#fauxdeiu

( @fauxdeiu ) the line clicks. rome goes, ' there's some fucker doin' it again. ' he stops pacing just long enough to stare at the newest unread email. he deletes it, and another pops up in its place. this bastard's persistent.

' melrose. james mel - fuckin whatever. conspiracy documentarian. parasite. he's making this three-part series for netflix. he keeps emailing me through different addresses because i blocked the first six. can i sue him? '

she'd been keeping tabs on him from the moment he stepped foot into gotham. a new masked vigilante, with no affiliation to the bat, was too strange to a be coincidence. too suspicious to not send alarm bells ringing. better to be prepared, to monitor him long before she ever materialised in his ear, then to be caught unawares. had suspicion been quelled over time? well, the jury was still out on that one. daredevil certainly hadn't done anything to hurt her city, hadn't aided any villains or rouges, and his background check had comeback mostly clean. quite the known figure in hell's kitchen.

it still wasn't enough for her. trust had to be earnt, not so freely given for a good report card.

❝ you can call me oracle. ❞ her voice crackles down the line. distorted in a way that if he tried to look for her, to find the woman at the end of the line, nothing could be distinguished. she might as well be a bot. an automated system informing him that he's entitled to compensation for the recent car accident he wasn't in. oracle likes it best that way. her anonymity protects her. most importantly, it protects the ones she loves most. she leans forward in her chair, gaze focused on the figure that sticks out on the grainy footage. ❝ you don't have to like it, but i'm the best hope you've got. i'd hate for you to have come all this way only to leave empty handed. ❞ camera zooms in. she can just about make out the features that peak out from under his mouth. she waits for any reaction to her voice. a twitch of the lip or sniff of the nose. ❝ and i have a safehouse a block away from your location where you can recuperate and we can come up with a plan. ❞

 ( ! )         ♡          the  office  is  lit  by  the  new  york  sun,  slanted  between  the  shadows  of  skyscrapers.  it’s  a  dreamy  casting,  removed  almost  entirely  from  the  world  around  (  returned  to  earth  by  the  sounds  of  city  life,  deadened  by  brick  ).  it’s  quiet  here,  in  it’s  peculiar  way.  matthew  made  even  peace  to  feel  embodied.  he  gave  the  allowance  of  consideration  before  speaking  without  the  unease  some  silences  carry.  gwendolyne  shifts  &  plucks  at  skirt  hem  when  it  rides  up  her  thigh  —  an  absentminded  habit,  a  way  to  fill  the  moment  as  she  weighs  her  thoughts.                 ❛❛  everyone  changes.  ❜❜                she  studies  the  grain  in  the  wooden  floor.  rings  of  a  tree  sliced  long,  like  screaming  mouths.  gwen  purses  her  lips,  darting  her  eyes  away.                  ❛❛  we  grow  up.  sometimes  we  become  someone  different  than  we  thought  we  were.  or  we  see  people  in  ways  we  didn’t  before.  ❜❜

                   ❛❛  i  don’t  mind  people  changing,  but  i  can’t  stand  the  lying.  or  -  or  …  someone  else  deciding  what  i  can  handle,  what  i’m  allowed  to  know,  ❜❜                  peter.  a  stranger  in  an  instant.  gwen  draws  a  soft,  shaky  breath  as  she  remembers  each  moment  of  that  day.  leadened  body   hadn’t  allowed  her  the  freedom  to  run,  passed  between  goblin  &  spider  like  a  spoil  from  war.  both  men  believed  they  were  protecting  something  more  when  they  put  on  their  masks  —  but  the  results  didn’t  differ.  gwendolyne  caught  in  the  implosion  of  their  hidden  truths,  almost  buried  beside  her  parents  in  trinity  cemetery.                   ❛❛  i  can  live  with  change,  but  i  think  we  deserve  to  know  the  people  we’re  living  with.  ❜❜

his face does this strange little twitch, caught somewhere between outrage and ouch. his hands dip south on instinct, as if his balls have already been earmarked for consumption and he ought to be taking this threat more seriously.

' see, this is my fuckin problem with you, ' he goes. instead of listening. mistake. ' you say this insane shit in a tone that makes it sound completely achievable, 'cause now i'm sitting here wondering if that's a figure of fuckin speech or if you've genuinely thought through the fuckin mechanics. '