#bats1gnals

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 | 𝐀𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆

"𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔, 𝐌𝐑. 𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄?" lois begins, one - handedly taking her very carefully pinned hair out of its updo. as most conversations with the reporter went, she seemed focused on everything but the person she was talking to. whether it was unintentional, or a meticulous mechanism of self - defense ... something she was unsure of herself.

she talks to the air between them. the charity cruise lulled to a stop in the growing dead of night, the multicolored afterglow illuminating both of their faces. alone and above - deck, the two of them look down at the aftermath ... people like ants below them dancing to an inaudible song, drunkenly unable to retire.

lois knows he doesn't show up for her. that the numerous events they cross paths at, is by complete coincidence. the two of them were like a dance. a push and pull of inane facades. liars that never call the bluff.

lois knows he waits for her. lonely on high, like a singular guardian of the night. and, like a ship to a lighthouse ... she follows her way back.

" everyone talks of a vapid billionaire draining daddy's bank account with a penchant for bikini models ... but i've never seen him. " while enunciated clearly, her words are barely at speaking level, mixed with an ambiguous softness.

and, for the first time since the beginning of their meeting, she turns to him. they're shoulder - to - shoulder, her chin tilted up to gaze into his eyes. not as a read, not as an intimidation tactic. they're dark, and glassy. when the firework explodes above them, she sees the entire display reflected in his sclera.

" you look at me every time. " with her unhurried way of speaking, he holds onto every word. " when we met ---- i thought i'd meet someone so similar to me, someone who only looks at his own reflection in my eyes. " theres a tinge of disappointment in her voice. " you're looking at me. "

at the slight purse of her lips, his eyes dart downward, then correct themselves.

" bruce ... i don't think you're a gentleman. " slender fingers smooth over his left suit pocket, fingertips almost dipping inside. as if they could touch his heart this way. her touch is tentative, and she never smiles. " i think ... you're afraid. "

lois lets them stay like this. for moments that felt like hours, the sparks cascading above them in a shower of color, drawing anyone's eyes away from the two of them. her hand slowly trails up to his tie. palm open, fingers barely ghosting the fabric.

lois's voice drops even lower, words leaving her lips at a whisper. " i never hesitate. and i don't leave my life in someone else's hands. " with the deftness of someone proficient in slight - of - hand, lois pulls him down at the base of his tie, her other hand steadying itself at his chest. in the same motion, do her lips capture his own, hands tightening on his person as it grew in intensity.

he returns the rhythm, lips sliding against one another in an almost hurried fervor. her eyes squeeze shut, his tie pressed into her white - knuckled grip. when she starts to feel light - headed, lois pulls herself off him with a very audible 'pop'.

pupils blown out, lois quickly wipes the saliva from her bottom lip, and attempts to neutralize her very red face. as cool as she started it, now, she looked like a deer in headlights. and, it's her turn to look at his lips. a bitten - red aftermath not dissimilar to her own. she hovers a moment at the lopsided lipstick stain on his mouth. almost instinctively, lois takes a shaky step back from him.

incoming transmission ... :: from @bats1gnals / wally west. ❝ you have a nice smile, has anyone ever told you that before? ❞ meme || accepting.

Her smile instantly drops.

Honeyed words don't work well on Artemis. She has never been one for sweetened promises, because they end in nothing but heartache and betrayal. And so, the rhetorical question is met with an icy gaze and steely eyes.

❝ What did you do? ❞ is the first thing that falls from her mouth, and she cannot keep from eyeing him suspiciously. She points at him accusingly, readying an insult on the tip of her tongue in case the result of her question is something completely out-of-pocket. Wally had a habit of throwing her off, no matter the situation.

❝ You did something, didn't you? ❞

her arms wind around his neck. she leans all her weight on bare toes, her stance unfailing in how it tilts. she’s beaming from ear to ear, an unselfconscious expression. all three of their faces beam back at them both just the same, framed above their heads in the very small hall. his bedroom is the size of her entire apartment, but he calls this corner unit of theirs home. it’s a place where bruce, selina, and holly all have their own cubbyholes. the ‘guest’ bedroom is theoretical — done up with blackout and a custom throw pillow she embroidered herself in his very symbol. he has a deeply blue satin pillowcase and a very comfortable hard pillow, all goosedown. she replaced the mattress just for him, all too aware, all too aware of the enormous stress his back is perpetually in (“fucking atlas,” she’ll snicker, and he’ll elbow her playfully in the ribs.).

and her? she doesn’t even know what home is. he sees it in her. she laughs and it’s low and grated and weary and heavy and light at once. it breaks above them. “that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. smooth talker.” she doesn’t miss a beat when she wraps her arms around him, stood en pointe so efficiently it adds three inches to her height. she’s not near his hulking countenance. she’s small in comparison, but it must not surprise him to feel how solid and unflinching, broad her embrace is. she holds onto him loosely. “tell me what home feels like. i suck at it. —come with, i’m taking my makeup off. you have, like, a sense for this shit, i swear.” it occurs to her, sometimes, how incredibly mismatched they are. the way the cat’s warm and soft and bright and loud and explosive and the bat is silent and sullen and warm and he radiates a comfort even he doesn’t know about. how they’re black and white respectively and he’d never think that about himself.

“—can i ask you a stupid, silly question?”

this u?

" unfortunately, we can't expect every Lex Luthor to be as formidable as yours truly. "

no,   he   doesn’t.   bruce   thinks   of   himself   as   broken,   missing   a   part   of   him   that   died   in   the   alley   with   his   parents,   leaving   shards   that   can   only   hurt   those   who   dare   to   approach.   he’s   self   conscious   that   true   good   people   don’t   put   on   a   mask   to   leap   buildings   every   night,   constantly   questioning   himself   what’s   the   difference   between   him   and   the   criminals   he   fight,   afraid   that   if   lets   someone   in   his   heart,   he’ll   drag   them   into   this   abyss. (@bats1gnals)

the clocktower's balcony looks across the rooftops of gotham. a sea of flickering lights as it's citizens go about their lives. it's sometime in the early morning, now. a few cars still carve a path through the streets. there's distant shouting and hollering from those returning home from a night on the town. none of them knowing how close to destruction they were. how close the city still is. barbara places a comforting hand on cass's arm. letting @bats1gnals know that's she's here. that she understands.

@bats1gnals sent:

something bad is going to happen, and there is nothing i can do to prevent it. maybe some time travel/universe shennanigans for bruce & thomas?

i know what you did last summer by lois duncan sentence starters

Thomas can't say he fully understands what's happening right now, only that it's strange and unusual. And this man telling him that there's something bad on it's way and nothing could stop it. The doctor has a hunch, he'd be a fool not to at least guess it involves himself in some way. Still, he doesn't want to know, if fate had plans for him in some future he hasn't reached yet, he doesn't want to know. What with men knowing their fates and fighting against it only to make it worse or happen much sooner than it should have.

"That may be so, but fighting against fate or the like has never turned out well for anyone. Or has effects beyond what's intended." Thomas might think this is all strange, but here he is, and he'll deal with it. "I mean there's so many stories about it, they have to hold some validity."

" WHY? I KNEW  you  were  home. "  dick  ducked  his  head  through  the  open window  and  performed  a  noiseless  somersault  across  the  floor  into  standing, popping back up onto his feet with a warm smile.  " it's your birthday, dude. we should do something. "