#murderisntmywork

[eisernedrossel-archive]

murderisntmywork started following you

{ A rapid twirl on her heels could indicate just how much, exactly, was the small girl in purple and green startled by realisation of being followed. Latest paranoia speaking, perhaps. She was always on her toes. Unsettled like a bird feeling caged, struggling to get free, foolishly beating her head into the bars. Speaking of her head, it was in quite a mess. Taped broken nose, bruises and messy hair, and all. }

Do I know ya, mister?.. 

[bredforperfection-blog]

murderisntmywork started following you

Baba? [The toddler pokes him with the end of his plush toy, the pointed end of one wing jabbing at him.] 

[thisisyourfuturearchive-blog]

i love khat more than my own mother

[indecenttimes]

murderisntmywork started following you

Bruce...

[justpackingheat-blog]

murderisntmywork started following you

Bruce. There somethin' you want here? If you're here by "accident", the door is that way. 

[thisisyourfuturearchive-blog]

. heart's a mess ,

Pick apart the pieces of your heart Let me peer inside Let me in where only your thoughts have been Let me occupy your mind as you do mine

The storm outside raged hard against the clear windows of the old Wayne Manor. Leaning against the window frame, freckled forehead meeting the cold glass of the pane was Barbara Gordon-- yet again immersed in her own thoughts. Occasionally, you could hear the smallest of sighs push past her full, red lips, but for the majority of the time she remained silent. Crimson hair fell in large curls around her shoulders. For ages, Gotham had thought her crazed, and previous to the event of Dick Grayson's death, Barbara silently disagreed with them-- laughing. If they had only known.

Yet, things were different now.

She was just as erratic as they made her out to be. 

The redhead turned away from the window, her bare feet meeting the soft carpeting. Although she had bought and paid for the upkeep of the old manor after Wayne senior had lost it (along with many other things), the place still felt gloomy, slightly cold. It wasn't for lack of trying, however. Alfred did his best, and managed quite successfully to build them a home fit for the oddly matched trio. She loved him for doing it. Perhaps it was the tragic ending of the Wayne's lives that made the place so utterly unwelcoming. Perhaps that was the way that Barbara liked it. 

Fingers curled around the door frame, and her features peered around into the room that had been designated as Bruce's study. There were a few rooms in the house that remained untouched. They had been Dick's. It was easy though, to manoeuvre around them in the sprawling estate. They didn't speak of what had happened. 

There he sat. Tall, dark, and handsome. He was a welcome distraction for her, and although the memory of Dick was fresh in her mind, there was a part of Bruce that understood her, and she appreciated that. Green eyes watched him slightly fondly, and she moved into the room, settling down on the couch that was the opposite wall of his desk. Her thin, cold fingers pulled at the blanket that had been folded neatly on it, tugging it around her legs and Barbara clambered for a semblence of warmth.

"What are you working on?"

[youneverlookdeeper-archive]

murderisntmywork started following you

Selina stiffened and came to a stop on the city street, a soft laugh escaping her as she glanced over her shoulder. "Oops. Look like the kitty cat got caught out." She pivoted slowly. "Or is this just a coincidence?"

[theflyinggrayson-archive-blog]

murderisntmywork started following you

Hey there, Bruce.

All work and no play? You look tired.