Summary: You had moved on from Gotham, from your home, from your marriage. There was no point in staying, so you left. However, when you are pulled into an interrogation for a case about the Joker, you realize your past may not be so far behind…
Who is Jack Napier?: Supposedly the identity of Joker before everything happened. Joker is said to have a military background so it’s my assumption his scars were gained through war
Timeline: Before Jack’s deployment and scarring
*That was basically all irrelevant as this is just a cutesy thing I wanted to write*
“Jack! I’m home!” You called into the apartment. It was small with dim white walls and creaky flooring. It was just about all the two of you could afford.
“Y/N?” You hear Jack’s voice echo drowsily from another room. Probably the shared bedroom. Seconds later there’s a thump and the sound of stumbling footsteps. Eventually your blonde haired man of a husband reveals himself, sure enough in his pajamas and bleary eyes.
“You look half dead Jacky.” You chuckle at him and set down the heavy brown bag of groceries on the open kitchen counter. The light above flickers cautiously. Wouldn’t be the first time the landlord cut your power for no reason.
“Feel it too, darling. Oh, and please don’t call me Jacky. It’s embarrassing, love.” Your husband sneaks behind you and wraps his broad arms around your waist, pulling you close and earning a kiss to the cheek from you. This makes him smile faintly.
“Well I let you call me *insert embarrassing nickname* so why can’t I call you Jacky?” You ask him pitifully and turn around in his grasp to face him with your hands looping behind his neck.
“Becauuse, my darling dear wife. I will stop calling you that if you don’t call me Jacky. Deal?” Jack’s mouth twitched along with his head before a smile broadened to reveal the off white color of his surprisingly straight teeth.
“Deal.” You sigh dramatically and press a firm kiss to his lips.
“You’re beautiful Y/N. Have I ever told you that?” Jack asks teasingly with a soft smile. Those dark pools for eyes of his ensnared yours and you felt your hips begin to sway under his hands.
“You have, and you should say it more often.” You smile with a blush creeping on your cheeks.
“I’ll tell you it everyday if I have to.” Jack rests his forehead to yours and you swear music begins to play somewhere in the world, reaching both your hearts and calling for a dance in the kitchen.
“Promise?” You chuckle at him. Jack’s face is serious though, and that smile is fainter. Those eyes darker than you’d seen in ages.
“For all our days my darling dear.” He swears and seals the promise with a kiss.
BONUS: angsty, readers beware
Rain patterned down. It coated the field of battle and one man laid alive. Barely. His face was bandaged over completely from his nose down. A nasty grenade sending shrapnel cutting into his face and tearing the skin to sinew and muscle. Blood stained his uniform collar now. And tears fell from his eyes, soaking his rain watered cheeks and bandages.
He screamed. Screamed behind the white gauze and tape holding it down. The words were forever his undoing.
Dear John Napier,
It is with deep sorrow that we must report to you this tragic news. Mrs. Y/N Napier was a victim of a car accident. She was rushed to the hospital immediately and we regret to inform you she did not survive. Howard Killigan, the man responsible for the accident has been charged with manslaughter and a DUI. He was discovered to have been drunken during his driving. Our condolences Mr. Napier.
Sincerely,
Gotham City Hall
Howard Killigan was found murdered in his cell two months into his sentence, cameras showing a man dressed in a custom purple suit and a frightening clown mask. A message was written that night. Red stained the prison cell walls the words:
“You were always beautiful ”
Decorating the stone. A last goodbye to the woman that held together the soon to be: Prince of Gotham Crime.
Hope you enjoyed! Got inspired last minuet for the Angsty bit.
Stay Strange And Stay Safe!
This has me screaming, crying, shaking, etc. This is fantastic. Amazing. Brilliant. I love this so much, thank you for sharing <3
(/ ): This is the first I’ve posted in ages!!! I can’t recall how long it’s been, life has truly been hectic but I’m getting back on the saddle!!! We’re starting with my boi! I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing this! I’ve been experimenting with the way he talks so it’s not as overt as I’ve previously written! I feel like the intonations may break the flow a bit so I’ve tried to make it more cohesive! Lmk what you guys think! Also shout out to my amazing partner @lilliryth they’re the light of my life and helped me edit this!! They’re such an amazing person and I would not be where I am today without them.
( ): Wedding. That is all. It’s not what you think.
( ): DK! Joker x Reader.
( ): 7,600+ k words!
( ): Angst (very little), swearing, violence.
The first time you’d asked, he simply stared in disbelief.
“Come again?” The bright red hues of confusion painted his husky voice.
The question had been wreaking havoc in your thoughts for the past month, unsure of how to slip out from ambiguity onto the sureness of the tongue. Such a bold yet silly little request was sure to be large and repugnant to the man hovering above you. While the darkness of his eyes was accentuated by his stygian greasepaint, hints of cocoa peeked through, prompting shy flutters of anxiety in your abdomen.
You can do this.
Your tongue slid across the arid cracks of your lips, wetting them. You cleared your throat, “I need a date to a wed–”
That was all you could get out before he blinked a few times and strode off.
The second time, albeit similar in difficulty, thankfully didn’t result in him running.
You tiptoed into his makeshift office with an air of mischief, his room sombre except for the lamp that spotlighted his desk. Hunched over blueprints which you suspected were his next big scheme, his eyes never drifted from the intricacies on the paper.
“Boo!” You shouted, catching his hips with an unbreakable hold when you closed the distance. While his body tensed, he couldn’t control the breath of amusement that left his nose.
“I can see you really tried there.”
You knew he followed your stare when his long fingers worked to roll the sheet. They were fast – so fast the pinched ends stuck out in layered rings that almost resembled winding mountainous trails. He couldn’t have curious eyes ogling his extra top secret will-have-to-kill-you-if-you-found-out criminal plans, now could he?
“What?” you started, while your hands fell and your footsteps whispered away from him. You felt the creases of your mouth wobble, ready to smile at any moment, and so you bit the inside of your tongue. “Don’t you trust me?”
“No,” he smirked, petting your head.
Curse his height.
“Now,uh, what is it, doll?”
You let your smile leap free, “I need to ask a super dooper big fav–”
“I’m not going.”
“But whyyyyyy? My parents are harassing me! They think their daughter’s going to grow old and grey and be alone forever.”
“Gee, I can’timaginewhy.”
You shot him a look, one that only fuelled his amusement.
“J, I can’t just not show up.”
You watched his figure rise slightly as he drew and released a breath.
“I don’t like wed–” his tongue stuck out like he’d tasted something bad before he cleared his throat “–dings, they’re full of false hope, drunks and…” he shuddered, “romance. You see, they’ll end up killing each other in a few years. I can picture it now: dearlybeloved wife kills cheating husband. Oh how could this have everhappened?”
He scoffed.
“You’re so dramatic. I promise it would only be for a few hours.”
“And pumpkin, how exactly are you gonna sneak me into a… place like that when I look like this,” he said, hands motioning to his face – mostly his scars.
It broke your heart. You could’ve sworn you heard it splinter, the downturn of your brows impossible to hold back. If only words were enough to convey complex feelings, to convey the pile of bricks nestled in your chest, to convey the desperate crave to comfort and rebut, the need to protect – even from himself. You had yet to find a way, and so you were stuck behind the thick lock and chain of language with no key in sight; restricted and bound to tools you never thought were enough, but could only hope were enough.
“Hey,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. In his eyes you saw the emotions flicker, almost as tangible as they were transparent – anger, fear, shock. Stood still and stiff, you nodded softly, giving him a smile of equal warmth. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
He squinted before hesitantly giving in, shifting so his cheek rested against your palm. He had to lower himself a little more to do so.
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with how you look. They’re beautiful, and I’ll keep saying so until there’s no breath left in my lungs.”
You held him ever so gently while he flitted his eyes shut. Your heart galloped then, its swell too big for your body and for a moment, brief as the breeze, the chaos he prided himself in was absent; for a moment there was peace.
“If you weren’t The Joker, I’d say go as is. Though, I have a plan!”
“Oh, do you now?” He said, shaking his head and returning to work. It was clear he was rapidly reaching his patience threshold.
Damn it.
“They have food!” You trailed off unsurely, as if it was a question – pinning your last hope on appealing to his raccoon inclinations.
It didn’t work.
The third, well…
You had just about given up and accepted the fact that it wasn’t his scene, that him meeting your parents would never be an option – a reality you had started to think of as a good thing the more you thought about it.
And so, the third day had been your acceptance. Self-care. Instead of chasing after an ideal, your hands were clutching a book, almost too hard, as the part you had been anticipating since very early had reached its finale. With your legs curled underneath you and practically asleep, your eyes flicked furiously from word to word–
That is until a looming figure shadowed the page completely, concealing all light from the lamp next to you.
Annoyance creased your features as you looked up at the clownish culprit. Your eyes met and a staring contest ensued, the intensity of his eyes beckoning a response until he, uncharacteristically, broke first.
“Will this make you, uh, happy?”
All traces of irritation were washed away by bewilderment, “sorry?”
“My being with you.”
“You mean to the wedding?” You asked, wide-eyed. If you hadn’t been as shocked as you were, you would have snorted at his continuous inability to say the word ‘wedding’.
He shifted on his feet, eyes darting away for a second before he licked his lips. “Yeah.”
“Is this a joke?”
“I’m not that cruel.”
You paused to hum obnoxiously, your finger tapping your chin to challenge the notion.
“Never mind,” he waved his hand in the air and was about to walk off before you grabbed his hand and sprung off your seat. You felt him try to wiggle out of your grasp with a grunt, but it was too late.
“Thank you!” You shouted.
You missed the way his surprise melted into a genuine curl of his lips, twitching; the muscles unused. Instead, you were too busy stuffed in his vest, with your arms swathed around him. You both stayed there for a while basking in the warmth of each other, as his hands, which you guessed were hanging awkwardly in the air and unsure of what to do, encircled your waist.
Third time’s the charm.
Shaking fingers twirled sapphire silk, gliding over your cinched waist before finally moving up to the delicate exposed flesh of your neck. You glanced over the spaghetti straps that curved comfortably over your shoulder, and the simple silver circle necklace that laid between them, its chilled presence clashing with the heat of your skin.
Knock knock knock!
“Just a minute!” You said, jumping at the sudden rudeintrusion.
“Not even funeral parlors take this long,” you heard J say from the other side, the distinctive departure of footsteps following promptly. They seemed faster than usual.
You puffed air at his complaint after calming your racing heart. Then you scrambled to finish up the final touches of makeup, at last winding the nude colored ribbons of your heels around your calves. Your head felt light, and your shoes only worsened the sudden gelatinous state your legs took on. Never before had you dressed up in such a way, not for years and much less in front of someone you dearly cherished. The line between fashionable and laughable was blurred and never truly had been exercised. Waving away the fuel your anxious thoughts provided, you decided to try and move. Your heels wobbled trying to avoid the flowing material pooled by your ankles, and you’d just managed to slip one foot out through the thigh-high slit. No matter how much you sighed, the pressure remained, weighing like an anvil. And so, with nothing much to lose, you made your way to the door; the dampness of your fingers leaving its foggy signature upon the knob.
This was it.
You breathed in one last time before opening the door.
“Okay, I’m re–”
You exhaled sharply, feeling the earlier intake of air leave you – taking with it the remaining wind in your lungs. You couldn’t control the twinkle of your eyes, nor the flip of your stomach as you gazed upon him.
His form was angled against the wall and his arms were crossed – that was, until he dragged his eyes over to you. His limbs then dropped to their sides and he quickly, almost stumbling over his shoes, righted his position. The bob of his Adam’s apple was clear while both of you stood meters from each other with widened eyes. You knew he had the ability to pull off a suit, but the royal blue he donned was stunning. The stark colour complemented his blond locks, while his foulard tie with its blends of pinks, purples, and its navy base matched his socks.
It seemed you were both in the same boat, consumed by swells of giddiness and the need to fidget. The fingers that were dressed in dark brown leather gloves drummed against his thigh, while one of his cedar suede shoes tapped furiously against the floor.
“What.” He finally stated, rather than questioning.
You dropped the necklace your fingers had started circling.
“Nothing! You just look… really nice,” you uttered earnestly, unable to contain the sweet smile that broke through awe.
“Yeah, yeah. Uh… you too,” he said, the last part coming out less steady.
He avoided eye contact when you trotted over to him, fiddling with his cufflinks, though his tending to them immediately vanished when you began to accentuate the swish of your hips.
All fidgeting stopped.
You were sure he was expecting something else, rather than the delicate cupping of his cheek once you reached him, soft lips meeting with roughened skin as you kissed his scars. You took your time with each one, whispering affection, before claiming his mouth. He growled against you, and you could feel him tighten his hold.
The tip of his tongue traced the stain of lipstick, a wordless demand for entry which left you weak. Almost parting your lips to allow the gentle slide of his tongue, he suddenly reared back with a smirk.
“Peach,” he cooed.
You were going to have to reapply later.
With a small smile you extended your arm to the couch, and knowing time was beginning to pass, he complied. As he advanced, you peeked at the orange lining in his blazer. The hue was similar to his purple coat, though slightly lighter. You smiled to yourself, the small detail so characteristically him.
“Alright. Let’s get this over with,” he sighed, bracing himself.
Already a step ahead, you had brought out the makeup needed just prior to getting dressed. Sitting on one of the nearby surfaces, you picked up a small translucent bag with little red hearts on it – a fact he’d snickered to himself at when he first saw it – and walked over to him.
“As you wish, grumpy,” you simpered, “now hold still!”
True to his new title, you heard him mutter something unintelligible under his breath. Thetap-tap-tap of his foot against the floor was most of the noise for a good while, and although distracting, the fidgeting of his hands was less noisy. You knew more than anyone he needed to squirm around, some movement at the very least, and so you endured. You deduced that he’d not been this close to someone in so very long, let alone allow them to do his makeup. That task, intimate and personal within itself, was not something others could be trusted with.
“Time to hide these little guys,” you murmured, focused as the beauty blender sat between your fingers and dabbed on concealer. “Not that they need hiding. I’ll miss them.”
“Really?” He chimed in, eyes shut while you did your work.
“Yeah, they’re a part of you and I’d never want you to hide or be ashamed of who you are.”
“Hmm,” he trailed off.
Occasionally his mouth quirked, his tongue darting out to lick his scars; an involuntary movement. You were patient, and even if he wasn’t overt about his guilt of messing up your progress, you reassured him lightly with a kiss on the head, sometimes playing with the dirty blond waves that lacked any sign of green.
The day before he’d washed out the colour in preparation for the big day, groaning until he caught sight of himself in the mirror; contemplative. Ethereal and almost delicate he seemed. How precious it was to witness such cracks in the fortress, where the basking rays of sun illuminated what once was – and still is, only shrouded by shrubbery and thorns, so overgrown and disordered that they had forgotten to take care of even themselves. Forgotten how.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he groaned as you finished blending the concealer on both cheeks. Grabbing the foundation you had colour matched, you dabbed a bit on your hand before applying that too.
“Honestly, me neither,” you replied, feeling no need to sugarcoat the shock from your tone. You knew he appreciated the truth. “But I’m glad you are! You’re doing so well!”
He squirmed a little at the compliment but settled seconds later. Soon after finishing the blending, you reared back and observed your labour. Although it wasn’t perfect, and if you looked hard enough you could still see the intricate crevices in his skin, it passed.
“All done!”
As soon as you spoke, J pushed off his palms. He was halfway off the chair when you stopped him.
“Wait! I have to walk you through something.”
At this, his eyebrows quirked up. You knew you had his attention.
“Conditions!” You announced.
“Ah. Now there are conditions.”
“Yes! I don’t want you to throw a tantrum and blow up the whole reception.”
“My my, aren’t you a little fire stopper.”
“Promise me.”
He flicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. With one hand on his chest and the other raised just next to his head, he bowed a little. “I swear.”
You wrinkled your nose, “I swear there will be no funny business, and I’ll be on my best behaviour – oh and no crossing your toes either!”
“You know me so well,” he sighed, admitting defeat, “Fine. I swear there’ll be no funny business and I’ll be on…” he cleared his throat and brought a closed fist to his mouth, “my best behaviour.” Then he shone his impishly wide grin, one that only intensified the pit of doubt in your stomach.
It would have to do, though.
“Okay,” you whispered.
He stood up now, towering over you.
“Okay,” he mimicked, dropping his hands at the base of your hips.
The last few days had been full of surprises, his agreement to attend trumping all. However, his overt display of affection was a close second. Never before had he been so forthcoming and so comfortable with physical contact.
As his hands laid there, unmoving and making their home in your curves, you inched closer to him; a specific craving only his warmth could ease. Though, those very same hands around you tightened when you tried to step forward, holding you in place. Curiously, you looked up at him, brows furrowed.
“What are you–”
It seemed he couldn’t help himself. The evil laughter he’d been trying to restrain bubbled from his throat and bounced off the walls. The eagerness to ask what he was doing quickly died – hard – when you could no longer feel the ground beneath your feet. It instead morphed into protests and occasional bouts of laughter as your arms dangled along his back, your pelvis against his shoulder. One gloved hand rested crudely just below the curve of your ass, occasionally squeezing your upper thigh and holding you in place, while his other arm hung unobstructed.
“We–” he clicked his tongue, “–wouldn’t want to be late now, would we?” He finished, purring.
The location was a couple hours outside of Gotham on the coastline in an area you’d practically never heard of. If it wasn’t for J’s gift for navigation, and his frustration when you kept leading him down wrong turns, you would have been hours late instead of just missing the ceremony. The last straw had been assuring him the early exit was your turn off despite his gut instinct, despite the countless times he asked ‘are you sure?’ and despite his sneaking glances – something he stopped doing when he almost crashed into the car next to you, too focused on craning his neck. All of this combined had resulted in the brutal demise of your map reading days.
Stopping where he could after taking the wrong exit he held out a gloved hand, a wordless demand for the navigator. Before long, you were back on the freeway, thankfully heading the right way. The directory rested in his lap as he balanced the seemingly breezy tasks of reading and driving.
Clearly safety was his middle name.
Once the two of you arrived at the venue, the first thing you both noticed was the heat. Warm and uncomfortable, the seabreeze made this bearable. The next notable feature was the rambunctious clamour of the crowd; music, laughter and shouting.
After worming your way out of the van, comically wedged between two much smaller cars, you headed towards the reception, stopping short from the asphalt-sand border. J stared at it as if it had foiled his genius villainous plots, as if it was the cause of all his misfortunes, as if it was responsible for the brutal murder of his first pet. Then, he made a face – a mixture between a scowl and disgust.
He sniffed, “it smells like…” he paused to grimace, “high society.”
The ghastly look was then directed ahead to each moving – breathing – organism he could see. There was no doubt in your mind the crowd had already made it on his hit list.
“For once I miss the stink of Gotham.”
“Well at least it’s at the beach!” You exclaimed, not recalling the last time you’d been. Trying to think that far back made your brain hurt, the tingle of overworked cogs and Brain Fog a lethal combination that coerced your forfeit in seconds. At the very least you were happy to be making new memories, hopefully some you’d be able to remember in the future; memories you prayed were not, later too, guarded by the merciless Brain Fog and his ravenous desire to generate headaches.
“I hate the beach,” J delivered flatly, hatred distilled rolling off his person in waves.
“Oh, you hate everything!” You pouted, brushing off his pessimism.
“It’s hard not to.”
“Well…” You stopped to think, wracking your brain to prove him wrong, “what about me?”
Thathad to get him.
“You especially,” he grinned, eyes twinkling with a mischief that spoke nothing other than ‘you walked right into that one, sweetheart.’
You were unable to help the sigh that sailed past your hued lips, “well, come on sunshine. You can’t stare daggers at them all day.”
“I can try,” he spat sourly.
You rolled your eyes and dragged him along but immediately dropped the act when you quickly realised it hauled unwanted eyes, like metal to magnets. Yet, J followed even though you were certain he saw the cursed asphalt-sand barrier as the very gates of hell themselves. In fact, he seemed a little bit too eager to start his anathematised exploration of the 9 circles as when you looked back, expecting to see his long limbs hanging in defeated protest, you were met with, well, nothing.
One moment he was there, the next he was gone seemingly stalking off into the unknown, hiding among the sea of people. It wasn’t like he was easy to lose either, his height and his aura of absolute discomfort is what set him apart from the rest. He protruded like a broken bone – so why couldn’t you find him?
“Damn it, J!” You harshly whispered to yourself, unknowingly stamping your foot until the insidious specks of sand tumbled their way into your shoe, under your feet and between your toes. Easily conquering your layer of protection, their coarse presence made you want to grind your teeth.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Before you could go off and search for the lost irritating puppy, you heard shouts. At first they seemed like ordinary yells, distinctive deviations from the crowd which happened to catch your attention at the right moment. Though, the more time passed and you wandered around like a newborn giraffe looking for its mother, you realised this was not the case. Most telling was the way those vague cries morphed into the familiar syllables of your name. And then finally in view, the supposed sweet comfort of childhood embodied neared; their worn features staring into your own, different from all those years ago.
You fought the urge to run.
“Hey honey!” Your dad beamed.
Two pairs of smothering arms made their way toward you, enveloping. With your fingers clutching separate materials, each as scratchy and glacial as each other, your head started to spin and you felt yourself holding your breath.
“Hey mum, hey dad, it’s nice to see you two again,” you said, feeling the slow ache from clenching your jaw starting to set in. You quickly swapped this expression for a small smile when they released you.
“How’ve you been?” Your dad inquired, the shimmer in his eyes a sight you couldn’t help but double take at. You noticed there was no glass in his hand.
“Don’t bombard her dear,” your mum rolled her eyes, “where’s this date you were telling me about?”
She lingered on the word with an emotion you couldn’t quite discern while her adjudicating eyes swept over your outfit. Her eyebrows then lifted, scrunching her nose with it. “Not bad.”
Her scanning forced you to shrink into yourself, the automatic motion of your palms relentless in their pursuit of wrinkles, a fact you did not pick up on until your mother cleared her throat at your unprompted staring contest.
“My question dear, it’s rude to ignore your mother,” her thin brows creased and the folds just above them rested along her forehead in a similar fashion.
You scrambled for an acceptable answer, the question just as ambiguous to yourself.
“He’s… um… getting us drinks! I was actually just about to go check up on–”
“Well if a man can’t even fetch you a drink he’s hardly useful,” she scoffed, turning to her husband to whisper, “can’t imagine what this prince charming looks like.”
Anger, lava-like and boiling, rose up in your throat. The pressure seemed unbearable as you tried to keep your mouth closed – tried not to defend the one you loved with your entire being. How dare she judge someone she had yet to even meet? She had yet to see the beauty that radiated in and out.
It had only been minutes and you’d already been zapped of your energy for the day.
“I think I should go check on him now.”
“Yes, of course. Come back to me when you have something to show,” your mother smiled. You watched her lips stretch, her wine lipstick as pigmented as the red coating your vision.
Her hand clutched the necklace around her chest. Her fingers traced the glistening diamond which hung overtly, screaming it’s pricelessness to all passersby as she went to go have another sip of her champagne. At the corner of your eye you noticed movement, a pair of worn hands clutching suit pants. Hard. You turned automatically and when you met his eyes your dad shot you a strained smile. It almost looked like an apology.
Your stomach turned.
You tried your best to conceal the stomping as you promptly departed, promising yourself to at least wait until you were out of their view and blending in with the crowd. Once you merged with the patches, you quickly discovered that navigating your way out of it was going to be just as hard as trying to find J. Left and right amalgamated, looking the same no matter how many times you tried to compare differences and so did everyone’s outfits. You could have sworn you’d seen the same red dress three times, though you also could have sworn you went all different directions to the last; the truth was you were no more knowing than a sailor stranded at sea lacking a compass, the same indistinguishable shapelessness stretching out for miles and miles with no end in sight.
Then, a miracle – a clearing of people which shrieked hope and a long portable table with flowing white lace harbouring all kinds of food. Amongst the good news, a blotch of royal blue caught your eye and a flash of blond. Focusing your view on the table and its few inhabitants, one of which was the blue wearing stranger, you quickly realised your missing date was fixed and firm in place at the snack area. No sooner than this revelation processed you dashed over, the anger returning once the relief had run its fleeting course. As you stormed your way over to him he failed to look up, too preoccupied with the food he was collecting. Lacking in subtlety, you grabbed his arm.
“Jesus there you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!”
J, who had been waiting to stuff his face with what you identified as another cupcake, mouth ringed with strawberry frosting, crumbs and sprinkles, dropped it in surprise and turned to you with widened eyes. They shrunk as soon as they showed an inkling of surprise and instead shifted to speckled guilt.
“Cupcake,” he managed to mumble with a full mouth.
Your fiery frustration was immediately put out by how cute he was, and you felt a surge of guilt yourself. It wasn’t fair to be taking out your personal frustrations on him.
After closing your eyes and taking a breath, you reset.
“They think I’m lying about you.”
He swallowed.
“You wanna leave? I, uh, know I want to,” he said much louder than the whisper you wish he’d used.
Such a comment warranted an elbow jab into his waist as you smiled ear to ear and sickly sweet at the passing guest who had clearly heard J. The middle aged woman with short brunette hair, white pom-pom earrings and beady eyes shot you two a blazing look before rutting her nose into the air. The reek of pretension wafted off her. Now you could see what J was saying earlier.
Pee-yew.
Everyone here sucked.
“I’m gonna kill her later,” he murmured, squinting after her.
“J, you promised to be good!”
Even if she was a grandiloquent old bitch who deserved it.
His ominous response was to pour himself some punch, the clown-in-disguise bringing the plastic up to his lips. As the cup masked most of his face, the only thing visible was his deadly gaze which bounced from congregation to congregation.
“How much longer.” Again, it wasn’t phrased as a question, more a statement.
“The bride and groom haven’t even danced yet.”
He scrunched his nose, though dropped the subject. At least verbally.
“You’re so crabby. You do know that you’re drawing even more attention to yourself this way?”
“Hmmph.”
It was silent for a few minutes before, without warning, he grabbed your hand. The hesitant and jagged strokes of his thumb followed and even though they belonged to a novice, the delicacy was still there.
The message was clear:
I’m new to this.
Your lips upturned, the gentle quirk hidden by transient hair flowing along the salty breeze. His touch was warm and paradoxically amiable; his presence a shelter cutting the chilly current that had picked up around noon. Stained lips, of which you had forgotten about until the sticky residue imprinted boldly on his glove, aimed to ease his buzzing mind. Expecting a grumble for the lipstick mark, what you got in return was the soft gaze of dark brown eyes – a sign of taming raging waters. He didn’t seem to mind, in fact the window into his soul for once could be identified as just that – a window; crystal, without the dirtied stains of camouflage and trepidation.
Something had changed.
Before you could get another word in, it was announced the bride and groom were going to have their first dance. The crowd gathered around the newly wedded couple as the music suddenly switched. The speakers were loud as they played a waltz, the couple’s limbs intertwined and swaying to its dramatic pace. They twirled and swayed with the grace of swans tiptoeing and beguiling the creeping ocean on the golden sands. Even though you knew virtually nothing about them, and were convinced that in fact this whole invite was your mother’s scheme to pry, the sight was a beautiful one to behold. The epitome of love – reciprocal trust and utter surrender; it had you wondering where you’d gone wrong previously, and if such a thing was as formulaic as it seemed to be, or if they were freefalling into the abyss as much as everyone else was; blindfolded, but nonetheless with each other. Welded in each other’s hearts.
How long had you projected your yearning at the couple and vicariously lived through their magical moment? You couldn’t say, though it was only the sudden grip on your shoulder that had managed to break your fixed admiration. It was firm, but nowhere near the realm of rough, and it even contained a fraction of gentleness, an action that wordlessly said ‘are you okay?’
At the sudden presence, you looked over your shoulder to find J, his guarded eyes holding a knowledge which only deepened the crawling feeling of embarrassment. Blood rushed to your cheeks. As you rounded your gaze back to the couple, you quickly saw the crowd was beginning to join them, all dancing at their own pace as the music continued its intimate lull. J’s hand slid down your arm while you watched and returned to hold your hand. Content and about to lean into him, your sudden love struck daze pounced away when he started to walk, dragging you along with him.
“Hey– what are you doing?”
No response.
“Let me go!” You said, your tone coming out a lot angrier than you’d expected. You guessed this alerted him because even though you were mere meters away from the rest of the crowd he stopped to explain.
“I saw the way you were looking at them. You know, cupcake, you’re not hard to read,” he drawled.
You pursed your lips, looking away for a moment.
“So what? What are you doing?”
“What does it – ah – look like?”
He’d seemingly taken your lack of response as a positive and continued forward. He grinned once he had you in position and placed his palm on the small of your back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles. He then maneuvered his other hand to grab yours and stretched it forward. From his first few steps you knew immediately it was the Viennese Waltz. The fast tempoed dance was one you weren’t all too familiar with, but you’d learned its slower English counterpart.
“I didn’t know you could dance,” you gasped, trying your best to conceal your astonishment. You didn’t want to seem rude, though he just didn’t seem like the person interested in such a thing. Nor have the time. You were certainly finding yourself more curious about the origin of such a talent, and all the other potential abilities that were sneakily tucked away.
“Well aren’t I just fullofsurprises.”
He dipped you slightly in time with the halt of the orchestra. He held you there for a moment before the tune resumed its boisterous charm, climbing steadily to its crescendo.
“Here’s to another,” he said, his smile widening. If you didn’t know him so well you would have believed the expression to be completely innocent and honeyed. Standing there intertwined with his limbs you knew that devilish gleam was anything but.
And, seconds later, this suspicion proved right.
Suddenly he lifted you, twirling you around in such a way that made you feel like you were the bride. You’d only seen such a thing in Disney movies and cheesy rom coms – to be cherished, to be loved and cared for in such a delicate way was a fantasy; a taste of nostalgia and a serenade to the hopeless romantic within.
“J, put me down! Put me down!” You felt yourself swallow when his hands tightly gripped your hips. For a moment the irritation you’d experienced all day from a full face of makeup and wandering had all been worth it.
His laughs slipped out, too; a direct contrast from his often irked facade, a musically heart-warming phenomenon which no instrument could emulate. The whole time you kept your eyes on each other and never once did they deter, focused on drinking in the beauty of each other. The cheers from the crowd you’d gathered fell upon both your deaf ears, transfixed by each other’s magic in your own closed off bubbles.
As you continued to dance, the act itself felt like flying. The crowd separated when you neared – that is, until everything stopped. Sharp and prompt.
Neither of you had much regard for the abrupt bump when it happened, there were people everywhere and mistakes occurred. It was no big deal. At least that’s what you told yourself until such a collision was followed by a violent shriek and a splash.
Loud gasps replaced the background noise of applause.
In a few frightening seconds your brain made the connection – linking who you’d just seen in the same area minutes before, inches from the ocean.
“Oops,” you squeaked, too scared to turn around. However, despite your better judgement you did just that.
The groom stood in shock, evidently unable to come to terms with the sight he was seeing. One moment his new wife was safe within his arms, dancing as if it was only two of them in the universe, the next she was below him, swimming with seaweed. Then, his form began to tremble, a telltale sign that what was to come was nowhere near the realms of good.
He turned around with searing red eyes, a wrinkled nose and bared teeth. The eyes of the bull met the petrified, and his stubby, squared and well-manicured finger pointed directly at you.
“You fucking bitch!” He roared.
You jumped, feeling yourself cling to J. His arm wrapped around you reassuringly and although you trusted him with your life, being confronted by a raging groom was still nonetheless intimidating. The groom who apparently cared more about telling you off than helping his wife, who was still floundering in the crashing waves, began his march over to you.
“Do you know who I am?” He continued, and you wondered if he was still aware there was a crowd around. J almost instantly stood in front of you and had to hunch further to scowl at your aggressor.
“What was that?” J grabbed the man in front of him and slipped the blade hidden in his sleeve between the groom’s lips, angling it against the crease of his mouth.
“Hmm? Why not try your luck, princess. Say it again.”
The groom froze, the flicker of fear evident even on your end, though he kept up his brutish facade.
“You’reboth going to be 6 feet under when my dad’s through with you.”
“Aww… run along to daddy so he can fix all your problems,” you could hear the pout in your boyfriend’s voice, comfortable and in your eyes even elated, to spit out the toxins he’d been gathering from just being here all day.
“So you do know who I am–”
“The second most spoiled kid of Gotham’s underbelly.”
“And yet, you’re still holding the knife.”
“Of course the first would be your brother though, hmm?” J continued, completely ignoring the man’s statement.
The groom gritted his teeth.
“I bet it stings to not be the favourite. To not even have him here on your bigday.”
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” The groom spat, bullseyeing J’s shoe. You saw red pooling at the corner of the man’s mouth, the mere act of expectorating on your boyfriend’s shoe more urgent than self-preservation.
Yeesh.
“Now that’s not very hygienic,” J growled, wrinkling his nose. His grip on the knife tightened and in one quick motion, the groom was screaming.
While you couldn’t see the infliction from where you were positioned, the blood dripping onto the sand was clear as crystal. The screams of those around you were piercing, their horror and disgust forcing you to cling tighter to your boyfriend.
“J, please! That’s enough, it’s okay!” You pulled on his blazer. Feeling the hundreds of widened eyes staring holes into your being was no longer a concern. What mattered most was him. Getting out of here.
With a quick glance to his right, J met you, then looked back at the groom.
He smacked his lips.
“Seems you are lucky,” he purred, the shimmer in his eye reflecting nothing of the warmth he concealed so carefully – nothing of the warmth of when your eyes met. Instead, it was serrated and reflected jeopardy. He possessed the force of a hurricane. A gravity; the way in which he commanded the direction of things and uprooted the fortitude of the righteous, the sure, a mothernatured finesse.
He looked back at you again before shifting his hold on the man, fisting his wrinkled and bloodied shirt, then barked, “why don’t you go join your blushing bride?”
With the element of surprise, J raised his knee and shot it between the man’s legs, the man falling down almost as fast as the foreign presence made an impact. You could have sworn someone at the corner of your eye jolted, most likely fearing the worst while others let out shrieks. Fear of the unknown, the seduction of one’s imagination and its ability to fill in blanks was the most manipulatable aspect of consciousness. Rather than bleeding out and rocking lifeless against the cradling waves like so many had thought, the groom sat there, soaking in the shame of defeat and crimson. He hollered while his new wife crawled to his side.
“Tell your precious father I said ‘hi.’”
All eyes now turned to you both as you speedily departed, J dragging you along once more. The colony of sand in your shoe that had begun its formation hours ago was well in its breeding season now, the leathery insole most likely buried along with the newly wed’s marriage. Before you fully exited the cooperative crowd, forever to forget the merging faces of horror, two familiar ones caught your eye.
Hah!
“Some date, huh?” You smiled, staring at your mother straight on. The way her face twisted up in a myriad of emotions – surprise, disgust, embarrassment – was something you’d never forget. You were sure you destroyed her little snobbish social circle by the mere association. Pride swelled in your chest, a childish victory that didn’t seem so childish when you later reflected on your relationship with her.
When the two of you escaped back to the van successfully, there was a moment of contemplation.
“I – heh – think that went well!” J laughed to himself, rounding his body to face you, “you think your parents like me?”
“I think I should be asking the same to myself,” you said.
“Cheer up buttercup, at least your parents know you’re not dying alone anymore.”
“To be honest, after that shitshow they’d probably prefer it,” a sigh left your lips and you began to bite them, unconscious of the small action until the taste of metal blew up your taste buds.
“Eh. Who needs parents, anyway?”
You began to fiddle with your hands, suddenly finding them incredibly interesting. From the lack of interruptions you concluded he knew you were miles away, trapped in the wilderness of your own thoughts.
“So I’m guessing you only came because you found out whose wedding it was.”
It took a lot to break the silence, and the air suddenly shifted to a heaviness. You weren’t sure you were the only one tensing.
J clicked his tongue but didn’t answer.
“It’s okay… I think I’ve had my fill of weddings for a while, anyway. And parents. And honestly, maybe people,” you answered for him, despite the swirl of hurt brewing in your gut.
He breathed out his amusement. The lack of transience had you swallowing, frantic to keep the growing weight on your chest from expanding – from consuming your entire being with emptiness. You didn’t know how long you had until the stampede made its mark, the thunderous thuds of terror already echoing in the distance.
Those were only thoughts you could entertain alone, sunken in the decaying paradise of your bed.
Silence prevailed again.
Dazed and lost of direction, you remained fixated on the lines of your palms.
“The husband had a temper. You know, I thought they were so lovely at first.”
“That’s what they want you to believe. Their little golden castles sparkle in the sun and it’s only until the rain pours that you can see them for what they really are. Wet cardboard. Looks can be deceiving.”
“They certainly can be,” you looked up at him, smiling softly.
Even with the friction, you slowly reached up to cup his face. This time on his end, there was no fear or hesitation. Instead, just an unspoken mutual trust between two wandering souls. You looked down at his lips while your thumbs stroked the hidden lines of his scars. The gentle caresses wore down the makeup until finally they were visible again.
The marks of a survivor – beautiful and bold.
“Wait,” he said, the word simple and yet so labyrinthine. He reared back and looked at his hands while your own moved to rest on your knees. Curled into fists, his slowly unclamped like a blooming flower. What they revealed had your heart thumping, dancing its rhythm in your throat. You felt your eyes widen and the sadness immediately leave you, as if all its colour had been drained from you. You felt like a 1930’s cartoon, so shaken to the core that all you could see was greyscale.
“It wasn’t the only reason,” he whispered, the commanding presence absent.
He cleared his throat and finally looked up at you, “in fact, these were my only reason.”
“You son of a bitch,” you bit your tongue in awe at the binding pieces of metal in his hands. They twinkled in the holiday rays, beckoning, unuttering whispers of fabrication. Was the weight of those dual bands as heavy as his heart? As heavy as the solemn expression as he processed your jabbing words?
“I-I know it’s not much but–” he stuttered, and was promptly interjected.
“Oh! No, no, no! I didn’t mean–”
You both smiled. Yours wide and brazen, his small and seraphic.
“My J. Always starting fights, always getting what he wants,” you took the ring from his finger and darted to your left hand, slipping it on its rightful throne, “how can I resist?”
You kissed him mellowed and full of saccharine and he sighed, his reciprocation just as tender despite the usual dash of coarseness.
“Mine,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. He fluttered his eyes shut and his breathing began to steady.
“Mine,” you whispered.
In all that was and all that ever could be, never would you have believed such a moment possible. Magical and idiosyncratic, you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. Nothing big and extravagant in front of many eyes. Just the two of you, inside what you now considered the best moment of your life. What many described as a lock and chain, a prison for the rest of one’s life, you would describe as the only thing you had ever wanted. As much as before, everything felt complete.
Supernal.
You don’t know how long you stayed like that, breathing in unison, basking in each other. All you knew was that it was all too soon when you hit the road again, starting the long journey back to Gotham. After a lot of the same scenery – trees, cars, rocks, more cars and occasional bodies of water – your eyes had become leaden. Resting became impossible to oppose and before long your eyes gave into its stinging demand.
Somewhere within the haze of half-consciousness, a mysterious material was draped over you. It was silken on the inside, your arms softly grazing it occasionally, and linen on the outside, your chin brushing over it when passing uneven roads. Subtle ripples of cologne drifted from the fabric as you finally fell prey to sleep’s siren song.
I’ve updated this today and I’m planning to release a bunch of my works in the future with a bunch of new characters. I’m releasing a fic today in the next few minutes! I’ll also be remastering a bunch of my old fics so you may see them pop up every once and a while when I do! I hope you guys enjoy! :)
(A/n):I had a request for some Dark Knight nurse Joker action so,,,,, here! Hope it satisfies! :) @pennyship is my HYPE she is the light of my LIFE she helped me make sure this was coherent and lmk if I was being too much of a self-deprecating asshole HIFSHDFUIS. Enjoy!
The sea of people your shoulders were ramming up against seemed to be a never-ending stream of mayhem; a faucet that desperately needed to be turned. Truthfully, you were surprised you hadn’t been dunked, swept under the furious stampede of shoes and trampled on.
Ever since the threat was made by Joker, the hospital had been thrown into panic mode. Staff, law enforcement, and the clamour of patients added to the suffocatingly anxious air. It was proving to be a very tolling day, the cherry on top – a sour, bitter one might you add – was that somewhere in between you’d lost your necklace. You remembered twirling the small pendant between your thumb and forefinger while everyone, you included, crowded around the small TV in the waiting room.
Just minutes after receiving the news, after hearing that soul-chilling voice announce its equally as cold plans, the jewellery vanished. During the rush, there was the possibility someone had snatched it off you. Too distracted by the waves of patients you had to tend to, you guessed you failed to notice its absence until too late. Alternatively, your meddling could have loosened the delicate piece, rendering its tumble inevitable. So much so, that when you were practically slamming into people, like a typical game of bumper cars, it may have fallen.
Regardless, it was gone, irrespective of its sentimental value. For now, you had more pressing matters to worry about.
Lives.
Coworkers tried their hardest to lead subjects to safety, whether by their beds or by feeble arms. It looked like an accident in itself waiting to happen, a ticking time bomb which no one would have the luxury to clean up after. A dramatic number of personnel had dropped off the face of the earth within minutes of the news broadcast and so you all tried to make do. There was no doubt the hefty chunk had left to escape the danger, fearful for their own lives.
Irony at its finest.
As you attempted to escape the barrage and locate your next patient, a sharp turn took you into one of the rooms. The cubic area wasn’t large and its walls were coated with a particularly unappealing shade of mint green – a style which after all these years seemed as hideous as the first time your poor eyes made contact with it. The empty bed settled within the middle told you the patient had already been assisted, and you were about to leave when a flash of white and copper caught your vision. Upon second glance, you realised it was another nurse. With her back turned, you could see the glistening of her short framed hair. She looked to be occupied, her posture odd and hunched over, hiding whatever she was doing. You could also hear… mumbling?
Curious.
Clearly not hearing you enter, you promptly cleared your throat, trying not to startle her. Then, you approached.
“Everyone’s crazy out there…” you started with a bitter laugh.
The further you travelled, the more obvious the grumbles became. The clacking of something metallic emerged with your increasing proximity, a clamour from a fidgeting of some sort. After a quick flicker, you noticed that her shoulders were quite broad, along with her seemingly defined biceps. While it was more of an observation, the pit in your stomach told you something about her was off.
No response. Not even an acknowledgement.
Your amusement subsided when it was met with the ever-so-reassuring retort of silence, your smile falling as well when your next words received the very same.
“Especially since everyone’s ditched.”
You were about to ask if she was alright, considering your existence had apparently been downgraded to ‘invisible,’ when suddenly, you froze.
A pool of crimson had seized your attention.
The woman who was yet to speak, let alone turn, went rigid when she heard you gasp. Your hand had automatically flown to your mouth then, the distinctive whack of skin slapping echoed throughout the room. Though, such a change was lost on you as your instincts immediately kicked in. The source of the sinister liquid was hidden behind the bed, but you didn’t need to see any more of the scene to already make a conclusion. A little shuffle to the right had informed you that the man had been an officer, his uniform soaking up the seemingly fresh bullet wound wedged just above his heart.
Immediately, your gaze returned to your questionable coworker, the adrenaline rushing through you tingling your fingertips. In one swift movement, you had forced yourself up against the wall opposite her, your shaky figure slowly sidestepping towards the exit, ready to pounce for the door. The disturbing reality of the situation washed over you when the new angle enabled you to view what her frame was protecting – what she had been playing with all along.
A gun.
“M-ma’am?” The whimper that left you was a pathetic sound, one that coincided with the wavering of your lips. To top things off, like the legendary klutz you were, you stumbled over one of the metallic bins, a small rectangular thing that only served to signal your intent to escape.
That had been the last straw.
“Ah-ah-ah!” She sung, abruptly whirling around.
Or, more accurately, he.
Dressed there in all his glory stood the very man who’d threatened to blow up the entire building. Threatened to kill hundreds of innocents in the process. To say you saw your life flash before your eyes when he reared his gun towards you was an understatement; all colour draining from your face as if it had merely been coated on like his own face paint. The glaring abyss, angry and entrancing, was reminiscent of the gaping hole in your heart, decaying from the ever-so-acidic weight of terror. And, even though half of his face was concealed by a white surgical mask – an absurd combination with the makeup – he still succeeded to emit a viciously deadly aura.
He had snuck in and hidden right under everyone’s noses.
A wolf in sheep’s clothing.
With a cringe, he yanked off the mask. The ’snap!’ of its elastic strings bouncing back emanated as he flung it behind him uncaringly. Peeling off the copper wig and discarding it similarly, he snickered at your expression, “well, helloo, beautiful.”
Involuntarily, you felt ice glide down your spine, branching throughout your body and leaving its distinctive mark in the form of risen skin. The sound of his voice was enough to strike fright in anyone. He’d proven as such from his inception. The very thought of what he’d do to you was even more disturbing.
“D-don’t.”
“Awww, scared of this lil ol’ thing?” Sadistic giggles spilled from his lips as he jiggled the weapon.
“She won’t bi-te,” the last portion had his tongue flicking off the roof of his mouth.
Your eyes had been darting from him to the firearm nestled loosely in his grasp, his hand worryingly relaxed for such a weapon of butchery. Contemplating whether or not you had an opportunity to run for it, a sudden cry rippled the silence.
A sharp inhale followed by another moan to your left had you twisting your neck, deviating from the oh-so-dangerous man in front of you. Similarly, the gun locked in his clutch was flung towards the origin. The slant of his weapon – downturned towards the floor – spoke volumes; told you all you needed to know.
The man was still alive.
“You know what the, uh, funny thing is about people?” Joker started, his voice dangerous and spoken with an edge, a serrated knife slicing into the well-bolstered tautness of the air.
“They’re like,” he paused, looking up at the ceiling as if to remember. The whole charade, his wiggling fingers and his drawn-out words were all to drag out the gut-churning anticipation, “insects.”
You knew he was talking to you, even if his focus was elsewhere and occupied by the man who he’d previously shot. It didn’t take much observation to pinpoint the man’s strange idiosyncrasies. The way his tongue darted out, speedily scaling the risen tissue on the corners of his lips, the unpredictable fluctuations in his tone, the controlled gestures of his hands. All screamed erratic.
Suddenly scrunching his nose, he dragged back the hammer with his thumb, the small clacks from the small extension exacerbating the wild drumming of your heart.
“Theeey. Just. Don’t. Die–”
“WAIT!” You shouted, shooting out your trembling palms.
It had been an improvised move, one that could have gotten you killed, but the innate tendency to prevent bloodshed (well, more), seemed to override logic. You had trained all your life for this job – to be a nurse and help people. Like hell you were about to just stand by and let him kill another innocent on your watch. Either you’d succeed or die trying.
Leaning over the bed to view the state the man was in, you recognised positive signs. Like always, things could be better, but he was still fighting. Meaning, there was still a chance you could bring him back from the brink of death and get him to safety. You just needed to convince the other male waving the firearm around somehow. Surprise him.
“Ju-just–” you swallowed the lump in your throat and shut your glassy eyes for a brief moment to release a steady breath, “take me instead.”
“A-and then–” you riskily took a step forward, your palms still raised defensively, “the-then you can do anything you want. Please. Just let me help him.”
The man who had his head angled, essentially letting it hang, perked up his eyebrows at your proposal, the prominent creases of his forehead no longer fully concealed by his smudged greasepaint. Slowly, like a big cat toying with its prey, he prowled forward. His steady approach had you shrinking back into the wall behind you, your arms firmly planting themselves against its chilly surface while the trickle of laughter revealed his wicked pleasure. The taunting voices in your head told you that you’d worsened the situation and further cornered yourself into his vile trap – playing right into his hands.
With no concept of personal space, he then hovered over you, face only centimetres away from your own. You could tell this was just one of the ways he intimidated people – gained control. By some miracle, you endured eye contact.
“Hmm, are ya willing to shake on that, sweethear-t?” He drawled, the sudden weight shoved against your stomach involuntarily coercing you to look down; down at the handgun practically connected to you, the point of its muzzle hiding in the fabric of your uniform. When you naively tried to create more distance, the attempt ended up as a pathetic, miserable display. Soon, you gave in, your fingers reaching around the gun. Slow, stuttering motions manipulated your wrist as you worked to mimic the action of a handshake.
The hum he emitted at the interaction was deep and reverberated – almost like a purr – the sound igniting an unimaginable yearning you tried with all your might to suppress. You didn’t even want to acknowledge it, mentally kicking yourself when you instinctively glanced at his lips. You prayed he didn’t notice, but a part of you knew better. The way he inched closer, your noses nearly touching confirmed this, coaxing you to look back up at him. Focusing into those dark, glittering eyes, you saw the hellfire behind them, a black hole which sucked out any form of innocence; a cesspool which bred corruption. Speckles of intrigue swam in them.
Or was it excitement?
You couldn’t exactly tell, but you knew it was bad news. Knew that you had, most likely, made one of the worst deals in your life.
To compare this man to the devil, the master of deals, was inaccurate. With only just one, tiny, interaction, you could infer this. No. He was much worse. Worse because unlike fairytales, unlike the mystic, this man existed. He could, if he so very willed, demolish you in an instant.
“Welll,” his gaze lingered on for a split second – just enough for you to notice – before he reared himself back, “that settles it.”
Joker, who was much taller, was able to effortlessly shift his focus to the policeman struggling to push himself up against the wall. The injured man shimmied back into its cold reinforcements while one of his hands desperately fiddled with his belt.
Entirely shielded from the scene due to your angle, the most visible section being his head, you missed the way the wounded man drew his firearm and aimed it for the anarchist in front of you. The only sign something had transpired was the blur of white in front of you bobbing low, as well as the dizzy scent of smoky gunpowder. As the shot rang out, echoing throughout the room like an explosion, causing brief deafness, Joker ducked down just in time. The bullet whizzed above him, wedging itself into the wall behind, just missing the glass of the door; a permanent, antithetical imprint.
“Op– and that’s my cue,” with a quick wink, he grabbed his previously discarded attire.
“See you around, doll,” he said, zipping out of the room entirely.
The officer slumped up against the wall when he realised he hadn’t hit his target, exhaustion enveloping his form. You made your way to the dying man as fast as you could and began to tend to him.
“Oh!”
You jolted away from your patient when Joker suddenly appeared again, head peeking from the corner. He had the surgical mask, although this was lowered and the wig was back on, concealing the scraggly strands of dyed hair.
“And – heheh – you mayyy want to, uh, make it fast,” he shook the detonator in his hand, clicking his tongue twice with a crooked grin before he took off for good.
With the door now wide open and the overwhelmingly white hallway visible, you quickly noticed how empty it was. It was virtually a ghost town. While this meant it was easier to navigate him to safety, it also spelled trouble. After halting his bleeding, you were going to need to move him, this being problematic since you weren’t exactly the strongest.
You weren’t up to that part yet, however.
“Stay with me okay? Can you hear me?”
The dazed look in his eyes and the expansion of his pupils told you that he was experiencing head trauma. Assessing the small bloody mark against the green paint and the gruesome splatter near it, you were able to figure out a rough idea of what happened. The force of the bullet had propelled him backwards and whipped his head back, it rutting up against the wall while it tried to catch up with his body. The aggressive hit to the cranium was what finally knocked him out, rendering him limp until he later regained consciousness.
Ouch.
It took a moment, though the gentle nod of his head answered your question.
“Good,” grabbing scissors from one of the tables nearby, you tore into his shirt, finding the source of the wound. Another positive – just from the way the crimson liquid was flowing, it was clear no arteries had been hit.
“What’s your name?"
It was essential to keep the victim as awake as possible, your questioning aiming to do just that.
No longer at his side, you rushed around the room like a chicken with its head cut off, frantically trying to find a tourniquet or any sort of compressor.
“Daniel,” his voice came out strained and delayed.
“Well Daniel, we’re going to get you out of here, alright?” You said, hoping he could hear your reassurances over your wild searching.
The room was more of a mess than when you entered, bits and pieces of equipment decorating the floor as if a twister had come through and hurled them there. You found it funny how in times of great urgency the things you needed most you could never find.
You were about to give up and tear Daniel’s uniform, using the shreds of his suit when your quivering digits stumbled across precisely what was needed. When you found the tourniquet, you had to literally hold yourself back from screaming eureka. You hastily returned to the disoriented man and dragged along one of the wheelchairs which had been abandoned. In no time, the wound, both entry and exit, had been covered, the utensil applying a great deal of pressure. Daniel’s cries hadn’t been easy to listen to but as you gently eased him into the wheelchair, they lessened.
The home stretch.
Fiercely clutching the push handles, you flew into the corridor, extremely conscious of the time and the tiny device which had been attached to Joker’s palm like superglue. The mental image motivated you to maintain your swift pace, Daniel’s head lolling to the side, jostling with each sudden movement.
By some miracle, as you pushed through those automatic glass doors, you saw the last of the patients being loaded into the yellow school buses. Using the ramp, relief washed over you like a chilled breeze on a hot summer’s day. The closest bus was where you headed, and you flagged down one of the doctors to get immediate help for Daniel. Within minutes, he was moved into the bus receiving treatment.
About to dispose of the wheelchair, an enormous roar had you rearing your head back to the hospital. The ground shook with each stuttering explosion, the surreal view forcing you to look on with wide eyes. It was a distressing sight to process, but for some reason, you were unable to look away from the tragedy.
This was especially the case when a familiar blob of white waddled out of the building with outstretched arms, his painted smile wider than ever. As if everything had been predestined, he knew exactly where you were, immediately noticing you gawking. Stuck between the weird limbo of boarding the bus, he gave you a wave. It wasn’t fast, nor one in which required his whole limb. It was a slow, controlled one, only the tips of his fingers obliging. Time seemed to slow with the movement, each drawn out wiggle adding to the deep-rooted layers of terror and astonishment. A staring contest ensued.
Before you could intake the sight anymore, let alone process it, you felt the distinctive clutch of hands from behind, pawing at you. As you were hauled into the bus by your underarms, the doors slammed shut with a hiss. Then, the bus booked it, your eyes never deterring.
Nor his.
———
Hours after the event, Joker had been captured and thrown into Arkham Asylum like most criminals in Gotham. While your job was more or less blown to smithereens and unsalvageable, forcing you to look elsewhere, you were sure it had marked the end of your interactions with him.
All in all, life seemed to revert back to normal. Weeks passed as you hunted for another position, and ultimately, your searching paid off when you found another hospital. Resuming your duty as a nurse, Daniel had been transferred to the same institution for treatment as chance so happened and in a weird twist, you were assigned as his carer. His recovery wasn’t very long but within that small time frame you knew him, you’d come to enjoy his company – perhaps a bit too much. Time revealed the feeling was mutual by how, as he so eloquently put it, he owed you dinner for ‘saving his ass’.
How could you have resisted?
However, like the venomous serpent it was, fate appeared to strike when you least expected it; baring and infiltrating with its noxious fangs. This much was proven when you arrived back home from said ‘dinner.’ Expecting a night filled with laughter and shy glances, reality was disappointing. Instead, you were met with a boatload of anxiety and stress.
For starters, the dress you had laid out earlier in the morning had magically disappeared when you returned from work, and you eventually gave up searching after a ridiculous amount of time. Opting to leave the house with a backup, you hadn’t dared to peek at the time. Yet, the worst was yet to come; the straw that broke the camel’s back was the amount the traffic jam you wound up in.
Everything that could’ve gone wrong, wentwrong.
In total, the high of the night, came screeching to a stop when you spotted blinding flashes of red and blue. Combined with the waving, directing hands of law enforcement, the weight of dread compelled you to roll down your window and ask around. A few ignored you, though you had gotten some one-worded answers – ‘accident,’ and ‘crash’ being the mains. Yet, none of their explanations, underwhelming and dismissive at best, prepared you for the shock which cocooned your worn form as the culprit revealed itself – a firetruck.
On fire.
It was almost like a sick joke.
The truck was completely destroyed and wedged between the entrance of the bridge, blocking exactly where you needed to go. In summary, it looked like you weren’t seeing Daniel anytime soon.
Heaven only knew how long you sat in the car for when you arrived back home again. Resting your throbbing forehead against the leather steering wheel in a pathetic attempt to fight the manifesting tension headache. You had practically driven in one giant loop. It felt as though the Gods were laughing at you, all huddled around each other in their perfect utopia looking down, pointing and snickering.
You needed a drink.
When you finally did stumble out of the vehicle, you just managed to make out the small rectangular object placed ever so delicately on your doorstep. Then, with the automatic sensor light flickering on, you were able to identify the material it was sheathed in: recycled wrapping paper. Purple tinted and crinkled, the colour complemented the vibrant green bow criss-crossed on top.
The hues alone communicated enough.
Hey, at least Joker was an environmentalist.
Even rotting in a cell, he was still able to pull strings, sustaining some semblance of terror. He must’ve had men on the outside, eager to do his bidding.
The strange feeling of being watched, the apparent echoes trailing your footsteps, the disordered internal debates sparked by open windows over the past few weeks finally made sense. You had merely chalked off the occurrences and the growing collection of missing items to your overactive imagination. To your paranoia.
The naive belief that Joker was too busy wrapped up in a straitjacket to chase up on the deal you’d idiotically settled on had been shattered, thrown to the ground and stomped on. Originally, you doubted he even remembered the agreement; he certainly didn’t seem like a man capable of holding down a thought – the chaotic energy emanating from him so astounding it was almost a phenomenon. Though, this had been wrong. Foolishly, you had thought yourself safe.
Foolishly, you were mistaken.
The joke was on you.
You wanted to go to the cops. You wanted to turn in the little gift of death. The hovering worry of it being tampered with in some way, everlasting. Running rampant and wild with possibilities, your imagination outrageously tried to guess what was inside while your curiosity simultaneously nagged at you.
Overwhelmed by the two shrieking entities, you reached down to pick up the small package, most likely adding to your list of dumb decisions. A small Joker card was attached to the bow, the bottom-half dangling, while tiny, messy crimson writing demanded the card to be flipped. It read:
'Tick tock!'
The phrase was repeated in scratchy, crazed scribbles, decorating the card in a rather unsettling fashion.
Swamped with confusion, itching fingers coaxed you to look inside the ambitiously innocuous box. Within its cardboard confounds laid a circular pocket watch – withered and deteriorated. You could barely make out the thin hair-line cracks in the glass. Although deceivingly harmless at first inspection, further scrutiny revealed they were deep-rooted and hardly repairable.
Your heart skipped a beat when the sensory light suddenly shut off, but you didn’t need it any longer. Not with the harrowing imprint of the card cruelly carved into your brain. Ultimately, the message was loud and clear:
The end was nigh.
Yourend.
The very words Joker had uttered to you haunted your thoughts like a spectre: a promise of your finale. Of your very last, spectacular, blue-faced, gasping breath. You were about to pull out your keys to unlock the door and barricade yourself inside when you noticed something horrifically disturbing.
The door was slightly open.
With a hand reaching for the phone and ready to dial the police, your shoulder served to nudge it open. No groans emerged from its hinges as you pushed yourself inside, immediately heading left in the darkness to the kitchen. In the hopes of reducing any noise, you’d taken off your heels before you entered the house, mindfully placing them away from the door in case you needed to make a quick exit.
Your go-to stop was the cutlery drawer. Gently sliding it open, you felt around for a knife, snatching it away when you found the right one. As if on cue, the kitchen light flicked on, rendering you momentarily blind from the dramatic shift in luminance. Like a newly birthed animal, scrambling to comprehend its surroundings, you flipped your body against the counter and wordlessly threatened the intruder. Pretending like it would make a difference, you waved the weapon around carelessly, eyes attempting to adjust.
“Sorry for the deee-lay,” a familiar voice drawled, one that shook you to your very core. Within the few seconds of focusing, you observed how Joker mimicked a cringe, dragging out his 'e’s’. His figure was resting against the second door frame, opposite of the way you had snuck in. The plum coat he often wore was lost and his sleeves were hastily rolled back to his elbows, exposing his toned arms. Along with all this, the infamous green vest was no longer hugging his waist, instead the tucked in hexagonal blue patterned shirt made a firm appearance, with olive diamond ridden suspenders.
“I’ve been a bit… busy.”
“And,uh, by the looks of it,” he paused as he eyed you up and down, scanning the form-fitting dress you completely forgot you had on, “you havetoo."
In an attempt to shield yourself from his sweeping, to hide how begrudgingly exposed you felt, you crossed your arms against your chest. It was a gesture he ignored.
"How did your little play date…” He clicked his tongue, waving his hands in gestures of quotations, “go, hmm?”
You couldn’t help the involuntary falter in your expression when the words left his mouth. The series of unfortunate events which appeared to plague your day no longer resembled coincidence. The thought that he had been monitoring every movement was disturbing to say the least.
“Not so well?” He continued with an all-knowing grin, tilting his head until it was properly angled against the door frame, following the lead of his body. The only divergence was in his suffocating gaze, displaying ponderance.
“Seems like poor Daniel, uh, missed his chance.“
The way his name rolled off of Joker’s tongue contained deep-seated malice, a guttural growl which had you rutting back into the counter with a jump. Bruises were sure to form on the tender flesh of your backside by morning.
“Wh-what did you do?” The words came out mumbled as if you were afraid to know the answer, and in a way, you supposed you were. Still shaking, you hardly deterred the point of the knife from the criminal in front of you, the blade wavering so much it almost looked like its length was vibrating on its own accord.
”Ohhh, nothing a little gasoline couldn’t fix…”
It was only then when you realised he was slowly making his way towards you, slow and calculated and ready to pounce. With each one of his steps, you could feel every agonising jolt from your heart – feel it pick up its pace.
Then, you mulled over his comment, recalling the terrible traffic, the ember hellblaze engulfing the raging red of the firetruck, and the amount of time it took you to maneuver out of the driving nightmare.
It was all because of him.
“And now that I have you allll to myself, we can get down to business,“ by now he had already inched halfway into the room.
"I swe-swear to God, I will use this if you don’t stepback."
Regardless of how many times you swiped the knife – to get it to look like you were actually serious about using the weapon – Joker remained unperturbed.
"But all I wanted to do was say hiii,” he paused his advances, his hands shooting up to display his palms while his scarred mouth fell into a mocking pout, “especially to my favvvvou-ritenurse.”
“I-I’m warning you–”
He was barely a meter in front of you now as his towering figure practically cornered you like your first encounter. The wave of déjà vu flooding your senses drove you to raise the knife and plunge – or at least try to. Stopped midair was the kitchen utensil, along with your struggling arm by his forceful grip. He hadn’t even cared to toss a glance at the incoming weapon, maintaining composition as he swiftly and effortlessly succeeded in capturing your wrist. Only after did he shift attention, a low whistle of feigned surprise his barbed acknowledgment. He had drained all your hope, then. Killed whatever shred of optimism you had left in the process; hell, it didn’t even look like he was trying.
In one swift maneuver, he ripped the blade out of your hands and quickly tossed it to the side, pinning your lower half against the counter as he did so, “did you – heeheh – really think I was just gonna let you go? Hmm? Forget about ya?”
You tried your best next to use your hands – to slap him, to push him away, to wriggle out of the trap his body had forced you in. Yet, tricky vine-like hands excelled in capturing your own. Then, acting like nothing happened, as if it were a mere momentary hiccup, he continued, his tongue flickering out to dab at his scars, "no no no, you see, you caught my eye.”
“Aselfless little bird!”
“Willinggg to sacrifice your life for another,” he spat, vicious and gruff; the volatility of his tone made it hard to decipher his thoughts. Though, it wasn’t as if you were well versed in such a thing to begin with. One moment revealed mockery, the next, disdain.
What was real?
Maneuvering his hold on your wrists into one hand, his unoccupied digits reached for your hair, twirling a small strand that had fallen in front of your face during the struggle, “I’ve come to coll-ect.”
“P-please-” Your breathing came out uneven through your nostrils as you clamped your eyes shut, still attempting to create distance. The feeling from last time, the shame woven into the forbidden craving had arisen again and you essentially prayed that he chalked off your squirming to fear and not to a specific… discomfort.
”Noww, relaaax – doctor’s orders,” he hummed, wiggling his eyebrows. A trickle of joy spilled from his scarred lips, “what happened to that bravery?”
You had shied away from his stare up until then, the rough hold which had migrated to your chin forcefully wiggling you closer. When your eyes met his dark ones, his eyebrows flicked upwards in what seemed like a tic.
“I-if you’re going to kill me, just do it,” you forced out. Gloved fingers squeezed at your cheeks.
“I’ve had a change of heart.”
His thumb swiped your quivering lower lip, a sight he was thoroughly engaged in. Mere centimetres apart, it was there when you realised, with his breath sweeping against your mouth, that you wanted to kiss him. You really had sunken.
“Though, I am looking forward to – oh how did you put it? Letting me do what I want?“
In one sudden, erratic movement, he wedged his knee between your legs and lifted the limb slowly, sliding it up until he reached your cunt. With your lungs feeling like they’d been robbed of air, you inhaled sharply, dizziness overtaking you. The tightening pressure around your wrists acted like a constrictor knot, its bindings strengthening the more you writhed.
“Do you remember that, sweetpea?”
He rocked his knee which in turn rutted against the cabinet, enabling his thigh to brush your clit through soaked panties. Your dress was bunched up and pooled around his leg, hiding a good portion of his pinstripe trousers and in a response you weren’t particularly proud of, you released a choked moan, his actions providing the semblance of the relief you were chasing – craved.
"Hmm, yeah?” He cooed, high pitched and almost like he was talking to a child.
Protests – a whole bouquet of them sprouted from your vocal cords, their great green stalks filling the width of your throat, clogging it. So much so that instead of frantic clusters of ‘no,’ ‘stop,’ ‘get away from me,’ strangled noises and gasping moans trickled out. At least that’s what you told yourself; because to face cold harsh reality would have proved to be too much. To realise that so much as one nudge from the cold criminal could reduce you to putty, a hot melting mess would be repugnant! To realise that those flowers hardly represented your innocence and more so the blossoming of carnality was a hard seed to swallow.
And so, perhaps it was better to hide behind the excuse of obstruction even though the weakness in your knees told you different, even though you were leaning into him and transfixed on his lips. And maybe, just maybe, it was better to ignore how your stomach leapt at his resonating growl and how he pulled you by your wrists, and how you continued to ignore the auspicious swell in your chest as the risen skin of his scars brushed your cheeks and how the quick prod of his tongue coaxed you into a sloppy open-mouthed kiss and how your honeyed hums pressed against his mouth and how he darkly chuckled and–
Fuck.
Fuck it.
Melting into the way his tongue teased yours, you rolled your hips, meeting the occasional bounces as you rode his thigh. His free hand began its slow ascent up your dress, squeezing greedily at the flesh and when he knew you weren’t going anywhere, he relinquished his domineering hold on your wrist. In a move that seemed all too comfortable, natural even, your arms reached up to rest on his shoulders while the wandering hands nearing the waistband of your panties suddenly yanked the material – a fierce ‘snap!’ forcing you to jolt.
You had no time to recover when he hoisted you on top of the kitchen counter. The sudden liftoff was rough considering his handling but the landing was even more so when he plopped you on its surface; the small squeak of pain followed by skewed mimicking and taunts. Regardless of the humiliation, the sudden loss of contact had you whining pitifully in the middle of the room, a reaction you were positive only urged his sadistic inclinations.
“Wooould ya look at that,” Joker smirked, directing you to the sizable wet spot in his suit pants.
The heat rushed to your cheeks instantly at the vulgar display, a rose dusting sweeping the area. With his knee still propped up against the counter, he was able to push his way between your thighs losing your ability to shut them knee to knee.
No matter how much he tried to poke at your eagerness, shame was void. Such a point was proven when you leaned backwards slightly, adjusting your position, never straying far from his lips. Once done, you reached for the digits circling the skin of your hips. Joker hardly seemed fazed by the sudden contact, though he watched you intently with squinted eyes – intrigue the dominating emotion. Said narrowing was so subtle that if you hadn’t been looking up at him the whole time, you wouldn’t have picked up on it at all.
The gentle trail you led him down, from your hip to your inner thigh, and then, finally, to your slit had been drawn out, the pleasured groan he emitted a forbidden delight submerged in concupiscence. Slickness coated the tips of his gloves as they toyed with the area, his long digits sliding easily inside from how wet you were.
“One second you’re scared stiff,” he grinned, eyes flicking between you and the way his unhurried fingers filled you up.
“The next you’re allll ho-t and bothered.”
With no time to adjust, he ditched the leisurely act and started a much more impatient speed. You eagerly leaned into the sly, slithering touch which happily found you were braless. Curled markings scratched into the edges of the counter, coinciding with the tortuous ascension of poisonous fingers – a poison in which seemed to seep its way into your bloodstream instantly, manipulating every feeling, every thought, every sensation to the firey, prickling rush of desire; of him.
“What does that say about you, huh?”
Knowing exactly what you needed, his thumb promptly found your nipple. With both hands busy, the sheer euphoria they propagated brought on a daze.
“It says I’m a nurse,” you warbled, breathing heavy.
Jokers eyebrows furrowed, though quickly reverted in seemingly the very same twitch; it appeared he always wanted to have the upper-hand. To control. Nonetheless, he was eager for your continuance, the way his skilful fingers glided inside you, exploring, not stopping in the slightest. The swell of pleasure which forced your toes to curl and your hips to rise let you know you were close.
“I’m built for high-pressure situations.”
“Is that so?” He said, his voice as smooth as silk. He leaned in again, so close that measuring the distance would have been redundant. Strands of green, which were once woven neatly (or more, as neatly as they could get for the man), deviated. Each curl bounced along with every thrust.
“Care to put your money where your mouth is, sweetheart?” He grunted, pinching the sensitive nub between his thumb and forefinger, drawing out a sharp mewl.
“Another deal?” You forced out, breathing a laugh.
“If you, uh, think you can handle it,” he flopped his head to the side and performed his idiosyncrasy with an impish twinkle in his eye, “you know I’m a man of my w–”
You both paused.
During the exchange, you swore you had heard something. Considering Joker’s sudden halt too, you were certain it hadn’t been your imagination. The only thing louder than the silence was the furious ‘rap rap rap’ of your heart, a thunderous drum calling out for something – anything to mask its bellows.
‘Mass hysteria’ was doing rounds in your mind as an explanation for the sudden, unexplained noise until finally, it repeated. Short, sharp, and distinguishable.
This time, you heard it clear as day.
Your name.
“(Y/n)?”
It seemed you were the only one who remained in your fixed state as Joker clamped a hand over your mouth. However, he continued with his thrusts, controlling them into a slower pace; a patience you didn’t think he had. With your tongue, you ran the muscle against his gloved fingers, biting into the material, a signal to ditch the covering. It appeared to work too, because within seconds his bare flesh replaced it. He slipped two digits into your mouth instead and pressed the pads of his digits of your appendage. Immediately, you hollowed your cheeks, looking up at his lust ridden gaze as you sucked. A delighted purr resonated from him.
“Good girl,” he growled, curling the fingers still inside you; marking the end of his teasing. Joker, more agitated by the second, returned to his previous rhythm, the kitchen counter groaning.
So much for patience.
The interruption was almost forgotten as you began to reach your peak. Arching your back, you forced Joker closer to you and clung onto him, ensuring each rapid ram reached his knuckles. In a flurry of desperation, you pawed at his arm, trying to redirect the hand not currently busy fucking you into oblivion. With a small ‘pop’ he left your mouth, finding your neck with your guiding. His fingers wrapped around the area perfectly, squeezing while a laugh left him.
“Well, aren’t youjustfull of surprises.”
“(Y/n)?” The voice repeated. You heard your door slam shut soon after, only just now had it occurred it had been left open the whole time.
“Hey, the door was open,” they confirmed, continuing as you heard the distinctive thud of boots searching the house, presumably searching for you.
Mumbled, nonsensical phrases left your mouth in the violent flurry of release, suppressed by the pressure around your throat. In the midst of things, the top half of your dress had fallen and bundled around your waist. As you went rigid, your nails clawed and sunk into the back of his shirt, stealing a few grunts. Too wrapped up in your own pleasure, you missed how Joker intently watched your climax, mischievous eyes deviating to the exposed flesh of your shoulder.
“I heard about the accident, and I guessed you wouldn’t have made it so I decided dinner here would be–”
Joker without warning had bitten into your shoulder, the unexpected intermingle of pain and pleasure coaxing you to cry out. Such an interruption warranted the frantic footsteps heading your way.
Shit.
“Is everything ok–”
Splat.
Both you and Joker whipped your heads around to the source which was now in one of the doorways of the kitchen. There stood Daniel, horror stricken and trying his hardest to comprehend the scene before him. A demanding contrast of colours – flowers, wrapped and nicely presented, had fallen to the floor in surprise, explaining the slap of sadness.
No one said anything.
The thick mist of unease permeated through the kitchen, suffocating everyone inside. Well, at least those prone to embarrassment. Although you couldn’t see the cocky smirk on the jester’s face, you could feel the distinctive rumble of laughter brewing from the way you continued to cling onto his back.
In short, Joker was shameless.
No sooner than when you had realised such a thing was festering – it erupted, breaking the spell time had cast on the small box of a room. Hysterics was contrasted with Daniel’s visible confusion and, dare you say, hurt. The blood had rushed to his face, whether in anger or embarrassment it was clear it was both. A small part of you felt bad, it truly did, though it was difficult to sustain when Joker, without even so much as looking at you, forced you back further to a 130-degree angle until your upper half was leaning against the kitchen wall. Without missing a beat, he started to fiddle with his pants, a vicious, sharp smile delivering the final slice to the intruder’s heart.
Summary: You are the new Medical Examiner at the GCPD and despite your young age you are respected and admired by everyone. Nobody would ever think that a sweet and clever girl like you could be friend with both the Riddler and the Penguin. But above all, how could you be involved with a person like Jerome Valeska?
Pairing: Jerome Valeska x Reader, Ed Nygma x Oswald Cobblepot
Warning: swearing, multiple chapters, just Jerome being… well Jerome, angst possibly
A/N: hello! This is based from a dream I once had, therefore, it is not entirely related to what really happened in Gotham and I will make some changes to the real story. Also, I haven’t started season 4 so I’m not aware of the last events. In this fic, Lee is not the ME anymore, since she is still somewhere south with Mario, hence it will be Y/N who will be there for Jerome’s revival. English is not my first language, I apologize in advance for any mistake. Hope you enjoy!
You were really young but you were already a fully graduated student with a brilliant career. You had always been clever, it was a surprise for no one when you got into university at the age of 15. That is why, despite your young age, barely twenty years old, you were already working as Medical Examiner in the GCPD. At first, no one of your colleagues took you seriously, for you were really too young and could have been the daughter of some of them. However, once you started working, you proved them wrong.
Now, you were a fully respected girl, everybody trusted your judgment and recognised your incredible intelligence. To be fair, you were still seen as “too young”. Although, this time your youth was not seen as a problem, in fact, it was like you became the little sister that needed protection. You could definitely take care of yourself, but every cop in the GCPD had developed a soft spot for you. Especially the famous and notorious James Gordon.
Almost every cop had seen you and Jim’s friendship coming. He was overprotective and treated you like a little sister, always worried that seeing so many corpses at such a young age was not the best for you. On the other hand, you admired Jim and were always happy to help him solve some cases. It was true though that Jim was sometimes annoying, often treating you like a child. But despite that, your friendship was the golden perk of the GCPD.
That day you had just finished examining another corpse when you heard a lot of noises coming from the police area. You had always been a curious person, that is why you immediately found yourself walking straight towards it. You found the mayor and his right hand, Mr Nygma, walking through the department.
Saying that you were excited would have been an understatement. In the lab, there were still all the paperworks done by Mr Nygma, and you were fascinated by them. So now, despite him being a criminal, you were dying to meet him and ask him a few questions. You started walking towards him, more like running, with your working glasses bouncing on your nose and your eyes glimmering with excitement. Next to the couple there was, needless to say, Jim who was talking with Oswald about something you ignored, while Ed was looking around until his eyes met yours.
“Excuse me?” You asked as soon as you stopped in front of the men. Right after hearing your voice, Jim stopped talking to Oswald to look at you with nothing but worry and concern in his eyes.
“Y/N! Leave. Now.” He was acting again like the protective big brother, but you were having none of it today, not when Edward Nygma stood just in front of you.
“Now Jim, is this the way to talk to a lady? Please, be more nice”, Oswald said with a smile, extending his hand and introducing himself.
“Shut up, Penguin!” Came Jim’s angry voice.
You noticed Oswald visibly tensing and straightening his lips. He clearly didn’t like being called like that. You knew that Jim and Oswald had a peculiar history together, but still you did not like the way he was treating him, especially considering Oswald had been nothing but nice with you.
“His name is Oswald, Jim.”
Your voice was cold and firm, something Jim was not used to. He was taken aback, clearly confused by your sudden weird behaviour. Oswald waved his hand, like he was dismissing Jim’s rudeness. Like he was used to be disrespected. You didn’t like it at all. You didn’t exactly know why you were reacting like this, but you above everyone else understood how awful was being called names against your will. You hated it.
“Please, Miss, I am sure Jim meant no disrespect.”
Oswald was smiling, but you could sense that it was not genuine. It felt like a façade. How many fake smiles had you made every time someone called you “little one”? Too many to ever tolerate that action again, even when it was not meant for you.
“Y/N, please leave, these are not men you should be talking to.” Jim’s voice was still harsh, you knew that it was only because he didn’t want you to be involved with criminals, but it was time for Jim to understand that you weren’t a child. After hearing those words, Oswald’s eyes darkened a bit. He liked you and was definitely annoyed by Jim’s reaction. As for Ed, he was silently watching everything and was insanely curious about you. He didn’t miss your uniform as ME and he was wondering how someone so young could held a position like that. You must have been quite clever.
“I belong to you but others use me more often than you do, what am I?”
You looked at Ed, that was the first time he spoke since he arrived at the GCPD department. You were aware of his habit of telling riddles and you found yourself amused by him.
“Your name” you replied.
Ed smiled, took a step forward and extended his hand in front of him, smiling, “Edward Nygma, pleasured to meet you.”
You smiled broadly and shook his hand, Jim rolled his eyes and Oswald chuckled lightly. Ed was a smooth charmer.
“Pleasure is all mine, Mr Nygma. I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the ME. I was wondering, may I have a word with you?”
Jim started to protest but Ed nodded his head and he quickly disappeared with you before Jim could say another word.
***
Needless to say, your little encounter with Ed had caused you a little problem with Jim. For days all he and the other cops would do was keeping an eye on you and telling you that people like Edward Nygma and Oswald Cobblepot were too dangerous to hang out with. You weren’t a fool and you knew that they were criminals, but for the past few weeks they had been perfect and decent human beings with you. Actually, Ed helped you with your studies on the rotting of corpses and Oswald visited you from time to time for a chat. Now that he was mayor, it was not a problem for him to enter the GCPD department. He clearly liked you a lot, mainly because you respected him as a human being and because you never referred to him as The Penguin. For you, he was just Oswald. He wasn’t a murderer, a criminal, the mayor, a person to make fun of. He was just a normal man. A friend, even. He grew fond of you, just like Ed, even though they had different reasons.
Ed was fascinated by your intelligence and the skills you showed in your job. He found in you someone as passionate as him for science and riddles. A mind like yours could understand his and although Ed was a murderer and a bit crazy, you never mentioned anything and you based your judgment only on what you saw and on how he and Oswald treated you. You were not one of those who judged by the book’s cover. Yes, they were criminals. Yes, you wished they never committed any bad actions, but you couldn’t change the past and that didn’t mean they could not have you as a friend. Moreover, they never underestimated you because you were too young to work as ME. Unlike anybody else, your age never mattered to them.
Obviously Jim was not happy and he didn’t share your same lines of thought, but he soon accepted the idea that you cared about Oswald and Ed, and there was nothing he could do about it. Therefore, his main concern now was to be sure that both of them kept you away from dangerous situations. If anything would have ever happened to you, the entire GCPD would have gone after Ed and Oswald. Lucky for them, both Ed and Oswlad cared too much about you to ever involve you in criminal affairs.
However, despite everyone’s efforts to keep you away from danger, soon enough you found yourself deep into a massive problem and this time neither Jim Gordon or the entire GCPD, nor Oswald or Edward could protect you.
***
It was a day like any other and you were in your lab focused on your work when you heard Jim’s voice shouting: “There must be some other options. You can’t involve Y/N in this!”
You raised your eyebrows and heard footsteps loudly approaching your door. The voice of Captain Barnes came hard and firm: “She is the ME! Whether you like it or not, it’s her job.”
Then the door swung open and Captain Barnes entered the room followed by Jim, Harvey and two other cops carrying what looked like to be a dead man.
“Good morning, gentlemen. How can I help?” You greeted them and instructed the two cops to put the dead body on the table.
“Doctor Y/L/N, someone tried to bring back to life this corpse, we would like to be sure they didn’t succeed and that he is still dead” said Captain Barnes.
You raised your eyebrows, you were aware that a group of people was working on a project at Indian Hill, which goal was to bring back to life the dead, but you never actually met one of them yourself. You were fascinated by this kind of research, you knew it was unethical but still you were a woman of science and you could not help being fascinated by all of this.
“Please, Captain if yo-“
“Of course Captain, I’ll work on it” you said interrupting Jim. You didn’t know why he was trying so hard to convince Barnes to not let you work on this case, but this was your job, you had to do that, but more importantly you wanted to do that. Jim sensed that there was nothing he could say to persuade you to give up, so he sighed and let you do your job.
You look at the poor thing laying on the table. His face was missing, it must have been cut off. You felt sorry for whoever this man was and thought that whoever stole his face must have been some kind of a twisted creep.
Before Barnes and the others left the room you managed to ask, “excuse me, Captain, who is this man?”
If the Joker had a twin brother, your bodyguard Vagner would be the perfect match: the two men might not look the same, but their personalities are definitely alike. That’s why you love him so much. The question is: The King of Gotham or Vagner? Well, that’s to be determined.
You try not to speed on the streets of Gotham, but it’s hard to keep your cool considering you wish to reach Vagner’s place as soon as possible: he definitely misunderstood the whole situation and you have to let him know.
You were so startled when Vagner barged into The Clown’s Penthouse out of the blue: you were in the living room and he rushed through the emergency exit; the elevator was blocked on the 30th floor and your head of security had no other choice besides taking the stairs.
“Shit!” he bent over his knees, inhaling much needed air. “Are you… are you ok??”
“Jesus!“ you rushed by his side. “What’s wrong?!”
“Are you ok?” Vagner stood up straight, relieved you seemed fine.
“Yes, I am! Why? What’s the matter?!”
“The guys told me you left the club with The Joker,” the bodyguard muttered, still wheezing up a storm. “Giving the very profitable upcoming deal, I thought Mister J might unleash something to keep all the money,” Vagner lowered his voice while scanning the premises out of habit.
“He’s taking a shower,” Y/N touched his arm, confused about this strange expression smeared all over his face. “For God’s sake, Vee! We just had dinner; J wouldn’t do anything to risk war between the gangs,” you pulled a chair from the table and Vagner refused his boss’s offer.
“I’m fine,” he took a few deep breaths. “Well…” and the man paused for a second, “after you’re done… e-hem… here… let us know so we can pick you up!”
“I will,” you frowned at his impertinence and watched him walk towards the emergency exit. “Take the elevator!”
“Meh…” he waved his hand without turning and made himself scarce.
Although you knew how he was, you still though: Goddamn stubborn mule!!
You stretched The Joker’s t-shirt when it hit you: yeah, you were wearing The Clown’s; at dinner time he spilled his grape juice on your dress, thus you had to wash it and borrowed the garment in the meantime.
Y/N went to the laundry room to check the washing machine when it suddenly hit: as she was glaring at the timer, the woman realized what that weird look Vagner couldn’t hide meant.
He appeared… hurt.
Since you never saw him like that, it bother you.
A lot.
You grabbed your car keys and ran to the elevator in such a hurry you even forgot about your shoes.
So here you are waiting at another red light that does nothing else except slowing you down.
“Come on!” you hiss, frustrated. I mean, you shouldn’t really trouble for Vagner. He had quite the nerve barging in on your quiet evening and interrupt a fun night! The truth is The Joker can be fun…when he wants to.
Unlike Vee!
The same person that found you aimlessly wondering around the house after you pulled your wisdom teeth out at age sixteen. Freshly assigned to home security, the young man bumped into you while doing his rounds.
“Miss, what are you doing out of bed?”
“I wan’ ma dad,” Y/N barely muffled some words, still high from the pain meds.
“He’s out of town, miss. Let’s get you back to your room, hm?”
“Nooo, I wan’ ma daaaad,” you faked cry and wiped invisible tears, upset your father wasn’t there. He was always gone with business which made it difficult for the teenager to cope with the absence of both parents. “I don’ have a mom and I don’ have a daaadd,” you whaled as Vee was guiding you to your quarters.
“Good gracious…” the 30 year old huffed. Stuck on the premises with the capricious Y/N in those circumstances! Ugghhh!
“I wan’ maa daaaaddd!” you protested before you returned to your bed.
“Say what now?” Vagner didn’t understand your request; your cheeks were swollen and made it harder to enunciate.
“I wan’ my dad,” you closed your eyes, firmly clutching to the bottom of his jacket. The bodyguard couldn’t magically produce your parent out of nowhere, yet he understood Y/N was searching for comfort from a father who was hardly around.
That’s why he stood by your bed until you fell asleep and only then he detached your hand from his suit’s jacket.
“What a pest,” he shook his head, annoyed he was the pitiful recipient tending to the boss’s daughter. As if his strike of bad luck regarding Y/N stopped there. Ha!
About two years later you were having your girlfriends over and they sure didn’t skip the opportunity to tease Vee again.
“Is your name Vagner?” Ella pretended not to remember the individual guarding the entrance to the pool.
“Yup, with a V,” the serious escort rolled his eyes under the black sunglasses.
He often liked to mention his name was spelled with a V and not with a W which prompted you to nickname him Vee.
“Well, Vagner with a V,” Aria giggled, “we were chitchatting about our future endeavors and we have a quiz for you: if by the time I turn 35 I’m not married and you’re not hitched also, would you marry me?”
Too bad for the cheerful group: Vagner wasn’t the one to falter at pointless trivialities and unfortunately, he was waaay familiar with their shenanigans.
“Oh boy, would I?” the unenthusiastic tone made you snicker. “Does my life depend on it?”
“No,” Aria happily replied.
“Then why doom myself?” Vee cut her off and Ella jumped in:
“Hey Vagner, would you marry me then?”
“Nope.”
“What about Y/N?” she continued.
“A big NO!”
“How come she gets a big no?”
“I wonder what else is big,” Aria whispered in your ear and you snorted at her insinuation. “I personally wouldn’t reject the idea of an older guy showing me the ropes, you know?” she elbowed you.
“You’re shameless!” Ella laughed at her friend’s insinuations. “I think you should tell your dad to get rid of him,” she advised Y/N a whim. “He’s stuck up!”
“I doubt my father will; he likes Vagner, he insists he’s loyal,” Y/N scoffed at her own affirmation.
Your parent was correct though: Vee proved his loyalty furthermore shortly afterwards when there was an almost successful attempt to kidnap you. The four vehicle convoy was ambushed in Silvadene forest on the way to your dad’s main hideout and you got injured. Vagner carried you in his arms for five miles of woodland in order to meet with the emergency crew dispatched to aid. You recall drifting in and out of consciousness and his voice echoing in the darkness:
“Hang in there, Y/N. We’re almost there!”
Your father appreciated Vee saving his daughter that’s why he promoted him as head of security and currently he still holds the position; you have to admit your dad wasn’t wrong about the man you’re in such a hurry to see right now.
Another red light. Really?! Are you going to be jinxed in such a manner on every street?!
You wonder if Vagner had similar misfortune in traffic as he was driving home and you smile at the memory unfolding in your mind: the 25 years old Y/N wished to continue the tradition of giving him his birthday week off to no avail.
“How old are you gonna be next week?” you asked although you knew the answer.
“Thirty seven.”
“Didn’t you turn 37 two years ago?!”
“Who keeps track?” the man’s cocky reply didn’t fail to amuse you.
“I do. Anyway, you can have the week off to spend with your girlfriend.”
“Unnecessary, we broke up,” Vee’s confession made the smart ass articulate:
“What did you do?”
“Eh, the usual,” you were interrupted thus decided to surprise him nevertheless with lunch and cake for his birthday.
“What’s all this?” he pointed out at the table in the living room.
“Food. Since you didn’t want vacation, we should celebrate anyway,” you covered his mouth because he wanted to protest. “I got your favorite,” Y/N announced and almost started singing.
“Birthday wish first then!” the sour beneficiary of your attention saw no escape from your plans. “Please don’t make her sing!” he blew out the candles so fast you didn’t belch out a single note.
“You’re rude!” the disappointed Y/N frowned at the missed chance to torment him.
“Thank you, I try my best.”
“I’m going to have to tell my dad to fire you,” you pouted. “I don’t like you!”
“Then I’m doing something right,” the smugness annoyed Y/N quite a lot but not enough to request his discharge.
You didn’t have the occasion to do it any longer even if you wanted to on numerous instances: twenty four months ago your father unexpectedly died of a heart attack which left you the sole hair of his empire. You didn’t come out of your room for days, you didn’t know what to do and which direction to take.
But somebody was there for you no matter what.
“Vee?” you cracked the door open and he was there.
“Yeah?”
You moved out of the way to let him in before closing the door; he watched you pace around the bedroom, aware you were struggling with decisions concerning what was laying ahead.
“What should I do?” Y/N mumbled.
“There are a lot of assholes prepared to strike giving the present situation,” Vagner offered advice. “You can’t show any weakness, they will tear you apart. You know what they say: keep your enemy close.”
“You mean The Joker?”
“Among others,” he nodded. “If you don’t raise up to the occasion someone else will and it might end up badly. Look at the bright side: now that you’re the boss, you can finally fire me.”
“I won’t!”
“Crap, I was hoping for an early retirement,” Vee complained and you chuckled at his crabbiness.
“You definitely remind me of him.”
“Who?!” the clueless bodyguard was determined to find out.
It was hilarious he didn’t see it yet.
Not the same can be mentioned about The Clown: being the observant bastard that he is, his majesty noticed certain details regarding Y/N and Vagner.
For example, that time when after a meeting you got into the car and Vee held your hand to help you settle in and you didn’t let go until you fixed your dress too. J believed it was funny how none of two parties realized what they were doing simply because the intimate gesture was considered something very natural between them.
And how about the boyfriend incident? That was quite the test The King of Gotham was searching for in order to prove a specific theory to nobody but his own twisted self.
Several were attending a gathering and after chitchatting with a few members you returned to your spot and wanted your drink. Vee reached out from behind, covered the glass with his fingers and immediately pushed it in front of Azzhov.
“You drink it!”
“Why would I drink it?” your boyfriend fussed about Vagner’s behavior. “It’s hers,” he tried to return the beverage when you stopped his movement.
“Drink it!” the menacing bodyguard grumbled.
“Are you kidding me?!” Azzhov retaliated. “Are you going to let him talk to me like this?!”
“Did you add a surprise to my drink I should know about?” you calmly demanded the truth. “Or do you act offended on purpose?”
The Joker was enjoying the show that many were missing due to the chaotic nature of such assemblies, delighted to conclude you didn’t hesitate for one second to believe Vee over your own man.
Your drink was spiked no doubt, Vagner wasn’t the sole person to have caught it: The Clown saw it also. Who knows what was in there?
As a result, you and your team abruptly prepared to leave the meeting and J felt compelled to explain his Sherlock discoveries:
“Hey Frost!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you notice Y/N never brings a jacket with her? She hopes her bodyguard will offer his coat?”
“Huh?” the oblivious Jonny wasn’t the person to indulge pettiness like The Joker did.
That was accurate: Vagner was quick to give you his jacket while you were preparing to bail, thus J pushed for more.
“Y/N!” he raised his voice. “I would like to hire Vagner for my crew. Are you willing to negotiate? I’ll pay a handsome sum! Or I can trade you Frost.”
“Vee is not up for any kind of negotiations, Mister Joker!” the already pissed 30 year old woman had no patience for bullshit. “I’ll keep myVagner and you keep Frost, deal?”
His majesty wasn’t even angry at your tirade since he achieved his purpose.
“Fine, keep your Vagner,” the entitled smirk was a sign there was more to come on the subject.
So much that after Azzhov tragically disappeared, J waited a decent amount of time before inviting you for dinner at his penthouse, then spilled his grape juice all over your dress on purpose. When Vee arrived, The Joker wasn’t taking a shower upstairs: he was watching on camera the scene playing in his living room. It was Vagner’s day off yet he still showed up for Y/N, worried that something might have happened to her. And jealous, The King concluded.
The last shred of proof J needed was when you rushed after Vee, didn’t even take your shoes nor bother to inform your host know you were leaving the building; The Joker called it “spur of the moment”.
The weird idea of him being an excellent matchmaker flourished in his mind, although there was nobody around to brag about it.
So he called Frost. Who else would have listened to his aberrations without judging?
*************
“Vee?” you knock on the glass sliding door. “Vee?”
You distinguish his silhouette behind the curtains as he opens the entrance for you, surprised to see you there.
“What are you doing?!” he grabs a folded towel from the couch. “You’re soaking wet!”
“I tried the front door but you didn’t hear me. I had to backtrack around the house and it’s pouring,” you pant from the effort of keeping yourself warm while he adds another towel on your shoulders.
“I told you to call me. Us” he corrects the sentence, “when you are ready to leave Mister J’s place. Where are your shoes?!” Vagner guides you in front of the fireplace and starts drying your hair with the other towel.
“Nothing happened with The Joker,” you ignore his question because you have to get it out of your chest.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he indifferently sights. “I’m not your keeper.”
“Vee?”
“Yes?”
“Are you in love with me?”
Vagner is silent, then he lets the towel fall on the carpet. You don’t mind that he’s parting your hair so he can see you when the admits:
“I fucking adore you!”
And you also don’t mind being pulled into his arms and kissed because you know what they say:
Keep your enemies close and someone that loves you even closer.
When The Joker asked The Crimson Witch to cast a spell for him, he didn’t think it will turn his life upside down. Today, The King of Gotham decided to go back and see the sorceress again in order to demand a voiding of the contract. There is one problem though: The Crimson Witch never reverses her magic.
The Joker holds tighter to his briefcase filled with diamonds and money, slowly working his way up the hidden path leading towards the middle of the Crimson Forest. Not too many are aware where to search for the woman that is difficult to persuade in fulfilling wishes anyway: she does what she wants, when she wants and rarely allows access to her lair.
“Where the hell was it?…” J mumbles to himself, trying to recall the exact spot he conjured The Crimson Witch last time before realizing he’s been going in circles for the last hour. “Shit!” he exhales, frustrated.
The Joker looks left and right although it’s useless: the landscape offers no clue on his whereabouts and he’s aware this might be one of her tricks to keep unwanted visitors at bay. No need to check his cell phone or compass: absolutely nothing works in these accursed woods! Not if one’s purpose is to encounter the sorceress…
The King of Gotham is already exhausted, thus he attempts to get the woman’s attention:
“Crimson Witch! I have a treasure with me! All yours if you help me! Can you hear me???… … … Heeellllooooo????” the echo dissipates in the depths of the wood, soon killed by the thick mist creeping on the ground in The Joker’s direction. In moments, he can’t see inches in front of his face; makes him wonder if he’ll find his way back to the car.
There’s definitely a very unnatural element about the fog and J stumbles around, unwilling to linger in a forest that doesn’t stomach him.
“Goddammit!” he cusses at the sharp branches snagging his expensive clothes, dreading to weight in the last option:
If The Joker gives her what she truly desires, will she let him in?
Might as well give it a shot, otherwise he’ll aimlessly walk forever without a resolution in sight.
And he can’t afford to return home in the state he’s in.
The Clown Prince of Crime takes a knife from his pocket, the small cut created in the palm of his hand releasing drops of blood splashing on the cold soil.
“Come on… come on…” he mutters while hoping the sacrifice will please The Witch enough to grant him an audience. Nothing happens for a few seconds, that’s why he gasps when the blood starts moving like a tiny snake at his feet. It’s hard to discern in the murkiness, yet he manages to follow the trail carved by his own blood until he almost bumps into the huge stone gates emerging out of nowhere.
The King of Gotham contemplates his next objective not thrilled about being face to face with The Crimson Witch again: God knows he’s not easily startled, yet she has a strange effect upon everyone laying eyes on her.
J is no exception.
He has to use all his strength struggling to pry the entrance opened and finally recognizes the familiar corridor leading to the humongous room guarded by stone dragons on both sides all the way up to the marble stairs where the sorceress awaits. The train of her red dress floats an inch above the floor and it’s so long that it literally covers everything behind her. It seems…alive.
The Joker notices the eyes of the dragons moving as he passes by, low growls accompanied by uncanny screeches making him reconsider the abrupt decision of pushing for a meeting in HER kingdom. The blood his majesty spilled is crawling closer and closer to you until it’s absorbed by the dress you’re wearing: a positive sign his sacrifice was accepted.
You sniff the air, quite surprised to recognize the stench of despair; it’s weird since he usually reeks of indifference.
“What is it that you want, Mister Joker?” the woman’s unfriendly tone greets the unwanted guest.
J takes a strenuous breath, laying down his affliction:
“Last time I was here I asked you to erase my memory regarding something…I can’t remember what it was of course, but… but I have the feeling I forgot such important details it keeps me up at night: I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t think!”
“Can’t be that important if you wanted it gone from your brain, hm?” your entitled smirk clashes with The Joker’s twisted personality.
“I want you to reverse the spell! I must remember what I forgot, do you understand???!”
“Oooh, I do understand,” The Crimson Witch changes her mood also. “I’m sure you’re aware I NEVER reverse my magic!!!”
“I’ll give you this suitcase!” J interrupts. “There’s a fortune in here! I can get more!”
“No!!” you sneer at his entitlement.
“You have to do it!!! I’m the King of Gotham and I order you to…”
“Order me?!” your sinister laughter hurts his ears as it bounces off the thick walls, slapping him with almost physical manifestation. “Your title means zero to me, Mister Joker!” the angry enchantress warns The Clown of his transgression, yet he’s too mad at her refusal to perceive the danger.
“Did you curse me?” he has the nerve to accuse you out of the blue. “Is that what’s eating me from the inside out?”
“Curse you??!” The Witch’s composure reaches a threshold the green haired man shouldn’t unleash. “Why bother? You hardly worth the trouble of being spoken to, Mister Joker!!!”
Ignoring all common sense, The Joker takes out a gun from his coat and doesn’t have a chance to point it at you.
“Be gone!!!!” The Crimson Witch casts him out of her domain and he lands on his knees in the woods, dizzy from the debilitating whiplash.
“Ugghh…” he groans in pain, letting himself fall in the grass; J makes an extra effort to roll on his back, glaring at the grey sky above without any kind of relief on the horizon. He’s so doomed. So tired. So hopeless.
What the hell did he forget?…
Unable to move anymore and pushed to the brink of death, The Joker lays in the silky grass almost losing consciousness when your face suddenly hovers over his.
“You’re pathetic!” the displeased Crimson Witch hisses. “I’m only doing this because the children keep asking about you!!”
The Prince of Crime can’t process what’s happening: all he distinguishes now is your red dress. Red… just like blood.
*************
The first memory hit The Joker with such intensity his rotten heart stopped for a few seconds; in the daze, he recalled the red dress: the most vivid red… just like blood… belonging to the infernal Crimson Witch.
She came for The Joker when he wasn’t even in the forest; he summoned her since he didn’t have any other choice: ambushed and separated from his crew, J got shot and barely made it on a dark alley close to Gotham’s outskirts.
The Clown collapsed there and knew that without help he would die before his henchmen found him thus he settled on calling upon the sorceress. J figured he had what she fancied: it was literally oozing out of him so maybe she’d answer his plea.
“Crimson Witch! If you can hear me, show yourself!”
Nothing happened and he laughed at his own absurd idea of trying to get her to aid.
“Heeeeyyyyy, Crimson Wiiitchhhh!!” the almost delirious Joker chuckled while staring at the puddle of red liquid forming near him. “I need help!”
The sloshing noise forged by his blood gravitating towards the seam of her dress made him gain enough clarity to articulate:
“… Take it, mmm? It’s not that I can put it back… You can ask for…for …whatever you want…I’m in a bit of a pickle,” J found the strength to gesticulate at his wounds.
No reaction from your part besides the eerie movement of the outworldly dress. “Are you gonna watch me die?” his crocked smile froze half way through the sentence, the blood loss making The King of Gotham faint.
You actually debated if you should watch him die without taking any action, yet he was fortunate to wake up after two days in a very unfamiliar place: your infamous castle.
You were in your favorite room, gazing at Darko’s portrait above the fire place and although quiet, you heard the self-proclaimed Prince of Crime nevertheless.
The Joker pressed on to his bandaged abdomen with one arm while holding on to the walls with the other and halted at the view of that humongous painting The Crimson Witch was in front of: a man dressed in a red suit bearing the same pattern as her dress. He was terrifying to look at and in the same time impossible to neglect.
Exactly like her.
“There’s someone…”, The Clown tried to justify his intrusion and was cut off.
“Are you doing better, Mister Joker?” you wickedly grinned without turning. “I didn’t have time to monitor your progress; I was busy tending to the children.”
“You have children??!!” The Clown blurred out and his astonishment prompted you to scoff.
“I do: I take kids and bring them here.”
“Take them?…” J’s fuzzy mind couldn’t put two and two together besides an offensive phrase. “Like…like in Hansel and Gretel?…”
You bursting into laughter as if it was the best pun ever stunned him: it was so surreal it felt like a punch in the gut and he had to bend over, coughing up a storm.
He was lucky you didn’t consider it insulting.
“No, Mister Joker,” your temper immediately switched. “Not like in Hansel and Gretel!!”
He didn’t know back then, but actually The Witch saved abandoned or abused babies and children from gruesome fates: she raised them in her castle until adulthood, then found them safe homes they could go to.
Why?
Because she was a firm believer innocence had to be protected at all costs: the merciless Crimson Witch was also very merciful, incorruptible and perfectly diabolical to the few humans aware of her existence.
“Are you related?” The Joker shifted your attention at the canvas depicting Darko: he noticed your disposition reversed for the worse when you replied to his stupid question. He was anything but dumb and perceived the dangers of making the vile sorceress angry.
“Yes,” you responded. “This is my older brother Darko, the last Witcher.”
“Last?…”
“As in there are no more Witchers, Mister Joker; he was the last one. Only three witches left too.”
The Crimson Witch didn’t tell The Clown her two older sister used forbidden spells to annihilate all the Witchers and enchantresses in their mad quest for power: Darko died saving his favorite sibling by casting the Underworld Curse upon her. The incantation consumed him yet it worked: Y/N didn’t perish and she won’t as long as her red dress keeps assimilating blood willingly given to her.
Such a wretched outcome for a loving brother to provoke his own demise by damning his own sister in order to rescue her.
That is the undeniable paradox of The Crimson Witch: despite the malediction cast upon her, she never demands a sacrifice; it’s always voluntarily offered.
And she never reveals her secrets, that’s why moments after disclosing a tiny detail about her past it was erased from The Joker’s memory. He went back to his first thought when he walked in the room:
“There’s someone… in the mirror in the bedroom where I woke up, it’s freaking me out! A young woman calling for her mother.”
That definitely got your attention and you hurried towards the quarters disregarding the incapacitated Joker following your tracks.
The full size antique mirror showed a girl in her early twenties, she appeared to be in a bathroom. Ready to prick her finger with a needle so she can offer drops of blood upon the lit candle, you stopped her before she did it.
“You know I don’t request blood sacrifices from my children,” your soften voice brought her to tears.
“Mom, you came! I thought you won’t come…”
When the children she raises leave her, The Witch allows them each to summon her three times when in peril during their life span. Amelia, a baby you found abandoned in a dumpster years ago, already used up her tokens.
“I always come if my children need me,” you reached your hand to caress her cheek. She covered your fingers with hers, sobbing. “What’s the matter, child?”
“Mom, he won’t let me leave,” she whispered while peaking at the door she locked.
“Who?”
“My boyfriend… He thinks I’m cheating on him, he took away my keys and my wallet and won’t let me out of his sight. Last night he pushed me on the floor, he was outraged for no reason. I’m so scared,” Amelia bit her lip and you frowned at her confession. “Please help me, mom!”
She jumped when the strong knocks on the door almost made the flimsy latch unhinge.
“What are you doing in there, huh? Who are you talking to? Open up if you know what’s good for you!!!” he yelled and you tightened the grip on her face because she was uncontrollably shaking.
“Don’t move, child. What’s his name?”
Amelia screamed when he kicked the door opened, determined to punish her for not obeying his command.
“Don’t move!” you firmly kept her steady within your grasp. “I need his name!”
“Mark!” you were given the answer.
Amelia’s boyfriend rushed to grab her and froze when noticed someone else in the mirror’s reflection, not his girlfriend’s: it could’ve might as well be the devil himself.
“Close your eyes, child!” and Amelia dug her nails in your skin, discerning a few words her mother was chanting.
“I conjure the souls of the dead against one unworthy of walking the Earth…” and then she couldn’t comprehend the words anymore.
The sound of crunching bones compelled The Joker to back out in astonishment for he witnessed something nobody had before. He tripped on the carpet and fell, the woman’s hateful warning spoken loud and clear:
“If you’ll ever be on the other side of the mirror Mister Joker, hurting one of my children, the same thing will happen to you!!”
*************
The Joker is trying to open his eyes, finding it hard to regain consciousness after his brain has been flooded with a million things that were canceled from his neurons, including the horrible fight he had with The Crimson Witch: uncapable of understanding why he kept going back to her, it was easier to accuse her of witchcraft. That insatiable need to be near her translated into him wrongly convincing himself she bewitched him when in fact it wasn’t true.
In the heat of the moment The King of Gotham offered a huge payment if she would delete everything related to their relationship. That, of course, included the kids. What kind of father wouldn’t consider the repercussions of a decision taken lightly just because he’s too paranoid to think straight?
The Joker of course.
He also reckons Y/N ‘s bitter acknowledgment:
“Don’t worry, I don’t need payment!! It’s free!”
That’s right, he recollects now… Slowly opening his eyes and still laying in the same spot he landed when he was casted out of your castle, J remembers his offsprings; forgetting about his family left such a void in his heard he couldn’t function for weeks: Emma, Kase and Mia, plus their mother that wears the infernal red dress since The Crimson Witch is actually… his wife.
The Joker’s daughter grew up hearing the story of The Prince and Princess that lived far away in the Starlight Kingdoms; often Emma can’t even fall asleep until her mother narrates the fairytale she loves dearly. One could say Y/N is a very inventive parent since the fantasy she describes made The King of Gotham addicted to her saga also.
“Is the hot chocolate done?” The Joker sneaks up behind you with a very important mission entrusted by his offspring.
“Almost,” you smile while his arms wrap around your waist.
“She said don’t forget the marshmallows.”
“I won’t,” you chuckle at the six-year old’s reminder: Emma loves to sip on hot chocolate before going to sleep, especially since the customized cup engraved with gold letters “Pumpkin Pie” was a gift from her dad.
“And she wants the story,” J rests his chin on your shoulder, helping you stir the delicious beverage.
“Again?”
“U-hum. She can hear the magical fairytale and after she dozes off we can make some magic on our own in the master bedroom,” the silver teeth softly bite on your neck.
“Is that a proposal or a promise?” you tease his majesty out of habit.
“Both, I suppose. I’m not the one to brags still… I do have some aces up my sleeve.”
“I love surprises,” you wink and snatch Emma’s treat from the counter, heading over to her room with The Joker purring to himself all the way up to second floor of the house. Before you enter the quarters, J pinches your butt and you almost drop the cup.
“Jeez!” you snicker at his mischievous grin.
“Mommy?” Emma calls because she heard the whispers.
“Yes, honey; I’m here,” you push the door open and walk next to her bed, handing over the sweet liquid.
“Thank you, mommy,” she slurps a little bit of hot cocoa as she watches her father taking a sit on the pink sofa.
“Are you staying for story time daddy?” Emma inquires.
“Oh yeah,” The Joker admits without hesitation since there’s no way he’d miss on it.
Another swig of tasty delight and the little girl places her mug on the night stand, informing:
“I’m ready, mommy.”
Y/N caresses her hair and starts the saga her family loves so much.
“Many, many years ago, veeeery far away from here there were two realms at war from the beginning of the universe: The Starlight Kingdom Above and The Starlight Kingdom Below.”
“Why were they fighting, mommy?” Emma interrupts: she likes to ask questions or add details she remembers from your previous depictions of the narrative.
“Who knows?” you lift your shoulders up. “That’s how it was in their world; they were powerful beings living on distant stars and conflict was the sole purpose for these immortal entities.”
“But one day something magical happened, right?” your daughter’s hopeful tone prompts huffing from her dad.
“Indeed, honey! It was both magical and wonderful: The Princess from The Starlight Kingdom Above fell in love with The Prince from The Starlight Kingdom Below.”
Emma giggles and bites on her lip, excited:
“Did The Princess look like you, mommy?”
“Probably,” you agree, aware it makes it easier for the mini Pumpkin to understand.
“And The Prince looked like daddy?”
“Definitely,” J’s arrogance takes over. “Handsome and flawless.”
“Ughh,” you mumble and continue. “Instead of welcoming such unexpected prospect of peace, the councils from both empires opposed the horrendous idea; to them, the concept of love was uncharacteristic to their kind. The Starlight Kingdom Above didn’t take any special measures besides stating their objection, yet The Starlight Kingdom Below went a different route: they accused The Prince of treason and decided to punish him in the worst way possible.”
Emma gasps and covers her nose with the blanket, waiting for the segment that makes her tiny heart race faster.
“Even if The Prince was a powerful sovereign wielding unimaginable forces, he was caught off guard when the council attacked him by surprise: they briefly announced the verdict and quickly carried the sentence. They erased his memories and cast him in The Void, a portal meant to beam him into deepest corners of the universe so that he will never be found again.”
J scratches his chin, meditating at your revelations; he dreads this segment of the fairytale as much as his daughter does.
“The last image The Prince saw was The Princess floating amidst the dark skies, her armor and spear shinier than all the stars around. He wanted to tell her so much but he didn’t have a chance: he was pushed into The Void and vanished.”
“Oh no…” the six years old whimpers, upset.
“Nobody predicted what happened next,” you cheerfully enlighten the mood and Emma glides up her pillows, impatient for the sequel. “Shocked to see The Kingdom Below performing such a horrendous act, The Princess sealed her fate without any doubts: she rushed into the abyss and instantly disappeared also.”
“That’s all I call commitment,” The Joker’s remark evokes a sassy gaze from Y/N’s part plus admonishment from his own flesh and blood as a result of his unwelcomed intervention:
“Daddy!!!”
The Joker opens his mouth for a clever response thus you resume the story to shut him up:
“The Prince floated through space for thousands of years, asleep and alone after his kin’s betrayal, until suddenly he crushed on a small planet called Earth.”
“Yayyyy!!!” Emma enthusiastically claps and her father seems delighted too.
“Everyone thinks the dinosaur’s extinction occurred because of a meteorite that collided with this world, yet it was actually The Prince collapsing from outer space.”
“Waaahhhhhh,” your daughter is once more amazed at her mother’s disclosure.
“The Prince stayed asleep for millions of years until one day he woke up in a strange land, unable to remember who he was. All he could feel was pure hate, disgust and animosity towards everything and everyone without truly understanding why; he couldn’t recollect he was once loved. The pain and anguish of what was done to him lingered in his troubled mind, never diminishing over years. People feared him because to them, The Prince was someone you couldn’t reason with; how could they anyway? He wasn’t even human. Even if His Majesty resembled an earthling, he still looked frightening: he was an outcast on this planet too.”
“Pfftt!” J figures he has to step in and Emma shushes him, frowning.
“For God’s sake…” he mutters at the two girls in his life ganging up on him.
“And The Princesses, mommy?”
“The Princess, honey, relentlessly searched for him without giving up hope. Numerous decades passed by and there was no sign of The Prince. Although she used her Trispectral abilities, it took eons to inspect such vast territories. Do you remember what Trispectral means honey?” Y/N engages her daughter in the story.
“Yes! It means that someone has the power to exist in multiple dimensions at the same time,” the nugget blurs out, glad to share the information with her parents.
“Good job, sweetheart!” you immediately praise and J inflates his chest, proud his offspring retains complicated information with ease. “At one point, The Princess passed nearby a small ball of rubble called Earth, when she abruptly sensed something weird: it was The Prince!”
“Hehehehe!” Emma kicks her feet under the comforter, joyful to discern the part she adores.
“The Prince was alone at his house hidden by a lake, his favorite retreat when he didn’t want anybody to bother him; he freaked out when he saw this celestial being falling from heavens right in front of him! He tried to run, yet The Princess stopped him: she trapped him against a tree and he tried to fight her without any success: bullets didn’t do any harm to such a tremendously superior entity. The Princess kept approaching, when she realized he didn’t even comprehend the dialect she was speaking: stripped of his memories, The Prince didn’t apprehend the Ancient Star Language only those dwelling in the stars know. That saddened her so much; on top of everything, The Princess noticed a very worrisome detail: the Starlight Fire burning inside each Starlight entity was completely dead within The Prince. She didn’t see it behind his eyes, it was just…gone.”
Emma sniffles and you peck her forehead, speeding up the happy ending she’s been waiting for.
“The Princess had no other choice but to try and reignite his fire with hers: she was aware of how dangerous it was, but what options did she have? None, really. Despite The Prince struggling to escape her embrace, she went on with the plan. The fire spilled out of her, engulfing The Prince in the scorching blaze. He screamed in agony, unable to move or to react to the most excruciating torment he felt in the whole eternity: the fire grew in intensity, but his essence didn’t wake up. He lost consciousness in The Princess’s arms as she was mourning the loss of Royalty from The Kingdom Below. He wasn’t dead, not in the real meaning of the word: immortals never perish. Unable to revive who he was in the past, he was forever lost and that was worse than death. The Princess was heartbroken; she kept holding him without a trace of optimism left, when out of the blue…” you pause and Emma’s mouth opens in anticipation. “… The Starlight Fire regenerated inside The Prince!!!”
Your daughter screams, laughing up a storm at the excellent outcome as her dad shamelessly applauds:
“Bravo, bravo and hooray!”
“The Prince began to remember who he was and finally recognized The Princess: she was sovereign to The Kingdom Above, the one he loved! She asked him if he knew who she was and he answered back in the Starlight language he now could articulate: you’re my Princess. And this is how The Prince from The Starlight Kingdom Below was reunited with The Princess from The Starlight Kingdom Above.”
“And they lived happily ever after?” Emma giggles and you confirm.
“Yes, they did, honey,” you tuck her in and signal for The Joker to stand. “Go to sleep now, sweet dreams,” you give her the pink unicorn to cuddle with. “Do you want more hot chocolate?”
“No, mommy, you can take the cup.”
“I’ll take it,” J offers and rearranges her pillow for the lack of a better strategy of making himself useful. “Good night, Pumpkin.”
“Good night, daddy,” Emma yawns and closes her eyes, content to have heard the fairytale tonight too.
The parents sneak out of her bedroom, tiptoeing on the hallway.
“I’ll take the cup to the kitchen and then I’ll be up,” you gesture towards the master bedroom.
“Hurry up, you know I’m impatient!” The King of Gotham underlines his affliction to an indifferent Y/N that prefers to let him simmer five extra minutes for the heck of it.
****************
“Well, Mister Joker. I have returned,” you slowly shut the door behind you.
“You lingered on purpose, didn’t you?”
“Apparently,” you smile at his complaint. “I’m back for the magic,” Y/N closes the gap between the bodies, lacing her fingers behind his neck. “Where is it?”
“If you insist,” J snaps his fingers and the environment around them is shifting to a unique landscape filled with light, each single item built out of glittery Stardust.
How is such a thing possible? It’s very simple: what is presented to Emma as being a fable it’s actually reality; her parents areThe Starlight Royalty that fell in love with each other on the battlefield millions of years ago. They figured their heir will have a better idea of who they are when she grows up if she keeps hearing about it on a constant basis. Since they decided to reside on Earth and also on a distant star using their Trispectral abilities, The Prince and Princess keep working on the latest until Emma will be ready to transport herself on this location too.
“Have you been building when I wasn’t here?” you ogle the castle which has more towers than anticipated at your last visit.
“You like surprises so I did,” The Prince boasts.
“Hmm…” you tilt your head, debating. “I believe the west tower is taller than it should be,” your finger whooshing in the air fixes the anomaly.
“Yeah… It does look nicer,” he agrees. “You’re better at architecture than I am.”
“And other stuff,” you emphasize because he’ll probably protest if you don’t.
“Maybe, but all a Prince needs is his Princess, his starlight babies,” J bends to kiss your tummy, ”the puny, flimsy planet he landed on and this star. Next week we’ll tell Emma she’ll be a big sister, make it a celebration as we arranged. Deal?”
“Of course, she will be thrilled!” you smile and he notices the cloud shadowing the blissful atmosphere.
“What’s wrong?”
You take a deep breath, annoyed.
“Do you think our kin is searching for us?”
“More than likely…” The Prince grumbles. “Let them come!” the armor materializes on his frame while holding the sword he once used in the war.
“I won’t let them touch what we have here!!” your armor emerges also as you firmly clutch to your heavenly spear.
“Can you take your helmet off?” The Prince requests on a whim. “For old times sake; I have a special attachment for that moment when I saw you without it for the first time, levitating above your army.”
That was actually the very instance he fell in love with his nemesis.
You do as asked and The Prince sights, defeated.
“You still shine brighter than all the other stars,” he comes close to you again, totally smitten with the aura emanating from Y/N.
“Do I?” you playfully strike his armor with your spear.
“A-ha,” he rests his forehead on yours, whispering: “Can you repeat how the story ends?” the Starlight Fire behind his eyes flickers in perfect synchronicity with yours.
The Princess utters the sentence in the Ancient Starlight language that he remembered when you saved him:
The Joker’s son has an unrequited crush on Bane’s daughter and no matter how many times he tried to get under her skin she just didn’t show any interest. Kase is not the one to be discouraged by such insignificant details, plus a recent turn in events might aid stir things towards a better outcome.
“Hi Y/N,” Kase greets you while you try to move boxes with smuggled artefacts Bane and The Joker decided to share after a joint heist last month.
“Hey,” you keep it short hoping he will sort of make himself useful and disappear.
“Once we’re done here, wanna go for a coffee or ice cream?” the twenty year old tries to nonchalantly bring it up.
“No, sorry. I’m busy,” you pass by him in order to get to more crates in the pile. “Are you going to help?”
“Sure,” he sulks and bends over to reach the biggest container since he wishes to show off. Grunting, exertion, some mumbled cussing and mild sweating point out the simple fact he won’t be able to achieve his goal.
“Don’t break your bones, Casanova!” Bane shouts as J watches you lift the huge box without any effort and can’t help it:
“Would you look at that! Goddamn bulldozer!”
Any other parent will flip hearing such nonsense, coming from the Joker is definitely praise and your father is aware.
“She has good genes,” he huffs, proud at his daughter’s achievements.
“My son has to marry your daughter,” The King of Gotham teases the agenda to his business partner. “I’m all in for a partnership like that.”
“She’s eighteen!” Bane frowns, starting to get annoyed because The Joker mentions it on a regular basis.
“For heaven’s sake, not now! In a few years!”
“I’m happy you have it planned, but Casanova can’t even score a date,” your parent has the humongous satisfaction of pressing J’s buttons.
“Oh, he will! He has my charm, it’s bound to happen,” the smirk unraveling those uncanny silver teeth makes Bane roll his eyes.
“U-huummm, suuuure. How can he fail possessing such unmeasurable capabilities?” the brute sarcastically tramples on The Clown’s affirmations.
In the meantime, you carry another heavy item on your shoulder towards one of the trucks and have to stop in front of Kase: he’s ogling you, his mouth slightly opened with admiration. You place your index finger under his chin and close his jaw together, willing to perform a public service:
“So flies won’t get in,” your explanation makes the young man burst into laughter.
You have more to say but you notice a detail regarding The Joker: Bane abandoned him by the SUVs and J is glaring at his new shoes, then at the car Frost parked on the other side of the field, at his shoes again.
Oh no… you know what that means: trouble. Why?
Last night’s storm left a bunch of muddy puddles behind and The King will soon decide to walk into them, which will result in a complete disaster: he’ll get pissed his shoes are ruined, then have a tantrum followed by him randomly punishing henchmen, heads will roll. Your dad will be mad and the conflict is already lined up. Might as well avoid it before it blows out of proportions.
“Hold the fort!” you address Kase and wander off to rescue his dad. “New shoes Mister Joker?” you ask whilst he mutters a faint yes. “Want a piggy back ride?”
“Supposedly,” he doesn’t reject the offer thus you encourage his majesty:
“Hop on, Mister J!”
Bane happens to turn the corner beyond the cars situated north the parking lot and halts at the sight of his daughter fetching J across the meadow.
“Not again!” he sneers and yells: “Y/N!!! What are you doing?! He has two legs, doesn’t he?!”
“I don’t want to get dirty!” The Clown vociferates his main concern.
“Almost there!” you hurry so Bane won’t snap. “Here you go, Mister J,” you discard the burden by his vehicle. “I have an extra pair of rubber boots in my trunk, you can borrow them if they fit.”
“How can I wear rubber boots with this outfit?” J scrunches up his face and you definitely have no tolerance for a fashion speech.
“Ok then Mister J, I’ll return to my task. Holler if you require further assistance.”
“He doesn’t!” Bane cuts you off, irritated. “Quit taking advantage of my kid’s strength!” the threat has no effect on The Joker.
“I’m not taking advantage! She’s the one that offered!”
“I did, it’s fine!” you attempt to diffuse the quarrel and now it seems Kase is fiddling with his hearing aid which prompts you to rush over to him. “Problems?” Y/N inquires although she guessed the reply.
“I think the battery is dead,” J’s son informs.
“I have some in my car.”
“Hm?”
“I have some in my car!” you raise your voice since he can’t hear well: Kase is almost deaf in the right ear due to a misfortunate event that happened when he was a baby. A rival gang attacked The Joker’s convoy while the infant was in one of the cars, not that it mattered to the assholes. They used grenades trying to kill The Clown and as far as you could gather from your father, Kase is lucky to be alive because one explosion blasted the vehicle he was in upside down.
“Oh, these are special batteries, really tiny,” J’s son explains and you signal him to accompany you. “They go by hearing aid model number. Mine is R705.”
“I know, you told me before, remember? I have them!”
“You do?!”
“Yup,” you open your car and search the glove compartment, handing the product to Kase moments after.
“Thanks! That’s awesome!” the sweet smile flourishing on his lips makes Y/N grouchy.
“Don’t think anything of it, got it? I have your stuff because you’re never prepared. You should be more responsible!”
Kase changes the minuscule battery then puts it back in his ear.
“Let me see!” you tuck his long hair behind the ear for a better view as he’s gathering his locks in a man bun. “I think you’re good. Can you hear me?”
“Yes, perfect!”
“Issue solved,” you snatch your phone from the passenger’s seat and inspect for messages.
“Y/N, wanna hang out with us at the cabin?” the text from Scarecrow’s offspring pops on the screen. “The others will be there also. Don’t tell Kase, he’s not invited!”
“I’ll be there tonight,” you type. “Not a peep out of me,” you giggle at the thought the guys don’t want Kase there for once. It’s nice to take a break from him hanging out in the same circles you prefer. “What are you doing?” you glimpse at the twenty year old munching on the trail mix clusters he just found in your car.
“Sorry, I’m hungry. I should’ve asked first,” he apologizes yet that’s the last concern you have.
“Can’t you read what it says on the bag?? It contains peanuts!”
“… … Shit!…” Kase utters in between coughing since he’s highly allergic to peanuts; wheezing intensifies, his cheeks red from the effort of trying to breathe.
“Do you have your EpiPen with you?!” Y/N frantically scouts her backpack before The Joker notes. Why?
The pattern never fails: J doesn’t know how to handle stress when it comes to his son; he’ll panic, scream at everybody, then he’ll randomly shoot henchmen, heads will roll. Your dad will get angry and the dispute could have a very ugly outcome. Might as well nip it in the butt.
“EpiPen?” you insist and Kase barely whispers a no when you finally find it. “A-ha!” you exclaim and retract it from your rucksack, the lifesaving medicine injected into his thigh within seconds. “Better?” you help him sit on the hood.
“Y-yeah…” he coughs some more, his breathing still a bit chaotic.
“Everything alright?” Frost approaches the two young people, suspicious at their behavior.
“Don’t tell his dad,” you plead when Jonny spots the EpiPen in your hand. “He’s past danger. Deal?”
You don’t have to beg for Frost’s silence; he’s fully aware of the repercussions if his boss finds out.
“If he’s OK… I won’t.”
“He’s perfect, aren’t you Kase?” you elbow the patient and he confirms:
“Stellar!”
Jonny is distancing himself from you so he won’t attract anymore unwanted attention, thus J’s son interrogates.
“Why do you have an EpiPen? You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”
“Nope. Someone has to keep an eye on you because you’re completely careless!” you scold and leave him to recover, certainly determined to finish with the crates in order to drive to the cabin for some fun.
*************
2:04 am, The Cabin in Sherwood Forest
You wiggle under the blanket, squeezing one of the pillows in your arms. The ruckus escalates: cars honking, a bunch of vexed remarks and fighting, heavy steps and your name being called out makes you finally wake up from your sleep.
“Y/N!!! Y/N!!!!”
“Where are you?”
“Y/N!!!” you distinguish your father’s deep tone.
“Daddy?!” you roll off the bed and the door suddenly being kicked in makes you jump.
“She’s in here, sir!” Tony directs Bane towards the bedroom upstairs where you are.
“What’s going on?” you ask yet he doesn’t have a chance to respond: Bane barges in, and to say he’s livid would be an understatement. Even if he has the mask on, you know his moods and you can tell he’s passed his threshold.
“Are you ok, honey?”
“Yes. Why?… What’s wrong?” you demand a justification and he snarls, displeased.
“Apparently a stupid prank if such an aberration can be called a prank!”
“What prank?” the confused Y/N doesn’t get a commentary because Bane’s cell rings and he immediately answers.
“Crane!!!” he shrieks. “Do you know what junior and the others are up to??!!!”
“Dad?” you tap on his military vest and Bane exits the premises, gesturing towards the garden.
“Find Kase, he’ll tell you more,” then he starts lashing out at Scarecrow while striding with you following him.
What’s Kase doing here? you think as you descend the stairs; the living room is swarming with your parent’s crew members, although you also recognize some of The Joker’s subordinates. So strange!
The patio’s doors are wide open thus you march on the porch, stunned: more henchmen plus a multitude of cars flooding the driveway up to the paved road. Scarecrow’s son and your friends are gathered under a tree, avoiding making eye contact with anybody.
Further near where the trails begin you spot Kase standing by your vehicle; he seems lost in thought, intensely gazing at the grass under his sneakers.
“Hi,” your short acknowledgment shakes him out of trance.
“Y/N! Are you alright? Did they do something to you?” he checks you out worried.
“Who’s they?” the puzzled girl realizes Kase is referring to your friends. “No, it was the usual: we hang out, watched movies and gossiped. After the girls left I decided to spend the night so I did. Why?”
“I got this on my phone earlier,” he shows you the message from Andy Crane and at last you’re enlightened about the mystery: there’s a picture of you napping in the tank top and shorts you are wearing now, but the caption makes you shiver.
“Quite a nice tush I’d say. We put sleeping pills in her water, she’s totally out. We’ll take turns soon, want us to wait for you so you can go first? I know you like her.”
“What the hell is this??!!” you stare at him understanding why there’s an army at the cabin: the moronic prank or whatever they intended for it to be didn’t perform as expected. Stupid move from your pals considering wars between gangs have started for far more less than a very distasteful joke.
“I feared they’d actually do such a thing, so I kept on calling them and you. Nobody picked up and I told my dad, then I contacted yours also,” Kase touches his freshly busted lip.
“How did you get this?” you brush your thumb over the fresh wound.
“I got into a scuffle with them,” he hatefully gestures at the six boys staring back at you two.
The Joker shouts sentences you can’t comprehend, he’s too far from your position and it makes you wonder what it took to drag him at this place in the middle of the night for a matter that doesn’t concern him.
“Wait for me!” you decide to confront the boys and stomp where they assembled given the circumstances. “Andy!!!!” the resentful Y/N calls him out. “What’s with the message, huh?”
“Calm down, would you?” he growls. “It was a hoax!”
“A hoax??! And what did you hope will happen? That Kase would show up to be the first in line? And use that against him? Or what? What was the purpose?”
“Why are you so mad? Nothing happened,” Harvey Dent’s son pouts.
“You’re a bunch of idiots!” you prepare to bail when Andy gets on your nerves.
“You actually care for the psycho? Is that why you’re angry?”
Oh man, this is the last drop: whatever the heck is wrong with The Clown is not hereditary and such an accusation attempting to distract you from the real mess doesn’t work.
“You sneaked in my room and took a picture while I was sleeping! That’s fucking creepy, Andy!! Who do you think the psycho is in this scenario?!” you hiss and that doesn’t go well with him or the rest.
The Joker discerns the noise and can’t hold in an entitled grin watching Y/N’s fists creating serious damage within the group that dared disrupt everyone’s peaceful night. It’s clear you don’t need any help kicking ass that’s why Kase nor anybody else bothered to intervene.
“Goddamn bulldozer! Plowed right through them!” he shows your father. Bane scoffs, irked at the whole charade and J’s obnoxiousness adds to the fire.
“Who’s gonna pay me for coming here with my men, hm?”
“I didn’t ask you to come!”
“I wasn’t going to sit idle while my future daughter-in -law is in grave peril!”
“Would you give it a break??!” Bane loses patience for The King’s shenanigans. “Go home!”
“Pfft, tough crowd,” The Joker sucks on his teeth, forgetting he’s about to go ballistic at your parent’s insinuations. “What did I tell you? He has my charm!” he triumphantly praises his son when he sees him getting in your car.
“Ugghhh,” Bane removes himself from J’s vicinity, fed up with the useless yapping.
****************
“Thanks for giving me a ride,” Kase sighs.
“Sure, I’m going the same direction. I’ll drop you off.”
“I appreciate it,” that sweet smile of his lightens up the atmosphere. “I know you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“You don’t?” Kase suspiciously inquires.
“How should I put it? Every time I look at you, I feel like punching you in the face.”
The Joker’s son is more than delighted at the confession.
“So you like me!”
“Oh my God, don’t make me regret giving you a ride!” Y/N wiggles in her chair, the glove compartment suddenly unlatching when she takes a sharp corner. The bright, pink neon writing on your snack bags makes your companion scan through the items.
“Contains peanuts. Do not put in your mouth!” he chuckles, recognizing your hand writing. “No peanuts - safe to eat,” he reads aloud and you don’t want him to get the wrong impression.
“You always grab food and eat without paying attention. I can’t have a guilty conscience!”
Why does he have to smile like this?! He’s so aggravating.
“I’m free for lunch tomorrow,” you slowly blink, not believing you just uttered such crap.
“Are you?!” Kase fumbles with his hearing aid in case it’s malfunctioning and he misheard.
“Pick me up at 12, ok?”
“OK,” he agrees and if The Joker was there, he would probably say the miracle happened because of the charm genes he passed to his son.
Luckily, he’s not there to brag otherwise it might ruin things for Casanova.
The Invasion happened over night without any warning: strange vegetation and eerie beasts engulfed the planet, fastly expanding their dominion throughout the world. The surviving humans used every resource possible in order to find a solution enabling mankind to avoid total extinction: The Dragon was the only successful experiment which fused alien and human DNA together, giving much needed hope in very dark times.
The General perceives the knock at the door and he shuffles the maps scattered on his desk before mumbling a displeased “Yes?”
One of the guards enters the office followed by the guest freshly transferred from the New York Fortress.
“Sir, Dixon Halifax is here!”
The latest tries to salute the honored leader but General Harris immediately stops him:
“At ease, captain; we don’t care about that stuff anymore around here,” he signals the security guy to leave.
“Of course, sir,” Dixon complies to the order and hands over a thick folder. “My paperwork,” he explains although General Harris is acquainted with the standard procedure.
“You’re aware of the reason why you’re here?”
“Yes, sir!” the captain straightens his back.
“I’m sure you heard a few that attempted to ride The Dragon with her failed miserably; the beast can’t suffer anybody else besides the woman. It killed all of them and now there’s not a single person wiling to attempt the impossible. Yet we just can’t have Y/N being in control; it’s too risky. So I must underline we appreciate you volunteering for the mission.”
“It’s an honor, sir!”
“U-hum…” the general grumbles. “I hope you succeed. How old are you, son?”
“38, sir.”
Harris glares at the man in front of him, debating on the briefing he’s about to present to this either insane individual or hero; depends on how you look at it.
“You’re familiar with the fact they used criminally insane inmates for their tests until they were able to successfully merge alien DNA with human DNA.”
Dixon nods in agreement thus the general continues:
“The Joker was the only one that survived the procedure. If you can call that survival,” he scoffs at the twisted reality. “I mean, certain ethical concerns were raised but who the hell cares about ethics when we’re on the verge of extinction??!”
“I totally agree, sir!” Captain Halifax finds it wise to express his opinion. “Although probably The Resistance has a different take on the matter.”
“Ugh, those lunatics,” the general sighs. “God knows why they believe we should let nature take its course and we shouldn’t attempt to save ourselves. Facing the end of the world is not enough for some to snap out of their crazy ideas! As long as they stay away from us and what we struggle to accomplish I say they can fuck off!” Harris can’t hold in a sour remark.
“What about the woman, sir? I heard rumors…” Dixon changes the subject.
“Well, after we had The Dragon it was pretty much useless since the monster didn’t let anyone close; she showed up one day conforming she knew the man inside the creature. I find it fascinating we didn’t know what we’ll end up after the trial was completed; there was no way to predict what shape the symbiont will take. Not that we were picky… The Joker’s genes bonded so perfectly with the alien chromosomes that the final result took the form of the dragon tattoo on his back.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“I wish I was kidding, son,” the 60-year-old scratches his chin. “We live in very strange times.”
“Is it true Y/N is The Joker’s ex-wife?” Captain Halifax pushes for information.
“As far as we gathered, yeah. We didn’t have another option except allow her to go near The Dragon. It worked: the beast didn’t kill her. We wondered if it’s because The Joker actually recognized her. If he did, I suppose he didn’t detest her that much,” the general concludes.
“Is he conscious?”
“No,” Harris shakes his head. “He’s in a state of a permanent induced coma; he’ll never wake up.”
“Where can I find Y/N, sir? I’d like to speak to her before I venture close to The Dragon.”
“Unfortunately, there’s where you’ll find her: she stays with the creature mostly the entire day and night. She comes in to get food, shower and whatnot, then she goes back to it. She doesn’t like people and nobody here likes her. Yet we tolerate her presence; despite our efforts, we don’t have an alternative for the moment.”
“Do you trust her, sir?”
“Not really. She’s a weird woman, gives me the creeps.”
Captain Halifax reckons that if a seasoned army expert such as the general utters this type of statement, it must be true without doubt.
“Her assignment is to fly The Dragon across the jungle and mark spots on the map that she finds clear of alien flora or fauna, this way we might expand our outposts and reclaim land. You know electronics don’t work around the jungle; the electromagnetic field is just too strong. Plus, going on foot throughout the wilderness would be suicide: can’t fly anything above it except the creature.”
“Are you certain she’s marking the oases correctly, sir?”
“That’s why we need someone else to go with Y/N: who knows if she’s hiding things or maybe she has her own agenda? Who’s to say at one point she won’t take off with The Dragon and never return?”
Both parties are silent for a minute until the general stands up from his desk urging Dixon to follow.
“Let’s take you to her. I’ll tell you more details on the way there.”
****************
No training in the universe could have prepared Captain Halifax for the uncanny view in front of his eyes; still… there he is gazing at the huge Dragon occupying most of the inner courtyard of the Los Angeles Fortress. The monster’s scaly skin is semi-transparent so the courageous volunteer has the privilege of noticing the human trapped inside its viscous body: The Joker’s asleep, without clothes and curled up in a fetal position.
Dixon gulps at the thought that maybe he didn’t have the best plan by offering to help, yet he cautiously drags his feet on the grass, careful not to aggravate the monster: he was told not to make any sudden moves and he has taken the advice to heart.
You bite your apple and watch him approach, deciding to ignore the visitor just as you do with the rest of the crew.
“Afternoon ma’am,” the captain greets the woman dressed in an old military attire relaxing her back against The Dragon. She rips another mouthful of fruit while giving him a mean stare. “My name is…”
“Slim Shady,” you sarcastically mutter but he actually distinguished the pun.
“The good old days music, huh?” Dixon smiles at your hostility, making sure to at least appear friendly.
“What do you want?” you cut him off and take a few steps towards him. The Dragon is immediately alert, sniffing the air with contempt.
“Umm…” he lifts his hands in surrender. “If possible, I would like to ride with you today.”
“It is possible,” Y/N sneers. “Presumably unsurvivable,” you pet the creature’s long neck as it coos at your touch then growls at the unwelcomed company.
“Can you ask it to allow me to come with you?”
“It’s a mindless beast,” you smirk. “It does whatever it wishes.”
“With all the respect, ma’am, you and I know that’s a load of baloney.”
Wow, the douchebag has a lot of nerve!
“What’s your name?” Y/N stirs the conversation away from the current topic.
“Definitely not Slim Shady,” he finds it amusing to emphasize. “I’m Captain Dixon Halifax ma’am.”
Captain Douchebag! instantly pops in your brain and he takes the faint chuckle coming from you as a positive sign.
If only!
You already hate his guts.
The resentment is perhaps reciprocal and it doesn’t bother you; Y/N doesn’t care about the morons swarming the LA base no matter where they might be come from and whatever ranks they have.
“Well, Captain D,” you suck on your teeth since you’d love to address him as Captain Douchebag. He believes you call him D from Dixon and I guess that works out in quite an ironical way. “I can’t stop you from coming with me, but if The Dragon throws you from the saddle and kills you I’m not responsible: he loves to stomp all over those that fall,” you laugh in such a sinister way it hints Halifax you more than likely enjoy the carnage.
“So it’s a he?”
The Captain can literally discern the joy vanishing from your face as you bark:
“My ex is in there! Hence I consider The Dragon a HE. Any other dumb questions??!” you can’t stop a bitter comment.
Entitled bitch, the captain judges the former Queen of Gotham; he would entirely savor giving her a piece of his mind but given the circumstances the guy decides it’s wiser to shut up.
“No ma’am, no extra dumb questions,” Halifax forces a grin upon his mug.
“Great!” you toss the apple in the grass and invite him to climb the rope ladder hanging on the right side of The Dragon’s massive frame. “After you, Captain D!”
You ogle him mount the beast and shortly after he’s on top of it.
“Jesus!” he cringes as The Dragon roars so load the buildings around the area tremble.
“You’ll get used to it!” you shout over the deafening noise, placing yourself in front of him. “Hang tight!”
The enormous wings flap in the air and the monster ascends high in the sky with the two humans on its back.
“Ma’am!!” Halifax gets your attention.
“Huh?”
“Does The Dragon spit fire?’
“Bahahaha!!” you crack up at his inquiry because it’s funny to hear such aberration. “This is not a fairy tale Dragon, Captain D! He does not spit fire!”
Y/N’s mockery is not well accepted by the man riding behind her.
“I was simply wondering,” he frowns at your teasing.
“Nah, don’t feel bad. They don’t disclose the lack of fire ability to the volunteer flyers,” you caress a couple of feathers on The Dragon’s shoulder fluffed by a gush of wind.
****************
“General Harris sir,” one of the soldiers barges in the office. “Sorry to interrupt; I have General Smith from the New York Fortress on the radio communication line. He says it’s an emergency!”
“I’ll take it, thank you,” the commander waits for the soldier to vacate the room before picking up the receiver.
“Harris here. What can I do for you, general?”
“I called to apologize for the delay in sending Captain Halifax over there. He spraint his ankle last evening and he’ll be out of commission for at least 3 weeks. I know we promised he’ll be in LA soon, but his current predicament…”
“Say what now?!” Harris doesn’t comprehend the severity of what he’s deciphering. “Dixon is here already!”
“What do you mean?! I’m actually at the barracks next to him; he’s bedridden.”
“Bedridden?! I just talked to Halifax, I have his paperwork on my desk!”
“General Harris, I don’t know who you got there, but that’s not Dixon Halifax!” Smith is getting anxious about the dialogue.
“… … Shit! Shit!!!” Harris jumps from his desk, running on the corridor to alert the soldiers. “I need someone to contact Y/N!” **************
The radio transmitter keeps going off and you have no burning desire to answer since in your opinion they are a bunch of fools.
“Come in, Y/N. This is the Fortress. Come in, Y/N. This is the Fortress.”
“Ma’am, are you gonna take that?”
“Ugh, I supposed so otherwise they won’t quit!!” you detach the device from your belt and press the green button. “Yes?”
“Y/N, return to base immediately. This is an order!”
“Why? We barely left.”
“Return to base immediately, it’s an emergency!” the static noise makes it difficult to understand. “I repeat, return to base. This is an order!”
“What’s going on?” Dixon taps your reins.
“We have to go back,” you exhale, annoyed. “Emergency going on,” Y/N leans forward and raises her voice. “J, turn around! Turn around!!” you yank the scales near the saddle and the impersonator is disgusted you nicknamed the monster after the psycho confined within it. The Dragon makes a big loop and obeys the request; it smoothly glides towards the fort while you enjoy the short expedition nevertheless.
“Look at all the people,” you get close enough to notice soldiers rushing at the spot where you usually land with the beast. “Are they…” and you gasp in pain when the sharp blade unexpectedly pierces your abdomen.
“You goddamn freak!” the imposter tightens his embrace and stabs you again as you fight to escape another imminent attack. “The Resistance says hi!” he twists the knife in the flesh and violently pushes you off the saddle.
The Dragon hears the scream and turns its head only to see you’re not there anymore: the fake Halifax still holds the blade while he frantically tries to set up the grenades attached to his gear, this way he can kill another enemy opposing to the natural order of things.
The beast starts wiggling while trying to catch up with Y/N and suddenly thousands of long spikes exit throughout its skin: this Dragon might not spit fire, yet it surely has other capabilities. The impaled Residence member is killed without any mercy and as the spikes retract, the monster flies upside down in order to dispose of the corpse.
The winged devil would enjoy the aftermath of ripping the intruder apart, but for the moment Y/N is more important. Where is she?
The Dragon agile gaze detects her on the ground inside the fortress: some trees diminished the impact, but it wasn’t enough to reduce the severity of her wounds. The military personnel is already gathering around Y/N trying to give her first aid as an explosion is perceived in the distance: The Resistance member fell in the Jungle and his grenades went off at once, not the crew is really paying attention to it.
“How is she?” General Harris hovers over your convulsing body and the doctor shakes his head in denial.
“She sustained serious injuries, sir; she’s in shock. There’s nothing I can do…”
“Crap!” he grumbles, exasperated. “Who’s going to control The Dragon?!” he voices the only concern he has for the moment being; the life fading on the pavement is definitely not one of them.
“Sir!” the doctor points at the sky. “The Dragon is coming!”
“Clear the area!!!” Harris yells since it’s a well-known fact the beast will not bother to avoid trampling the crowd.
They back out and The Dragon arrives at the sight with a huge thud, snarling at everybody as they retreat in order to ensure safety for the team.
The monster smells Y/N’s bloody clothes as she struggles to talk, the erratic breathing making it impossible for her to make any sounds.
“Holy…!” the General utters in disbelieve as many flinch observing the same thing: there’s movement inside The Dragon!
They see The Joker getting up inside the monster and taking a few hesitant steps after he didn’t walk in six years, but what’s equally astonishing is how easily he passes across the Dragon’s skin barrier.
A few soldiers aim their rifles at the abomination as The General halts their action:
“Do not shoot! Do not shoot!”
Your former husband comes and picks you up in his arms, hatefully glaring at the souls mortified by his presence before entering The Dragon again.
You wheeze louder, the dense atmosphere inside the monster making you choke: it gives you the sensation you’re drawing.
“It’s ok, breath it in,” J whispers in your ear. “It will help you heal.”
The Joker positions you in the same place he rested until minutes ago, swiftly laying down next to you.
“Go to sleep, Y/N,” his lips brush against your forehead. “You’ll feel better afterwards.”
The Dragon lets out a terrifying cry, its wings reaching out towards the clouds as it prepares to fly.
“How is The Joker awake, sir?!” Harrison’s deputy stresses a disturbing issue they all share. “What the hell did we just witnessed??!”
The General has no valid explanation besides a simple word summarizing his thoughts:
“Curses That Don’t Exist” happens to be one of Y/N’s favorite books and despite the title indicating the maledictions aren’t real, something weird occurred: the hex she wished upon her former boyfriend came true. The woman might not be a sorceress, yet her broken heart turned The Joker into the unlucky recipient of his own self-made hell.
Which curse you wished to come true you ask? It’s very simple: the jinx enabling the one that broke a heart to be incarnated into unhuman life forms 7 times while awaiting atonement. If the cursed person won’t feel any remorse for what they have done by the time he/she reaches the 7th metamorphosis, they will forever be trapped as that last creature.
For The Joker it happened 3 days ago: he was chased by cops after a bank robbery went wrong downtown Gotham City and found himself surrounded on the bridge passing Yukonison River. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide so the unique solution was for him to abandon the vehicle and jump into the treacherous waters.
J never emerged from under the waves because the hex kicked in: he found himself trapped in Y/N’s gravitational field and knowing how much guilt he feels for anything, quite doomed to have his fate sealed by the curse.
1. Skunk
Oh my God, did you panic or what?! You were watering the flowers in the backyard when you saw the skunk charging your way; you threw the hose away and rushed inside, slamming the patio door closed. The animal kept screeching at the entrance, relentlessly clawing the wood frame; it made you wonder if it had rabies or something. The Joker was actually shouting your name, not that you understood:
“Y/N!!! Y/N!! It’s me, let me in! Something eerie is going on! Y/N! It’s J!!! Y/N!!!!!!”
Since you lived near the woods outside Gotham City, you fed a few cute skunks often venturing on the property but that particular specimen didn’t seem familiar.
“Y/N!!! Y/N!!! It’s me, please let me in!” J kept begging and stopped for a few moments. “What the hell is that odor??!!” he sniffed the air towards his tail and gasped. “Holy crap, I stink!!!”
The revelation was quite a shock for the usually very groomed and nice smelling Clown Prince of Crime, thus the 3 baby skunks showing up to see if you left food for them didn’t help.
“Dad!! Dad!!!” they clung to him and The Joker got pissed at the little ones.
“Get lost! I’m not your dad!!! Y/N!! Y/N!!!! Disappear you pests!” he tried to bite them when the real parents scouting the yard for their youngsters saw the scene and attacked J because they perceived him as dangerous.
He split immediately, unwilling to fight the couple already scolding their children:
“What are you kids doing?! I told you not to talk to strangers! We only trust the nice lady that leaves food for us!”
“Sorry dad, we were just messing around…” the oldest apologized and their mom shrieked at their father:
“This all your fault, you spoil them too much!”
In the meantime, J sped up towards the fence and the hex decided he was too far from you, thus he was pulled back by Y/N’s malediction.
2. Spider
This one was really short lived.
You were quite startled by the crazy animal’s behavior, yet it was gone. Thank goodness!
You span on your heels with the brilliant idea of chugging some water from the fridge when your heart skipped a beat: the biggest, nastiest spider you ever saw was moving its creepy legs on the wood floor, swiftly intending to get to you.
“Y/N!!!! Y/N!!!!!” The Joker yelled. “I’m freaking out!!! What’s happening? Help me! Help me, Y/N! Wait, wait! It’s me!!!!” your ex panicked when you grabbed the closest object from the coffee table: your “Curses That Don’t Exist” book. “Hey, don’t! DOOON’T!!!!” Bam! you dropped the tome on the unfortunate recipient of your rage.
“Aaaahhh!” you screamed, appalled. “Take this!!!” you stepped on the publication to make sure the monster won’t escape from under it. “Ha-yaaa!!!” you did it again for good measure, then carefully lifted the book and there was nothing to see.
“Shit!” you bit your lip while searching the premises for the culprit. You could have sworn you got him!
You got him alright, but his body disintegrated as a result of the curse and J woke up in the backyard transformed into another avatar.
3. Snail
Took The Joker two hours to move 3 inches; although the grass wasn’t tall that wasn’t the point. He saw you gardening among the flowers and vegetable patches and strained his tiny lungs to the maximum during a hopeless race with the curse.
“Y/NNNN!!! Help me!! Y/N!!! I’m over here!”
You were minding your own business, totally immersed into your task when you noticed the minuscule creature barely advancing on the ground.
“Hey buddy, what are you doing in the sun, hm?” you picked J up and gently placed him under the apple tree. “Stay in the shade.”
The King of Gotham attempted to get your attention to no avail; Y/N was distracted by the deers emerging from the forest bordering your house.
“There you are; I’ve been waiting for you,” you giggled and snatched the basket filled with apples put aside for them. They all approached waiting for their usual treats as The Clown protested his fate.
“Y/N!!!! Please don’t go! Help me!!! Umph!” he yelped when the crow resting on the branches above spotted the delicious snack which shortly ended up in its beak. “Let go you pile of germs!” J admonished as the bird flew with the prey and the jinx didn’t allow any delays: when the bird was too far from you, puff! The snail vanished.
4. Dog
You just finished the apples for your cute visitors and the crow that wanted to eat the snail landed on your shoulder, cawing up a storm about the ordeal of losing its afternoon feast.
“What’s wrong?” you caressed the velvety feathers since the raven did this on a regular basis: you found him in the forest two years ago with a broken wing, thus you took him home and nurture him until he was healthy. You set him free, but the raven kept returning, often bringing shiny gifts stolen for his savior. You have a box filled with treasures: coins, jewelry, buttons, keys… Even bones.
In time, more crows gathered around the property which is nice because they take care of rodents. Plus, one could say you have your own murder of crows. How neat is that?
The crow split once the barking was heard from the other side of the fence. You snickered at the bird’s reaction, loudly inquiring:
“Rex, is that you?”
The German shepherd belonged to your neighbor two miles up from your residence and loved to wonder off to see Y/N a few days a week.
Actually, it wasn’t Rex barking: it was The Joker as a curly poodle imploring for assistance.
“Y/N!!!! Help me please!!! I’m not sure what the heck is happening! Y/NNN!!! Do something!! Stop sniffing my butt, weirdo!” he snapped at Rex who was actually there also, taking interest in the newcomer. “Squirrel!!!” J detected a fur ball in the acorn across the street and couldn’t hold in in: both canines dashed to catch the menace.
Unfortunately, that meant he was too far from you and whoosh! he disappeared, heading towards his next reincarnation.
5. Squirrel
J materialized in your pine nut tree, assiduously shoving seeds in his mouth without realizing.
He watched Rex enjoying the food and water you offered, then he came to his senses.
“What the fuck am I doing??!!” he spat out the seeds then crawled down, making a run for it. “Y/N!!!!Help me!!! Y/N!!!!”
Rex’s ears went straight up and he shrugged at the sight of a nuisance he liked to chase.
You laughed while the dog chasing the fluffy squirrel all over the place; you wouldn’t have probably been amused by The Joker’s screams though.
“Y/N!!! Quit it, you stupid dog!!!First you sniff my butt and now this??? Y/N!!! I have to talk to you!! Y/N!!! Help!!”
The King didn’t have an opportunity to get close to you; the solution was to jump over the shed and scamper into the forest. When he was to far… puff! Gone and back to Y/N.
6. Mosquito
“Poor baby,” you caressed Rex’s big head, giggling. He kept whimpering, upset he lost his toy. “You should leave the squirrels alone, they don’t want to play with you.”
Bzzzzzzz, you perceived the sound, yet you didn’t see J. Bzzzzzzzz….
“Y/N, I’m completely flipping out!!! You gotta help me!! Y/N!!”
Everything you discerned was a bunch of bzzzzzz, bzzzz, bzzzz… the insect landed on your wrist.
“A-ha!” you slowly moved your fingers from Rex’s soft coating. Slap! you caught the offender and when you gazed under your palm… zero, zip, nada. How strange…
No doubt you managed to seize the mosquito: that only meant J’s incarnation was done and he hopped into the next one.
7. Cat
This morning you found a cute gray cat on the patio, meowing at the sliding door until you opened it.
“Meow, meow, meow, meow, meow, meow,” the pet sneaked inside the house, sniffing the air. The Joker was whining about his hardships to a woman that didn’t comprehend nor was aware of whom he was.
“Hey kitty,” you bent over and scratched its side.
“Maaaawwww,” the cat yawned, super exhausted after such eventful adventures.
“Who do you belong to, hm?” you searched for a collar and there was none. “Com’ere, “ you lifted J up in your arms and he touched your mouth with his left front paw.
“Y/N, it’s me!!! It’s J!”
“Aren’t you friendly?” you kissed the pink cushions, smiling. “Let’s see if any of the neighbors lost their cat. You don’t look familiar,”’ you concluded because you’re acquainted with all the pets in the area.
“Maaaw, maw, maw.”
Also a meowadded for the hell of it.
“You’re talkative. What are you saying?” you chuckled and picked up the phone, dialing the numbers of all the people residing around you. Nobody reported any new pet or male cat missing.
The King almost fell asleep in your embrace but something got his attention.
“Oh my God!” he gasped and darted on the kitchen table when he saw a slice of Y/N’s Scrumptious Royal Apple Pie on a plate. How he missed the taste of his favorite desert! His ex-girlfriend was an excellent cook and baker– pretty much everything she prepared became his favorite. She made the recipe before they were together, yet once they were an item she added a crown made of dough for The King of Gotham right in the middle of the pie. That’s how Y/N Scrumptious Apple Pie became Royal too.
There was no trace of a crown now and hasn’t been for the last 7 months, not that it bothered J.
“No kitty, no!” you reprimanded and tried to separate the cat from the food. “I don’t think that’s good for you!”
The deep growl coming from the impromptu visitor warned he won’t put up with it.
“Fine, suit yourself. If you get sick it will be your fault.”
You supervised the beast scarfing down the pastry, then once his belly was full The Joker stretched and was instantly removed from the table.
“This was an exception, mister. You’re not allowed on the kitchen table, ok?”
“Meooow,” J got cozy in your arms again.
“You’re a handsome fellow, aren’t you?” you studied your new protégé. “Such blue eyes! My former boyfriend had blue eyes…” Y/N pouted and grumbled. “And a PHD in bullshit.”
“Maaaww,” the sharp teeth sunk in your skin.
“Ouch! Hey! No! Bad kitty!” you squeezed the furry cat and he released his hold. “Mister, I’m having seconds thoughts about keeping you for the moment!”
“You asked for it, Y/N! I don’t have a PHD in bullshit! I’m purposely being perfect, understand?…Ugh, I didn’t mean to bite you! You have to help me! Please Y/N!” The Joker lamented and you found it adorable the animal reached for your face until the whiskers tickled your cheek.
“Aren’t you vocal?” the smirking woman untangled her white hair from the cats’ claws.
Y/N’s hair turned white in her early twenties and never dyed it; she said some people pay money to have silver locks thus she kept it natural.
“Are you thirsty?” you carried your companion across the living room towards the bathroom where you turned on the water in the sink for him. “I’ll get you a dish, ok? This is just temporary.”
J licked the water in a frenzy as Y/N abandoned him and went on the couch to watch a movie and relax. He found you sipping on your coffee so he curled up in your lap, exhausted.
“Comfortable?” you pated the blue eyed monster purring on your knees. “At least you like my thighs, unlike my ex,” you frowned at the memory. “I caught him staring…I think he hated my thighs. They’re not exactly small…”
“What?” J was suddenly alert. “No, I liked your thighs; that’s why I was glaring!”
“You’ll like sleeping on my tummy too. I definitely don’t have a six pack. I think he detested my tummy,” the increasingly annoyed Y/N raised her voice. “Well, he can enjoy his perfect Bianca! If he didn’t like me the way I am it’s his loss!!”
“What are you taking about?!” the meowing wouldn’t stop. “I liked your tummy! When did I stated otherwise?!”
The truth is he didn’t say a word about it either way which later translated into you believing he detested your body each instance you noticed him averting his eyes when caught staring.
“It’s my cousin’s fault!” you huffed, irritated to the maximum.
Richard aka Panda has been on your shit list since you and J broke up because he always bragged about what an amazing cook you are, thus his boss had to find out for himself. That’s how it all started then it ended up in flames. Definitely no glory.
Y/N seized the cell phone next to her, snarling in the mike:
“You need to go outside?” you asked at the excruciating noises.
The Joker fought your decision; nevertheless, he was left on the porch without too many options besides mooching nearby waiting for you to let him back in.
Meanwhile, a flock of sparrows landed on the trees close to your house, chirping questions for the deers walking on the path leading to the apple shrub:
“Hey, hey! Can you tell us if this is the place where the witch lives?”
“U-hum,” the majestic buck with huge antlers replied at more wildlings being drawned to her.
“We made it, she’s here!” the flock joyfully chirped and one of the small fawns was curious about the conversation:
“Dad, is the lady that gives us apples a witch?!”
The buck bowed his head in sign of respect, explaining to the little ones: “Of course she is. She just doesn’t know it yet.”
Aziraphale has been flirting with the idea of opening a new bookshop in Gotham and luckily enough Crowley was able to help him decide on the venue. Who owns the perfect spot ready to be sold for the right price? That’s pretty easy: the demon’s acquaintances - Joker and his girlfriend.
“I don’t know about this,” Aziraphale crinkles his nose, contemplating the surroundings leading towards today’s meeting place: one of the fancy restaurants owned by The King of Gotham. “It’s a splendid day, why don’t we just take a walk?”
Crowley rolls his eyes behind the black sunglasses, explaining for the millionth time:
“As we talked before, he’s willing to sell the property which might I remind you, it’s ideal for your bookshop. I don’t think you have a choice.”
“Yes… but, but Mister Joker is not… you know… a good person. I’m not sure I’m comfortable doing business with such a bad apple. Pun not intended!” he immediately corrects his sentence.
The demon sights, quickly throwing in variables meant to help stir the conversation:
“This restaurant makes the best stake bites you ever tasted, best tea and crumpets are imported from England. They sell the best wine, best champagne plus the scrumptious ice cream is to die for. Aren’t you interested in trying them?”
“How dare you temp me with such frivolous nitty-zitties, dark creature of the abyss??!!” Aziraphale’s stern voice has absolutely no effect on Crowley.
“Angel, do you want the building or not?” he calmly scratches his chin.
“Please do lead the way,” a very polite Principality quickly switches mood while strutting alongside his companion.
“They closed the grounds to the public today,” the demon rambles on, swiftly knocking at the front door: six fast beats followed by two slow taps.
One of J’s henchmen opens the entrance so that the guests can squeeze in undetected.
“Howdy,” Crowley puckers his lips and sniffs the air, definitely recognizing his favorite meal.
“Mister C, boss is not here yet.”
“The kitchen is opened, correct?” the sassy devil makes it obvious he has no patience for details.
“Certainly, they are already cooking the usual for you.”
“Perfect, me and my friend will take 2 portions with a side of saffron rice and three bottles of champagne.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” the angel gushes. “Champagne makes me all nickytty-pickytty,” he softly giggles at the thought as he accompanies the small party in the main room.
“Nickytty-pickitty?” Crowley huffs. “Make it four bottles!” he urges, dropping on a chair at the nearest table adorned with warm, steamy bread sticks.
“Of course sir,” the obliging goon rushes to convey the instructions designated for the kitchen stuff.
Aziraphale samples the baked goodies, examining the posh decorations around him.
“Deee-licious,” he chews on the morsels and sees that Crowley didn’t touch the appetizer. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
“I shall. Can you miracle some butter?” the spoiled demon yawns.
“Why don’t you order it?”
“It’ll take seconds; I want it now.”
The angel takes a deep breath, touches the table cloth and the requested item materializes by the bread sticks basket.
Crowley pouts.
“What’s wrong?” the clueless Aziraphale inquires.
“I like Irish butter.”
“Seriously now!” the Guardian of Eden scoffs at his fussy escort.
“Pleeeease?” the demon’s bored puppy gaze leaves no room for hesitation: the Principality snaps his fingers in order to fulfill the wish.
“Thank you, best friend,” Crowley dips his treat into the gooey container pretending not to notice the innocent smile flourishing on the angel’s face.
“Dear Lord!” Aziraphale’s sudden exclamation makes the devil search his surroundings.
“I wasn’t aware we’ll have extra divine company. Oh!” Crowley realizes why the celestial being is appalled: The Clown made it to the meeting and he’s barking orders to his crew in a frenzy. “That’s him, that’s The Joker.”
“The aura he has!!” Aziraphale touches his chest, uneasy at the sight of a crazed King of Gotham chaperoned by his woman.
“He sure steals the show, doesn’t he? One of our most promising prodigies,” the demon informs. “There’s gossip they want to make him commander of the 13th legion after he kicks the bucket.”
“You don’t say!” a mixture of disgust and doomsday feeling prompts the angel to continue: “What about the woman?… … Very strange, I can’t discern her aura.”
“She’s Neutral.”
“Neutrals are a myth! They don’t exist!”
Crowley doesn’t have time to reply because Y/N and The Joker approach while the two gentlemen get up from their sits in a hurry.
“You’ll see,” the devilish smirk offers more incertitude than clarification.
“Hey Crowley,” the grouchy Joker greets.
“Mister C, where have you been?” you reach over to him and you both touch your index fingers similar to Michelangelo’s creation painting.
“I’ve been busy.”
“How’s London?” a spirited Y/N asks.
“Meh… Rainy. Sunny here and there,” the demon cracks his neck and Aziraphale is more intrigued than ever: the index fingers touching Michelangelo style is Crowley’s signature pinky promise. What kind of pinky promise could a human possibly have with a demon?!
The angel doesn’t know yet, but it’s not very complicated: one year ago, Crowley was visiting and prepared to relax into the jacuzzi with you and J. You wanted to do a little experiment and planted a drop of holy water in the tub just to discover if it would have any effect of him. Yeah… the devil was fortunate he didn’t jump in: he first immersed his left toes in the foamy liquid and BAM! They instantly vanished. You felt super crappy about it thus you nurture him for about a week until his toes grew back. As a result of your unauthorized curiosity, Crowley made you promise you won’t do it again…Thus the pinky promise renaissance style each time you encounter.
“Is he the buyer?” J moves straight to the main topic.
“Yes, this is Aziraphale,” Crowley takes off his sunglasses only to reveal his eerie, serpent irises. “Don’t worry, they know,” he pinches the angel’s hand.
“And you didn’t bother to tell me?!” the Guardian mutters through his clench teeth while maintaining a courteous demeanor.
“That’s such a cool name, Mister A,” you praise the moniker and have more questions: “What type of books are you going to sell? Old, new?”
“Mostly old, rare gems. I have an ineffable plan to transform…”
“Do you have the money? The price tag is 200 thousand dollars,” The Joker cuts him off and doesn’t bother to wait for an answer because he’s rude to start with. “Crowley, does he have the money?”
“Pardon me, I do have the money,” Aziraphale intervenes whilst J is intensely glaring at the demon and won’t accept a response from someone else.
”Of course he does,” the devil smacks his lips. “He can pay double, even triple!”
“Fine, I’ll take triple!” The King of Gotham decides.
The angel is internally screaming, his eyes burning holes through Crowley.
Treacherous snake! he thinks and the demon nonchalantly guesses his friend is unhappy.
“What?… I’m helping you negotiate.”
“Can I trust him, C.?” J growls.
“Yes, you can trust him 100%. Although… he was entrusted with a flaming sword once and lost it.”
The angel is wiggling in his chair, horrified Crowley brought that up in front of the humans.
“You lost a flaming sword?!” you interrogate the poor sod as the waiters bring in the food and drinks for everybody at the table.
“Well, ‘lost’ wouldn’t be the correct term to describe it; I gave it to a person that needed it.”
“Awww, that’s so sweet!” you touch your heart, totally moved by his statement.
“Why, thank you,” Aziraphale chuckles at your genuine praise. “I presumably…”
“Me, if I’d had a flaming sword,” you interrupt, “I would slash and hack everything in my way!!!”
“…Hm?” the angel tries to keep his composure at the evident change in mood.
“I would cut, eviscerate and stab every single man or woman trying to get to my boyfriend!” you swipe the plates off the table and they fly all over the floor, smashing into pieces. “I would split Batsy in two if he tries to catch my J!!” you stand up and punch the bottles of champagne; they shatter against the wall to Crowley’s dismay.
“Oh!” the angel blurs out, taken aback by the screaming woman.
“Nobody fucks with my boyfriend!!” you continue your speech and both the angel and the demon are completely smitten by such pathos: Y/N keeps gesturing and striking objects while declaring her love for The Joker.
The only present individual not giving a damn is actually The Clown, too busy texting about another lucrative deal he has in the works.
“J,” you address him, “if you’d ask for my flaming sword, I’d give it to you!!!!” the passionate Y/N articulates.
“That’s nice, Pumpkin,” the apathic green haired menace continues to text without paying attention.
The guests watch your ardor slowly crumbling to pieces until you repose your seat, disappointed your man is ignoring you again.
Aziraphale opens his mouth to initiate dialogue when it’s clear something is wrong: you stare at your plate, the only one left on the table containing a foul atrocity.
“Is this…vinaigrette????!!! I asked for Ranch dressing!!! RANCH!!!! I hate vinaigrette!!!!” you raise your voce and grab The Joker gun from the holster, shooting towards the kitchen. The chef and staff dodge behind the counters as the angel is panicking.
Still, what’s with Crowley’s satisfied grin?…
“Did you change her salad dressing??!” he whispers and the demon deflating like a balloon is more than an actual confession. “Crowley, no!!!” Aziraphale scolds as he discretely snaps his fingers. “Umm… excuse me miss. I believe that’s Ranch dressing,” he candidly points at your food.
“Huh?” you turn around to analyze the contents and clearly you were mistaken before since there’s no sign of vinaigrette. “My bad!!!!” you shout. “You each get 5,000 for being great sports!”
“Thank you, Y/N!” the employees express their gratitude, wondering if the storm has really passed. With J’s girl, you never know… she’s unpredictable.
As a result, they spend a couple more minutes hiding just in case.
“Pumpkin, you’re giving me a headache!” The Joker complaints and finally is able to open the link he struggled to gain access to.
You don’t react but the unearthly clients can read between the lines: the woman’s vibrant attitude sunk to the lowest level.
“You guys you’ll savor this on TV shortly as breaking news,” J arrogantly boasts. “I’m going to blow up Gotham Bank! It’s rigged and ready to go!”
Aziraphale is petrified while Crowley can’t wait to witness the explosion; The Clown’s finger almost touches the red button on the screen but Y/N snatches the phone.
“You can’t do that, J!”
“Why not?” he sulks at your disapproval.
“Today is bring your kid to work day!”
“Pfftt, was that today?” The Joker frowns. “That’s just stupid! Why do parents have to bring their offsprings to work?”
“Magnificent,” the angel exhales, relieved catastrophe was averted. “She can actually influence him,” he mumbles in a low tone.
“Don’t be upset, ok?” you kiss J and the evil sparkle in your eyes makes Aziraphale nervous at the shift. “I have a surprise for you, babe.”
“What surprise?” the crabby boyfriend grumbles.
“Guess who’s nearby attending a summit about how to improve crime fighting in town?”
“Who?”
“Commissar Gordon!” you wink. “Guess who send our men to place a bomb in his car?”
“Kitten, you did not!” the grotesque smile on The Joker’s face makes Aziraphale cringe.
“I did! Press the screen on my phone. I have a drone flying over the spot to record his reaction when he comes out of the conference and sees the damage! The images will be sent straight to your cell, this way you can enjoy them over and over again.”
“Awesome!” the impatient lunatic takes your phone and touches the screen. A powerful blast is heard in the distance as the angel cannot stay silent:
“This is preposterous! I forbid it!”
“And why should I care?” J counterattacks. “I don’t listen to weirdos dresses in creepy outfits anyway.”
“I beg your pardon?!” The Principality can’t hold in the remark.
“There’s nothing wrong with his suit,” you immediately defend Crowley’s friend. “It’s very elegant and he looks like a real gentleman!”
“Opposed to what, huh? Me??! I don’t look like a gentleman, is that what you’re trying to say??!” J accuses you of nonsense because he’s missing a few screws and his brain can’t process shit normally.
“Ugghh,” the demon stretches on his chair, debating on his next move. “Enough!” he stops time and Aziraphale is overwhelmed by his experience so far. “First, I believe we both agree she should stay away from swords. Second, I have a proposal.”
“A proposal?”
“Yes. Here’s the thing: the next words he’s going to utter will be so hurtful; frankly the last drop for her. She’s going to leave him; she’s been thinking about it.”
“None of our concern,” the angel gets in defensive mode because he can sense what Crowley is aiming at.
“Maybe not, yet you should consider the facts: a man like him can’t possibly hope for a better partner than a Neutral. You’re aware I’m right: she does a good deed and compensates it with a bad one and vice versa. At the end of the day her ledger is always perfectly balanced. If they stay together, some of her neutrality might rub off on him. Which translates into countless lives might be saved. Miracle him say the stuff she wants to hear and today’s outcome will be different.”
“This is blackmail!!”
“It’s in my nature; that’s what I do,” Crowley lifts his shoulder up, unfazed at the allegation.
“Well…” Aziraphale argues. “She is a Neutral, I suppose they are not a myth.”
“Nope, and you should be grateful she didn’t trick you into her if you show me yours I’ll show you mine little game.”
“Good gracious, Crowley! That sounds indecent!”
“She’s super sneaky. The Joker was gone on business and we played poker; it was a boring evening so she had an interesting suggestion: if I show her my wings she’ll show me her push up bra.”
“And?” the angel gulps.
”I’ve never seen a push-up bra before, I was curious!”
“Anthony Crowley!!!” The Guardian shouts. “Do you go around flaunting your wings to everyone???!!”
“In over 6000 years you never called me by my first name; does it mean I’m in big trouble?”
“Obviously!”
“Nifty, I love getting in trouble,” the devil snickers. “So we have a deal? You’ll miracle him saying it?” and doesn’t wait for a reply. He releases his grip on time and J continues his tirade towards Y/N:
“You know what, Pumpkin??!”
“… … What…?” you brace yourself for the worst.
“I love you.”
Your bottom lip quivers, tears clouding your vision since you didn’t expect the outpoured declaration you’ve wanted to hear for the past two years.
The Joker moves his jaw sideways, intrigued he pronounced such rubbish. It’s almost as his mouth… moved by itself! Impossible aberration!
“Why are you crying?” J quizzes and you can’t stop bawling your eyes out. “C., it seems we have a situation; make sure your pal pays me!” J stands up from the table while you cling to his arm being a complete emotional mess. Y/N is unable to speak but she waves at guests before departing instead of a formal goodbye.
The Joker and his girl are gone, thus Crowley uses his powers in order to summon back the food and drinks destroyed earlier before the people working at the restaurant notice the carnage.
“That was a trip!” Aziraphale concludes after the insane meeting.
“Wasn’t it? Congratulations on the bookstore! Shall we?” the demon urges. “It’s getting cold and trust me, you don’t want to waste this heavenly lunch. Pun not intended,” he mentions for the heck of it.
“Mmmm, this is soooo good,” Aziraphale savors the exquisite flavors and lifts his glass up for Crowley to pour champagne. “Thank you,” he sips on the bubbly drink, distracted by the popping sounds.
“Are you feeling nickytty-pickitty yet?”
The angel shakes his head in denial and the devil laughs, amused:
“Well, that’s why we have 4 bottles! Cheers!”
The glasses clink, Crowley laying out more ideas for the rest of the day.
“After we’re done eating, what do you say we take a stroll to see the building? It’s about 6 blocks away.”
“I’d like that; it’s a very good plan,” Aziraphale admits while drinking more champagne.
A Place in your Home; A Place in your Heart | Arthur Fleck x reader
// original request: Hi! I love your writings and I shyly wanted to request something. ^^ I wonder if you could write about Reader that has a difficult situation and has to find a new place to live, but doesnt have enough money? Arthur wants to help her and offers her that she can live with him. They’ve not dated for long but it’s serious and the’re much in love. She wants to move in with him, but she’s afraid it wouldn not work out for many reasons, but eventually she agrees and Arthur is immensely happy. ^^
// A/N: This originally was going to be a longer fic, but I’ve been struggling with writing yet again, so I figured breaking it down into headcanons was easier than taking eons longer to write something more detailed.
It had been nearly three weeks since you were given the news, the words barely making their way over the fuzzy phone lines, voice as uncaring as ever.
Due to a better suited tenant making an offer, your lease was not going to be renewed, and you needed to be out by the end of the month - no if, ands, or buts about it.
Your lifestyle was a hand to mouth one; paycheck to paycheck, your weekly earnings were just enough to cover rent and basic necessities with little left over to save, splurges on luxuries being an occasional, very rare treat.
With your rainy day savings, your actualsavings,andthe total accumulation of the profit you made from selling various items that you could, you barely had enough to cover even a depositon any of the nearby apartments - let alone deposit, andthe first month’s rent.
In short, you were screwed.
You were screwed, and it was eating at you. Day and night, the thought loomed over you like the piles of trash that littered the city, threatening to topple over on passersby at any moment.
Had you been given a much more reasonably timed heads up, it wouldn’t have been even half an issue, yet you were left to do nothing but lay in bed, eyes burning as you stared at the television, seeing but not really watching the program on it. You’d been pulled from your restless sleep by the sound of a glass bottle dropping and shattering somewhere outside, and given that it was nearly four in the morning, you were about to give up on sleep.
Even in your sleepy haze, did the weight of the situation hit you like a truck, your stomach tightening with anxiety, the churning twist of panic, worry, and hopelessnessmaking your eyes blur with tears as you shifted your gaze to the ceiling.
You couldn’t help but almost pitifully chuckle at that - soon, there wouldn’t even bea ceiling for you to cry over.
December was nearly on its last legs with Christmas just around the corner; the days of autumn bleeding into those of winter as you found yourself growing more and more grateful each day that your boyfriend’s apartment was one of the few that had a functioning heating system. Temperatures dipped below freezing more often than not, and you often had to take a moment to brace yourself before you stepped outside as the air’s freeze physically hurtsometimes - your eyes, nose, and fingers on the days you forgot your gloves stinging from the wind, while any exposed skin reddened from the nip of the wind.
It was thoughts of days like those that made you brief a sigh of relief and sink back into the couch of Arthur’s living room, one of his softest blankets fluffed and draped around your body as you curled your legs under yourself, warm and safe from the harsh weather outside, and the even harsher population of the city.
It was also thoughts of days like those that reminded you that this wasn’t going to last.
“Love, what’s on your mind?”
As in tune with your emotions as ever, Arthur noticed that you were particularly quiet that evening, lost in your thoughts as you didn’t even pay any mind to the television - set to the weekly airing of The Murray Franklin Show.
You hadn’t even told Arthur what was going on, the fear of stressing your already overworked boyfriend out keeping you from opening your mouth.
“Huh? Oh - nothing,” You blinked, turning your attention from the carpet to the television. “I’m just tired.” You spoke, fingertips picking at the frayed hem of the blanket currently wrapped around your body.
Another hint for Arthur: no Art, no Artietacked on the end to your reply. From the corner of your eye could you see him through the passthrough, eyeing you from his spot at the kitchen counter where he was taking the utmost care to not spill the mug of hot chocolate he was making you as he stirred it.
Even though your relationship was hardly out of its infancy, you both knew each other well enough to tell when something was wrong. Arthur was already so very in tune with your emotions, so you knew he wasn’t just going to let your morose mood go without a question or two, and you knew yourselfenough to know that something about Arthur’s concern hit a soft spot in your heart, rendering you unable to keep much from him once he managed to get into your head.
He seemed almost sad as he now stood in the entrance to the living room, his lips settled into a thin line as he kept his eyes trained on you. You felt yourself shrink under his gaze, the guilt from keeping something so major from him eating at you, but the uncertainty and apprehension of not only howyou’d bring it up with Arthur, but how he’d react.
One of your worst fears was Arthur jumping on the opportunity to have you live with him. Not because you didn’t wantto, not because you didn’t trust him or anything of the sort - but Arthur had a habit of putting the needs of others, especially your own, miles above his own. Money was muchtighter for him than it was for you, and hell you had no idea if even combining incomes would be much help. No doubt that it would be some, but whether it would be enough, especially given the uncertain job climate of Gotham, left you scratching your head.
Arthur took a seat next to you, the drink he brought you placed on the coffee table, and with a deep breath, you let it spill out faster than you really meant for it to.
Your lease was ending in just over a week. Your landlord had no intent of renewing it because someone else was moving in, and you had no money to move elsewhere yet, even after your best efforts at earning enough. You had no where to go, nothing to do, no way to remedy the situation - and time was running out.
Hell, you had no idea if at this point you even could do anything beyond accepting the inevitable.
“Why… don’t you stay here?”
Arthur’s meek, yet hopeful voice raising such a suggestion made your ears perk up. You hadn’t even thought about that - but immediately did you know that it wouldn’t work. At least not yet.
“Art - I can’t do that, you know I can’t.” You couldn’t look at him as you spoke, the thought of being able to live in with him making your heart skip a beat, but the knowledge that it almost most definitely was not realistic at the moment making it hard to swallow.
“Why can’t you?”
“It won’t work - it’s not going to work.”
Though instantly you regret speaking those words, wincing once you realized what they implied. You knew Arthur and his anxieties well enough to know that it wasn’t improbable that he took “it won’t work” as meaning, you didn’t have enough faith in your relationship for it to work.
“ - Notlikethat,”You were quick to correct yourself, hoping to save the situation before it became more angst ridden. “I mean, living together. At least right now. Money is already tight for you, isn’t it? And I mean, it’s not like my own job is the most stable right now.”
“Y/N, do you really think that matters?”Arthur looked almost angry as he spoke, as if the fact that you were concerned about finances was ridiculous in such a situation. You knew Arthur enough to know he wasn’t actually mad, at least not at you, but still on edge at the threat of your loss of shelter. “You’ll be homeless, and - and who knows what could happen to you out there -” The hitch in Arthur’s breath as he spoke, coupled with the way his left hand gripped at the fabric of his trousers clued you in that this was something extremelydistressing for him.
You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, yet you refused to let them fall as you blinked them away. “Arthur -”
“Please,”Arthur’s hand shot out for your own, his warm from holding the hot drink previously as he held your hand tight in his own. “Y/N, please.. Don’t worry about money, we’ll figure it out - but it’s dangerous, it’s awful out there and I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you -”
Had you not stopped him midsentence with a gentle “Hey -”, you’d no doubt Arthur would’ve either succumbed to a fit of laughter, tears, or both.
“ - Arthur, hey,” Your free hand that wasn’t kept in his own reached for his shoulder, tugging gently on the fabric of that brown cardigan you so loved, pulling him closer to you. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder, his breath just barely noticeable against the fabric of your chest. “I dont… I don’t know what I’d do, either - Arthur I just don’t want to add more to your plate, you’re already so overworked, I shouldn’t have even mentioned it.”
You could feel Arthur shake his head at your words, but he didn’t speak - not that you blamed him.
With your lips now pressed to the top of his head, you took a deep breath, breathing in his scent. That comforting scent you’ve come to love and seek out within the few months you’ve been with him - the scent you, really, wouldn’t mind being surrounded by all of the time.
“We’ll try,” You said finally, not missing how Arthur seemed to tense up at your words. “Arthur I… would love to stay here - I would, love to live with you. It’s going to take some time to adjust - never mind actually making the move - but… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
You could’ve laughed at how Arthur shot up at this, his eyes wide as he seemed full of disbelief for a moment before your own reassuring smile sparked a growing grin on his face. “Do you really mean it, Y/N?”
“Waking up with, going to bed next to, coming home to you doesn’t sound all too bad, the more I think about it,” You whispered, your body finding its way to Arthur’s as his arms pulled you close.
Kinda unsure if anyone really reads my stuff anymore, but for those that do/those that will once I begin posting again;
Do you prefer oneshots, or do you like mutli-part pieces? I have a few ideas for some multi-part pieces (the continuation(s) for Smile are included), but I’m not entirely sure how… much attention they’ll get and I don’t want to bore readers with content they don’t care too much for.
AN: we’re just gonna. pretend hoyt keeps a mini fridge in his office. for the sake of simplicity. thanks. Originally a list of headcanons but I kinda drew ‘em out and turned them into a scenario. Thank you for your patience.
Summary:You love Arthur, and Arthur loves you - and neither of you could stand to see the other hurt. Arthur always so adamantly defended you and stood up for you when you failed to do so for yourself, but you began to feel as if maybe - maybe- you weren’t doing yourjob of defending him like you should’ve been.
Luckily, one day in Arthur’s haze of exhaustion does he forget something at home on his way to work one morning, and you decide to bring it to him - giving you the perfectopportunity to give those who handle him roughly a small piece of your mind.
Words:4041
Neither you nor Arthur were very assertive.
Though both of you could be when the time came for it, very quickly was it learned that more often than not, it was best to just let things go, in Gotham; everyone knew that it was best to just avoid the fight that would inevitably come with confrontation - avoid the problems, the anger, and the violence that seemed to be lurking around every corner. No one in the city liked to accept responsibility for their shitty behavior, and any sort of criticism - whether warranted or not - only led to more anger and violence, and neither you nor Arthur had the energy to deal with it on most days.
The passive attitude the two of you had long since adopted was both a blessing and a curse for the two of you; a blessing as you could so easily let things go and not letting them fester and bother you for days to come - but also a curse, as that passiveness was often taken as weakness- and being perceived as weakonly tempted others to try and take advantage of you. They’d think that they could just push, and push, and push- that they could just walk all over whomever they pleased, and that the one who was weakwould just sit there and take it without any form of argument, push back, or resistance.
In a way, it was almost comical. Where the two of you lacked in standing up for yourselves individually, did the other one come in. You both knew what it was like to be hurt and abused, and from your love for each other came the desire to protectthe other and keep them safe in the streets of the city. You wouldn’t stand to see your other half get hurt and exploited - and so you’d readily and happilystep in to stand up for them if they were having a hard time doing so for themselves. Perhaps a bit of an unhealthy dynamic, but one that worked for the both of you and usually kept either of you from getting hurt.
In your time together, Arthur had stood up for you time and time again; at the market, when a woman roughly shoved you aside without any hesitation or apology so she could cut in front of you in line, then again on the street minutes later when you’d had insults and slurs thrown at you by total strangers just because they felt like it, and then that time on the subway when someone decided that they didn’t like how you glanced at them for a fraction of a second and tried to start a fight. Arthur hated far little else as much as he hated seeing you get hurt and disrespected, and so out of what seemed like nowhere would he become bursting with a type of energy and confidence that you rarely ever saw, sticking up for you without even a hintof that same insecurity and hesitance that typically kept him from helping himself in similar situations.
It was sweet of him, but how angryyou’d get at yourself for not being able to do the same for him nearly as much as he did for you. Arthur never came right out and saidthat anyone was tormenting him or anything, but judging by the way he spoke about his days at work with the occasional mention of a name or two, you had a feeling that he wasn’t exactly very well respected at Haha’s - or, really, anywhere he went, for that matter.
Just from his stories alone did you know how much of a domineering bullyhis coworker Randall could be, and how he always passed it off as just him havin’ a laugh with his boy and that of courseArtie knew he was just playin’; how much Hoyt overworked Arthur, using any excuse he could to underpay and berate him for things completely unrelated to him, and how Penny - Arthur’s own mother- would often totally ignore Arthur’s own needs and wants, so self focused on herself that she apparently failed to see any problem in dismissing and belittling her own son’s dreams and goals, completely undermining how hardworking and deserving he truly was.
While just being aware that it happened hurt you, it didn’t pain you nearlyas much as it did to know Arthur seemed to just let that stuff happen - but deep down, you knew that wasn’t really the case. You knew what would happen if he stood up for himself; it would just open him up to more ridicule, more bullying, more harassment - none which anything that Arthur needed to deal with more. It was much less of him just lettingit happen, and more of him being powerlessin the face of it, the more you thought about it. Powerless and vulnerable - two things you hated to think of him as.
In a way, you were angry at the city itself and those around him who you had no doubt saw the mistreatment as it happened - but did nothing to help. As guilty as the perpetrators were they, in your eyes.
But Arthur’s struggle to stand up for himself and the voyeur-esque attitudes of those around him didn’t mean that youhad to just sit there and let it happen, too.
Ever since the two of you had begun dating, you’d both been on top of making sure that the other took care of themselves properly, and that included making sure they were eating well. You knew how Arthur rarely had time at work to stop in anywhere and eat, and how he had even less pocket money than he did time, so you picked up on making small, easy lunches that he could grab on the way out the door to take with him. They were always simple things; sandwiches, leftovers from the previous night packed securely in Tupperware, occasionally you’d bake some cookies and send a few of those - just random, small, easy things that you could afford, and Arthur appreciated them more than he could even begin to express. He almost broke down into tears the first time you presented him with a lunch you’d packed for him; a brown paper lunch bag, the top of it rolled in securely, with your bubbly handwriting reading Artiewith a big heart across both sides.
This became a routine for you, and most nights a week you’d take an extra few minutes to prepare something for him. He’d always ask if he could help, feeling ever soguilty that you were going out of your way to care for him, but you always brushed it off with a shrug, telling him you were doing it because you lovedhim - as well as tossing in a playful comment here and there about how what you were making him was a top secret surprise so he was temporarily banned from the kitchen while you did so.
He was always so good about remembering to grab what you made him, but one morning after a night of actually managing to sleepand subsequently oversleeping, so exhausted was he that on the way out the door he forgot to grab what you’d put together for him. By the time you opened the fridge realized he’d left it behind he was already long gone, but given the fact that his workplace was only a five minute walk and a 15 minute bus ride away and you had the day off you figured the least you could do was bring it to him, and so you slipped on your shoes and jacket and set out.
The commute was uneventful, but the closer you actually got to Haha’s, the more did a sinking feeling settle into the pit of your stomach; a nagging, gnawing, almost warningpang of anxiety that seemed to be telling you to brace yourself for whatever you were going to have to put up with once you arrived. It was the feeling you typically had when you were about to pass by a rough looking group on the street, the same feeling you got when you knew you were about to run into trouble - and you knew that the trouble your subconscious was trying to warn you of was most likely Arthur’s coworkers.
And once you actually arrived at Haha’s did you wish you’d listened to it and braced yourself better.
For starters, there was no response when you rang the bell. The sign taped on the door felt like it was almost taunting you; HaHa’s Talent Booking Agency, Please Ring Bell, with a crudely drawn arrow pointing to the doorbell that was either so quiet no one heard it, or totally out of service and thus, useless.
It was frustrating - it was nearly nine at that point and you knew that Arthur had a gig early that morning, so the chances of him still being there were incredibly slim and you didn’t want to leave his things with anyone but him. It took a good minute of debate, but you mustered up every bit of courage you had and with a deep breath pulled the door open. You wanted to go in, find a safe place to leave his lunch, and leave. Nothing more, nothing less.
Immediately did the air of the interior slam you in the face; it was warmer than the air outside was, and thick and heavy with the hazy scent of cigarette smoke and mildew slamming you in the face. An unpleasant greeting, and you held your breath on the way up the stairs and through the hallway until you ended up in what you figured was the main room.
The room itself wasn’t what was bad, considering it was Gotham city and most buildings needed a good bit of repair, but the atmosphere itselfwas what made you feel more sick to your stomach than the air that was thick with scent of cigarette smoke and sweat did.
Most conversation came to a halt, voices trailing off and words cut short as everyone’s attention turned to you once the creak of the floor under your footsteps was heard. Men in their thirties, forties, and probably even fiftiesturned to look at you; some of them looking amused, some annoyed, and some undeniably hungry.
You smiled, albeit incredibly awkwardly, at them, hoping that a friendly disposition would be enough to stave off any sort of crude comments any of them may make, and as you were about to speak up and ask where Arthur was, two words into your question were you interrupted by a particularly large man on the other side of the room.
“Oh, well, well, who d’we got here?” He thumbed at the suspenders that held up his oversized red trousers as he sauntered over to you, a lazy, lopsided, poor attempt at a friendly grin spread on his face. “You lost, sweetheart?”
It took most of your self restraint to not roll your eyes at the name, and instead you kept up your smile. “Oh - no, actually. I’m here for someone, but I don’t see him -”
“Yeah? Who around here could you possiblywant anything to do with?”
Yet again did he interrupt you - but in that second did you realize who heactually was. You knew that this was Randall, and he fit the exact image you’d had in your head of him: tall, sleazy, and obnoxious - but you weren’t about to let him have his way with you like he so often did others.
Straightening up, you looked him in the eye as any trace of geniality that was once present vanished from your face. “Arthur. I’m his girlfriend, and I need to see him for something.”
A handful of the men scattered around the room choked back laughs. A quick look around showed that a good chunk of them found your comment funny enough to scoff at, most uncaring that you’d caught them smirking at the apparent utter absurdity that Arthur Fleck had a girlfriend. They couldn’t believe it, and Randall especially seemed to get a kick out of how unlikely it was.
“Aw, c’mon,” He reached forward to nudge your shoulder with his hand, a poor attempt at being playful. “Artie’s not here right now, but I’m surehe wouldn’t mind sharin’ with us. Why don’t you come sit with us? We’d love to meet you.”
You stepped backwards. “No, thank you, really. I’m just here for Arthur, and I have somewhere else I need to be. Is there someplace I can leave this so he’ll get it?” You held the bag up for a second long enough so he could get a look, but you absolutely did nottrust any of them enough to leave Arthur’s belongings anywhere near them. Considering how often they teased Arthur, you figured it wasn’t too far fetched to assume that they’d have no issue fucking with his stuff, and the suspicion of it alone was enough to make you immediately distrust the lot of them.
Not even taking the hint, Randall continued on. “C’mon, don’t be such a stick in the mud, sweetheart. You can leave it with us, yeah? I’m dying to know what you brought our Arthur.”
TheirArthur. It was a comment you had to once again stop yourself from rolling your eyes at, but by that point you’d had well more than enough. You’d made it clear you didn’t want to leave it with them or stay there with them, yet he just kept pushing. One thing you hated was someone who couldn’t - who wouldn’t- take no for an answer.
“You know,” You stepped up to him, ignoring the fact that you couldn’t properly square him up considering he had at least half a foot on you in height. “I know I don’t reallyknow you that well, but from just this interaction I can already tell that Arthur is more of a man than you could ever even dream of being. At least he can take no for an answer - something you should work on, sweetheart.”
You spoke sweetheartwith a spat of venom; enunciating it condescendingly enough to get the point across. This was the first time you’d even met the guy, but just from his presence alone could you tell that even if it weren’t for already knowing what he put Arthur through that you stillwouldn’t like him. He wasn’t an ass in a blunt, high-school bully type of way; rather it was a subtle, almost passive aggressive, domineering form of teasing that seemed to put those around him into some strange position of submission so he was left free to poke fun at them however he pleased - modeled perfectly so any retaliation could be shrugged off with an excuse of “C’mon, I was just kidding around.”
“Is there anywhere I can leave this?” Your impatience was evident at this point; your foot tapping, and you were hesitant to make any eye contact with the men as you looked about the room. At this point you just wanted to get out of there - you hadn’t intended for any of this to happen today, and while you were almost mad at yourself for being so rude with Randall and causing such a stir, you weren’t in the mood to put up with this situation orhim, and to say he deserved it would’ve been an understatement.
Of all the men in the room, while most of them were large in stature, it was ironically enough the smallest of them that seemed to be able to find it in him to respond to your question. A small, balding man of about four feet tall who stood at his locker, quietly watching the exchange before he reached a hand out, pointing towards the hallway behind you. “Hoyt keeps a spot in his office, you could leave it with him. I’ll let Arthur know when I see him.”
With a smile and an appreciative nod of your head, you turned around and headed down the hallway, ignoring the chatter of the men as you left. Thankfully, the section of the building was small and apart from the descending stairs and a doorway right at the top labeled Restroom, there was only a short hallway with a door at the far end - the peeling, chipping letters spelling O fice stuck to it.
You knocked, and through the window of the door could you see that - whom you presumed to be Hoyt - either didn’t hear you, or couldn’t be bothered to respond. With the nature of the place it wasn’t too out there to assume it was most likely the latter, but not wanting to be rude you knocked again - only for him to shout an irritated “What?” from his desk, muffled through the door as he couldn’t be bothered to look up as you pushed the door open.
“Can I help you?” Finallydid he look up at you, taking his eyes from whatever he was writing and focusing on you.
“Oh, yeah, sorry - I was told there was a spot I could leave this, in here? It’s food, for Arthur.” You held the bag up, and Hoyt glanced between you and it, his eyebrow raised as he scrutinized you.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Arthur’s girlfriend.”
“Arthur.Girlfriend.” Hoyt laughed at that, shaking his head before he went back to writing, the cigarette that was smoking away in the ashtray stinking the room up. “Jesus, those are two words that don’t belong together.”
“How come everyone has such a hard time believing that Arthur could be in a relationship?” You knew you had to speak carefully; say the wrong thing, piss off his boss or one of his coworkers enough, and it wouldn’t be you in trouble - it would be Arthur who’d end up paying for it. “He’s great, he’s a hard worker and he’s really nice, unlike a lot of people nowadays. He’s taken for granted way too much.”
Hoyt only hummed in response, unamused. Sure.
“Imeanit, those guys out there are awful to him. You seriously don’t hear it?”
“Look, as long as they work and don’t get into trouble on company time, I stay out of it. They’re grown men and I ain’t their parent.”
“Hoyt, I know this is the first time I’ve been around here, but Arthur is one of the hardest workers you have here. He comes home exhaustedall the time, and rarely ever takes a day off. He hates causing problems, so the least you could do for him is tell the others to knock it off when they’re bothering him.”
You thought you could see the subtle bob of a nod from him, but you wouldn’t bet much on it. “You can put that in there,” He pointed with his pen towards the far corner of the room, where nestled between a stack of boxes and the window was a small, off-white, chipping mini fridge that probably needed to be replaced. “The others won’t mess with it if it’s in there.”
Once Arthur’s lunch was tucked safely between another brown paper bag and a Tupperware container with contents that you couldn’t discern, you offered little more than a hurried thank you to Hoyt as you left the room, turning left, hopping down the stairs and back out the door without looking back.
You never wanted to go back, but you hoped what you said had at least made some impact.
Whether Arthur was completely unaware of what you had done at Haha’s or he didn’t know how to bring it up you weren’t sure, but one thing you did know was how he seemed almost… lighter, that night. Usually, when he came home he was tired, dragging his feet as he was weighed down by both his fatigue and the stress that came just from living in the kind of city the two of you did, but Arthur seemed cheerful - almost giddy,that night. His shoulders weren’t slouched, and he wasn’t dragging his feet like he tended to from his exhaustion; instead, when he came through the apartment door, he greeted you at your spot at the sink where you were washing dishes by turning you from the counter, his right arm coming to wrap around your waist and his left hand to your face so he could kiss you in a deeper manner than he typically did when he came home from work, gracefully spinning the two of you so you were pressed between his body and the edge of the counters
Whatever was going on, you absolutely weren’tgoing to argue with it.
After checking in with each other did he excuse himself to the bathroom so he could wash off the remaining streaks of white greasepaint that clung to the sharp edges of his jaw, and you finished up the dishes, settling down on the couch, trying to think of options you could cook up for dinner as Arthur returned, taking a seat next to you.
“Thank you, again, sweetheart for bringing my lunch today,” Arthur said, his voice soft and his words grateful as he pressed a kiss to your cheek, taking a seat next to you on the couch. “I’m lucky to have you.”
“Oh,Happy,” Penny interjected before you could answer your boyfriend, her attention taken from the television by Arthur’s words and she looked towards the pair of you. “You forgot something again, and Y/N had to bring it to you?”
She had a certain look on her face - her eyes narrowed, her eyebrows raised as she scolded her son. You almost asked her what she meant by againas this was, as far as you could remember, the only time you had to bring Arthur something he forgot - but questioning didn’t matter. Not right now. You were already on a roll today, and you weren’t about to let Penny of all people now dig at Arthur, and tear down his good mood.
“Pen, Arthur is stressed, overworked, and exhausted. You can’t expect him to be on top of everything all the time,” You leaned back on the couch, eyes fixed on the TV as in your annoyance you couldn’t bother to look at her. “Besides, he deserves to have someone help him out. He’s always taking care of us and things here, and it’s only right that I look out for him, too. It’s unfair for him to have to do everything when he already works so hard.”
“Well, he always has been a hard worker. Maybe a little too hard, you don’t think I don’t see how tired you are all the time? Those sleeping pills of yours don’t seem to be working.” She said, redirecting her attention from you back to Arthur. “You’re lucky you have Y/N, she helps keep you in line.”
“I think it’s the other way around,” You laughed, though Penny was hardly amused. Arthur, as per usual, didn’t say anything about his mother’s critique of him. “I think Arthur’s taken for granted, way too often. He’s funny, and I have no doubt that he’s one of the best guys that a girl could ever ask for.”
You figured you should stop before your poor boyfriend at your side was reduced to nothing but a puddle on the floor, and you could tell how embarrassed he was from not only how adamantly you defended him, but how you spoke of his character as well, by how tightly his hand was holding your own, his face angled away from his mother and yourself.
You didn’t want to stop, though. If you could, you’d sing praises of him to the damn heavens themselvesif that’s what it took for your boyfriend to get the respect and recognition he deserved.
You turned to him, your hand cupping his face and pulling him to look at you as you brought your face close to his, whispering to him before you pressed a kiss to his lips -
“I mean it. I love you, Arthur. You’re one of the best, and one day everyone’s gonna realize it.”
Hey does anyone want any comfort character letters? I was hoping to write again and i thought it might be fun to try writing comfort character letters.
author’s note: thank you for the responses to my first fanfic on this tumblr!! i don’t really have a schedule for when I write or specific characters who i write for at the moment, i just thought i could use this whole quarantine thing as a time to be productive:))
this fic is named after a lana del rey song
the dark knight, except you are the second person the joker captures in order to get batman to reveal his identity. little does he know, you’re as broken as he is. (ledger!joker x reader)
trigger warning: psychological trauma, mentions of violence, mentions of mental illness, reader experiences panic attacks
If he’s a serial killer, then what’s the worst
That could happen to a girl who’s already hurt?
I’m already hurt
The room is damp and cold, with no source of light. The smell of rotting flesh suffocates your air.
You’ve been here for hours now.
When you’d first woken up, groggy from the effects of some drug, you’d begun to hyperventilate in the pitch black, the ropes that bound you pressing down tightly on your organs and making it even more difficult to breathe.
This had continued on for longer than it normally would. Every time you managed to drag in enough air to fill your lungs, thoughts that this was more than a kidnapping by those who wanted money or sex flashed through your mind in garish colours of green and purple, and the oxygen was ripped from your body once again.
Eventually your breathing had steadied, and now here you sit, two hours later, still pulling on your ropes and trying desperately to think of a way out.
The sudden shove of what must be the door knocks the breath that you’ve spent so long obtaining out of you, and the harsh glare of electric lights followed by the sight of a tall, stooped figure in a purple suit make you scream.
How funny that just a few days ago, you were watching and pitying the police officer in the exact same position that you are now in safely from your bedroom, if unhappily at least safely, and at least safely from others, if not from yourself.
Your gasping cries echoe about the room, grating on the peeling walls and the intruder’s ears and the huge hunks of bloody red meat hanging from hooks in the corners -
‘Shh, darling, shh.’
And the Joker is in front of you, and you take in the matted green hair and the yellow teeth and the face plastered in white greasepaint and the bright red lips and the two huge scars curving up from the corners of his mouth, forming a grisly smile. He paws at your face with a gloved hand, the action quick and sharp and devoid of tenderness.
He wants you to shut up.
Your terror overrules your hatred and you stop screaming, having to come up for little gasps of air every few seconds.
’Oh, smartgirl.’
His voice sounds exactly like it did in the clips they showed on the TV; the Joker speaks in snarls, with a wet smack of the lips at the end of each sentence. He is still close to you. You can smell sweat, leather, and blood.
‘I presume you know why you’re here,doll.’
There is no point in lying: you raise your trembling head, and nod.
'And Ipresume… you have seen my previous recording, yes?’
Another nod.
'ANSWER ME!’
His bark makes you jump, and sends chills trickling down your spine like cold water. You want to curl up in a ball and die out of sheer terror, but you force your dry mouth to open, unsticking your lips bit by bit, and…
'yes.’
The Joker leers. He puts his large hands on your shaking thighs and pushes himself down into a kneeling position, red lips grinning up at you.
He is like a cat, toying with its prey to make it taste sweeter.
'And what, ah, did I say, was the purpose…’ the intruder’s fingers trace small circles on your skin, 'of my video?’
You know the purpose, but you don’t want to say it, can’t say it, because if you said it, you’d be admitting the truth to yourself, and even after everything you’ve been through, you don’t want to die.
As each second of silence passes each thigh circle becomes bigger, and the Joker’s long nails dig deeper into soft skin, and tiny red roses of blood begin to bloom. You feel the urge to let him continue: to let him scratch his way down to bone and marrow and eventually to the chair you’re trapped in, while you suffer in proud, noble silence.
But when the Joker sighs irritatedly and pulls out a knife from his boot, you decide you are a coward.
'You - you are using me - to try - to try to - to try to get Batman to reveal who - who he really is.’
'Full marks, doll… and you are a pretty doll, aren’t you? Wanna know why I chose you for this, ehem, operation?’
Silence.
'Course you do. Now. It seems as though our, hehe, brave,Batman, did not have much sympathy for the poor police officer who was sitting exactly where you are now…’
See, this is how crazy Batman’s made Gotham…
'Otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting exactly where you are now! Geddit?’
The Joker laughs a maniacal laugh, causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end.
'So, in order to persuade both Batman and the goodcitizens of Gotham to reveal his identity, I have chosen someone younger, prettier, more, ah, innocent,thanour dear police officer, to fill their hearts with empathy and the urgent desire to act -
Namely, you.’
Blood pounds in your ears. You’ve forgotten entirely about controlling your breathing - but what is the point, when you are going to die?
'You’re terrified, doll.’
The Joker’s tongue wets his bottom lip.
In a quick thrust he pushes himself off the ground so he is towering above you once again. The knife spins in the air before he catches it with nimble fingers. Footsteps sound on the floor, and the Clown begins to pace the room.
'Before I start to make my little films, however, I like to play a few games.Justto get my actorsinto the right mood, you see.’
You can’t breathe, please, god, someone, help, because you can’t breathe…
