#optionally

Ghostwriting: The process of writing an article, a book, an essay, a song, or any other written piece under the name of the person who commissions you.

 Step 1: Interview the client.

 The whole situation is deeply ridiculous.

 You are, on a very rare sunny day in Gotham, dangling over a tank of jokerized piranhas in a rickety wooden chair and a very ugly Christmas sweater with Hyenas snapping at your socked feet while the maniac holding you by the collar continues to monologue.

 This is not how you want to end up on front-page news. So help you god, it's not.

 In the interest of not dying in your aunt Rowena's worst present, you speak up. "You... what, you want me to write a romance novel about you and Batman?"

 "Yes, yes, what about my explanation wasn't clear to you," Joker snaps. The part about the electrified fish, you think and keep to yourself because that hand around your shirt collar is looking incredibly loose. He sighs dramatically and points to the messy collage of pictures on the far wall. "I clearly explained it on the diagram."

"Right..." You squint. Ah, you see it now. Gotham must have supplanted the idea of drawing hearts on your crush's pictures with green, twirly mustaches and googly eyes. Makes sense. If any shit hole was going to do it, it's Gotham. "How long are you thinking exactly?"

Joker's forehead wrinkled for a moment then the moment extended until you began to suspect that he was just trying to see if he wrinkled his forehead just right to form the numbers. "Oh, how long is that one with three whosie whatsits?" It's your turn to look confused. He flaps his hand to make a swinging motion that nearly drops you into the tank. You suddenly know all the words to the Lord's Prayer. "The one with the mouse, the duck, and the dog." You're starting to suspect he's hallucinating this book. "There was a french turtle narrating it."

 Oh.

 "The Three Musketeers?"

 "That one!"

 "That's…” You search your memory. “...1.5 million words."

 "And?"

 "700 pages."

 "And?"

Step 2: Make sure you understand the voice of the person you're writing for.

 The process of turning a 200-page manuscript into confetti is a very messy one which the Joker enjoys doing in front of you immensely.

 "Garbage."

 You gape, watching him throw it all into the air while turning his nose up at you. "You barely read it!"

 "Garbage," he repeats then crosses his arms and with a distinctly Pepe le Pew accent he says, "Gar-baaaage."

 "But—"

 "Gar-baaaaage."

 You settle back into your chair. Baffled, you stare at him and he sniffs like you're the one acting rude. You get a little misty-eyed thinking about the amount of paper that was just wasted. "What about it was... garbage?"

"Well first off all," he says straightening up, "Where is the spice? Where is the drama? This is about as bland as my Nana's oatmeal." There is a brief flickering urge to ask him whether he means cyanide when he says spice but you don't only because he speaks up again. "And see here," he says pointing to the newly pieced together page, "does that sound like old Batsy to you?"

 "I guess not?"

 "And what about this," he jabs at a passage like it just insulted his mother, "This sounds nothing like me."

 "Right... My apologies. Do you..."know what you actually sound like? "... have any writing samples."

 "If I had any, I wouldn't need you."

 Fair point.

 "Oh, don't look so glum, chum. If you really want to get to know my work, you have to go back to the classics."

 Oh, joy, you think. "I guess I could, uh, look up early news reports..." He gives you a look. "... or I could, uh," find a better source of money, "I could get it from the source (?)."

 He huffs a little less irritated. "My earliest stand-up, of course."

 You blink. "You want me to time travel?"

 "Don't be ridiculous. All of my routines are on VHS."

 Time travel then.

  ()

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no," you hiss frantically as Bub, one of Two-face's terror twins, shuts the door in your face with a definitive thud. "Hey, hey, Bub. C'mon! Your boss at least owes me a coin toss before you say no."

 There's a moment. A lot of noises and a lot of racket then the door opens again.

 A man split down the middle slams the door open, glowering down at you. You smile and proffer a coin. He squints at it and bats it away, smoothly transitioning into flicking his own.

Step 3: Find the themes.

 Dick Grayson is a man who, normally, prides himself on having seen it all— giant robots, shapeshifting aliens, space cops, a man in black kevlar fighting crime so he can miss Thursday's therapy appointment.  He's pretty confident that nothing would surprise him.

 Wouldn't it be funny if he was wrong?

 Dick Grayson, for once in his life, literally stands corrected.

 Crouched in front of a wall plastered with scraps of paper and pictures of Batman and a various assortment of kinks all connected with bright marigold orange, you look up, pen tapping on your chin. "I think," you say with all the seriousness this does not deserve, "I figured out Batman's kinks."

 "I will pay you not to tell me," comes Dick's impossibly quick response.

 You ignore him and the wallet seemingly levitating out of his pocket. It seems to fly over your head that the offer to pay you was not, in any sense, a joke. It is closer to a threat.  But you press on anyway with feverish enthusiasm. "This," you point to a sticky note with omegaverse in the biggest, boldest print where all the messily scrawled arrows are pointed to, "This is the key to the kingdom."

 Dick, in spite of all the little voices in his head whispering better ideas, decides to humor you.  "Ok, how is batman," he squints, "'a furry?"

 You wave your arms frantically at the mess of pictures then tap vigorously on one of the grainy CCTV photos. Dick tilts his head, narrows his eyes at it, then figures this is why he hates playing charades. "You think he's a furry because he's... not photogenic?"

 "No. No, he— Dick, Dickerson, Dick Tracy, can't you see? It all makes sense! Think about it!"

 "I really don't want to." 

 "He dresses like a bat, dates a woman who dresses like a cat, and all his stuff is animal themed. I've connected the dots."

 Dick wonders how much sleep you've gotten and Dick wonders how much sleep he's getting if this is all starting to make sense to him.  "Uhuh," he says unwillingly taking the information in, "Is this your blackmail-batman-get-rich-quick scheme cus I gotta say this is a lot and I mean a lot of work." Dick thinks, even the GCPD hasn't put this much effort into finding out who Batman is, as he walks over. His brows wrinkle as he takes in the full breadth of your research. "Are those ... police reports?"

  Shit.

 "Naw," you wave your hand, "I wish. But these are old articles, these are testimonials from people who've interacted with him, these are psych profiles from experts..."

 Dick's mouth goes a little dry. "I'm guessing you're getting a pretty good picture of what kind of guy Batman is, huh."

 "Just about."

 He swallows dry and the possibility goes down like a large pill. "So... any guesses?" 

 "Sort of."

 Dick's lips flatten as he tries to work through the scenarios and how he can divert your investigation. He tilts his head in a way that reminds most people of a curious puppy. "Who's top of the list?" He asks innocently.

 You hum, pinning another picture onto the wall. "I don't really know. Haven't had time since the Joker's getting pissy about me not showing him a new manuscript."

 Those words make sense individually but not in that order.

 Dick blinks. "I'm sorry?"

 "Oh, I'm working for the Joker."

 "I'm sorry?" Dick repeats a little higher and louder.

 You seem to reconsider your phrasing because Dick looks genuinely concerned and possibly a little pale. "I'm ghostwriting a Romance Novel for him," you clarify, "Speaking of which, you're pretty good with tech, yeah?"

 Dick is still stuck on: "working for the joker" and "romance novel", so he just nods. You clap your hands together excitedly. "Great! Two-face isn't going to kill me!"

 "I'm sorry?”

Step 4: Be flexible

 You are an absolute goon.

 You are an absolute, categorical goon.

 Dick's laughing hysterically in your ear as you print off the last few pages of the manuscript. You, too, are laughing like a maniac. 6 months. Six-fucking-months, seven hundred and five pages, and more the 1.5 million pages later you have a finished manuscript called 50 Shades of Green (working title).  You've got tears in your eyes and you swear you're gonna quit writing the second this shit is released into the world. You might even change your name as a precaution because this thing probably violates several human rights you don't even know about.

 Who cares though?

 It's done.

 You cackle madly as you shut the door, ready to run to amusement mile to submit your final draft and run to Arkham to have yourself committed. If you're lucky and Two-face isn't hogging their time, you could get Dr. Hodgins and talk to them about Chewy and their other succulents.

 Everything stops. Breathing, thoughts, pulse— all stop when your eyes land on the large shadow looming in your living room.

 Shit, you think, taking a step back, body hitting the breakfast nook. You knew this whole thing was some sort of crime. You knew it. Your mouth goes dry and the color drains from your skin. Batman's going to kill you.

 He shifts, stepping closer. You have a thought. A small despairing thought that you might die crying and get tears all over the transcript. That's so much paper wasted. 

 The Batman stops and looks between you and the bundle of papers in your arms.

 "We need to talk."

 You flick your eyes to your phone reflexively.

 "Alone."

 Dick makes a protesting noise but the glare from Batman overrules any of Dick's protests.

 Batman nods, satisfied. He says something. Your brain fizzes out and the words become jumbled.

 You clutch the papers protectively to your chest. "You... what, want to buy the rights to the book?"

 "Yes."

 You blink. It's very strange to feel protective over a project you could not wait to get rid of just two minutes ago. Your brows wrinkle. Even if you did want to sell it, you don't technically have the rights. Well, you do. Sort of. But you like being alive and not on the Joker's shit list and you tell Batman as much.

 Batman nods. It's a surreal moment when Batman sits on your couch. Even more surreal when he takes a pen and a check book out.

 "How much?"

 "The Joker..."

 "I can take care of that."

 You pause. It's Batman. The man has a pretty good track record so far. You flick your eyes to the floor. Could you live with yourself if you charged Batman full price? It was one thing to scam the Joker, another whole entire world away kind of thing to scam Batman. You sigh. "I charged Joker $1 per word but I usually charge a flat fee of between $100,000 to $250,000 depending on how long the book is," you answer honestly. Looking at the book you have in your hands and the messy conspiracy theory wall, you might wanna charge at least $300k. You sigh again.

 "I can pay you the original amount owed," he says as if it's nothing, "it might take some time to go through though. All I need is all the files and research you've collected."

 You nod. Dumbstruck. You're not exactly sure about the legalities of this but you ask him to make a written promissory note to leave you along with the check he gave.

 The legality of this whole horror show is questionable but one thing you've learned about ghostwriting is that you have to be flexible.

   [Bonus section]

Step 5: Cover your tracks.

 Step 5.1: Get rid of the evidence.

 Jason's blustering. "That's gotta be the stupidest reason to drop out of college."

 Dick's brow ticks. He's not in the mood to deal with Jason's snark, not because his darling little brother just drained his pot of coffee, not because the little shit decided to track Gotham gunk all over his perfectly nice hardwood floors, and certainly not because said shit-head is sitting high and mighty on his kitchen counter being snarky about his life decisions. It's because, once again, Bruce is being petty. And Dick would rather spend his energy on being petty back rather than deal with Jason's snark.

 "You did not have to read an erotica about the Joker and B while panicking whether your project partner has accidentally figured out your secret identity. How would you like it if I described vividly how the Joker used electric fish to give B a hard on?" Dick snaps in one quick barrage of syllables.

 Jason looks and feels like Dick just threw bricks in his face. After a beat, he says, "You have a copy, right?"

 "Duh." Dick looks over his shoulder. "You sure you wanna read it?"

  A mean grin spreads over Jason's features. "Yanno, I gotta fucked up sense of humor."

 Dick knows cause he's got one too. "Fine."

 "Fine?" Jason's teeth flash and his features look more mischievous than threatening.

 "On one condition."

 ()

 Dick hadn't meant for this to get so out of hand.

 "Hi, I'm Vicky Vale, and tonight we'll be having the first meeting of Vicky's Viral Book Club. Naturally, we're gonna start with Gotham's very own hit- The Clown that Wanked Me (Batman)! Now many Gothamites know Batman, but they don't know Batman, and some speculate that he might even be Bruce Wayne. Stay tuned for more after the break!"

 It's not like Dick knew Jason was going to release the audiobook publicly or that Jason was going to do it at all. He may have underestimated Jason. He could not be more proud.

 "Jason... son... Jaylad... I'll increase your allowance by 10K if you do this one lil favor for your old man," Bruce begs. Poor guy doesn't know he's on speaker phone. Dick tries his best to choke on his Thai food in silence.

 "C'mon old man, I got principles. You can't just buy me out," Jason insists, sounding a little wounded, but he looks pleased as punch from Dick's perspective.

 "Jason, this is not how Gotham finds out who Batman is." Bruce sounds furious. Hal or Ollie must have heard about this whole thing already. "How did you even get a copy?"

 At that, Dick can't suffer in silence anymore and ends up laughing hysterically while choking. It's some kind of psychic ability at this point to sense Bruce's glare without visuals. Bruce has no tangible proof he is actually involved though. Dick made sure to be thorough about that.

 "Sucks to suck, old man," Jason cuts in. Absolutely delighted. "Besides, abso-fucking-lutely no one believes it's you." Jason, with a shit-eating grin, sends a rather scathing article denying that Batman could ever be Bruce Wayne.

 There's a shuffle and a soft thud that indicates that Bruce has set the phone down. When Bruce speaks again, his voice is slightly muffled like he's a bit of a distance away.

 Distraught, he asks, "Alfred, do you think I’m a big dumb idiot who's only use is his good looks, money, and being an excellent father?"

 Alfred with all the prim composure he's known for replies, " yes master Bruce, you are as the kids say, 'an absolute dumbass'."

 Step 5.2: The witnesses.

 "You got a call." Mai's got your phone pinched between her fingers, dangling precariously at an angle. You frown. You... don't get calls. She does. That's the point of an agent, isn't it?

 She shakes the phone at you and you take it because you feel like she's going to drip it. You don't recognize the number but answer it anyway.

 A voice you hadn't heard from since your first semester of college rings in your ear. "Hey," Dick says with a laugh like no time has passed, "look on Gotham Gazette's page."

 You do.

 You regret it almost immediately but you did it.

 "Gotham's hottest new book: The Clown that Wanked Me (Batman)! read by a mysterious voice."

 You skim over the article and there's a link. A link to the audiobook and on the page for the audiobook, there's a link to the PDF, a description,  and a whole slew of reviews. "Description: I decided to make an audiobook version of Joker's self insert fanfiction with Batman. Enjoy ;]." Huh. That is definitely your manuscript. Those are definitely positive reviews.

  "the most reluctant wank i've ever had"

 "content is shit but the narrator's voice is sexy"

 "it's written pretty well but I gotta ask if both the narrator and the writer are well"

 "when's the sequel gonna come out"

 You're floored. "What the fuck," you murmur.

 There's a snort then a chuckle. "Relax," he says, opening a soda can, "no one knows it's you. They all think it's the Joker."

 Fuck, you hope so. You keep scrolling, building up mixed feelings over the whole thing when a thought occurs to you. "... Are— Is this you blackmailing me?"

"Nope," he says. He's buzzing a little then adds, "maybe."

 What the fuck. "Nice to hear from you too then."

 Dick snorts. You snort too. You glance at the script you were working on and well, since he's already on the line, you might as well shoot your shot. "Any chance you're interested in being a one-off detective in a copaganda show?" You vaguely remember Dick complaining that Bruce said he couldn't hack it as a cop. Next best thing, right?

 "In exchange for my silence?"

 "Yeah. That and if anyone can sweet talk the producer into not firing me if I get named for that whole Gotham debacle, it's you."