You Could Take A Million Years And I Would Love Your Analysis The Same. Always Put Yourself First.

You could take a million years and I would love your analysis the same. Always put yourself first.

That being said, it was torture waiting for your thoughts but I am nothing if not a patient woman, and you’re worth waiting for.

Let me just say, it is so fun having a dumb oc. dove isn’t stupid, she aware of how it looks to others and what people might think. Sadly she just doesn’t have enough options to be picky

Thee richest bachelor in the world finds her interesting enough to care about her well-being and offer her help in her time of need??? Suspicious… but what else is she to do🫤

I love your commentary, I read them to get inspired. You make me want to make her dumber. And change my plot until it blows your mind…

Which will definitely happen in the next season😈

"I Know What They're Thinking."

I'm not sure if I want to call this part 7 or part 6.5, regardless I'm posting it. I feel like I say this every time, but it picks up after this. Inspiration comes and goes these days, so yall just gon have to bear with me.

Series Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Dove (black OC)

Rating: PG-13; warnings: obsessive Bruce Wayne, sneaky Bruce Wayne, chipped nails, women's clothing sizing mention, cursing, barely edited.

Taglist[OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole1219 @ctrllovre

Her nails had been chipping since that night she got arrested. Dove couldn’t tell you when it first started. Maybe that night in the cold rain, pressed between the unregulated vigilante and the rough asphalt of the city. Maybe during the unconscious hours that followed that, when her body was moved to the soulless gray precinct. Maybe when damaged palms repeatedly smacked the steel table, straining to convey her innocence to the detective. 

Maybe afterward, when Dove had been rudely escorted to a cell, crammed already with other convicted bodies. When she had very little room to breathe, even less to turn and gather her bearings without hearing some sob story or boast fest. Perhaps a chip of mauve nail polish flaked off when that erratic woman stalked through the cell like a predator, grasped her hand to offer her a proposition. 

There were infinite possibilities when her nail polish began chipping, but Dove knew for sure that after her mild mind break, the polish had shed like a snake's skin. With it went her armor. Dove felt out of control, the itch she struggled with for so long came roaring back, filling her head with roaring thunder. 

It made her restless. 

She couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t look anyone in the eye. Everywhere she went, Dove could swear she smelled the sweet slightly nauseating odor of laughing gas and sweat. It made it hard to stay focused, and her an easy target for the police. Quickly the young woman earned the title ‘insubordinate’. Dove never knew loneliness like this before.

But then Bruce answered her call. And for a moment that dark feeling faded away.

She wasn’t prepared for it to return tenfold three months later.

***

Dove couldn’t help but fiddle with the buttons on the jacket he draped over her shoulders. The way it settled on her tense shoulders like a blanket soothed a toddler, it carried an inexplicable sense of security. The warmth of his body had remained trapped in the silk-lined fabric, thawing her from the horrors of being confined like an animal. 

A firm hand clasped the roundness of her shoulder, dragging her into the moment. The bustling movements and repetitive barking that characterized the police station rammed into her all at once. 

Her grip tightened on the button caught between her fingertips. 

“Ready to go?” No. Yes. Would the evening sun burn her after being deprived of it for so long?

“Yes.” Bruce led her through the corridor, out the door, and to the cherry red convertible that let all the sight-having citizens of Gotham know who was gracing their dangerous streets. The corvette played the perfect chariot for the golden Prince of Gotham, and Dove, in all her times of riding passenger, had never felt more unworthy. 

“Dove, are you okay?” Bruce watched her, her sullen attitude polluting the air around her. He hated seeing her like this, scared and broken. Luckily he knew how to fix it, but it would have to wait until the prerequisites were met. “You can talk to me, I won’t judge you.”

“I just,” her dam began to break. “Don’t know what to say. I-I don't know how to thank you. This was, you, what you did, how do I repay you?”

She couldn’t bear the look of pity she knew would be painted on his face, so burning eyes fell to her lap, watching her idle hands squirm in her lap. Her body flinched in the premium leather seat when a pale hand pierced her personal bubble to settle her restless fingers. 

“There is nothing to repay. You are someone I care about, I would do anything to help you.”

Dove looked at him head-on and opened her mouth to protest, to demand him to name his price because she’s lived long enough to know that nothing is free, but the gleam in his eyes stopped her before she could start. Even without getting to know him for the past few months, she had enough data in her brain to know Bruce Wayne was a stubborn person that came from a long line of equally stubborn individuals. 

By the flare of her nose, the billionaire knew the dragon had been defeated for now. Now for the next phase of his master plan. 

Dove’s demeanor slowly thawed out the further he drove them away from the precinct. Tense shoulders began to droop, twitching fingers calmed, her painfully stiff spine began to slouch, the fog of despair dissipated. The sullen woman worked up the energy to shift her focus from her lap to the window, watching the way the world passed by. 

Bruce had to resist jerking the steering wheel when a giggle escaped her cracked lips. 

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing to your billionaire mind. It always amuses me when people do double takes when they see this car. You can’t see their eyes but I know what they’re thinking. ‘Is that fucking Bruce Wayne?’ I always thought that when I saw you on my commute.”

Her tired voice perked up the longer she spoke, it warmed his ears. “Oh yeah?”

“The only other person that causes this reaction is Batman. He moves so quick and wears all that black so you can barely see him-”

Bruce slowed the car down to a stop as he waited for the light to change green. His jaw longed to clench and grind his molars against their opposites. It took no brain power to know what made his passenger stop her sentence. 

He hated that that was how she met his alter ego. The way her usually bright brown eyes were filled with nothing but panic and fear, fear of him, haunted him for days. He lost sleep thinking about how he was the one that turned her in, the reason she was detained in a cold cell downtown. 

It was all his fault and she didn’t know. Nor could she, not right now when things were so precarious. Bruce promised himself he would tell her soon, he had to. By his own hand, Bruce had trapped himself in a rock and a hard place. A splat of rain hitting the windshield broke the brooding man out of his thoughts.

“It never stops raining here. You know, I almost decided to move to Metropolis after hearing how bad the weather is in Gotham.” Dove said as her finger chased after a lone raindrop sliding down the tinted window, bare of the colored nail polish he remembered seeing the night of her arrest. 

“Oh yeah? What made you change your mind?”

“Bills. Everything is expensive in Metropolis. Rent, life insurance, cable, even car insurance and I don’t own a car! I calculated those numbers and signed the lease to my apartment the same day.”

“Gotham is cheap?”

“It's run down, Bruce. At least where I am. The same-sized apartment I got now is double the price in Metro. And it's not like rats are coming out the wall sockets or nothing, there’s too much crime for the landlords to charge an arm and a leg like they do in Metropolis.”

The light conversation distracted Dove from her demons. Instead of being mentally caged in the cell she could revisit the apartments she toured in the city before picking the one near Sheldon Station. 

“I think you just passed my turn, Bruce. Its a right on Rucha, remember-”

“Dove.” He spoke her name tensely. Bruce didn’t have to but for her sake, squeezed the wheel and twisted his grip to tell his unease. Like it pained him to deliver the next bit of news when it actually sent his heart racing with fervor. “I can’t in good conscious leave you alone there.”

Plump limps separated to express her shock. Before she could begin to protest, her savior put his hand up to stop her arguments. 

“Please, listen to me, Dove. I-” He sniffed his nose, seeming to hold back emotions he was too refined to express in public like this. “I don’t know who exactly you’ve gotten yourself involved with,”

Guilt coiled in her stomach like a cobra. Oh. Was she that awful and inconsiderate? For all he knew, Bruce could be getting himself involved with the biggest goons in Gotham for her sake. Was she really that self-absorbed? What was Dove thinking? Involving him in her plight. He was only trying to help her, the least she could do was hear him out. 

Paying no mind to the moving car, Dove failed to feel the increase in acceleration as she reached to touch his hand, soothe his mind, and coax out his thoughts. Times like this she wished he grew up normal, somewhere where showing emotions was okay.

“I don’t care either. I just want you safe. And the best way to do that is if you stay with me. At the manor.”

“Bruce-”

“I have the best security on earth. There isn’t another house for miles. No one pops up without a month’s notice. Alfred is trained in five forms of combat. You’ll be safe here. And that way, I won’t have to worry about you.” He ended that confession with a deep sigh, driving the point home. 

He cared so much about her, Dove realized. Her hips shifted if the premium leather seats. Outside the car, the beauty of Lemmars Park went ignored. The bridge that connected Uptown and the outskirts of the city loomed in the distance. Its overwhelming size didn't help to ease Dove’s nerves. She couldn’t even begin to see the other side of the bridge. The clouds and rain blocked what little light the streetlights provided the public. 

She wouldn't have to stay forever. Just a couple days, until her trial ended and her body found itself in the county jail or back on her worn mattress in her apartment she worked so hard to make cozy. 

Is Bruce asking for that much? A little staycation in the manor, being cared for and doted on by his lovely butler. Laughing and bonding with her friend. Learning new sides of his personality of the always posh and primped Bruce Wayne, sides that didn’t fit into his carefully molded character. Briefly, she wondered if he was the type to walk around in his draws or not.

Dove cast her eyes to his side profile. His jaw had tensed since he finished pleading his case. They neared the bridge. His grip on the wheel wavered before tightening until the leather squeaked.  Her hand had yet to move from his other. 

“I need to go home.”

Bruce cursed, out loud and at himself for falling for sucha stubborn mule of a woman. Was his tone not sappy enough? Should he have gone for a higher-pitched voice, and rubbed his jaw to showcase his distress instead of periodically gripping the wheel? It couldn’t be too late now. One last chance. 

“Dove-” 

“To pack up some clothes. Unless you have women’s clothing in a size 18 already in the guestroom’s closet?” Dove cracked the tiniest smile, those pretty crooked teeth lighting up the car. Bruce felt his chest concave. No, he didn’t have any clothing prepared for her in the guestroom.

Because he put the items in the master closet, next to his. 

“That wasn’t funny.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

“How?”

“How about some of my special étouffée for breakfast tomorrow?” The convertible dipped as it rolled off the streets of Uptown onto the paved smoothed concrete of the bridge. They were almost home. 

“Can’t wait.” Dove could feel the honesty in his response. Her heart skipped a beat.

Oh, dear.

I have 5 wips in front of me, but only 1 of you will be posted next week

I think i’ll do those bts x renaissance oneshots I posted about a while back

getting close to a follower milestone…how should we celebrate??

"Wrong one, Nanami-san!"

Welp guess who the cat done dragged back out of hell and outta her shell. Quick lil post, and yes I did just get braids.

Rating: PG | warnings: cursing probably, one asscheek squeeze, poorly edited

introducing Bambi, my newest reader stand-in

"Wait, you said you took zelle?! I didn’t bring cash.” Bambi looked back at the woman, bewildered. It was 3:40 pm, and she had been in the small braiding shop since 7:30 am. Her head hurt, her leg started cramping, her stomach been growling since noon, and her ass was numb like she got injected with novocaine on both cheeks. 

The struggles of being a bad bitch.

“No, no, no. my sister does zelle, but she is not here. I only do cash.” As she spoke through with accented tongue, the braider had begun retracting her hands, resting the tools of her trade that had been working non-stop all day. Bambi could feel her irritation grow. As much as this whole situation peeved her off, she would be damned if she returned home with half her hair done. 

“Okay, lemme call my boyfriend. He’ll bring the money.”

“Okay, honey. Call him now. I take break now.” Bambi nodded, getting out of the worn stylist chair to get her blood circulating while her fingers tapped on the phone screen. The call was brief, all she had to do was ask for him to stop by with the money. A question from him had Bambi call out to the braider, who had moved to the front of the shop to check in with her family and other clients. 

“Gena? What time will we be done?” The woman paused her vivid storytelling to respond to Bambi. 

“Two more hours. Remy, come help me finish and we’ll leave after. Okay?” Called to attention, a little girl no older than 12 removed her earplugs and put down her iPad. 

“Okay, momma.” Bambi relayed the message to the receiver, smiling, and pressed the red end button when he promised he would personally come to deliver the money.

“He coming with the money, hunny?” 

“Yes.”

“Good, good. Okay, let’s finish.” 

Two hours passed torturously, her focus spit between pressing down on whatever braid was being tugged on to relieve pain and prevent her follicles from getting ripped out, and watching the foreign romance drama playing on the mounted tv via the mirror’s reflection. In the two hours, Bambi watched with envy and scrunched nose as two of the seven other clients leave, the scent of hairspray and small drips of boiling water showing their trail. 

“Stay still, hunny.” With a minute nod, Bambi did as she was told, steam licking the fine hairs of her ears and neck. “Almost done. Where is your boyfriend?”

“He’s-” the sound of the old bell above the door being ringed silenced Bambi. Call her crazy, but she likes to think her senses were acute when it came to her boyfriend. She could tell by the summer breeze that filled the room he was in the room. 

“Bambi?” Yuji’s upbeat voice reached all the way to the back where she, Gena, and Remy were stationed. 

“Here.” He followed her reply into the back, pushing beads that separated the front from the back out his way. He gave a soft smile, in awe of seeing her in such a state. It wasn’t often anyone got a glimpse of her primping and preening. Most of the time the group only got the end result, hair and accessories already perched in place. The Bambi in front of him looked vulnerable, unease written clearly in her expression. 

“Who do I give it to?” he looked at the other two people in the corner, fighting the muscles in his face wanting to keep his expression neutral. 

“Gena.” Without hesitation, Gena got up from the chair, hand out, ready to accept her payment for almost twelve hours of labor. 

“Thank you. Your boyfriend is very handsome, Hunny.” Gena quipped as her fingers ripped open the sealed envelope. 

“He’s not him, Yuji, where is Nanami?” She could feel young eyes peep up to her, to Yuji, towards the front, before refocusing on dipping the ends of the braids. Remy’s mother gasped, done counting her payment. 

“Too much! Almost ten thousand.” She uttered, mind frazzled at the amount in her hand. Bambi gave a scrupulous glance at the braider before looking at Yuji, who had turned a soft pink. 

“I’m sorry, give me one second!” Ripping the money out Gena’s hand, the young man flounced back to the front, ringing the bell as he opened the door to talk to his boss. 

“Wrong one, Nanami-san.” The occupants of the shop went hush, waiting on how the mysterious man that had been pacing back and forth like a predator, talking swift and curt on the phone, would respond. A few still chirped on though.

Bambi heard the bell ring once again, ignoring the whispers between mother and daughter trying to speculate who the hell was in their shop. Bambi liked Remy’s guess of ‘conman’ the least. Nanami would never do something so lowbrow as conning. 

That was her territory. 

He came in with the next gust of wind, trenchcoat flowing behind him like a cape. The conversations come to a full halt then, all the patrons and workers fixated on his simple movements. Bambi swore even the beads moved out of the way for the man as he crossed over to the back, the phone still pressed to his ear, the ticked-off expression he wore morphing into a fonder one. He tapped the mute button on the screen to address the room.

“Sorry, ma’am. My mistake.” He said nothing more, producing a new unopened envelope for Gena. This package was noticeably less dense. Just as she accepted her payment, Remy squeezes the last of the boiling water out of the fibers of synthetic hair. Bambi can’t control the groan released from her spirit. 

Yuji followed his boss back in and was about to offer a hand to help her out of the chair until Nanami gave him an unreadable expression. She got her boyfriend’s hand instead.

Bambi smiled cheerily as he gently pulled her out of the chair, raising their joint hands towards the yellowed fluorescent lighting. He looked at her like a king does his god. Her long braids flew behind her when she fell into his embrace. Letting go of her hand, Nanami wrapped his arm around her waist, securing her to him. 

“Absolutely stunning.” His low tone sent shivers down her spine. Already she could feel skin melt and stick to his aura. He didn’t care about the others in the room with them, he only had eyes for his Bambi. 

“Thank you,” Swallowing the lust in her throat, Bambi turned to Gena and her daughter. “Thank you, see ya’ll next time.”

“Okay, hunny. Goodnight.” Gena spoke automatically, her focus refusing to move from the stack of money in her hand. It was still twice as much as she charged. She didn’t even attempt to cover her daughter’s eyes or admonish the couple when Nanami gave a quick but strong squeeze to his girlfriend’s ass. 

“Let’s go. I have to make another stop and get a new envelope and-” The voice on his phone increased its volume, reminding everyone he was on a call. Kissing Bambi’s gleaming forehead, he mouthed a sorry as he pressed the mute button again. 

“Yeah, I’m here.”

Bambi waved as she left the shop, happy to be free from the pain and suffering. The door hadn’t even closed all the way when she heard the explosion of conversation they left in their wake. She turned to Yuji and poked him in the cheek, right under his scar. 

“Make a stop at Whataburger, yeah? I’m craving a shake.” 

“Sure thing, boss.” 

I-

DIRTY GREASE???? GODAMN LOGAN

But for real, your responses will always be the best part of posting a new chapter. With what I planned next, your gonna have smoke with everyone is the dc universe😬😬

"That Girl is No Good."

Act two is beginning to write itself, until then here are what I like to call intermission pieces.

Series Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Dove (black OC) [mentioned]

Rating: PG-13 | warnings: none? public opinion and scrutiny, cursing

Taglist[OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole1219 @ctrllovre

“What the public wants to know is who is this floozy that’s been caught time and time again, dangling off Mr.Wayne’s arm?” Judy’s fiery red tresses shook from the conviction in her voice, comparable to an agitated horse. She eyed the camera lens, attempting to convey the emotion brewing in her chest to her viewers. After months of failed lives and low viewerships on her blog, the woman had finally found her niche. 

Celebrity Gossip.

And who was the biggest celebrity this side of the western hemisphere if not Bruce Wayne? At first, the man gave nothing exciting to report on that could rally public interest. But now, this woman, this Dove Cartwright, had garnered interest the more he was caught with her. And that made Judy a very popular woman. She didn't understand why so few public personalities talked about this hot piece of news.

“Mr. Wayne is not a saint, we’ve all heard of the legendary parties he throws and the somewhat questionable meetings he has with some of Gotham’s infamous. But this woman is different. Poor, fat, black, with a criminal record, a key suspect in an ongoing investigation with a gang that is known for terrorizing innocents. I’m speaking out of a place of worry for Mr. Wayne. 

“I’ll take some callers now. Caller number one you’re on the air.

“Hi, my name is Michelle and I know for a fact that woman is a gold digger! She lives in the same neighborhood my ex does and it's nothing over there but future criminals and loser has-beens.”

Thank you Michelle for your concern and support. Next caller.”

“My name is Rich and I used to get my pants hemmed by her at Spinelli. She’s nothing but a girl looking for a meal ticket. She used to feel me up and press her breast against my legs like a bitch in heat. It's a real shame Mr. Wayne doesn’t know what he’s inviting into his life. That girl is no good.”

“Thank you for sharing that information Rich, I’m sure Mr. Wayne will open his eyes soon. Next Caller.”

“What’s up Gotham, it's Santana in the mix and I just wanna say all of yall is some haters. Yall big mad Mr. Wayne done found himself a baddie and yall jealous and bitter cause yall wish it was you all snuggled up with -”

“I’m so sorry to my audience for letting that thing assault your ears with nonsense. Maybe we should take a small break-” Three sharp knocks on her oak doors shocked her still. No one visits Judy. Her family had all but washed their hands of her years ago and she never connected with any woman she met in the 10+ years she’s been alone. Glancing at the setup, she could see the chat asking her who was at the door. 

“One second. Let’s take a small break.” she addressed both groups at once. Giving a small smile to the camera, Judy did a swift pivot and made her way to the door. She opened it without hesitation. The sight that welcomed her made her insides coil. 

“Judith Snorfeld?” It was a singular man, dressed in a sharp business suit with a manilla envelope gripped securely in his hand. By the second, Judy could feel her blood circulate faster. 

“Yes. Why are you-” Her breath rushed out her mouth as her body recoiled from the thick envelope that found itself forced into her embrace. She scrambled to secure the papers, all the while staring the man down. 

“Mr. Wayne is asking nicely that any and all posts you’ve made about him and Ms. Cartwright be taken down immediately.” Judy gawked at the man. He displayed no emotion or hint of an opinion. 

“You…he can’t be serious. It’s celebrity gossip, what I’m doing is-”

“I am just the messenger ma’am. If you don’t believe me or listen to Mr. Wayne’s kind request, those documents from his lawyers in your hands are more than enough to explain the situation.”

“But-”

“Good evening.” Judy watched, shock still freezing her body to the threshold of her quaint home, as the man in the sharp suit left the way she assumed her come. Slowly, she shifted her eyes to her torso, where the manilla folder had been pressed and secured.

She didn't bat an eye as the oak door closed without her body acting as a doorstopper. Couldn't draw in a single breath down the hall back to her tiny office, back to her waiting audience. She can't think of what to say, her words had been silenced and locked deep inside of her as fear took hold of her.

Judy glanced at the computer screen, chat lines obscuring her reflection. Her lips separate to utter something, a flimsy excuse to cut the show short, but her eyes pick out a colored piece of paper in the mess that was her desk before she could get anything out.

She's sick to her stomach. She wants to vomit. Of all people to blab about, why would she pick Bruce Wayne?

Now she's going to lose her viewers. Her short-lived steady stream of income. And her apartment.

"Fuck you, Dove Cartwright."

"That Girl is No Good."

Act two is beginning to write itself, until then here are what I like to call intermission pieces.

Series Masterlist

Bruce Wayne x Dove (black OC) [mentioned]

Rating: PG-13 | warnings: none? public opinion and scrutiny, cursing

Taglist[OPEN]: @prettyvintageafternoon @zennydaye @lalaooopsie @leahnicole1219 @ctrllovre

“What the public wants to know is who is this floozy that’s been caught time and time again, dangling off Mr.Wayne’s arm?” Judy’s fiery red tresses shook from the conviction in her voice, comparable to an agitated horse. She eyed the camera lens, attempting to convey the emotion brewing in her chest to her viewers. After months of failed lives and low viewerships on her blog, the woman had finally found her niche. 

Celebrity Gossip.

And who was the biggest celebrity this side of the western hemisphere if not Bruce Wayne? At first, the man gave nothing exciting to report on that could rally public interest. But now, this woman, this Dove Cartwright, had garnered interest the more he was caught with her. And that made Judy a very popular woman. She didn't understand why so few public personalities talked about this hot piece of news.

“Mr. Wayne is not a saint, we’ve all heard of the legendary parties he throws and the somewhat questionable meetings he has with some of Gotham’s infamous. But this woman is different. Poor, fat, black, with a criminal record, a key suspect in an ongoing investigation with a gang that is known for terrorizing innocents. I’m speaking out of a place of worry for Mr. Wayne. 

“I’ll take some callers now. Caller number one you’re on the air.

“Hi, my name is Michelle and I know for a fact that woman is a gold digger! She lives in the same neighborhood my ex does and it's nothing over there but future criminals and loser has-beens.”

Thank you Michelle for your concern and support. Next caller.”

“My name is Rich and I used to get my pants hemmed by her at Spinelli. She’s nothing but a girl looking for a meal ticket. She used to feel me up and press her breast against my legs like a bitch in heat. It's a real shame Mr. Wayne doesn’t know what he’s inviting into his life. That girl is no good.”

“Thank you for sharing that information Rich, I’m sure Mr. Wayne will open his eyes soon. Next Caller.”

“What’s up Gotham, it's Santana in the mix and I just wanna say all of yall is some haters. Yall big mad Mr. Wayne done found himself a baddie and yall jealous and bitter cause yall wish it was you all snuggled up with -”

“I’m so sorry to my audience for letting that thing assault your ears with nonsense. Maybe we should take a small break-” Three sharp knocks on her oak doors shocked her still. No one visits Judy. Her family had all but washed their hands of her years ago and she never connected with any woman she met in the 10+ years she’s been alone. Glancing at the setup, she could see the chat asking her who was at the door. 

“One second. Let’s take a small break.” she addressed both groups at once. Giving a small smile to the camera, Judy did a swift pivot and made her way to the door. She opened it without hesitation. The sight that welcomed her made her insides coil. 

“Judith Snorfeld?” It was a singular man, dressed in a sharp business suit with a manilla envelope gripped securely in his hand. By the second, Judy could feel her blood circulate faster. 

“Yes. Why are you-” Her breath rushed out her mouth as her body recoiled from the thick envelope that found itself forced into her embrace. She scrambled to secure the papers, all the while staring the man down. 

“Mr. Wayne is asking nicely that any and all posts you’ve made about him and Ms. Cartwright be taken down immediately.” Judy gawked at the man. He displayed no emotion or hint of an opinion. 

“You…he can’t be serious. It’s celebrity gossip, what I’m doing is-”

“I am just the messenger ma’am. If you don’t believe me or listen to Mr. Wayne’s kind request, those documents from his lawyers in your hands are more than enough to explain the situation.”

“But-”

“Good evening.” Judy watched, shock still freezing her body to the threshold of her quaint home, as the man in the sharp suit left the way she assumed her come. Slowly, she shifted her eyes to her torso, where the manilla folder had been pressed and secured.

She didn't bat an eye as the oak door closed without her body acting as a doorstopper. Couldn't draw in a single breath down the hall back to her tiny office, back to her waiting audience. She can't think of what to say, her words had been silenced and locked deep inside of her as fear took hold of her.

Judy glanced at the computer screen, chat lines obscuring her reflection. Her lips separate to utter something, a flimsy excuse to cut the show short, but her eyes pick out a colored piece of paper in the mess that was her desk before she could get anything out.

She's sick to her stomach. She wants to vomit. Of all people to blab about, why would she pick Bruce Wayne?

Now she's going to lose her viewers. Her short-lived steady stream of income. And her apartment.

"Fuck you, Dove Cartwright."