#they act silly and gothamites act silly back

[qcomicsy]

[ddesertmoon]

Batman Fic Recs Feat. Identity Reveal

ALL of the fics are complete or oneshots. Mostly gen, but there will be a few with ships. I’ll mention in description if there are any ships :)

-

He Knows by Ortholeine

“Timothy Drake is a civilian, a normal boy. Kind of. He's normal in that he keeps secrets and has some hobbies. Those secrets and hobbies, though, are a little unique...and completely, 100% revolve around the crime-fighting family of Gotham.

A good friend of the Waynes, Tim finds himself dodging his heroes' attempts to reveal their identities to him in a misguided attempt to keep the status quo. No one seems to want to let it rest, unfortunately for Timothy Drake.”

Funny, silly, goofy…. Exactly what I want to see in identity reveal fics.

-

The Waynes, Damsels in Distress by hitthedeck

“Roses are red, violets are blue, Bruce Wayne and his kids get kidnapped every other week. Some things are just universal, undeniable facts of life.

Or, in which Bruce Wayne is still Batman and his kids are still Robins, but they keep letting themselves get kidnapped because they think it's funny.”

this one is on the list because it’s HILARIOUS. I love it so much.

-

Plagiarism is Not a Joke, Batman by popsunner

“‘How old are you?’

Bruce very much would like to have the last two minutes back please, turns out, he does not want to trust them with his identity.

‘Twenty-three,’ He growls.”

I love rereading this one…. VERY funny

-

Pretty Boys and Identity Problems by DarnGoshit

“In an effort to get over his crush on Robin, Kon pursues a relationship with a civilian Gothamite, Tim Drake.

Or, Tim accidentally Hannah Montana’s his crush... and it works?”

Tim Drake/Kon-El

Ah, secret identity shenanigans…

-

Captain Marvel’s Adopted? by Len_suilon_mellon

“When Captain Marvel sends out a distress call, the only League member available is Batman. Bruce comes to his aid, but he finds out that Billy is a 10-year-old homeless orphan with black hair and blue eyes. Obviously, he makes the only logical decision and adopts Billy. Because it's Bruce—who's allergic to revealing life-changing information—the League is left in the dark.”

5+1 fic where the JL discovers Billy’s ID, really cute

-

Every Fiber of My Being by navpike

“As much as Dick and his siblings have argued, Bruce has never budged on his "Keeping Secrets Policy". There's not a person alive outside of the family that knows the secret identity of any of the Bats. Not even Dick's boyfriend.
Dick understands the need for some secrets, knows that keeping their identities safe keeps them and their loved ones safe, but when he takes up the cowl, team dynamics aren't the only things that begin to change.”

Dick Grayson/Wally West

In which the whole secret identity thing causes many problems. It’s SO GOOD, I promise

-

miss me? by envysparkler

“Jason’s plan to observe his family’s reactions to his resurrection…does not go as intended.”

kind of an identity reveal fic? It’s more the “Jason’s alive” reveal, but I’m going to count it anyway

-

knockoff bat by impravidus

“5 times people noticed batman was acting differently + the 1 time someone found out why (+ the time someone finds the real batman)”

Dick Grayson/Wally West and Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent.

There’s a bit of hurt/comfort, but it’s really really good

-

Rumor Has It by rotasha

“A rumor gets out about Bruce Wayne and he ends up coming out to the Justice League. This is news to Clark, who has been pining over Bruce for years.”

Bruce Wayne/Clark Kent

okay. So. I have MANY thoughts about including this here, and I could write a lot about how a super hero’s secret identity inherently has many queer themes, but I won’t get into that. I think it counts as a kind of identity reveal, so here we are.

-

letter of complaint by envysparkler

“Batman finds himself captured by the new crime lord in Gotham, who has a bone to pick with him.”

one of MANY of my favorite fics where Jason comes back and reveals himself as the Red Hood

-

hand in unlovable hand by batmans_cheerleader and leviathans_watching

“A sound caught his attention, and instantly Jason was poised to throw himself at whoever came through the door. Tense, he waited, but when the door creaked open to reveal not one person, but a whole team, he hesitated.

They were carrying someone none too gently along with them, and Jason could only watch, frozen, as they completely ignored him, dumping the person into the cell, not even wincing at the sick sound their head made when it hit the ground.

Jason barely had time to take in that all-too-familiar cowl before the door slammed shut, and he was alone. With Bruce fucking Wayne.

Nausea swirled in his throat and he forced it down. Puking in his helmet was not fun. And yeah, he knew that from experience. What kind of sick abuse was this? Or was it just an awful, awful coincidence?”

yeah. Just. Jason being forced to eventually reveal himself to Bruce when they’re captured together… I ate that shit up

-

From the Shadows by Wolfsbanesparks

“All Billy Batson wanted was to survive a particularly rough week living on the streets of Fawcett City. The last thing he was looking for was a new family.

All Bruce Wayne wanted was to ask learn a bit more about his upbeat teammate under the guise of official Wayne Enterprises business. But he could never turn his back on a child in need. Especially one as surrounded by mystery as Billy.”

Featuring identity reveals from both Bruce and Billy. There’s a lot more to the fic than the reveals, but there’s a LOT of suspense leading up to them.

[fleckcmscott]

Pillow Talk

Summary: While Y/N spends some time away, she and Arthur find a way to play.

Words: 3,992

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

A/N: This story stems from a request made by @jokerownsmysoul​. I really hope I got it right. 😂 Please enjoy, everyone! And thank you for reading! 💜

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Y/N's happiness at attending the Atlantic Legal Society's conference had rubbed off on Arthur. Made her upcoming absence worth it.

Often he'd tag along, see the sights while she worked. Check out clubs, sign up for open mics where no one would ever see him again. Low-risk refinement. But this week's jobs were too good to pass up, and Amusement Mile's opening day meant lots of families and plenty of tips.

He could hold down the apartment. Hell, maybe he'd even enjoy it. Pour condensed milk over frozen strawberries, smoke as much as he wanted, catch a movie on Gothamvision. (When their rabbit ears had required aluminum foil to get a TV signal, he'd convinced her cable was a dire need.)

He wrapped an apple in a paper towel, tore a banana from the bunch, and stuck both in her purse. A breakfast that'd tide her over for the three-hour ride to Baltimore. Stirring milk into her coffee, he side-eyed the oven clock. When the java was halfway cold, he made his way to the bathroom.

Toes flexed in annoyance, Y/N grumbled around her toothbrush. "I can't believe I overslept."

"You'll get there," he said, and took the hairbrush from the shelf. "Here, let me." He drew horsehair bristles through her untamed mane.

"Thanks." The foam in her mouth made it sound more like fankhs. She spat into the sink, rinsed and spat again. "I don't want to buy another ticket."

A soft scowl crossed his brow. "You shouldn't've had to buy the first."

"Well, you know my boss. He didn't think it was necessary, which is silly with the WARN act being passed. That kind of ridiculousness makes me want Phil to come out of retirement." She hung her robe on the door hook and jogged to the bedroom, calling over her shoulder. "At least they're paying me!"

Minutes later Y/N emerged, frazzled around the edges but smart. She straightened a ruffle at her collar, tugged the corner of her blazer. She wore her age and era with pride. She guzzled her coffee like an engine on empty, poured herself another and skipped the dairy. "I'll regret this on the train."

They dashed to the elevator, vinyl suitcase in his grasp, her hand hooked at his elbow. As the steel doors parted, he made a show of holding them open with his foot. A beam to rival the rising sun crossed her face. 

"Thank you, sir," she said, and curtsied. The gesture made him want to lift her, spin around. They were running late - and she'd still taken a spare second to be playful.

God, how he loved her.

At this early hour, only a handful of Gothamites rode the subway. A guy sat in a corner seat. Sixty, gray stubble, wearing a flat leather cap. His outstretched arm held a wrinkled centerfold. Ms. December, judging by the Santa Hat, the sole fabric in the photo. A familiar friend that must've been in his pocket for a while.  

Y/N grasped the stanchion at the other end of the car. Arthur moved to stand behind her, a protective arm at her waist.

At every stop she inched towards him. Her round bottom nudged his thighs, her back grazed his chest. She smelled good, like the strawberries he'd eat tonight. He pressed his nose to the crown of her head, filled his veins with her scent.

A scarlet stripe bloomed from collarbone to temple, her ear a crimson shell. The corner of her mouth threatened to curl. Pink tongue darting to wet satin lips.

He squeezed her hip. "What is it?"

"It's nothing," she said. An obvious untruth given how her neck tightened.

Suspicion slanted his stare. But he let it lie. For now.

Wayne Central Station was a Beaux-Arts beauty smack dab in the middle of modernization and commercialization. And it had far too many flights of stairs. After the ups and downs of finding the right track, they landed on thirty-seven, the platform for the commuter line.

"You know," Y/N said, steps slowing to an amble. "I bet there are clown conferences. You could learn to juggle."

His days of working with other clowns were long behind him. But the suggestion was sweet, so he smiled. "My hands are already busy. You're a handful."

She stopped at a concrete column and riffled through her purse. "I'll call you when I check-in and give you the room number. There'll be a direct line." Then her riffling escalated to a frantic search. Patting her coat, the inner breast pocket. Checking her bag one more time. Taking advantage of her distraction, Arthur reached into his jacket. Anticipation tickled his shoulders into a shrug.

"Oh no," she said. "I could've sworn I put my ticket with my credit card."

He reached as if to tuck her hair back. Pulled a green card from behind her ear. "Is this it?" A relieved huff as she snatched her prize. She swatted his chest, wound her arms about his neck.

The squeal of metal on metal bounced off tile walls, announcing the oncoming train. A gust of wind whirled her silvery brown locks. Despite the mundanity of it all, the thousands of people about to step onto public transportation, the moment felt like a movie. A bona fide blockbuster. The ordinary suddenly extraordinary.

Fingers brushing his, she took her bag, speaking between kisses. "I love you. We'll talk soon."

~~~~~

The McKeldin Exhibition Center seemed a blunt, bulky building for the Atlantic Legal Society's twenty-fifth conference, a number Y/N would've considered celebratory. Four stories of concrete, cold steel, muscular exterior. A once modern design that now represented an idea of the future that, if the first five months of 1990 were to go by, wasn't bound to happen.

The registration attendants were friendly and professional. But Y/N wasn't a member of the guild, so she was directed to a line at the other end of a vast, airy hall. The additional hundred dollars she'd paid to attend included extra exercise. A gilded stripe ran along the top of her name tag, like she was a flake of gold to pan for, from which extract a membership fee.

Goodie bags contained the usual swag. A pen with the organization's logo, two legal pads, a folder to hold her notes. At the bottom were a blue stress ball and a gavel pinback button, which she'd pin on Sylvia back at the office. The young intern had received so little recognition in her short life that it'd thrill her.

White tablecloths and serving trays covered the tables in the reception area. Y/N maneuvered to a buffet to the right, snapped a napkin, two cheese and pepperoni skewers, and a paper cup of goldfish crackers. Munching away, she took the temperature of the room.

Lawyers and attorneys general, magistrates and judges swarmed, chatting and laughing, giving handshakes and back slaps. Legal secretaries and paralegals circled up to chat amongst themselves. Judging by overheard introductions, their origins stretched from the Eastern Seaboard all the way to Chicago.

Y/N recognized a former Gotham District Attorney, a lawyer from one of Shaw & Associates' satellite offices. The passing years had salt and peppered his hair, too. The city's newest criminal court judge was on the premises, one Henry Jake. An upset after an affair with one of his legal aides, his promotion from magistrate had been splashed on all the front pages.

He appeared eager to continue the scandal, proceeding to flirt in the way of men who like to wield their authority. A palm on the forearm here, an unwanted compliment there. It made Y/N want to chuck a stress ball at his head.

She stirred powdered creamer and irritation into a styrofoam cup of coffee, noted the restroom sign on the left wall. A woman in a floral shower curtain of a dress approached with tiny steps. Said she'd never been to a big city before, took a sip of Lipton and pushed her plastic glasses up the bridge of her nose.

"I'm Flossie Barteux, but all my friends call me Flo." The red stripe on her nametag denoted her as a fresh recruit.

"Nice to meet you, Flossie." Though maintaining distance, Y/N spoke with warmth. "I moved from the Ozarks to Gotham ten years ago. The lobby has some brochures. I think there's an aquarium on the waterfront, a couple museums, too. You should take advantage while you're in town." Then she gave a friendly nod and excused herself to the Industry Auditorium to sign up for presentations.

Whistleblower protections sounded interesting, considering past capers; she made a note to review Gotham's statutes for the next. Tips for wage and hour investigations filled an entire notebook. The presenter droned on in one agonizingly long sentence. It was impossible to keep up, even in shorthand. Y/N's fingers grew so fatigued she dropped her pen. It took several tries to regain the ability to make a fist.

When the conference broke for the evening, Flossie hopped in the same revolving door as Y/N and suggested dinner at a chain steakhouse across the street. A good number of attendees already stood in line.

To be honest, she could've used a break from the whole thing. But she didn't want to hurt the woman who sorely needed a work friend. She put their names on the waitlist and browsed chalkboard specials. Listened to Flossie's story of how going through probate for custody of her granddaughter had led her to the legal profession.

By the time Y/N stumbled back to her hotel, she could've dozed upright. At the bar, she ordered a variation on a Sidecar, a little number called Between the Sheets. She didn't ask for permission to take it to her room. She dropped a dollar bill in the tip jar and turned towards the lobby.

It was well equipped, a fax machine and pay phone in one corner, a stand with free chocolate chip cookies to the right. In the center of the far wall stood a bookshelf, flanked by overstuffed aqua chairs. A sign was propped on the coffee table: "Please read and return!" A set worthy of Donahue's photo studio.

She stepped onto the woven rug to browse the plethora of outdated bestsellers. Self-helps with mountains on the covers, charlatans offering poor financial advice. Children's books were piled haphazardly on the bottom shelf. And right in the middle was an entire row of romance novels, the ones in which every heroine's bosom heaved and bodice ripped. Ragged covers told the tale of how popular they were, spines split from overuse. As a pre-teen, Mabel had caught her reading a few. ("Why's your face red, Y/N? Are you sick?") Amused, Y/N took the one with the deepest seams.

Forbidden Seas was a terrible if fitting title, given the coverhunk's puffy shirt. He was alarmingly muscular, as though a bee had stung him, and he desperately needed an ice bag. Long, blonde tresses brushed the careening cleavage of the woman bent over his knee. Arthur's wiry frame held a hidden strength, cleaved her tightly whenever they danced, but that position would've ended with her on the floor.

Cackling, she returned the paperback to its place, betting the hunk would be at full mast by chapter four.

When she reached her room, she stretched her arms over her head, pushed herself to her tiptoes, released a short squeal. The conference center's folding chairs had next to no padding. Soreness nagged at her tailbone, a deep-seated throb ached her rear. She could really use a bath. She checked her watch. Arthur would be calling in about fifteen minutes. Luckily, the restroom had a phone.

Pantyhose rolled down her legs, a nail caught on the reinforced toe. The star-patterned vinyl floor was cold on her feet. A claw clip kept her hair off her shoulders, spare tendrils falling to her cheeks. Steam coated the mirror as the room filled with a pleasant heat. She dabbed away her mascara and eyeliner before it could streak. She sipped her cocktail, stepped into the bath. Gave her breasts a casual squeeze and sighed out the stress of the day.

The ringer rang right on the dot.

Voice as light as a game of I Spy, she said, "This isn't reception telling me to pipe down, is it?"

On the other end, Arthur's smile sucked his teeth. "No, it's just me."

"I'm glad it's just you."

The day had gone well, he told her. One of his gigs had cancelled, but that was all right. It let him get some work done around the apartment. He'd replaced the window shade that no longer rolled up, mopped the kitchen, sorted the drawers of his desk. He'd just tuned into a movie on TMC, a screwball comedy she'd deem too silly and dislike.

When he asked how the conference was going, she told him about Flossie, how she hoped the woman's eagerness to excel wouldn't result in her being suckered into membership upgrades. That the WARN act - while a step forward - put some guardrails on the mass layoffs that'd become the norm in the last decade but didn't prevent them. And the overeager judge she was happy to never have to face in court.

"You should teach a class on how to be a gentleman." She slunk deeper into the heat. "I'm learning a lot, but I'll be happy to be home."

"You're not missing much."

"I'm missing you."

"But you saw me this morning!" His protestations didn't fool her; he was pleased as punch.  A hitched giggle, one of his many laughs she loved. "Me, too. I mean, I can't wait to see you. But don't worry. I'm fine. Talk to me more. Tell me about the hotel."

"We'll have to stay here someday. There's a bar with a player piano, and I'm having a cocktail in the bath."

"You- You're on the phone in the tub?" The sound of him puttering. A drink set on the coffee table, a middle-aged groan as he sat on the sofa. "There is one thing I can't get out of my head." Nervous tongue smacked his lips. "What were you thinking about on the subway?"

Mercury threatened to crack the thermometer. But still. She was reticent to go there. "I already told you. It was nothing."

"Come on. You were as red as my clown nose."

She pressed the cool glass to her sweaty forehead. The flight of fancy had been completely inappropriate, not to mention out of character. She knew exactly what telling him would lead to, the direction in which this conversation would race. Tacky and cheap, belonging to a $3.99 a minute hotline.

And yet. She was grateful to have a husband she could blush around, whom she could fantasize about, whom she wanted to fantasize about. Besides. It'd been a stretch since they'd last made love. Tacky and cheap might be just what the Doctor of Laughter ordered.

She let the cognac trickle down her throat. Knuckles dragged up and down her breastbone. Her forearm brushed her pebbled nipple. A drop from the faucet plopped.

"Do you want to continue this?" she asked, an eager if uncertain invitation.

"Yeah," he purred. That rasp, the one positive of his cigarette addiction. "But I'm- I'm not sure what's next."

Neither was she, not quite. The next steps felt at once natural and as if they belonged to an unread novel on a hotel bookshelf. But it was him, so it would turn out all right. They'd figured it out every time before. "Tell me what you're wearing," she said. "Or what you're thinking about. Whatever you want."

"I'm in my pajamas. Um. I found my old journal when I was cleaning. I hadn't read it for years - it has everything from when I met you. Anyway, I read what I wrote our first night together? I'd wanted to touch you so badly and-" He gave a throaty laugh. "And all I knew what to do was squeeze your breast too hard."

The recollection struck a match in all the right places. She'd wanted him, too, more than was smart after such a short acquaintanceship. There'd been something that'd set him apart immediately. Whenever he'd looked at her, her heart had skipped to a new but familiar beat. His good looks, his kindness. Passion and flair hiding beneath a surface shyness, a mask you could see through if you took an extra minute.

"You knew how to look at me. How to listen. How to be gentle." She caressed her hip absentmindedly, a movement that soon became deliberate. "And when not to be."

Her knee shifted to rest on the lip of the tub, opening herself to the warm water. "I wouldn't want you to be gentle now," she whispered, and tugged at the curls between her thighs.

"I wouldn't be." Ragged breaths tempted over three hundred miles. A muted moan that meant he was palming his shaft. Her own palm felt empty. How she hungered for him to be in her grasp. Then he asked, "What- What did you pack for bed?"

"The blue nightie you gave me. The one that ties at the neck." It was six years old but a perennial favorite for both. The approval that'd radiated from him when she'd modeled it flashed in her memory. Strokes blazed at the crease of her thigh. "I'll wear it tonight - unless you want me to sleep naked."

A husky chuckle before he pressed her. Again. "Tell me what you were thinking about on the train. I wanna know."

Fingertips dipped to where she ached for him. Lower to tease plush, squishy flesh, plump with desire. Her eyelids fluttered shut, returning to the occasions she'd pleasured herself in front of him, both when he was inside of her and out. Even on the occasions he wasn't able to get hard, he loved it, asked her to do it again. Holding her. Stealing her breath from her mouth. Covering her hand with his. His thumb taking over until she cried his name.

Fever rippling through her arteries, she tapped her slick nub, body throbbing with need. She cleared her throat. She thought she'd lost her ability to be bashful with Arthur. But dirty talk didn't come as naturally now that she was alone, not the way it did when it was foreplay. When she'd beg him to fuck her, plead for more, more, more.

Yet, she wasn't alone. Though he was afar, she was abuzz with his presence. Spreading joy and happiness to others, always entertaining his audience, he was the performer in the relationship. Tonight the performer became the audience, and she was putting on a show for one.

A show she'd drag out a bit longer. Make it worth his while. "I'm touching my clit, Arthur. Slow and soft, like your tongue. God, I wish it was your tongue. You feel so good."

He groaned. Her grip on the telephone tightened, knuckles gone white. "When we were on the train," she began. "I imagined you shushing me. Your breath was hot on my ear. I wanted you to put your hand on my skin, down my skirt." Her strokes halted while she laughed. "I don't know why. I wasn't even horny."

"You're horny now."

"All hot and bothered."

A grunt came through the copper wire, luring her along. Her foot pressed the tub's curved rim. Splashes of imagery knotted her belly. The play of light on his slender abdomen when he'd put on a shirt. How his biceps flexed when he'd wash his hair. The tightening of his brow the second he lost himself to euphoria. The musky weight of him on her tongue.

She rubbed herself a little harder. A steady, firm pace. "When I come I feel your cock at my back-"

"Keep talking."

"-and I have to bite my lip to keep from moaning, because I know you'll fuck me as soon as we walk through the door."

"Oh, fuck..."

Water licked at her labia with each flick of her wrist, awakening every nerve ending, cresting wave upon wave of sensation. She shoved the receiver under her jaw, lifted her shoulder to lock it in place. Cradled her breast, nipples just at the waterline Lapping, lapping, lapping. She circled the right with her middle finger, wishing her hand was as large as Arthur's, so that she could play with the left. Shivering, her knees drew together and upward, pelvis striving towards her wanton touch.

Splish, splash. Splish, splash.

A growl rumbled out of him. "I- I'm gonna come."

"Yes."

She was there. She was there. About to fly over the edge, her feet about to leap. Gasps caught in her throat. Half his name lost in a whimper. The peak of delight finally reached...

The phone tumbled off her shoulder and plunged into the water. Landed on the fiberglass. An unenthusiastic thud.

"Shit, shit-"

Locked in spasm, she watched air bubbles rise from the sunken plastic. It was hard to move mid-orgasm. Her legs weren't yet in the Jello stage. Hanging onto the towel bar, she stood on very shaky ankles.

She plucked the receiver from the water, shook it out over the tub. Yanked the drain and placed the handset on the rim. Fingers a blur, she dialed their home number on the bedside phone. How quickly had Arthur realized she wasn't on the line?

Had he heard any of the denouement?

Nine rings and Arthur answered, out of breath but with a laugh. "What happened?"

She covered her face. "I dropped the phone. It's ruined." It would be the one time she would pay a fee for damages.

"Oh. Well, I was just cleaning up."

The cord twined through her fingers. "Did you?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Me, too."

"I know. I heard half of it."

Giggling, she excused herself to dry off. Pulled the clip from her hair, retrieved her nightie from her bag. She crawled between cool sheets, fluffed her pillow, pressed Arthur to her ear.

"What'll you do tomorrow," he asked, scratching his cheek.

A Department of Labor inspector would give a presentation on the Severe Violators program, a list of closely monitored companies that violated labor laws like it was a talent and never lifted a finger to change their ways. The padding to their bottom lines was bigger than the fines. She'd chatted with the inspector during a break.

"ACE Chemicals being on the list isn't a surprise. But Wayne Steel?" A sharp inhale before she yawned the rest. "I hadn't even heard of them."

"You're tired.”

"No. Relaxed. Happy. But not tired." She curled up on her side, burrowed deeper into the blankets. "This bed is empty. I have no one to press up against." Another yawn betrayed her.

At her third, Arthur interrupted. "Y/N, go to sleep." A grin in his words, like he was about to call her cute. "You need your rest."

"And why is that?"

His voice lowered to the volume of secrets. "Because when you get back, I'm going to fuck you as soon as we walk through the door."

Her eyes went wide, then she burst out laughing. A wave of dizziness swept through her. She brought the heel of her hand to her forehead. "What time'll you wake up tomorrow?"

"Six, probably. Maybe 5:30?

"Let's have coffee together. I'll make a cup at 6:15."

He agreed before she'd completed the request, said how dearly he loved her. And, yes, to her consternation, called her cute. She kept the eyeroll out of her reply. "You're wonderful, too. Now take your own advice and get some sleep. No journaling until dawn. All right?"

"All right. Have a good night. And Y/N?"

She was already fading, his lilt her favorite lullaby. "Yeah?"

"Wear your blue nightie for coffee. I’ll be in my briefs."

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​ @fleckficgirl​

[kibastray]

Let’s have fun with Maribat 2

Just like the first Let’s have fun this is just to be a fun, kind of off the top of my head, idea for Maribat. 

Hope you enjoy this bit of whimsy. (P.S. this is what happens when you don’t have a set, or good, sleep schedule btw)

This would be after Hawkmoth is dealt with. 

Marinette, now guardian, wants to travel the world and help fix the balance like how the order use to. 

She ends up traveling to the biggest place of unbalance in the world she can sense, Gotham. 

However, just like the rest of the world, she knows that Gotham is Batman’s terf. He tends to get possessive over his city and would stop any hero from stepping foot into his city. 

So she tries to figure out a way to heal Gotham’s spirit without drawing The Bat’s attention. 

Marinette knows that she can hide the fact that she is using magic to heal the city if she does it right. Which means she needs to to it slowly and over time.

On a whim, she decides to follow through with a crazy idea. Whether it was her own idea or influenced by Plagg she can’t remember. (Let’s be honest if Tikki is the angel on her shoulder and 60% of Marinette’s impulse control; then Plagg would defiantly be the devil on the other and push that 40% as far as he could)

The idea? Use Mullo’s powers to become a one woman army and start a... circus. “Everyone loves a good circus”, especially the big three ringed ones under the big a$$ tent. (that last bit was my own blurb)  She figures this can help heal the city in two ways. The first, is by actually using her magic on the people who come to her circus and help balance their spirits. The second, lifting their spirits, metaphorically, by putting on a good show and let the Gothamites leave with a smile on their face. 

As an adult and the guardian Marinette doesn’t need to shrink when using Mullo’s powers. Which makes the plan viable in the first place. 

She also decides to use the other miraculous for all the acts that she would need. For one, what is a circus without all the crazy acts and performances? and two, it also lets all the kwami be used easily and frequently. (Well all except Tikki and Plagg those costumes are to recognizable. She uses those two to set up everything before a show and take it down afterward)

She has different places she sets up her circus, all hot spots where the spirit of the city is the most off-balance. 

Marinette names this circus of hers something just as silly as the plan itself.

“Miraculous Circus”

(^title^ btw. I just didn’t want to spoil it. lol)

(oh FYI I am using each kwami’s name as a kind of stop-gap instead of saying things like “Tikki’s miraculous power is used for ‘blank’.” The kwami’s names are not the stage names Marinette uses either. e.g. Longg would be the ‘Dancing Dragon’)

Each Kwami has their own role that they specialize in. 

Kwami that we know the power of list: (all of these are the first thing that came to mind, so no hate for how simple the idea for their powers are)

Mullo 1: (main mullo): is the Ring Leader and host of the circus

Mullo 2: (extra mullo not being unified with other kwami) secondary helpers for other performers. 

Trixx: is the illusionist and wows the crowd with ‘stage magic’ 

Wayzz: The lion tamer (i got nothing more than that)

Longg: Sword dancer or lighting and effects?

Kaalki: Escape artist or a second magic act where they disappear and reappear all over the circus tent. 

Sass and Fluff: together would be the ‘medics’ to make sure nothing goes wrong (the magic of being able to go back in time is great when you are doing ALL the stunts yourself). individually...

Sass: one of the aerial acrobatics.

Fluff: stage performer or clown. (every now and then does fun reenactings  parts of ‘Alice and Wonder Land’ like reciting the ‘Jabberwoky’ without messing up)

Duusu and Nooroo: (these two deserve a special spot light) They are an act that brings audience members into their act to help ‘liven up’ the crowd. They would help the person they picked “change outfits” doing it comically behind a folding-changing-divider-thing (IDK what they are called) with fake cloths being tossed into the air as a way to try and get the best outfit ready. It gives everyone a good laugh over the arguing the two do while trying to pick out an outfit. (what they are really doing is they are making the person a temp champion) The pair have the audience member be/do crazy entertaining acts (like ultra juggling, being strong men, fire breathers, and other eye catching acts)

Xuppu: is another aerial acrobatics, because monkey

Pollen: I really couldn’t think of anything for her powers to be used, so... aerial acrobatic.

Kwami that we don’t know the power of list:

Stompp: Strong man... well, strong woman (actively competes with any other strongmen that Duusu or Nooroo to help with the fun of things)

Roaar: could be the ‘lion’ that needs to be tamed from Wayzz’s act (Trixx’s illusions make it look like a real animal. Duusu also makes sentimonster as other animals to tame as well.)

Ziggy: I... got nothing again. another for aerial acrobatics? (you can probably guess the ship by know)

Orikko, Barkk, and Daizzi: (From the fan wiki they all look like they are lively and colorful) They are a group of ground performers and possibly just a fun clown act. 

As news gets out about this new circus in town word spreads like wildfire and it gets lots of traffic.

Trixx’s illusions and stage magic are a hit with kids of all ages. Stompp is an incredible strongman(woman). Duusu and Nooroo’s act is an absolute riot. All the other acts are loved as well. 

But what gets the most attention are the acrobatics. Some news outlets even go so far as to say things like “Not sense the ‘Flying Graysons’ have we seen such amazing aerial stunts.” 

That statement heard from by one particular Bat Clan member as he passes by a TV/Radio (whatever) gets Dick Grayson’s attention. 

He somehow is able to drag all of the Bat Clan to this new circus. It is because of his puppy dog eyes and the sunshine personality of his that gets them to come along. But none of them will admit it to him out loud. 

Each of the Clan is wowed or awed by one thing or another from this (surprisingly) all female circus. No one not even Bruce suspects that there is real magic at play. 

Then the aerial acrobatics starts and Dick can’t take his eyes off of the performance. Which wows the rest of the Batfam by how much he is absolutely vibrating with excitement. 

The circus acts continues and the whole performance is done before Dick knows its over. 

All the Gothamites leave with a smile and a spring in their step.

Dick, however, holds back to talk with the new performers. He goes back in the tent but can’t find any of them. He does find one woman out of costume and can’t place which act she was in. ‘Strange’ he would think.

After a bit of a shock of someone popping back into the tent (this is the first time anyone has come back in after a show) she introduces herself as Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 

They talk for a bit. Mainly, Dick asking excitedly about all the circus stuff. (TBH he has missed preforming and tells her as much) Marinette gets a little caught up in his excitement and says she was part of of the aerial acrobatics team (his favorite part, of course). And she gets surprised by his enthusiasm toward the aerial stunts. They hit it off after that, trading circus stories. (The connect pretty well because they are both sunshine children) 

This ship would be platonic at first. Friends that share a common love of preforming. That is until Dick convinces Marinette to let him join in one of the acrobatic performances. 

She gets wowed by his abilities, because “He is doing all of this without magic.” And it sparks something more between the two. and it slowly turns romantic. 

Other notes:

People want to know more about the “Miraculous Circus” either how some of the ‘magic tricks’ work or just more about the performers themselves. Because no one sees them after a show. 

In the magician circles there is a standing reward for anyone who can figure out how Trixx’s ‘stage magic’ works. No one has figured it out yet. 

News outlets try and stick around after shows for interviews but can’t find a single performer except one woman (Marinette) that is the janitor and just cleans up after shows. The "miraculous circus" is a true mystery.

But what really gets people to talk and conspire among themselves is a rumor that MDC designs the outfits and is backing the “Miraculous Circus”

There are loads of conspiracies and theories about it too. People would say things like “Why would such a well known fashion designer care about a circus of all things?”

No one notices because it takes place over months and years but the spirit of Gotham is healing after each show bit by bit. 

It is slower way to heal the worlds balance in a place like Gotham but Marinette wouldn’t have it any other way at this point.

One, the kwami are happy to be out and used so much.

Two, The people of Gotham absolutely love the circus. (she even saw Bruce and Damian show up a few times on their own accord a few times)

Three, she met Dick and she loves that that he loves it. 

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

special thanks to @miraculous786 for letting me bounce this idea of of them. Well... it wasn't so much as bounce but more just threw it at them at like 3-4ish in the morning. 

part 3

[jiejie-eonni-onee-sama]

The art of seduction...

For the lovely @fandoms-are-my-friends-1321​

Hope you’ll enjoy!

"OMG, what have I done?"

(Y/N) wanted to disappear six feet under after her fiasco. How could she manage to embarrass herself in front of her boss?

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed: she worked for the most powerful man in Gotham City, she should not fail like this!

A small smile came across her lips when she thought about her employer. Oswald Cobblepot, the elected mayor of Gotham, was also one of the rising crime lords. 

She worked for him for 5 years, and she witnessed his rise to power with amazement. 

And she fell in love with him. Madly, truly, deeply. 

But now, she just managed to look like a fool, and she wanted to erase this inglorious moment from her memory.

"Are you alright, (Y/N)?"

The familiar voice woke the woman from her daydreaming, and she noticed the presence of Victor Zsasz.

The henchman and (Y/N) get along since they started working together under Cobblepot's orders. And he was the only one who knew about her feelings for their boss... 

"Apart from humiliating myself in front of the boss? Yes, I feel like a million bucks!"

The bald man chuckled.

"I have noticed... Don't worry about Oswald: he did not even pick up on your failed attempt of flirting!"

"Are you here to put the boot in again?"

"Hey, it's not my fault if you say I would say God bless you, but it looks like he already did. Seriously girl, do you know how to flirt or what?"

(Y/N) sighed.

"Not really. Most of the time, I am the one men flirted with. Oh wait, harassed would be a suitable description!"

"I'm sorry for you..." mumbled Victor as he massaged the back of his neck.

"Don't be. Now, if you don't mind, I want to be alone and dig my own grave in peace!"

"Come on, don't be over-dramatic! He did not fire you!"

"You got the point..."

Victor cogitated a few moments before declaring:

"Okay, I have a proposition for you!"

"What?" asked the young woman.

"Well, if you want, I can teach you how to flirt!"

(Y/N) raised a suspicious eyebrow.

"You? You know how to hit on someone?"

"My dear (Y/N), I am a man full of surprises! Now, chin up, lady: we have some lessons ahead!

A few moments later, they were alone in a room.

"Okay, first of all: let's check all the qualities you find in Oswald?"

"Physical appearance or character?"

"I don't care... Both, if you want!"

"Alright... So, he is charismatic, smart, powerful, elegant... So charming..."

"Oh my god, put yourself together! It's not the moment to daydream about your twisted prince charming!"

"It's not my fault!"

"Alright, nevermind!" Victor sighed as he raised his hands in a sign of defeat.

"What next?"

"Well... The next step is subtly complimenting him. Let me demonstrate with you..."

He cleared his throat and said:

"Dear, you have the brightest eyes I've ever seen!"

"Uh... Thanks ?"

"You're welcome. Now, your turn: imagine me as Oswald, and say something flirty!"

"Right now?"

"No, in the next century! Of course, right now!"

"Okay, okay! Let me think about something..."

She turned things over in her head before she finally said:

"Sir, you are the most brilliant genius in all Gotham!"

"Not bad, but I am sure you can do better! Go ahead!"

"Right, so... Mister Cobblepot, I wonder how Gothamites did not notice before how amazing you are!"

"Mmmh... Nah! A bit toady for him. Try again!"

"Mmmh... Oh, I know! Sir, no matter what others would say, you are the best man for Gotham!"

"We're getting close... One more time!"

"Oswald, thanks to you, my life has another goal... and it's you!"

Victor slowly clapped.

"Well done, girl! You learn fast!"

"Really?"

"Yes, it's good! Now, next time you want to seduce the boss, you know what to do!"

"Thanks for your help, Victor!"

"Anytime, (Y/N). Anytime."

A week later.

"Okay, (Y/N), time to put into practice what I've taught you!"

"Yes, I know... It's just that I have a knot in my stomach!"

"No need to worry: act naturally! Now, make me proud!"

"Okay, here I go!"

She pulled herself, smiled, and entered Oswald's office. As for Victor, he hid behind the door.

"Good morning, Mister Cobblepot!"

"Ah, good morning, Miss (Y/N). Please, take a seat: we have a lot of work to do!"

During half an hour, they discussed the different projects The Penguin had for his city.

"For the last project, I thought about funding a scholarship for children from single-parent families!"

"Excellent idea, sir! They deserve the same chances as the others!"

"Indeed... Besides, it's a cause close to my heart as I was raised by my mother!"

"I understand, Mister Cobblepot... May I know the name of the scholarship?"

"Of course, where is my mind? I decided to name it "The Gertrude Cobblepot Scholarship for Children in Need"; I named it after my mother!"

A sad smile appeared on his face.

"I owe her so much..."

Seeing him so vulnerable moved (Y/N) who sighed:

"Aw, it's so cute!"

"I beg your pardon?" exclaimed Oswald.

"WTF is she doing?" muttered Victor, surprised.

Panicked, (Y/N) lost her mind and started blattering:

"Sorry, I mean... You are very cute!"

"Cute? Really?" asked Oswald, unconvinced.

"Oh no!" grumbled Victor as he facepalmed.

And it was not the end of the show... 

"Nevermind, let's go back to work! So, I was saying..."

He stopped as he noticed (Y/N) staring at him.

"(Y/N)? Are you sure everything is okay?"

"Yes, sorry... It's just that I get lost in your eyes!"

"What ?!"

"I must be dreaming!" groaned Victor as he clasped both his hands on his face.

"It's true: you have such beautiful eyes!"

"Miss... Are you sure you do not have any fever?"

"No... But I am sure being in your arms is the warmest place on Earth!"

"What's this nonsense?"

"It worsens every second! Stop it, (Y/N)!" discreetly whined Victor as he seemed desperate.

But the young woman was not ready to stop... 

"Either you're drunk, (Y/N), or you're making a fool of me, and I don't like it!"

"But I'm not making a fool of you, Mr. Cobblepot! Speaking of that, you're not far from the truth: I'm drunk in love with you!"

Oswald was wide-eyed: in his entire life, he has never seen such a scene!

Crossing his arms against his chest, he sighed:

"Tell me the truth, (Y/N): are you just trying to flirt with me?"

Blinking like she woke up from a dream, the woman realized what happened and sputtered:

"OMG, NO! Tell me it's a nightmare!"

"No, welcome to the real world! But I'm waiting for an answer!"

Ashamed by the situation, (Y/N) confessed:

"Yes, indeed! You've finally noticed..."

"Oh, come on! This is a disaster!" whispered Zsasz.

"So, you're flirting with me... Okay, may I know why?"

"Where can I start? You're the most amazing person I ever met, and I am so happy to be among your trusted people! And... As I said before, I fell in love with you on the first day. I tried to subtly flirt with you but, as you can see, it's an epic fail!"

She lowered her head, waiting for a fit of anger. Instead, she saw Oswald chuckling.

"Well, I must say that I admire your bravery (Y/N). You're right: your flirting attempts are not a success... Moreover, they are not really necessary!"

"I guess so..."

"Don't you want to know why?"

"Because I am a silly girl who thinks she can have a romance with her boss?" (Y/N) answered with a sad tone.

"No, you're wrong... Your flirting was not necessary because I already like you!"

"Wait, what?" she exclaimed.

"Oh my, what a twist!" thought Victor.

"That's the truth, (Y/N): you are an astounding woman. I admire your strong will, your loyalty, your smiling character... Everything in you is perfect for me!"

"Mr. Cobblepot..."

"Please, call me Oswald!"

"Oswald... Thank you... For not shut me away!"

A sly smile appeared on Oswald's face.

"Pleasure is all mine, (Y/N). Now that everything is settled and the misunderstanding has disappeared, would give me the greatest honor to join me for a date?"

A wide grin appeared on (Y/N)'s face.

"Of course!"

"Wonderful! Friday evening, 8 p.m.? I know a nice restaurant in the neighborhood: you're going to love it!"

"I am sure..."

"By the way, (Y/N)"

"Yes?"

"I can't give you the world... But I can promise to give you my world!"

"I cannot ask for more!"

While the two lovebirds talked about their future dates, Victor smiled, relieved to see it ended well:

"At least, she reached her goal... But Lord, that girl was close to giving me a heart attack!"

Sometimes, a bad pick up line can bring you the right way to your crush's heart...

[gothic-safari-clown]

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part 9: Explanation

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight

Word count: 2469

Between her newfound acceptance of her less-than-moral tendencies and her freshly organized office, Elianna had finally been able to find peace for the day as she finished plugging all of her notes into the computer. Cognitively she knew (and had even told several patients in the past) that seeking revenge was unhealthy and detrimental to the healing process, especially if the outcome could get the exactor arrested. But God was the prospect of it attractive.

I don't think God has anything to do with any of this.

She wrapped up the rest of her work fairly quickly, still mulling over the unethicacy of admitting patients with common phobias, finally deciding to overlook the fallacies if it meant that she wouldn't be attacked again any time soon, and gathered her purse and her suitcase before making her way to Jonathan's office after a glance over her map of the facility.

On her way, Elianna suddenly found herself wrapped in the embrace of something blonde and very shrill. "Harley?"

"I'm so sorry that I didn't check on you sooner!" El laughed and gently pried her friend off of her.

"It's okay; I'm alright." She assured with a warm smile. She barely knew Harley. How sweet of her to be so worried.

"Like hell you are, look at your forehead!" Without thinking, El lifted her hand to touch the bandaid, which was only partially covered by her hair.

"To be honest, I forgot about it. But the fact that I only needed a bandaid and not a hospital bracelet means something, I think."

"Yeah, I guess so." Harley pouted and linked her arm with Elianna's, starting to walk her in the direction she had been going before she stopped her. "I was really worried about you, y'know, and nobody expected you back today. I mean, you must be traumatized! Any signs of PTSD?"

"Not yet, but I'm trying not to dwell on it. I mean, I came here for a fresh start (not technically a lie), and as far as I'm concerned, this was just the city officially indoctrinating me as a Gothamite." Harley snorted and shook her head.

"Alright, however you want to look at it, I guess. Look, I gotta run; I just couldn't let you go without making sure you're okay. You're sure you don't need anything?"

"Not at the moment, but if I need anything, I'll keep you in mind." El stopped walking again to give the blonde a tight squeeze, which she returned readily.

"Alright, honey, say hi to Doctor Crane for me," Harley finished with a kiss on her cheek and then seemed to vanish before Elianna had a chance to say anything else.

Upon reaching Jonathan's office, she knocked and waited for him to buzz her in, and her original greeting died in her throat as she entered.

"Why do you get a bigger office than me?" She asked, looking around the space. It was still messy, just like his home office, but the chaos seemed more organized.

"Because I've worked here longer, come help me with this stack, will you?" He sighed and pushed said stack to the other side of the desk from him. El nodded and sat in front of it, taking the top file off. "Just read me the most recent notes inside, and I'll type it up." They set to work straight away, finally getting each computerized file updated after an hour or so. Jonathan stretched his back as they stood up, and El noticed that he still seemed irritated by whatever her name was from the DA's office.

"You okay? I can drive home if you want." He let out a short, humorless "ha!"

"Under no circumstances do you get to drive my car. You drive like Scarecrow."

"Wh-you let him drive but not me?" He shook his head.

"Not a chance, but he likes it when you drive, and that's enough of a deterrent for me." El rolled her eyes, but it was sound reasoning, she supposed.

"Fine, but you have to make dinner again."

"Well, the difference is that with me behind the wheel, we'll actually make it home to enjoy dinner." He replied offhandedly, snapping his briefcase closed and walking with her to the door.

"Okay, I get it, find a new joke, will you?" Her light irritation seemed to amuse him, and she muttered something about, "never should have taught you about humor," as he held open the door for her.

Once back at Jonathan's apartment, El wasted no time getting into the shower and changing into pajamas. She still had so many questions about his involvement in the underworld, and being comfortable acted as her preliminary strike against what would doubtlessly be a less than fun conversation.

When she returned to the living room, Jonathan hadn't bothered to change out of his work clothes, and it appeared that he had been trying in vain to tidy his desk the entire time. El left him to it and continued to the kitchen in search of something to snack on.

"You jealous of my clean office yet?" She called as she pilfered through his pantry. Her friend had had a weakness for goldfish ever since she had introduced them to him, as silly as it sounded. I know they're in here somewhere...aha!

"Hardly; I just misplaced something." He replied distractedly as she walked back in with the entire carton. "If you finish that, you're buying me more."

"Deal. So, why don't you put that on pause until after we talk about everything else?" El asked as she walked next to him and leaned back against the desk, and he stopped shuffling through his papers.

"Where do you want to start?" El thought for a moment before pulling him over to the couch so that they could sit and set the carton between them.

"Why don't you tell me how you...came into the life of organized crime?" She asked slowly, unsure of how to go about asking. Was that the right way to refer to the situation?

"There's a man, Ra's Al Gul," El was taken aback by the intense name—this really was very serious. "He contacted Falcone a while ago to find someone to make a compound that can help him purge Gotham. Falcone found me because of my specialty in phobias and recruited me to the cause. He assumed that I would be easily corrupted, working at Arkham and all." He reached into the carton for a handful of goldfish. "I guess he was right."

"O-okay, and that's why you developed the toxin in the first place." He nodded. "And this Ra's Al Gul character, he's the one shipping what you need into Gotham, what is it?"

"It's this little blue flower from Bhutan. It grows in the mountains. There's a natural chemical in it that reacts to being broken down that causes vivid hallucinations by hijacking the amygdala and creating a powerful fear response. He uses it for some...initiation process for his organization."

"So you studied it and found a way to work it into a serum." He nodded again, still slowly working through his handful of the little crackers, and suddenly something clicked in Elianna's brain. "My patients." He looked at her, his face impassive. "The ones with the anxiety disorders, there isn't actually anything wrong, is there? You admitted them to study the effects."

"Yes, I've been microdosing them with different strains of the toxin to study the results."

"Well, how do you keep them from ratting you out? I mean, if I'm working with some of them, then that means other doctors are too."

"I've made it clear to all of them that if they point the finger at me that I'll give them a full dosage. It's not like the administration would find any of my research if they cared to look anyway; it's all here." Elianna laughed incredulously.

"You really do have everything figured out, don't you? Sneaky bastard."

"I'm going to choose to assume that was a compliment." There was a quiet pause while El thought over everything she had learned in such a short space of time.

"Why does Ra's Al Gul want to target Gotham?" Jonathan half shrugged in response.

"Something about the corrupt elite, the thinks that by weeding it out, it can allow humanity to heal."

"He thinks he can fix humanity by taking out one lousy city?" She asked before another thought hit her. "Hold on, you're one of the corrupt elite, aren't you? That goes against his whole plan. Why are you helping him if you're in his crosshairs?" At this, Jonathan shook his head and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I agreed to do this because if I didn't, they could find someone else to, and as long as I continue with the project, I've been promised a way out of the city safely. This has been in motion for long enough that I work directly for Ra's Al Gul now. Falcone is just involved in handling the shipments; they sneak it in with other drugs."

"Well...shit, you get to leave the city so that you don't get caught up in the...the chaos, what about me?" She had a moment of self-awareness for the selfishness of her concern, which was easily brushed off (much to her own surprise), and she did not want to get caught up in the attack on the city. Jonathan turned his head to look at her, almost offended that she had even asked.

"I'm going to take you with me. I thought that would go without saying." He shifted his whole body to face her. "Like I said this morning, I do terrible things, but I wouldn't abandon you do that any more than you would to me, especially now. I told you everything; now you're involved."

El nodded in relief. All of her questions answered, she returned to thinking about how much she should have been disturbed by the situation. Her best friend was involved in a plot to bring down an entire city, and she had been more concerned about her own safety than she had been about the innocent people living there.

Then again, why should she be worried? Everything, everyone, for her entire adult life had been just like high school in Arlen where the strong and privileged had punched downward at the weak for fun, and the weak were pushed to do bad things to get by. Was it not kinder to eliminate the city where it was all overlooked? Kinder to provide the weak with an out from subjugation with a choice that they didn't need to make? To exact revenge on their tormentors?

Really, she thought, if you think about it, the only difference between them and the two of us is that we have the chance to do something about it. So why shouldn't we?

Life in Gotham had already been so much more exciting than she had hoped for, and the promise of more in store filled her with anticipation. Why had she chosen to go so far away from Jonathan in the first place?

"Well then," she moved the carton onto the coffee table and laid across the newly empty space to put her head in her friend's lap and looked up at him. "What's the plan for Zsasz?" The littlest hint of a smile appeared on his face.

"You're looking forward to it now, aren't you?"

"He deserves it." The condemnation flew from her mouth without a second thought.

"He does, but are you sure you can do it?"

"Yes. I want to do it. And if I can't, that won't change. Even if you have to do it for me, it'll be done, and so long as one of us does it and no one else, I'll be satisfied with the outcome." Jonathan found himself feeling proud of his friend, and Scarecrow echoed the sentiment; the straw man was really starting to like her for the first time.

"Well said."

"I thought so too." El smiled at him, suddenly remembering once again her mysterious savior. "Oh!" She sat up quickly, turning to face him again. "The parking lot the other night, Zsasz; there was someone else there."

"What do you mean, there was a witness?" Elianna shook her head.

"No, it was after I fell, when I got up again and I was running to my car there was someone else there, he-" she paused to decide how to tell what had happened. "It seemed like he flew over my head, I don't know where he came from, but he went after Zsasz. I saw him for a seconds before I left, he was dressed in all black, and his face was covered. I thought that he would take care of Zsasz, but it seems like the police detained him, so I don't know what happened."

Jonathan thought for a moment, analyzing the information. "Well, even if whoever it was incapacitated Zsasz and called the police, it's unlikely that they would broadcast that on the media." EL nodded in agreement.

"I wonder what his motivation was and how he happened to be there." She spoke aloud, but more to herself than to Jonathan. "If he hadn't shown up, I don't think I would have made it."

"Well, it's definitely strange, I'll give you that." Jonathan sighed. "Something we'll have to keep an eye on. If a vigilante is gearing up to take out criminals, then we'll have to be prepared for it."

"Yeah." The apartment was silent as the pair thought over what would happen if anything they were planning on doing was discovered. "I knew Gotham would give me some excitement." She finally said lightly, to which Jonathan scoffed.

"Yeah, you could call it that. Is...there anything else you may have forgotten than you need to tell me?" El thought back for a moment, fighting a chill as she forced herself to remember anything.

"No, that's it." He nodded.

"Good."

"Yeah." They both paused for another moment before El spoke again, looking to change the subject. "Now go make dinner before I'm forced to finish your goldfish; I'm starving."

"Yes, ma'am," Jonathan stood, taking the carton back into the kitchen with him. "How do you feel about pasta tonight?"

[chibinightowl]

Bakery AU, Part IV

This is also on my Ao3 now as Sweet Treats, but that’s still a chapter behind. 

Part I, Part II, Part III

~*~*~

Jason doesn’t call on Saturday. Tim isn’t surprised, not with the news headline he saw the night before about Scarecrow on the loose. He does what any normal Gothamite does and goes about his business. Most of the time, the spooks only come out to play at night, so it doesn’t bother him any. Tim can’t help but wonder if the Bats had a chance to celebrate Damian’s birthday in the midst of all the chaos; he feels kind of bad for the kid.

He doesn’t hear from Jason on Sunday either. When he gets home, Tim collapses on his sofa and checks his phone again for any updates. There hasn’t been any news about collateral damage or deaths, so he can only assume everyone is okay.

Is this what it’s like for all those who care about one of Gotham’s heroes? Not just in a general sense but a literal one? He knows who they are under those masks and now he has a personal connection to them. The danger they all face on a nightly basis hits home. If something were to happen to Jason, the only way Tim will find out is via the news. He’s not anybody to the Waynes.

He’s barely somebody to Jason.

It’s a sobering thought, one that sticks with Tim through the night. By morning, he’s cranky from lack of sleep and attacks his coffee with gusto. There’s still nothing from Jason and Tim doesn’t want to risk sending him a text for fear of accidently waking him up from some well-deserved sleep. He goes about his normal Monday routine and does laundry, grocery shopping, and house cleaning. Not that there’s much to clean as he spends more time at the bakery than he does here, but whatever. He even changes his bedsheets, telling himself firmly it’s because they need to be washed and not because he’s expecting company in the near future.

Whenever that will be.

As Tim eats dinner, a news alert pops up on his phone to inform him that the Scarecrow is back in custody. A knot of tension he didn’t even realize was there relaxes. There’s no news about who was involved in his arrest, but he wants to believe that no one has been injured. It’s not like he can call and ask.

Worrying is exhausting so Tim decides to try and get some sleep. As he lays down, his phone chimes. Picking it up, a flood of relief washes through him.

It’s Jason.

Hey. I’m so sorry about not getting back to you sooner. It’s been a shitstorm of drama around here the last few days.

Tim appreciates a text from someone who uses full sentences. He appreciates even more the fact that Jason is letting him know in a backdoor kind of way that he’s okay.

It happens. Everything okay?

Yeah. Finally. Damian liked his cake.

Good, I’m glad.

There didn’t seem to be much more to say, so Tim set his phone down. He’s on the cusp of entering dreamland when it chimes softly again.

When can I see you again?

The message flashes on the screen but Tim is already asleep.

~*~*~

The next morning, Tim is up early and at the bakery to accept his weekly supply order. These are all his standard ingredients, but he’s got extra chocolate and cocoa powder in this one, plus peppermint extract as he’ll be starting his Christmas cupcakes this week. He’s also got a couple bottles of bourbon and rum to experiment with because he wants to try an eggnog cupcake this year.

Everything has been put away when there’s a loud knock on his front door. Tim glances at his watch. It’s way too early to be open. He pokes his head out of the kitchen to see who’s there.

It’s another deliveryman.

Tim crosses the room and unlocks the door. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’!” the man replies cheerily. “You Tim Drake?”

“Yes, unless I’m getting a bill for something,” he jokes.

The deliveryman laughs. “It doesn’t look like it,” he replies. “I just need a signature.”

Tim signs for the package and brings it inside, pausing long enough to lock the door again behind him.

What is this? He eyes the label carefully (this is Gotham after all and the Scarecrow had been loose this last weekend even though it’s usually the Joker’s MO to send random packages). The return address is somewhere in Bristol. Not exactly a zip code known for trouble.

Opening the box, Tim gapes. It’s a fruit basket of sorts. Specifically, a box full of some beautiful Bosc pears. The gears spin as he tries to figure out what to do with them. He did get that rum after all…

He almost misses the note that falls out. Picking it up, Tim starts laughing.

I know, I know. A fruit basket is lame, but Alfie said a chef like you would appreciate this more than flowers. Please, don’t be mad at me.

Tim takes the pears back to the kitchen and pulls out his phone. Only then does he see the message he missed last night. It all makes sense now. He sends a message to Jason.

I didn’t see your last message until just now. I’m rarely awake past nine since I’m at the bakery by five most mornings. The pears are gorgeous, thank you! You really didn’t have to.

It is too early to expect a response, but he figures Jason deserves to wake up to one after he apparently dropped the ball last night.

He doesn’t receive a reply until after Stephanie arrives a few hours later and has laughed herself silly over the box.

You never answered my question.

Tim bites his lip as he’s really not sure how to respond.

Steph flicks his ear. “You’re thinking too hard about this. It’s sex. You want it with him and he wants it with you. Just go for it.”

“Yeah, but…”

The door chime rings out as a customer enters the shop. “Dammit,” Stephanie swears since she’s on counter duty at the moment. “Hold that thought so I can knock it out of your head.”

While his friend takes care of the customers out front, Tim ponders what she’d said. It is just sex. He’s overanalyzing it. A fruit box means nothing, other than the fact Jason thinks he screwed up. And they’re really nice pears…

Stephanie wordlessly enters the kitchen and closes the door firmly behind her, her eyes a little wild.

“What?” Tim asks, setting down a pear.

“Tim, you’ve got some clients. Some rather VIP clients.”

He doesn’t miss the emphasis. “Who?”

She sucks in a deep breath. “I don’t know who the guy in the wheelchair is, but I know what Bruce Wayne looks like.”

Tim grips the edge of the steel prep table tightly. Bruce Wayne. Holy hell, Batman is in his shop. His inner fanboy doesn’t know whether to scream for joy or hide in terror. “Fuck.”

Steph nods, her eyes still wide. “The man in the wheelchair asked for you by name. He’s got a British accent and seems to be the one in charge.”

“And Mr. Wayne?”

“Gaping at the display case.”

Tim remembers Brucie Wayne from the few society parties he attended before his parents died. He always wondered why such man hid behind such a vapid persona, but it eventually occurred to him that it’s really the perfect disguise. Who in their right minds would associate the airheaded Bruce Wayne with the cunning detective Batman?

“Right.” Tim draws a deep breath, steeling himself. “Okay, I can do this.”

“Think it’s more business?” Stephanie asks while Tim takes the time to wash his hands. He’s not about to meet Batman with frosting stained fingers like he had Redwing.

“I can’t think of any reason why it wouldn’t be. Unless Jason has been talking about…you know.”

Steph snorts and tries to hide it behind her hand, which only makes her do it again. “Yeah, I doubt it. Not exactly a conversation someone has with their family. Hey, you know this amazing cake I got? I blew the baker!”

Tim doubles over at the sink laughing. “Shhh! They’ll hear you!”

No, he really doesn’t want Batman to know his son got in his pants. Or that he has plans to fuck him silly sometime soon. Shit, who is he kidding? This is Batman. He probably already knows. Tim can feel the heat on the back of his neck and can only hope it’s not on his face.

Steeling himself, he takes a deep breath and walks out front, Steph’s giggles trailing after him.

The man in the wheelchair with the massive cast on one foot is Alfred Pennyworth. Tim remembers meeting him few times as a child. He’d sneak him lemon tarts after his mother said no more sweets. Bruce isn’t in sight, but when Tim comes around the counter, he spots him kneeling in front of his display case, eyes wide and incredibly vapid, the Brucie act on in full force.

Good lord, the man deserves an Oscar.

“Hello,” Tim says politely. “I’m Tim. My assistant said you wanted to speak with me?”

“I do indeed,” Alfred replies and holds out his hand. “It’s been a number of years since we’ve last spoken, Mr. Drake, but I’m –”

“Alfred Pennyworth, master of the lemon tarts,” Tim grins as he shakes the old man’s hand. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

“I always remember wide eyed little boys who wax poetic over my food rather than filling their cheeks and running off.” There’s a twinkle in Alfred’s eyes. “When Master Jason informed me of who he’d hired to make Master Damian’s birthday cake, I knew we were in good hands.”

Tim is floored. The old man’s words give him the impression that he’s had more than just the spiced chai cake he’d made for them. “Thank you,” he manages to get out. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“It was really good!” Bruce chimes in as he stands up fully. He towers over Tim and reaches out to shake his hand too, albeit with more enthusiasm than is really necessary. Tim tries not to stare or crumble to the floor because he’s shaking hands with Batman. His inner fanboy is screaming right now, deciding on equal parts terror and joy. “But that’s not why we’re here. Tell him, Alfie.”

Alfred’s expression sours slightly. “As you can see, Mr. Drake, I am laid up at the moment and my charges are insisting I take it easy for the duration of the holidays. While I am able to delegate much of my work in the kitchen to Master Jason and ensure everyone is fed properly, he is no pastry chef. It is that skillset I have need of.”

Tim narrows his eyes slightly. He’s not sure where this is going. “Are you looking to hire me for something, Mr. Pennyworth?”

“I am. In about two and half weeks, Master Bruce hosts the Wayne Foundation’s annual Winter Charity Gala at Wayne Manor. Normally, I, along with some assistance from Master Jason, prepare all the holiday treats for the children who come up from various shelters in the city. Due to my accident, I am unable to perform my duties.” Alfred’s gimlet eye is watching Tim intently. “After the success of Master Damian’s cake, I decided I would very much like to hire you for this event. I know it is short notice…”

Tim doesn’t hear much of what is said after that, such is his shock over what is being asked of him. He wants to say yes so badly, but he’s got his responsibilities here and orders are piling up for the holidays and...

“Mr. Drake?”

“Sorry, got lost in my head there for a second.” Tim shakes himself out of it. “Just trying to figure out the logistics of it. This is my busiest time of year and after next week, I won’t take a day off until after the New Year.”

“You’ll be well paid, if that’s a concern,” Bruce states. “What’s your price?”

Tim forces the brief scowl he let slip off his face and tries to go for something more neutral. “It’s not about the money, Mr. Wayne. It’s about the time. How large is this event?”

“About 250 children are brought to Wayne Manor,” Alfred replies. “Along with a parent or chaperone. Guests are made up of donors. A typical event is about 600 to 700 people.”

It’s hard not to gape. “And you do this every year on your own?”

“Many of the treats I serve freeze well, so I can make them in batches over the course of a few weeks. The rest is catered.”

Tim asks a few more questions, trying to gain a better understanding of what exactly he would be doing. Most caterers have months to prepare for something like this and here he is expected to pull several rabbits out of his hat in the space of a few weeks.

In the end, he knows he only has one answer to this business proposition. “Yes,” he tells Alfred. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent, Mr. Drake. I look forward to working with you.” Alfred beams as he shakes Tim’s hand, sealing the deal.

“And I look forward to more cupcakes!” Bruce replies all too brightly. “I think I’d like a half dozen now. I picked one out for each of us!” He turns his attention back to the display case and starts pointing at different ones and rattling off the reasons why he thinks each cupcake is perfect for each of his children, plus himself and Alfred.

When they leave, Tim is utterly exhausted and a little taken aback by just how thorough the Brucie Wayne act is. It’s been well over a decade since he’s seen it and never once was it ever directly focused on him. He retreats to the kitchen and stomps into his tiny office where he collapses in his chair. Blindly, he reaches out and grabs his stress ball.

“Well?” Stephanie asks, trailing after him. “What did they want?”

“We’re catering the annual Wayne Foundation Winter Charity Gala at Wayne Manor in three weeks. About 700 people.”

“Son of a bitch. Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Well, crapnuggets.” Tim knows without even opening his eyes that his friend and assistant is stewing over things, just like he did. “We’re going to have to close the shop that week just to get everything prepped in time. Maybe I can take out the truck in the evening…”

“We’ll have full use of the industrial kitchen at Wayne Manor starting two days before. I have to send an ingredient list to Mr. Pennyworth by the end of the week to ensure everything we need is there.”

“Will Jason be there too?” There’s a teasing lilt to Steph’s voice that has Tim finally cracking open an eye.

“I have no idea. I don’t see why he would be. We’re just hired help.”

Steph laugh tells him exactly what she thinks about that. “Perhaps to the rest of them, but those industrial kitchens have walk-in coolers, right? I can just see Jason wandering in and dragging you into one for a private chat.”

Tim throws his stress ball at her.

~*~*~

Stephanie leaves to get an early lunch for them and Tim promptly closes the shop. He has too much to think about and interruptions from an occasional customer won’t help.

He starts going through his calendar and relaxes a little. There are not as many special cake orders as he originally thought. They’re almost all Yule logs too and are slated for pick up on Christmas Eve. Everything else is cupcakes, including one massive order of a hundred that’s for a large holiday party the week after the charity event.

Still, in the weeks leading up to Christmas, he knows he’ll be bombarded with random orders for a dozen or more of his holiday cupcakes, particularly if he introduces the eggnog one, which he started the test batter for already. If anything, having some booze around the bakery will help calm his nerves.

Or leave him drunk, which is a bad idea, lightweight that he is.

He picks up his notepad and starts sketching out designs and possible holiday-themed flavor profiles, ones geared for both kids and adults. The easiest thing to do is modify existing recipes, but he wants to make the decorations extra special to show off his skills. This may be a last minute change of plans for the Waynes, but if he manages to impress them (especially Alfred), he could get other jobs from them later on.

Perhaps a spun sugar cage over the top of the eggnog cupcake would look nice. The dark gold of the caramelized sugar would contrast nicely against the nutmeg and cinnamon flecked whipped cream frosting…

His phone rings. Idly, Tim swipes at the screen to answer it, not even looking to see who it is. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jason’s deep voice greets him. “I thought it might be easier to call instead of wait for you to check your phone again.”

“Sorry. It’s been one of those mornings where I’m being constantly interrupted,” Tim replies somewhat sourly. “Do you know what your dad just did?”

Jason groans, frustration evident even through the phone. “That does not sound good.”

“I should say it was him and Mr. Pennyworth. They were here in the shop a little bit ago.”

“Oh, shit. Alfie did it, didn’t he? He sorta mentioned offhand about making you a job offer, but I didn’t think he’d go through with it.”

Tim leans back in his office chair. “Yep, he did. I’m now the official pastry chef for the upcoming charity gala at your house.”

“Son of a bitch.” Jason swears some more and then asks a very important question. “Am I being relegated to business again?”

A sharp laugh escapes Tim before he can stop it. “Maybe? I’m going to be very busy these next few weeks.”

Jason chuckles, an absolutely wonderful sound even over the phone. “All jokes aside, are you going to have enough time for everything?”

“I’m figuring that out right now. Making lists and deadlines for myself.”

“Can I help at all?” There’s a hopeful lilt to Jason’s voice.

“What?” Tim asks, blinking wildly.

“Help. I’m not exactly clueless in the kitchen. I help Alfie all the time. I may not be a trained chef like you, but I can follow a recipe and listen to instructions.”

It’s tempting. Very tempting. Even if he can just direct Jason on how to make some of his basic batters and get things in the oven, it would free up Steph to work on normal orders and give him the time to get fancy. “How fast can you get a food handler’s card?”

“I already have one. Still current too.”

“You’re hired. I pay dick compared to what you’re probably used to though.”

“You pay in dick? I accept.”

“Jason!”

[blissaster]

Heroes

Day 5

I was born and raised in Gotham. My family was rich enough that I could finish my college and realized my dream to be a teacher and poor enough that I had never gotten out of the city, even if I wanted to.

I taught literature. Every year, I would ask my students to write about their heroes. It could be anyone, their parents, their siblings, their neighbors. Anyone could be heroes, at least in my opinion. Having a hero, someone you looked up to, could give you hope. When you lived in a hell hole like Gotham, you’d need all the hope you could get.

It saddened me when almost none of my students took this assignment seriously. And some who did seemed to not know who they should look up to.

Then Batman came.

I downright hated him, at first.

He is just another lunatic prancing in silly costume, trying to scare us, I scoffed. He'll go awry sooner or later, I thought. But he never did. He beat the criminals, true, but he never killed. I noticed that. Still, I was skeptical, as a true Gothamite would.

In the end, it was not the Batman's actions that changed my mind. But the writing of my students. There were more students that took the Hero Assignment seriously. Most of them wrote about Batman. I still did not believed the Batman was what this city needed. But I supposed, if he could give hope to the children, who was I to stop him?

Being a teacher as long as I had, I had seen many heroes my students wrote about. Mostly, they wrote about the Batman. Once in a blue moon, I'd find a writing that stood out. This year, I found it in the assignment of one Richard Grayson, ward of Bruce Wayne.

The kid was flashy and he could be too cocky for his own good, but he was a good kid. With his circumstance, I had expected him to write about the Batman. I was wrong. And I was glad I was wrong.

Richard's hero was not the Batman, though, I quoted, "He has his good qualities too". It was Bruce Wayne.

"The Batman reminds me that I can still fly, that I don't have to be afraid," Richard wrote. "But Bruce Wayne saved me. He took me in when no one would. He gave me home. He cares." At the end, he wrote, "If the Batman keeps me safe from bad guys, then Bruce keeps me safe from being a criminal myself, from being homeless. Most importantly, from being lonely."

I did not have obligation to inform parents about their little hero assignment. I gave Mr. Wayne Richard's writing in the parent-teacher meeting anyway. "You've a good son," I told him.

Bruce seemed stunned for a short moment, before he regained his composure and his smile was back once again. "Dick's my ward, not my son."

I snorted. This was not the first time I saw this kind of denial. "Of course," I said, knowing fully well how condescending I sounded as I stood on my tiptoe and patted his shoulder.

From the first time Damian Wayne entered my class, he had caught my interest. At first glance, I could tell he was different from kids his age. He acted too mature for one. Another reason he caught my intention was because he now was under the guardianship of one Richard John Grayson-Wayne.

The boy -- though he was no longer a boy now -- rarely used his stepfather's last name. I could not help but use the name in my head, though. After all, even before the great Bruce Wayne realized it, I already knew that the relationship between them was more than merely a guardian and a ward. They were a father and son. (My theory was proven right when a few years later, Bruce legally adopted Richard.)

And now, Richard had grown into a man, he had taken Damian -- Bruce's flesh-and-blood child -- in after Bruce’s death. Karma at its best.

I expected much from Damian. So I was a little disappointed when I saw the kid's writing about his hero. It was the Batman. Then again, remembering how violent the kid could get, I supposed I should not be surprised.

My eyes went to the doodle of Batman on the back of his essay. I knew Damian was a good artist. Since I never forbade any of my students to add photos, pictures or even videos to their assignment, I did not think too much about it.

I traced the picture of Batman. He looked different from all those blurry photos of Batman I had seen over the years (which, admittedly, not many. I was never his biggest fan.) Damian’s Batman seemed shorter, less bulky to the Batman I knew.

My eyes widened as I caught one little detail in the picture.

The Batman was smiling.

So, the kid likes the new Batman, I thought. That WAS a pleasant surprise. I thought the kid would idolized the Old Batman with his gruffness and dark persona. The new Batman was... different, to say the least. He was... nicer. Some people said he was ruining the Batman's image. Personally, as long as he kept the criminals behind the bar, I could not careless if he growled at them or smiled at them.

I skimmed the kid’s essay. One sentence caught my eyes: “He teaches me how to be a hero.”

I smiled at that. So, Damian liked a kind vigilante, huh? Who would've guessed?

A/N: For @rosevered who wants a drabble about Bruce and one of his boys. Damian’s part was just a bonus. :D

[ohmnonsquish]

Second Best [Gotham]

- Accalia Point of View -

The music was making the room shake. The bass was thumping and the beat itself seemed to be alive. Some things are just that; alive. The people on the floor are alive. They are dancing, quite dirtily I might add, with each other. There is no such thing as traditional dancing anymore, this is what we call dancing these days. The dancing consists of grinding on the opposite or same sex and trying to get them to want to bone you.

That's it.

The ideas that once went into a club like this are null. Void. Nada. Even when Fish Mooney was in charge of this place there was none of this nonsense going on in her club. Now that it is under new management, there is no stopping point. Once part of the Underworld of Gotham, this club has risen in popularity and has made Falcone happy for a change. It's all due to the clever deception of one Penguin.

Not the cute little black and white animals that waddle around making their strange bird noises that seem to get anyone awwing. I'm talking about the person. He once despised the name, but, now he has grown into it. That's the name everyone knows him as. If anyone asked who Oswald Cobblepot was, they would be more confused than a fox trying to dig up a bed sheet.

I know who he is.

He used to be Fish Mooney's umbrella boy. Now he has risen to the top of the food chain. Just under Falcone, of course, but I don't doubt that he has a plan to rid Gotham of Falcone once and for all. Some things are just so predictable. Things such as the dark glint he has in his eyes right at this moment. He has something planned, or is planning for something to go horribly wrong.

"Accalia," Butch says hushed, clicking his fingers in my line of vision.

I shoot him a small glare and slap his hand away. "What now, Butch?"

"Penguin requires your assistance. He says it's urgent."

"Fine. I have to finish up here first. Make sure the silly little bird knows that."

"Sure thing, miss."

You see, Penguin may have control, but so do I. He is not the only one personally hired by Falcone in this joint. Me? I'm not just a pretty-faced bar attendant. I am Falcone's second best assassin. Victor Zsasz is always going to be number one. I'll stick with second best any day. Zsasz can shove first place up his ass. I'm kidding. Of course. Zsasz is a real sweetie once you get to know him.

I push the hair behind my right ear and smile at the barely legal teenager in front of me. I hand him a beer and he hands me the money, accompanied with a flirtatious wink. I take the money and turn around, my face twisting in disgust as I put the money away. I turn back around and go completely still as I see the intense eyes of Edward Nygma, Penguin's best friend.

"Mr Nygma," I say sweetly, trying to stay on his good side. "How are you this evening? Good, I hope."

Edward smiles at me, sliding a bill over the bar to me. "I am quite well, Miss March. Yourself?"

"I could be better." I slide him his regular whiskey. "Oswald has me working a double shift tonight because of all these barely legal Gothamites. Honestly, Edward, can you talk to him? I get that he only has two or three bar attendants, but I'm not free to work all the time."

"I can try, but I cannot guarantee anything. You do know that right, Miss March?"

"I know, Edward. I do. Also, what have I told you about calling me 'Miss March'? If I recall correctly, and I do, I did ask you to call me by my name."

Edward laughs, taking a drink of his whiskey. "That is true, Accalia, but I also requested that you did not call me 'Edward' or 'Mr Nygma' any more."

"Sure thing, Ed. Go have some fun tonight, will you? You need to loosen up. You seem really tense."

"True, but I'm on a personal job."

I place my hands on the bar and raise my eyebrow. "You're not still taking those disgusting drugs are you?"

"No. Of course not, Accalia."

"Hand them over."

He looks like he is about to protest, but thinks better of it at the last moment. He doesn't budge though.

"Now, Ed!"

Edward sighs and pulls the all too familiar container out of his pocket. I hold out my palm and he places the container on it. I curl my fingers over it and place it in my pocket, laying my hands on Edward's free one after I let it go. He meets my eyes and I can see the disappointment and anger in them. He is angry at himself for using them again to go about daily life. I remember him doing this after he accidentally killed Kristen, and it didn't end well for him.

"Hey, Ed," I say softly. "You don't need these. Okay? You're stronger than this."

Edward sighs, squeezing my hands and then releasing them. "I know, Accalia. Old habits just die hard."

"Go make some new, fun ones. Go out there and use your charm. Pull in a couple of girls and have some fun. This is the one time I am going to condone any of this, so use it to your advantage."

"Fine. I will."

As he walks off, something hits me. "Hey! No killing them, mister!"

Edward faces me and grins. I roll my eyes and shake my head, turning back to the clamouring teenagers that are desperate for alcohol. I clean off the bench and hand out a couple more beers, internally bashing in the heads of the wasted males who try to hit on me. Honestly. They're disgusting. If Zsasz ever found out about the slimy things they did, their heads would be separated from their bodies, as well as the offending body parts, and would be on their parents doorsteps by the next morning, and just in time for the morning paper.

As the crowd around the bar disperses, I throw the towel down on the bench and pull Gabe over. He keeps an eye on the bar while I weave my way through the sweaty bodies and alcohol fuelled actions. In the crowd I see a flash of blonde. Barbara is here. Of course. That means that the rest of the gang aren't too far behind. Not too far from her I see her bodyguard, Aaron, and next to him is Tabitha. Of course. The three of them are inseparable. There is nowhere you can find one without the other two.

Just before I head into the back room I catch a flash of a dangerous ginger. Great. The great psychopath himself is here. Jerome Valeska. The one who has never lost anything but his life - and his face. It's healed up quite nicely I must say. He no longer needs the staples, but, instead, there is almost invisible thread holding his face there. Not many people know it's there, but I do. Of course I do. I mean, I put it there. No one else was brave enough to be close and personal with a homicidal maniac. Personally, he is quite kind.

Oswald looks over at me with a glare. "I'm glad you found time to grace us with your presence, Miss March."

I bite back my smart reply. "I apologise, Mr Penguin. There were a lot of....customers."

"Save your excuse for Falcone. I have informed him of your attendance record."

And I have informed him of a lot more.

"Now, onto business. Who is here tonight that is important?"

"Edward is here. He is out on the dance floor for once."

Oswald's expression brightens. "Ed is here?"

I try not to roll my eyes. "Yes. Barbara Kean, Tabitha Galavan and their bodyguard, Aaron, are here too."

"Anyone else?"

"Jerome Valeska himself."

His eyes darken beyond recognition. "Who let that blundering, homicidal, ginger haired maniac in here?!"

The door swings open and someone walks in, taking no time to look at the small gathering in front of them. An arm goes over my shoulders and I roll my eyes, looking up at the ginger himself. Jerome winks at me and then turns to grin at Oswald. That sure ruffled the Penguin's feathers. Oswald jumped to his feet and shook with rage, making Jerome laugh like the maniac he is.

"Oh, Penguin," Jerome says, grinning wildly. "Do you really think I would stay away?"

Before Oswald can reply, Edward comes stumbling in, a full glass of whiskey in his hand. He sees me and walks over. He wraps his hand around my waist and grins down at me. He is totally wasted. He wouldn't do this if there was any sober part of him. That just goes to show that Edward can get loose and let go of his burdens for a couple of hours. It does him some good. Then I feel his hand going into my pocket.

I grab his wrist. "No you don't, Edward Nygma. You're not having them."

He pouts at me. "Just one. Please, Accalia? One last one."

"One. That's it."

I pull the container out of my pocket and open it, placing one in his hand before closing it and returning it to my pocket. He grins at me and swallows it down with a mouthful of whiskey. I watch as his pupils grow bigger and a strange light appears in them. He kisses me on the cheek, lets me go and walks back out of the room, closing the door behind him. I roll my eyes and look up to see everyone looking at me with confusion.

I glare at them. "What? They're none of you concern. Shove off!"

I promptly turn and start to walk out of the room, completely ignoring the fact that Oswald needed me for something. Jerome's arm slides down my back and he hits my ass lightly. I turn around and raise an eyebrow at him. He grins and my expression vanishes. It's the only warning he gets before I punch him, my knuckles smashing into his teeth and sending his head snapping in a painful direction.

"Think before you act, Valeska," I warn, staring passively at him. "You know exactly who I am."

Jerome turns his head and grins at me, blood running down his chin from his mouth. "Oh, I know. I am aware of that. Who else is?"

"Now's not the time to play games. Go back to your circus and terrorise the Gothamites more."

My phone starts to vibrate and I walk out of the room, pulling the phone out of my pocket and answering it. Jim Gordon's voice fills my ear and I go still. He has another case that he needs help with. Something about a drug deal gone wrong. I tell him I'm on my way and hang up, sliding my phone into my pocket and walking back over to the bar. I get Gabe to get the crowd out soon. It's almost one in the morning.

I pick up my coat and slip it on over my disgustingly slutty uniform that I have to wear. I push open the door and walk out into the cold morning air, shivering slightly at the temperature difference. It is something I'll never get used to, but something I'll tolerate. As my annoying heeled shoes click on the pavement, I pull out my phone and call Zsasz. The phone rings for a moment before he answers, silence being my greeting.

"Really, Vic?" I ask, mocking sadness. "No greeting for your girl?"

He chuckles. "Sorry, babe. I'm on a job at the moment."

"Oh. So sorry for interrupting you stalking easy prey."

"It's fine. What's the matter?"

"Gordon called. He has a case he needs help with. I'm not sure how long it's going to take."

"Let me guess. Your next words are 'don't wait up'?"

I smile, laughing slightly. "You know me so well, Vic."

"I'll drop by the precinct to pick you up when I'm done here."

At that, he hangs up and I'm left with radio silence. I roll my eyes and shove my phone back into my pocket. Zsasz is a strange person, but, then again, that's what adds to his charm and mysterious persona. He's really a nice person, you just have to get to know him. He's my best friend in this cruel city, but even he can't fully dull the sense of loneliness and abandonment eating away at me. I just wish someone could help with that. I haven't found anyone yet, but he's the best so far.

"Accalia," Jim says, opening the door to the precinct. "I didn't think you'd come on such short notice."

I smile up at the young detective, walking into the empty precinct. "I'm always available. It gave me an excuse to walk out of the club for the night. God knows I'll have hell to face from Oswald tomorrow."

"Just go to Falcone. Go behind Oswald's back if you have to."

"Oh, Jimbo. You really have no clue do you?"

"What?"

I jump up and catch the railing, swinging myself up and over, and landing beside Jim's desk. He stares at me passively as he tries to make the connection. I raise my eyebrow and grin as he gives up and walks up the stairs, shaking his head and muttering to himself. He sits at his desk as I recline on Harvey's chair. No one has claimed his seat yet, and no one is going to. Falcone won't allow it. Harvey isn't going to be replaced with some noob.

"Figured it out yet, Jim?" I ask, grinning over at the detective. "It's not that hard."

Jim stares at you. "You are personally employed by Falcone. I have gathered that much."

"You'll figure it out soon. Anyway. What's this case?"

Jim opens the folder and hands it to me. I stare at the bodies and roll my eyes. Goddamn amateurs. They're leaving too much blood behind, and the amount of wounds show that it is something personal that has driven them. A bullet through the head would do the same job, and it's less messy. It's not the wounds that catch my attention though, it's their clothes. Rich bastards. Of course. Someone has a bone to pick with those in charge.

"Inexperienced killer," I say, looking up at Jim. "They have a personal vendetta against the victims. Although, these guys weren't rich for a good reason. Then again, it's Gotham. Who is rich for a good reason? Anyway. Drug lords. That's who they are. Tony Mcintyre and Gordon Sampson. Horrendous bastards."

Jim barely reacts. "Do you know who killed them?"

"The list of people who'd want to kill them is a long one. Look at how clumsily they were killed. Someone hired an amature to kill them. That narrows it down. Not many people can afford an assassin these days, and that includes an amateur. I'd say probably one of Maroni's old men. These two are Falcone's men. It would make sense if it were Maroni's men. A lot of them are still against Falcone and his people."

"Maroni, huh? That does make sense. Thanks, Accalia."

Before I can respond, the door to the precinct opens and someone walks in. Jim's eyes fly to the person and he tenses, his hand resting on his gun. Just by that, I know who it is. I lazily close the folder and throw it towards the person, knowing they can catch it without a hassle. They open the folder and sigh. I laugh lowly, knowing they are shaking their head at the amature work. The folder closes and I hold up my hand, catching it and placing it back on Jim's desk.

I lean my head back and look down at the lower level. "Who do you think?"

He mockingly thinks for a moment. "Oh, I don't know. How about Maroni?"

"Cheeky bastard."

I lean on the railing and slide over it. Jim jumps to his feet suddenly and I laugh, rolling and ending up on my feet. I walk over to Zsasz and stand next to him, looking up at Jim's priceless face. Even Zsasz smiles and I know that I got the detective good. The sudden realisation and shock in Jim's eyes is all I need to know that he has figured out who I am. He rests his hands on the railing and looks down at Victor and me.

"You're one of Falcone's top people," Jim says.

I place my finger on my lips and pretend to think. "That is true, but who I am I, Jim?"

"Let me guess. You work closely with Zsasz by the looks of things. Assassin. That would make a lot of sense."

"Second best assassin," Zsasz says, putting his arm around my shoulder. "Little protegee she is."

I look up at Zsasz with annoyance. "Get your goddamn arm off me if you're going to be a prick."

[a-wayne-at-heart]

HYPNOTISED: A Jason Todd/Red Hood x OC Fan Fic

Summary: Snippets of a blossoming romance between Jason Tood/Red Hood and an original character (named Ima), with other DC characters in supporting roles. Jason falls for a waitress at a diner he frequents with his best friend, Roy Harper. When she is caught in the crossfire between him and Black Mask, he is determined to protect her at all costs. What he does not expect is her falling for him, too. And how much she becomes a part of his - and the Batfamily’s - life.  

** Not strictly canon. Romance + fluff + minor angst. A lot of Batfamily feels. Title from the Coldplay song. Currently 8 chapters long, each one to be posted separately due to length. Editing may occur, depending on inspiration. :) **

Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight

Seven

He had been patrolling for sixteen hours straight and decided to take a much needed break. Well, partially. This was a stakeout. Three weeks had passed since the warehouse incident and not a day went by when he was not on Black Mask’s trail. The creep was becoming increasingly difficult to track, even for the Bat family’s standards, so he was patient with every lead, no matter how small.

And in spite of having already gathered a mountain of evidence, he was hungry for more, or at least enough to lock Black Mask and his crew away for far longer than the crooked justice system allowed. Enough so that, this time, the powerful Gothamites could no longer bear the shame of their alliances with him. This was personal.  

Bruce would be proud. He chuckled at the thought that he was being more “detective” than “brawler”. Maybe the old man did rub off on him, after all.

"She checks out." Speak of the…

He almost fell off the gargoyle he had been straddling atop one of Gotham's ancient banks. His favorite. With his helmet off, he was about to chomp on a braaibroodtjies, when a familiar black cape whooshed in beside him. Only a few people could sneak up on him like that, and they all belonged to one family.

"Wh-"

"That young African-American waitress you've been harboring in your safe house," Bruce said gruffly, eyes firmly planted on the streets below and setting up a scoping device on the concrete balcony within seconds using short, well-practiced motions. His swiftness would still put men half his age to shame.

"Wait, what? How'd you...?"

"Why does this still surprise you, Red Hood?"

Jason shook his head. This was Batman he was talking to.

"That's, um... good to know. Thanks."

"Although, I'm surprised you didn't look into her background yourself."

"I guess I've just been... preoccupied." He did not have it in him to admit the real reason for it: he felt wrong going behind her back like that. He trusted her, was maybe even in… never mind. He did not need to hear another lecture on how emotional attachments affect “the misson”.

“Hn.” Maybe he already figured it out, anyway.

"The bounty. Which is why you and Arsenal are working together again." It was not a question, rather a statement of fact.

Jason still had connections to the criminal underworld, which was how he had gotten wind of Black Mask’s ominous offer: his and Roy’s heads for a measly billion dollars each. How original. A death threat was nothing new to him. Neither was death itself. If anything, he was more worried about his best friend.    

"Yeah. Good ol' Roy. We've got an international rogues gallery after our asses.” How many superheroes could brag about that?

When Bruce remained silent, he continued. “So, I guess Luke filled you in on the warehouse incident.” This face-to-face conversation was long overdue, with Bruce having just come back from a mission with the new Justice League of America he was mentoring.

“You were careless.” What, no cigar for not dying that time?

“We improvised.” He had only been following Batman’s no-kill rule. He wanted to argue that showing mercy was what got them into that mess. But this was not the time to sass. “I’m surprised you didn’t sic your new Watchtower pals on us.” Okay, maybe just a bit.

"It looked like you two had it under control." Ha. Right. Wait, did he hear that right? Apparently, Jason was not the only one uncharacteristically trusting as of late.

“See, I’m not so sure about that anymore. This girl, Ima… She saw everything, Bruce. She didn’t mean to, had no idea the exchange was happening. She’s innocent, but I doubt that matters to a sociopath like Roman. There may not be a bounty on her head right now -”  

“He may want to deal with her himself.” Bruce’s assessment made him cringe. Over his dead-again body.

Bruce listened patiently as Jason gave him updates, while still monitoring a local pharmacy for any suspicious activity. Although he did not get an invitation to the stakeout, he was grateful that his former Robin did not push him away this time. In spite of having been openly welcomed back into the family, Jason kept his distance, haunted by his past mistakes. He had a hard time accepting their affection, believing he did not deserve it just yet. Knowing that made Bruce’s heart ache.

The last time he saw Jason smiling the way he was now, as if he had not a burden in the world, was before Joker… No. He wanted to tell his son that he was proud of him for having outgrown (most of) his demons, for having become so much more than he gave himself credit for. That he loved him. But there were more pressing matters at the moment. And he did not want to scare him away.  

“... And she and Roy are getting along really well now, which is great! Less headaches for me. Plus, I mean, it’s not like it’s hard to like her, y’know what I mean? She’s pretty, and silly, and - and -”

Jason felt his cheeks turn red. Shut up.

“So, yeah, she’s great,” Jason finished sheepishly. How long was he gushing?  

He cleared his throat before becoming serious once again. If Bruce were at all annoyed by the waste of time, the man sure hid it well. Wait, was he grinning?

Jason slowly ran his hand through his hair, and sighed. “I don’t mind being on the run. I’ve been doing it almost my entire adult life. It’s bad enough that Roy got dragged into it, too. Well, okay, no - he gets half of the blame. But, Ima? I don’t know how I’m supposed to protect her without keeping her a prisoner in that safe house. Her brother gets murdered in cold blood before her own eyes, and she can’t even visit his grave to mourn him. I’m sure she gets lonely, too. And if anything were to happen to me, I don’t know how I’ll be able to -”  

"She can stay."

" - keep her... What?"

"At the manor."

"The manor?"

"Indefinitely."

Jason was rendered speechless. Just like that?

"I'll trust her because I trust you, Jason. You've always had good instincts, only you used to act brashly upon them."

"Bruce, I'm -"

"Not that person anymore," the older man finished for him. "Besides, it could give you an excuse to drop by more often."

It took Jason all of two seconds trying to process what he had just been told, until the sound of a grappling hook whizzing past him brought him back to reality. The cowl and cape were gone. Classic Bruce.

Oh, the old man had conveniently left the scoping device, too.

"Thanks, B."