

"Well, Y/N, I can guarantee you, I don't need this," he shook the gun as he purred my name, "for overcompensation."

"Oh yeah?" Putting on my most innocent look, I pouted at him before leaning forwards with what little the handcuffs would budge, feeling them dig into my wrists as I pushed down on his trousers.

Palming him through the white jeans, I blinked up at him when he growled, feeling heat pool at my core at the animalistic sound, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth as he grew hard beneath my hand.

Something seemed to snap in him as he darted forward, pushing me back into the seat as he sat on me, his arousel extremely clear.My wrists yanked at the cuffs, blood seeping from the small cuts they were making, the feel of the pain and him on top of me causing me to let out a small moan.

"Hmm, like the pain?" Pulling out a small pocket knife, completely ignoring the rest of the screaming cheerleaders, he placed it on my exposed collarbone, dragging it down slightly causing me to moan again.

"I knew you were weird, you fucking sadist! Wait, till our parents find out about this!" My sisters words caused Jerome to stop with a groan, sitting up and pointing the gun at her head, immediately pulling the trigger once it lined up.

My sister was dead.

My mentally abusive sister was dead.

I just saw someone get killed right before my eyes.

Unimaginable desire filled my entire being,I was literally dripping at this point. Jerome smirked as everyone screamed terrified, his chuckle breaking off into a gasp as I threw my hand down his jeans, gripping his hard length and pumping it roughly.

"Oh Y/N, I think I'm gonna keep you." He moaned, dropping his head onto my bleeding chest, his hips buckling into my hand.

"BOSS? What taking so long? Do you need help?" A gruff shout sounded from outside of the bus, Jerome rolling his eyes at the sound.

"Come do the job, I'm busy." Jerome barely managed to find his voice, moaning the words as the other members of the MANIAX started to pour gasoline over the entire bus, coating me and Jerome but we didn't care.

Running his hand down my stomach, his slender fingers slipped into my underwear, a breathy laugh escaping him at how wet I was.

"Oooo naughty girl."

"Are you going to punish me?" I tightened my hand around him as I said that, moaning as he slipped two fingers into me roughly.

"Definitely." The growl that escaped him as he came into my hand pushed me over the edge.

Tightening around his fingers, I came, biting his neck and drawing blood to conceal my shouts of pleasure.

Pulling his hand back, he giggled at my flushed face, quickly unlocking my handcuffs as he yanked me out of the chair, licking his finger clean.

Pulling me behind him, we skipped off the gasoline soaked bus together. We were both soaked in gasoline and sweat but neither of us cared, I ignored the looks the other men were giving me, completely focused on Jerome. Reaching into his back pocket, he grabbed a lighter, letting go of me as he knelt down by the doors of the bus.

"Ready? Okay!" His enthusiasm caused me to smile, a giggle coming from between my lips.

Flicking the lighter multiple time, it wouldn't light causing Jerome to huff, "This is so embarrassing."

Sticking his head into the bus, he called out causing the girls to start screaming again, "anybody got a light?"

Smirking, I unzipped my leather top to show my cleavage, calling out to Jerome seductively, "I do."

Spinning around he grinned giddily at me, stepping toward me as he looked down and saw the lighter stuck in between my breasts. Licking his lips, he smirked and reached down to grab it, purposely letting his touch linger on my nipple before pulling it out and going back toward the bus. The other members, especially the cannibal, stared at me wide eyed.

Just as he was about to set the bus alight, GCPD cop cars pulled up, the cops quick to point their gun at the criminals.

"Stand you ground boys, they can't shoot at the bus!" Jerome shouted, shooting at the police with the rest of the criminals, successfully hitting one in the shoulder.

"Aaron, Greenwood, get the truck started. We're gonna blow this barbecue!" As Jerome spoke, I leaned in to whisper in his ear, "that's not the only thing that can get blown."

His trousers tightened around him once again as he stared at me with awe. Before he could say anything in response, he saw Jim Gordon try to sneak up to the bus, quickly shooting at him whilst doing spins and laughing.

"LIGHT EM UP!" As he ran out of bullets, he laughed manically, grabbing my hand and pulling me to the truck. After ensuring I got in, he clung to the side of it, spraying gasoline everywhere, cackling whilst the truck drove away.

Sitting back in to the truck, he pulled me onto his lap, grinding up into me as he spoke, "Oh darling we are gonna have so much fun together!"

Biting his bottom lip and tugging on it, I leaned in as I whispered, "I can't wait, J."

[cobblepot-comfort]

I love writing fan fiction, especially about these two

Two Four Letter Words.

“Oh, Jim, of course I understand about your work.  I AM your work!”  

Oswald grinned impishly and took a bite of the honey-dripping toast Jim had presented him with, along with the sweet, strong black coffee Jim knew his little gangster loved.

“Well, that’s very understanding of you, Oswald, but….”

“Now now, Jim...let’s not spoil our breakfast by talking shop!”  Oswald put down his slice of toast and stroked Jim’s unruly strands of hair away from his face.  “There are much better things to talk about.  AND do!”

Jim was sitting on the edge of the bed, drinking his own coffee.  He had taken his little Ozzy breakfast in bed.  

“You are spoiling me, Mr Police Detective.  Do keep it up!”  he had been told seductively by his velvet-voiced little villain.

He had been trying to pluck up courage to tell Oswald about his resignation from the GCPD.  He had begun with, “Oswald - I know you probably don’t like me working for the GCPD….”

He was hoping that the breakfast, along with that sentence, might serve as a segway into a conversation that would then lead to his little ‘confession’.  He wasn’t sure how Oswald would take the news.  Maybe he would be pleased - after all, he had said that he was scared deep down that the GCPD would take Jim away from him.  But maybe he would rather have Jim at the GCPD to serve his own purposes.  He was a complex man, and that was one of the things, ironically, that he loved about him.

“OK, then what do you want to talk about - or do - Mr Penguin?”  He decided to play along and not push it.  The sight of those sparkling blue eyes smiling so knowingly at him just made him feel weak.  

“Well, James - the doctors have told me that I can resume all normal physical activity now.” Oswald winked and smiled a wide, feline smile.

“Is that so?”  Jim put his coffee mug down on the bedside table.  He reached out and touched Oswald’s lips, drawing his finger across his favourite man’s mouth and feeling the stickiness of the honey left behind on them.  

Then Jim licked his finger slowly.  “Mmmmm, sweet!”  he said.

Oswald’s eyes got exceptionally big and bright.  Jim noticed him swallow hard.

He grasped Jim’s hand, placed it back to his lips, and then opened his mouth, guiding Jim’s sticky finger inside slowly.  Then he began to suck on Jim’s finger, closing his eyes and humming with deep satisfaction.

“Ooh!” exclaimed Jim, feeling his face and body flush with intense excitement.  The feel of his lover’s soft, warm mouth sucking on his finger and the expression on his face made him...well, want to do stuff to him.  Bad stuff!  He felt hard in between and so wanted to do something about it.

But he didn’t want to hurt him.  He had to be gentle!  He had to restrain himself..rein in his feelings, just a little.  Despite Oswald’s reassurances about his health, he still had some misgivings.

“The bullet just missed his heart.”  He remembered the paramedics saying that as they stretchered his little Ozzy’s motionless body away.  He remembered all the blood.  He recalled Ozzy’s eyes closing, his own desperate pleas for his lover to stay with him….

“Oswald - stop!”

Jim suddenly withdrew his finger from Oswald’s warm, soft mouth.

“What’s the matter, Jim?” pouted Oswald, plainly deeply disappointed.  He gave Jim his best glassy-eyed stare.

“I….don’t want to hurt you, Oswald.”

“Hurt me?  But I thought I told you, my Mr Police Detective.  You can’t hurt me!”  Oswald smiled softly and stroked Jim’s cheek.  “And..well, I missed you!  And I want to show you how much.”

“I missed you too Oswald….”  He put his arms around Oswald’s neck and pressed his forehead against Oswald’s.

“I...I’m scared Oswald,” he told him.  “I keep seeing it.  Seeing you.  Keep seeing you lying there in the street.  Bleeding.  Passing out.  I thought I was gonna lose you!”

“Oh, Jim.  You won’t lose me!  I keep telling you that….”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you do.”  Jim raised his head and stared back at Oswald with haunted eyes.  “But it doesn’t stop me being afraid.”

“Hey, shush now, Mr Police Detective.”  Oswald hugged Jim close.  He pressed his lips to Jim’s ear.

“I will live forever just for you!” he whispered.  “That’s a promise, James Gordon!”

Jim squeezed him tightly.  “I’ll hold you to that, Oswald Cobblepot.”  He pushed Oswald away gently and grinned at him.  “Sorry, I got a bit needy there didn’t I?  That’s not like me.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Jim.  I’m touched that you care so much!  Tell you what Jim - why don’t you just come back to bed with me and cuddle?   Unless, of course..you need to get off to work any time today?”  Oswald arched his eyebrow quizzically.

“Erm - work?  Nahhh - they’re not expecting me in today,” Jim scratched behind his ear awkwardly.  “Barnes - erm, gave me the day off.”

“Oh he did, did he?  Was it because of me?”  Oswald beamed meaningfully.

“Erm, yes, sort of,” Jim said, sort of truthfully.

“Well - I must thank Captain Barnes for being a model employer next time I see him…”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” cut in Jim quickly.  “Right, mister - does that offer of cuddles in bed still stand?”

Oswald smirked triumphantly.  “Of course!”  He lifted up the covers.  “Get in Jim!”

Jim took off his robe and slid inside.  They both settled down.  He snuggled up to Oswald and put his arms around him protectively.

“Mmmmm, that’s better, my sexy police detective!” Oswald purred, nuzzling in close against Jim.

Jim inhaled Oswald’s sensual scent, felt Oswald’s warm body close up against his. He was wearing pure silk pyjamas and the material felt soft and comforting against Jim’s skin.  He sighed deeply.  

“I love you, Ozzy,” he murmured drowsily.   

“Oh Jim - you called me Ozzy!”

“Oh….erm….yeah….I did didn’t I?  Do you mind?”

“Mind?  Why would I mind?  You said it!   And....and...you said you loved me too….”

“Have I not said that before either?”

“No.  You’ve said it not in so many words..but not the...actual words.”

“Awww, well, y’know...I’m not always so great with that kind of stuff….”

“I know, Jim.  That’s what makes it all the more meaningful.”  

Oswald peered up into Jim’s eyes solemnly.

“And, Jim…”

“Yes...Ozzy?”  Jim gazed lovingly back.

“Don’t think I don’t feel scared too.  When I threw myself in the way of that bullet...all I could think was, that you were going to die….and that just wouldn’t do, Jim dear.  It wouldn’t do at all….”