jasminau

[jasminau]

And just like that.. I’m back on my Bucky Barnes bullshit.

[jasminau]

[I think I ruined it...]

"Let's put a smile on that face"

[jasminau]

The Joker + weapons

[jasminau]

Boredom

Ledger!Joker/reader

Warnings: choking, exhibitionism, squirting, masturbation, shoe humping, verbal humiliation, public humiliation, nickname use: bunny, reader is referred to as a girl indirectly so I will not be using AFAB (female reader and gendered language)

J has been planning this for a while. A “triple header”, he keeps calling it. It has a lot of moving parts and a lot of people that need to be on the same page. You understand why he’s busy. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating to sit across from him and have 0 attention from him whatsoever.

The dim glow of the fluorescent lights, the humming accompanied. It would drive anyone mad after a while. This has been his life- your life- for quite some years. Passing the time is no easy feat. J is giving a freshly-revised run down of the plans, his goons are clinging to every word, as are you. Your interest has much more to do with how the words tumble from his marred lips. He slows his speech to think and nobody dares interrupt to fill in the obvious blanks. He’s the boss here, through and through.

You idly fidget with the armrest of the only soft chair in this room. Only the best for his baby, even if the “best” is relative to the worst conditions possible. Pulling the threads slowly, running your fingertips over the seams. You’re almost bored enough to count the stitches. J still holds your attention as now he’s removed his tie completely, smoothly wrapping it around his knuckles to make a tidy coil to set on the table next to him. He tilts his chin upward on his left side, cracking his neck and his eyes shift to you for a moment. He stares you down from the top of his nose, pressing his lips together and squinting like he’s trying to see what you’re up to. Not that there’s anything to be up to.

J returns to the schematics in front of him, running his middle finger over a small section, studying the layout. His tongue juts out for a split second, swiping from the middle of his top lip to the right corner of his mouth, staying there for a moment while he thinks. He’s too pretty for his own good, you think. Surely other people can spot the sensuality.

It’s getting much harder to distract yourself. Not from the boredom, but from J. From every little movement he does, every glance you receive from him. You’re in thin leggings and a light sweater but you’re burning up in this dingy, void, concrete room. Tugging lightly at the sweater for a bit of a breeze, you continue to watch J. He’s getting more frantic now. His plans are getting pushed back by new information and problems arising. There’s not enough manpower here, “we can’t be in two places at once, boss…”, the timing is off, blah blah blah. You scoot your chair under the table, far enough to drape a leg over one arm of the chair and not have it be noticed.

The goons are busy, J is busy, the room is simultaneously too bright and too dim. The only thing you can focus on comfortably is J. Your mind wanders to the previous night. A whisky and wine fueled frenzy between you and J. There’s fingerprints spattered across your hips and thighs, though not visible at this moment. You press on one you recall the location of. It almost feels like his hands again. You breathe deeply and sigh. It’s not loud enough to catch anyone’s attention, it seems.

J started this meeting still in his suit. A terrible choice given his first move when he’s stressed is to remove articles of clothing. His suit jacket is laid on the back of his chair, his tie is gone, still sat next to him on the table. He’s got suspenders today, but they are off his shoulders and dangling around his hips and legs. There’s very little difference between what he looks like right now and what a businessman at the top of a skyscraper at that very moment looks like. Except maybe the makeup. But who knows, truly.

You’re definitely wet at this point. There’s no question. Your senses have been bombarded with nothing but J. The smell of a discarded cigar wraps your throat. The sound of his tongue clicking in contemplation. The sight of him. It’s not entirely your fault for fantasizing about him.

You decide it’s only fair if you have to sit in on these meetings that you get to have a little fun too. A little entertainment. Starting by repositioning, you extend your one leg still draped on the arm of the chair ever so slightly. Your other leg swings out to the opposite side with your foot on the floor, spreading your legs as far as possible under these conditions. Glancing around to make sure nobody has noticed your odd maneuvers, to your relief they’re all still focused on J. And J is always more focused on something else besides you in these meetings. You rest your cheek on your hand lazily and casually place your other hand over your clothed pussy. Your eyes dart around briefly to take note of everyone’s awareness. Nobody can tell.

Now’s the time where J is telling individual goons their specific roles. None of them have real names it’s more of a game to guess who J is referencing. He might call them out by their clothing, maybe their hair. They never know until he does it and by God they had better catch on quick when he does. He’s pointing around the room but still staring at his blueprints and journal full of notes.

You take great care in slipping your hand into your leggings, careful not to make it look like, well, like you’re sticking your hand in your pants. Once your freezing hand makes contact with your bare clit, it’s over. There’s no turning back now, your body wouldn’t allow it. You inhale sharply at the temperature difference, reveling in it. Temperature play isn’t new to either you or J. You start with slow, firm circles. Collecting your mess to help you glide over your clit. Your poker face is strong, it has to be this time. The desperation has seeped into every nerve ending and they will not let you forget that.

One goon happens to glance over in a moment of pondering and notices you look sort of flushed. But he quickly averts his gaze because it’s none of his business in the first place. J keeps rambling. It’s getting louder as more confident, long standing guys bounce ideas off of J and naturally the conversations get more intense. The room is a low drone of 20+ people chattering and arguing. You take the opportunity to ramp up your actions. You slip two fingers in your pussy and curl them to your liking over and over. It’s not nearly enough to satisfy you but it does feel nice. You keep watching J as he pours himself over his work. His hair falls in his face as he leans further over the table. He shifts one leg forward and the suspenders lay perfectly over his strong thigh that you long to be straddling. You let your eyes slip shut, hoping it just looks like you’ve fallen asleep in the chair. You speed up your fingers and angle your hand so you can circle your clit with your thumb. You sigh through your nose and try extra hard not to furrow your brow.

After a few minutes of the loud talking and you touching yourself, you slow down and take a break. Just leaving your hand in your leggings and breathing. J is giving a final rundown of the plan, any remaining kinks can be worked out without the entire group present.

“This isn’t…monetary so there’s no cuts to be made. Any profits are mine to keep because I say so, and- don’t stop. I didn’t tell you to stop.”

J has one hand perched on the table on its fingertips and the other sits at his side, resting on his leg. The goons stare at him, waiting for an explanation. For all they know this is still part of their briefing. Your eyes shoot open, immediately to be caught by his staring directly at you, something he hasn’t done for most of the night. You don’t speak or react.

“I’m not dumb, sweetie, I could smell you the moment you got wet. Nobody else in here could fill the room like that.” J’s lips curl into a taught smile, scrunching his nose and narrowing his eyes in a demeaning expression that dropped as quickly as it came.

“Out. Everybody out.” J says calmly. The rooms occupants file out quietly but quickly. You make a move to get out of the chair.

“AHT. Not you. Sit down.” J says through gritted teeth. You sink back into the chair sheepishly.

J swaggers over to you with one hand in his pocket and the other twirling a pen.

“Bunny, bunny, bunnyyyy.” He sing-songs his way down the table.

“You’re so funnyyyy.” He sings again once he’s standing over you. J leans down next to your face. You’re frozen in his presence. It’s suffocating.

“Awww you look nervous,” J feigns a concerned expression which is broken by a creeping grin spreading across his face, “Sweets? Do I not give you enough attention?” He asks with a small nod and a saccharine tone.

You scoot the chair back a little and close your legs, keeping eye contact with J. He points at you with the pen, then points at another chair nearby, a much smaller folding chair. It looks uncomfortable. You glance at the chair and back at him before raising yourself from your seat and timidly making your way to the new one, closer to the head of the table where J once commanded. You cast your eyes to the floor, still embarrassed by what J had said in front of everyone.

“Hurry u-p.” J chastises and pats your bottom twice to move yo u along. You scurry to the chair and sit down. Keeping your back straight and your feet planted. Posture is presentation, and presentation is everything. J taught you that. J breathes a heavy sigh and paces a half circle behind you, only ever letting you see him in your peripheral. He stops directly behind the chair, places his hands on your shoulders, and crouches. The leather of his shoes squeaking and the stretch of his pants fabric echoing in the ever silent warehouse. You can hear the jingle of a wallet chain and the swish of his suspenders scraping the floor. He runs rough fingers over your sides, gripping your waist and hips for a few moments.

“Don’t move.” J warns. He reaches out for the tie sitting on the table in front of you. You don’t dare turn your head to watch but you take note of him tying the fabric into a loop.

“You know, you’re worth way more alive than dead.” This is J’s way of saying, ‘trust me, I’m not going to kill you.’ J stands upright and dangles the looped tie in front of your face, like a dog catcher trying to trap a feral hound. You see he’s made a slip knot to make the loop. The tie smells like him, it’s your bait to override your instincts and get you to put your neck through, you think. It’s not even intentional, the sway he has over you. He’s intoxicating in all the ways you’d been warned about in men.

“Easyyyyy does it…”, J slides the slack fabric over your head, careful to not catch your hair between it and your skin. Slowly he starts pulling the loose end. Your skin prickles with fear and anticipation as the sound of the cloth cinching becomes deafening. It feels like forever and you still haven’t felt the tie get snug. That’s when J leans next to your face, his nose pressed to your temple, his lips grazing your ear,

“Deep breath.” You have about 2 seconds to gasp before he yanks the end of the tie up and back. You instinctively grab for the constraint around your throat and garble. J loosens the tie slightly, but leaves it snug to your skin. He fishes in his pocket for a second and walks around to your front, still holding the loose end of the tie in one hand. His other now holds a small pocket knife. He flicks it open and places it between his teeth so he can reach down and bat your legs open. Placing himself between them he grabs the knife again and slips it flat against your stomach down into the waistband of your leggings. He pulls away from your skin and twists the knife so the bite of the blade can tear the fabric. Once he has a decent enough slit he sets the knife on the table behind him.

“You didn’t flinch.” J notes. He looks back up at your face, though still looking down at you from his towering position.

“It’s what’s best for me.” You reply. Knowing that’s what J wants to hear. He likes subtle reminders that the version of you before him is entirely his doing.

J hums and refocuses on the torn leggings.

“Rip them the rest of the way off.” J orders. He never has to be too stern with you. Or with anyone. He’s established himself as the boss, and a powerful man doesn’t have to yell to get his point across.

You blindly pat your lap for the fabric so you can comply. Keeping eye contact with J, you pull the flap until you hear stitches popping, reaching your other hand to pull the remaining fabric in the opposite direction. J drops his gaze from yours to watch you expose yourself to him. His grip on the tie tightens involuntarily and you can feel the pressure getting greater. Whining quietly you rip the leggings until your whole lap is bare.

“Hmmm, no panties?” J asks as he takes in the sight. He seems a little surprised, raising his brows for a moment before setting his face back the way it was.

“Alrighty, doll, continue.” J says as he moves back behind the chair again. You falter a moment but catch on quick, moving your hand between your legs to continue your previous antics. J tightens the tie once again, limiting the amount of air you can draw in. You moan, the sensations heightened by the fuzzy feeling in your head from lack of oxygen.

“Thaaaat’s it, bunny. Give me a show.” J praises.

“It’s not enough, J, I can’t- EUAGH-,” the tie is impossibly tight now.

“Not enough?! I kick out all my men just to play with you and you tell me it’s not enough?” J knows exactly what you mean. He didn’t have to stop the meeting just to play with you. Oh, but he did, though, didn’t he? This is much more fun than arguing with degenerates. J knows your own hand is not enough. If it were, he’d have just sent you somewhere else to deal with it. He wants his fun, too. J comes back around to your front again, but this time he straddles one of your legs. He then lifts the leg that’s between yours and places his shoe-clad foot over your hand and crushes it to your core. You yelp and whimper a little, stopping the movements he had just told you to start.

“Move your hand.” J says coldly and releases some pressure from your hand. You do, hesitantly. The gritty sole of his shoe firmly presses down on your pussy as replacement. You gasp into a moan and thrust your hips wildly up into the new sensation.

J snorts a laugh and looks at you with slight disbelief. Shaking his head and clicking his tongue.

“This is a lot, bunny. You’re lucky I condition these shoes, or else you’d be paying a price for ruining them right now,” J would never make you pay for anything. Not with money, anyway. You’re still humping his shoe with fervor, you’re sweating from the effort and still fighting the fabric around your neck, choking you.

“Sir-“ you grunt out, “wait, sir, I’m really close.” You warn him. He doesn’t make a move.

“I know.” J informs you gently. He’s enamored with your mindset. You do so well with him it’s almost like he molded you from scratch.

Staring up at him with wet, pleading eyes. Your face red, hair stuck to you with sweat. You’re begging him silently to give you just a little more.

J stares blankly back at you. If it weren’t for the extremely obvious bulge in his pants, pulsing every few seconds, he would come off bored. Like he would rather be anywhere else. But you know him better than that.

“You can do it without my help.” J replies. You whine for real this time. A desperate whine to plead with him. It never works to whine to J but you insist on trying it every time. This time, however, he gives you a little something extra. J reaches down with his free hand and flips up your sweater to expose your breast. He pinches your nipple with his thumb on top, pressing down into the knuckle of his pointer finger. You groan and roll your hips into his shoe, hard. He releases the harsh pinch and continues rubbing the pad of his thumb over the bud. Your hips stutter and seem to get stuck in a raised position. Your body can’t decide if it wants more. You can’t control the urges, you’re at his mercy. J takes the opportunity to press the toe of his shoe harder into your clit. He pulls the tie a bit tighter, giving you the perfect buzz in your head to match your body.

“J- J….oh my God-,”

“I’m flattered.”

“I think I’m gonna cum-“ you couldn’t even count a single beat before your orgasm crashes over you. J keeps the tie firm, watching you seize up in a silent scream. There’s a subtle trickle sound on the chair followed by a short gush. He looks down to see his shoe is glistening and there’s a liquid dripping over the edge of the chair.

“Oh, bunny…what am I ever going to do with yoooou,” J hums. He removes his foot from the chair and loosens the tie around your neck for the last time. He slips it off over your head, sets it behind him on the table, and leans back against the edge of it. Eyeing you in your afterglow.

You catch your breath and peek up at J. He’s watching you, making sure you’re actually getting your breath back.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hold it.” You apologize for the mess you made on the chair and floor.

“That’s not what you think it is, bunny.” J chuckles and turns to put away his plans, “You’re not the first gal to surprise herself with me.” He finishes packing things up and looks at you. Your face fallen because you never like to hear about his previous escapades. J walks over and grips your face between his fingers.

“Hey….” You don’t respond and avert your gaze, “hey, I was kidding.” J rolls his eyes and ruffles your hair.

“I’m hungry.” You tell him.

“Hi, hungry, I’m Jack.” You don’t laugh, you’re too tired.

“Okayyyy okay. I’ll make us something.” J is careful not to make it sound like he’s doing something just for you. He offers you a hand to take and leads you out of the warehouse for the night.

[jasminau]

Joker + ( that sassy ) eyeroll : Part 1 

[jasminau]

Dark Waters

Part 4

The Wave, Gustave Courbet

Contents: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Let's just get into it, I love this week's chapter.

TW: 18+, violence, non-consensual touching

Dark Waters, Part 4

He made darkness his secret place; his pavilion round about him were dark waters and thick clouds of the skies. Psalm 18:11

The air was fresh and cool. Annie was sitting on one of the larger boulders in the stone seawall late at night, watching the endless waves breaking against the rocks. It was windy; a storm was brewing. Summer was quickly giving way to fall. Her hair blew free, tousled by the wind.

Gotham was slowly returning to normal as more and more stores opened, and her work had even come back from its hiatus. Restaurant hours were limited and events were few and far between, but there was plenty to do - she was one of the few employees who had stayed in the city and was available to work. With less events, the job was more tolerable, and she almost appreciated the return to a typical routine. But the break from her income meant that she was even further from being able to pay her bills.

In the city, she could feel a shift. Things were not what they had been. A distrust seemed to float in the air. It was invisible, but everyone knew it was there. The leaders and institutions of Gotham had failed its residents. When the food shortage happened, people had at first expected someone would come and rescue them, but no one did. Batman had not been sited since Dent became mayor, and the police were busy looking for the Joker. People felt abandoned. She didn't feel sadness in the air, though - it was anger.

Life seemed surreal for her after the crisis. She now had a constant reminder of the Joker's attention - two of his men had appeared posted at her door for the last few weeks. When she woke up in the morning after the night the Joker had spent sleeping in her apartment, she had been relieved to find him gone but surprised to see that the men had stayed, lounging in the hallway. The Joker had shrugged off the visit from Benjamin, but it seemed that he had decided to take precautions. Seeing the men made her uneasy every time she left her apartment, but she accepted that there was nothing she could do about their presence.

On the days she worked, just as in the past, what she enjoyed was the commute. She felt somehow freer when she was on a bus or walking in the city, and she often visited her favorite spot for watching the water. She had decided to stop today despite the late hour.

Her thoughts drifted to her work. It was all right at the moment, but she wondered how long Gotham Culinary would stay open in this newly unstable world. The hiatus had been devastating for the business, and the current shortages meant that they were not able to meet clients' exacting tastes at events. The wealthy of Gotham still expected all of the same luxuries as before the crisis, and they felt the company was liable for anything that was missing. She sighed, feeling the weight of the consequences if she were to lose her job. She had such a hard time even getting work in the first place when she had arrived in Gotham. Coming from a closed, isolated community, she had no credit, no job history. She shivered to think of what would happen if she could no longer pay the rent and lost her apartment.

Suddenly she became aware of a strange sensation - she had felt the wind whipping her hair around before, but now it seemed like something was gently pulling on sections of it instead. She felt a presence behind her and quickly turned around to face whatever was there.

She gasped as she recognized the figure - it was the Joker, but without any makeup adorning his face. It was jarring to see him without his mask. The normality of his appearance and the perfect symmetry of his features were out of sync with his fiery eyes, opened slightly too widely as he regarded her shocked expression. The lower half of his face was camouflaged by a thick scarf. But now he smiled and the far corners of his protruding scars peeked out on each side of the plaid material. He wore a simple black jacket, a common style for men in the city.

"I've been here a long time, playing with your hair. You must have been thinking about something… important," he said, the familiar voice out of sync with his present appearance.

He leaned in closer to the side of her face, his scarf falling down slightly and exposing his scarred lips. He looked as if he was telling her a secret that was only between the two of them.

"You know, people will think we're lovers, here on the rocks, watching the water." The words sent a chill down her back, and she looked around, realizing that he was right. Only a few people dotted the seawall on this stormy day, but none of them would have taken a second look at the young man and woman sitting on the rocks close together, talking. She felt like she couldn't catch her breath.

"Why don't you turn around so I can play with your hair again, kitten. We can talk like lovers do." He said it with a sarcasm that gave the words a vicious edge.

She turned back to the water, and he began gathering her hair into a ponytail and letting it go again, pursing his lips and making a "pfff" sound, imitating an explosion, whenever he let her hair down. She could feel his fingers touching her ears and neck as he organized the strands and then let them go again.

Her posture was rigid, on alert. After some time he said, "Why do you come here to the water? Why aren't you at home in your snug little bed?"

She was silent, finding it hard to put anything into words as she tried to comprehend the fact that even here, out in the open, he was still in control. The few people who had been loitering on the rocks were gone now.

He grabbed her hand suddenly, interlacing his fingers with hers as if they were simply holding hands, and she felt the familiar end of the nail file outlined on her index finger. She froze.

"Talk to me, ok?"

She nodded, unable to speak. He let her hand go and she made an attempt to say something. She whispered a breathless "I… come here…"

"That's good, I'll give you time, I have plenty to do to keep me busy," he said soothingly. She was always shocked at how quickly he could change his tone. His voice now was like velvet, and though she knew it was all just a show for him, the false softness of it did somehow comfort her and give her some strength to start talking. He was now combing her hair with his fingers, gently raking them through the wind-blown strands.

She started more audibly, "I like to come here to see the waves. I don't know why. At night… I think I like the way the light plays on the surface. It changes all the time."

"Mm-hmm," he muttered, seemingly distracted by a particularly thick section of hair he was running through his fingers.

She had never tried to put into words what she liked about the black depths of these strange waves, but now it seemed she would have to. "The waves at night, they look so solid, like glass - but they are moving, changing shape all the time. I can't see through them, and yet I know there is so much depth to each of them. It's impossible to measure them. If I were to reach in, I wouldn't be able to even touch the other side of the wave. And then I think about how each of them is only just the surface, the water is a hundred times deeper than the wave. And I guess I get lost in the depth and I feel - kind of - lost and free at the same time. Like I've forgotten about everything that has happened, everything that is on my mind…"

He dropped the strands of hair and leaned in confidentially. "Me too," he said.

She was surprised and turned around to see his face, wondering if his words had any touch of sincerity. His dark brown eyes looked at hers unflinchingly as usual and his face was inscrutable. It was impossible to see his thoughts, with or without the makeup.

"Ok, just relax, you don't need to talk anymore. Let's look at the water."

He continued to play with her hair for some time, and whether it was due to the crashing waves, the exhilaration of the wind, or the simple passage of time, she calmed down and her posture relaxed again. She lost herself in watching the churning surface of the water.

Suddenly she came back into the moment, realizing that her head was now being forced from side to side. He had taken to tightly gathering all of her hair, using it to pull her head to one side, and then the other, as if he were experimenting with how far he could turn it. She said carefully, "I don't think this is what lovers do."

"Some do," he said. But he stopped, pulling his hands away.

"Well, we must come here again sometime, but now I think it's time to go," he said with overdone politeness. She looked around, realizing hours had passed and the first rays of morning sun were creeping over the water on the horizon.

"I'll walk you home," he said, leaving her no room for comment. They climbed up the rocks. He straightened his scarf and took her arm in a courteous manner, but he had a steely grip that she knew would be impossible to break away from. And yet she didn't feel trapped with the autumn wind whipping around her and the open, early-morning street in front of them. It seemed so simple, as if he were meant to be walking beside her here. She struggled with the idea, recognizing that she was next to the most dangerous monster in Gotham - he was pulling the city apart even as they strode calmly together in its streets. She felt some sense of relief as she noticed that he was in fact taking her toward her building.

She marveled at how easily such a character could blend into a crowd by removing the garish paint from his face. Other than being slightly overdressed for the fall weather, he appeared as a completely normal Gothamite strolling along in the early morning hours.

He noticed her studying him. "You know, before long, the mayor will have more of a reason to hide his face than I do." The corners of his scars appeared again above the scarf.

Her stomach dropped. She wasn't sure what he meant, but what would things be like if everything was turned on its head, if there was some kind of change in the power structure of Gotham?

"What are you afraid of?" he said, noticing her apprehension.

She struggled to vocalize what was bothering her.

"If things change… I don't know what will happen. I won't be able to go to work, I won't be able to pay my rent…"

He dropped her arm suddenly, stopping his steady gait to turn and look at her.

"Why do you want to live like that? Wearing yourself out every day to barely survive in this city? Are you happy following the plan - the plan that says you need to work yourself to death and live from day to day? That comforts you?" His voice was choked with anger.

She stepped back, surprised by his sudden outburst. His scarf had come undone while he talked, and she could see his whole face now, filled with frustration.

"Is that what you want, Annie? To be born at that little hospital over there," he gestured into the air in the half-light of morning, "and then they'll put you in the ground in that cemetery over there." He gestured into nothingness on his other side. "That's enough for you? They'll just put you in a box and cover you with dirt."

She looked on silently, his words sinking into her consciousness and bringing up thoughts that had come to her before in moments of exhaustion. What was the purpose of all this? Why did she toil every day, seemingly for nothing? If she had been somewhat comfortable, she might be able to blissfully ignore his words, but her everyday survival was pushed so close to the edge that she couldn't turn away. Society had given her nothing to hide behind. No matter what she did, she realized she could never pay the bills. She felt suffocated, like Sisyphus at the bottom of the mountain looking up at his never-ending task.

She felt the breeze on her face again and came out of her reverie. He was starting to draw attention with his loud voice and animated manner. She became alarmed as she turned to see two police officers rounding the corner.

She said quietly, "bend over toward me." Something in her voice made him obey intuitively. She looped the scarf back around his neck and face, covering his identifiable scars. She pulled him down to sit with her on the apartment steps, and they watched the officers walk by, barely noticing the young woman and the man with the scarf. He raised his eyebrows, and she could tell he was smiling.

"I'll… go now," she said, and walked up the steps to her building. He let her walk away, watching her disappear through the open doorway.

She saw the shipments of food outside her apartment building almost every day now. The supplies sent to Lower Gotham had increased tenfold, even though the situation now was not nearly as dire as it had been. She knew why. She had seen it on the small TV in the lobby of the apartment building, she had heard it replayed on her bus rides - a leaked audio clip of Mayor Dent that must have been captured during a phone call at the beginning of the crisis.

There was the muddled sound of someone explaining that the first food shipment to Lower Gotham had been stolen, and then Harvey Dent's voice, clear as crystal: "What happened to the first shipment? Those rats in Lower Gotham, we can't send anything down there. Cut the shipments to Lower Gotham by half, and there will be less for them to steal." An impatient viciousness in his voice made it sound different from his usual public speeches to the people of Gotham, but it was clear to any listener that it was Dent. No one knew who had captured and leaked the audio, but everyone assumed that the Joker had orchestrated it.

The newspapers had a field day. It seemed that once the crowd began to turn against him, there was no stopping the rising tide of bad publicity. The newspaper headlines became more and more outlandish. "White Knight to White Rat: Harvey Dent's downfall," "Harvey Dented: What the Damage Means for the Next Election," "Public Enemy #1: The Joker or Harvey Dent?"

The Joker had eviscerated Dent's reputation and almost certainly ended his political career. The mayor was already on the hunt for him, and this attack on his career was so personal, so brutal, she recognized that Dent would probably do anything to get his revenge. And the thought made her uncomfortable. She struggled to put her finger on why - if the Joker was back in Arkham, that would remove a dark shadow from her life. But something about it bothered her. Maybe it was her aversion to having her own freedom curtailed that made her hate to see someone as wild and free as the Joker trapped in a padded cell. Maybe that's why she had protected him from the police when she wrapped the scarf around his scarred face. She had trouble understanding her own feelings, but she felt a strong uneasiness when she thought of what a power-hungry politician might do after his hopes for success were dashed.

She had been sitting near the window, running over the recent events in her mind, when one of the men stationed in the hallway opened the door. He was carrying a small, old-fashioned suitcase. He set it down just inside the doorway, his explanation offering few details: "He said to use this stuff and put on the dress by eight." The man returned to the hallway immediately after making the announcement.

She had almost gotten used to the Joker's men standing watch outside her door day and night, but they never communicated with her. Now she seemed to have an assignment and felt anxious as she opened the suitcase. In it was a rolled-up garment bag and hair and makeup products. It looked as if someone had walked into a store and quickly emptied the cosmetics shelves into the open case. Her brow furrowed as she realized that was probably exactly how the products came to be here.

She unzipped the garment bag hesitantly and inside saw a glamorous red dress, sparkling with beads and embroidered sequins. She quickly turned away, fear returning as she realized she would have to wear this in front of the Joker. What was his plan? She doubted he was taking her out on a date. Despite her agitation, the thought almost made her laugh. In this world turned upside down, dressing extravagantly and going out with the Joker seemed somehow less distressing than it did a few weeks ago. It was more a surreal image in her mind and less a blank void of terror.

She really had no choice and began to look through the other items in the bag. Although there was every type of makeup imaginable, there were only a few hair products - a dye kit and shampoo. She accepted that he must mean for her to change her hair color.

As the afternoon wore on into evening, the more she prepared, the more nervous she became. At first it seemed like this must just be a dream or a trick of her imagination. But when she saw herself change as she combed the dark auburn dye into her hair, added makeup, and put on the dress, it became much more real. The dress only made it worse, as it was an off-the-shoulder style with a revealing high slit on one side. It was form-fitting but still seemed slightly too loose on the shoulders. The fit was slightly off, just like her always-askew catering uniforms.

She gave the makeup and hair her best effort, but she knew it wasn't perfect. She wasn't used to dressing this way and only used the most basic makeup when she was assigned to serve guests at the restaurant or at parties. She finally gave up and simply sat down to wait for him to arrive. The weight of the unknown pressed down on her, making her wish she could somehow escape but knowing that she couldn't.

"Let's go!" he said as he entered the silent apartment. He flicked on the lights. She had let the room go dark as the sun set, lost in her apprehension for the Joker's arrival. She blinked and looked toward him. He seemed to have refreshed his face paint and looked exhilarated, as if he was ready for a night on the town.

He looked at her closely. "Uh, hmm. This isn't too convincing," he said, noticing her simple hair and basic makeup. "Where did you put everything? I'll help," he said hurriedly. He grabbed the bag and kneeled in front of her as she sat in stunned silence.

"You don't go to many parties, do you?" he asked. He was adding a generous amount of lipstick, and she knew he didn't expect a reply. He applied more color around her eyelids and chose the darkest mascara.

"I almost forgot, I brought something for those eyes," he said. He produced a small container from his jacket. "We should have done this before the makeup. Have you ever worn contacts? Oh, never mind," he said, not waiting for an answer. "Just open your eyes." She did her best to pull her eyelids apart, afraid of the consequences if she didn't do as he said. He put the brown contacts in expertly and was done in a moment. She felt the foreign sensation on her eye, but it was not painful.

"There" he said, motioning to the other side of the room. She crept into the bathroom to look into the mirror and found that he had done an expert job, although it was perhaps overdone. The face appeared strange to her, like it was that of some foreign visitor and not her own.

"Let's go, we'll be late, Annie." He rarely said her name, and it jarred her to hear it as she walked toward the door.

"I'll take care of the keys," he said as he opened the door for her, exaggerating his gentlemanly act. She walked through, and he hurried her out of the building and toward a waiting car.

She found herself in the back seat with two of his men, the Joker sitting up front with the driver. The interior of the car smelled musty, like it had been hidden in an old garage or storage unit for a long time. The Joker seemed to be giving instructions as they sped away. She realized that he was probably guiding them through the streets carefully in an effort to avoid the checkpoints the mayor had set up during the food crisis.

It was clear that they were coming into Upper Gotham, and she looked toward the sparkling skyscrapers. If she hadn't been so nervous about whatever errand the Joker had her on, she would have enjoyed seeing the lights of the city appear to flicker as a flurry of snow blew through. It was a little hint of the season before the real cold set in. She disliked the frigid air of the city in winter, but the sparse flakes falling now were charming, softening the often harsh lines of Gotham.

"Well look at that, we're here," he said from the front. She recognized the building. The catering company she worked for had staffed several dinner parties here. It included a few popular event venues plus a news studio on one of the upper floors. She noticed a sign for a Wayne Enterprises charity ball. Had the Joker come to crash another of Bruce Wayne's events? She thought she had seen something in the news about this being the first event hosted by Wayne since the disastrous fundraiser where she had met the Joker.

"I've worked here before," she said as everyone but the driver exited the car and headed toward the building.

"Well, this will be a different experience for you, kitten. Now you're unrecognizable, you're one of them. You're valuable because your clothes are valuable. You're a rich, beautiful, young woman. They will really… care about you."

"I don't know if I can play that role for you," she said cautiously, knowing she would never blend in with wealthy Gothamites.

"Oh, you can, just wait," he said ominously.

They entered the building and quickly made their way through an empty hallway on the main floor. He brought the two men and Annie with him onto an empty elevator.

"Let's see - 20th floor I believe," he said as if they were going on a tour of the building. She could see from the control panel labels in the elevator that the GCN news station was on the 20th floor. She grew even more confused.

"Don't worry, you'll be perfect," he said, noticing her wide eyes. In one quick motion, he had her in his grasp, his arm around her shoulders and the switchblade to her throat. She wrenched her body to the left, away from the knife, but it was no use. He regained control quickly, as if he was used to this posture. "Hmm," he said calmly as if he was considering what earrings would best complement her dress. He quickly reached up with the knife and cut the tie keeping her hair pinned back. It fell immediately in a messy cascade. She could hear him inhale deeply. "That's perfect," he said with satisfaction. The elevator doors opened.

The news was broadcasting live, so most of the staff were in the newsroom. Very few people were in the hallway. Those who were quickly ducked and ran, noticing the guns the men held and the terrible image of the Joker with a knife to the throat of the woman in the sparkling red dress.

The Joker half lifted her, half pushed her as he strode forward. She tried to move but her reactions were sluggish, as if her body was unable to process what was happening. They entered a large lobby area, also mostly empty. "That was good, very convincing," he purred in her ear as they entered.

He pushed her through the lobby at a quicker pace, and she found herself able to move again, stumbling forward as she came out of her initial shock. As they moved, he kept her held tightly - there was nothing she could do but keep going. He had given her a small forgiving space between the knife and her neck so that she could move her head, but the blade still shined there menacingly.

She realized that there was absolutely nothing she could do - it was as if she just had to come along for the ride. She had a surprising rush of exhilaration and her body relaxed in his arms. Something about being led along like this - she had no power over what would happen or which direction he would choose, and she felt like a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She didn't get to decide what to do at this point, or even to move under her own power. She had no decisions to make. He lifted her over the few steps from the lobby into the next hallway. She heard a whisper in her ear. "I knew you'd like it."

An uneasiness came over her as she realized he was right. She felt some kind of bizarre freedom in his arms. How many other things did he know about her that she didn't know about herself?

Soon they came to the large glass newsroom doors. He knocked politely, as if the room's inhabitants couldn't already look out and see the disturbing image of the Joker and his companions. One of the Joker's men moved his gun into position to shoot the glass, but someone quickly opened the door, while others panicked and hid under desks and behind camera equipment. They entered the room, and it became deathly silent. "I decided we'd try GCN tonight," he said, sitting Annie down in the news director's chair and motioning one of the men to keep her at gunpoint there.

"Hello, James," the Joker said, grabbing the front of the anchor's shirt and pulling him up from his position hiding under the desk, settling him back onto his stool. "Let's get the cameras going, please!," he yelled as he took a standing position on the opposite side of the desk. One of his men gestured at the camera operators with his weapon and they quickly complied.

"You're on air."

"Good evening! I'm here with, uh, James tonight." The anchor sat there with his eyes unfocused, obviously in shock.

"I was happy to see that the mayor came to his senses and decided to share some food with Lower Gotham. That was really so considerate of him. But it turns out that it's too late. Harvey didn't care about feeding you - why does he need to worry about policing you? All these checkpoints, it's really getting tiring for me and my men. Harvey Dent needs to remove the checkpoints, or I'll get rid of them for him. I'll put on a fireworks show that Gotham will never forget."

The Joker's men motioned to him, letting him know that time was running short. The police had been alerted and were on their way.

He acted quickly, yelling "That's a wrap! Cut the cameras." He turned to the stunned anchor, putting his hand up to the side of his head and simply pushing him off of the stool. He fell in a heap on the floor, still not making a sound. "If the girl wasn't with me, I'd have my men blow your head off for being such a coward," he said in an exasperated voice.

He walked toward Annie and pulled her up by her shoulder, this time producing his gun from his purple jacket. He held it near her head but pointed it upward. She felt her heart skip a beat as she looked out the glass doors and saw two security guards appear with guns drawn, facing them.

The guards opened the doors but hesitated at the entrance to the newsroom. The Joker pulled his arm tight around her shoulders, making her wince. "She looks nice in this color, doesn't she? Would you like to see more red? Do you want me to decorate the walls with her?" he said, his voice sounding completely unhinged. She froze, uncertain of her fate now. Did she really know what he would do?

"She's from one of the most important families in Gotham, attending Wayne's event tonight. Do you want her blood on your hands?" he asked, half-dragging her toward the open door.

The guards were obviously nervous, likely having never seen anything like this before. The Joker pushed toward them with her, seemingly unafraid. When they were within inches of their weapons, the guards finally withdrew. They dropped the guns and backed away, watching the strange figures leave.

They brushed past the frightened news staff on either side of the hallway, half walking and half sprinting out of the building. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw that there were no police in the area yet, though she could hear distant sirens. "In the car," the Joker commanded the group, and they piled in to the back seat.

The car sped off into the night, unnoticed. The Joker gave quick instructions to the driver, taking them on a different route from the one they had used earlier. She was on the opposite side in the back, and she could see him in profile. He looked like he was making choices about which streets to take and pointing out locations to the man driving. She allowed her eyes to settle on his face as he smoothed back his unruly hair. He seemed to always know what to do, where to go, comfortable anywhere. He looked back at her suddenly, as if he sensed her eyes. She looked away, focusing her attention on the city lights and hoping he hadn't noticed how long she had been watching him.

The circuitous route finally brought them back to her building. She was starting to feel more comfortable now that she was at home, and she thought the Joker would likely move on now that he had delivered his message to Gotham. He unlocked the door for her and she entered the apartment. She felt a wave of apprehension when she turned around to find that he was following right behind her.

"Well, we dressed you so beautifully, but we forgot the best part," he said menacingly, as he closed the door and removed his gloves. She could only wait and watch anxiously. He unbuttoned his purple jacket and took it off, reaching into an interior pocket before he let it fall to the floor. The ruby necklace hung shining in his hands.

"How..?" she trailed off, shocked at the reappearance of the necklace.

"You think I don't have friends in the Gotham City PD?" he asked. Her blood ran cold as she realized he must know that she had talked to the police months ago. He only smiled and said, "Turn around, beautiful, I want to add the finishing touch to your ensemble." The image of him there holding the necklace ends in each hand stuck in her mind ominously, as if he was holding a weapon instead of jewelry.

To turn her back to him made her extremely uncomfortable, but she was even more afraid of the anger that seemed to be always seething behind his fiery eyes. And now he knew about her trip to the GCPD. Maybe simply obeying would satisfy whatever curiosity he had, and he would leave her in peace. She turned and he guided her with slow steps to stand in front of the bathroom mirror.

"Now lift up your hair," he said, his voice close to her ear. She carried out his request, shuddering as she felt his fingers dragging along her neck much more than should be necessary. She looked up, catching his eyes lingering on her skin with a focus that sent a chill through her. His eyes rolled upward to meet hers in the reflection and a slight smile crept over his face. He pulled the chain back against her throat a little too tightly, and her hands went up to her neck instinctively to protect herself.

"Don't worry, kitten, it's just a joke," he said dismissively. He loosened the pressure and simply tied the two broken ends of the necklace into a knot on the back of her neck.

The necklace was dazzling and matched the gaudy brilliance of the dress perfectly. It reflected the light in a thousand flashes onto the mirror and back into her eyes.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders as if he was proud of creating her current appearance.

She watched his reflection cautiously in the mirror. She could see his chest moving with deep breaths, and the fire in his eyes seemed somehow muted, clouded over. She could feel the energy in the room shift. His face changed, dropping the fake smile and light demeanor. His hand suddenly disappeared under the sleeve hanging off her shoulder, easily gliding under the bodice of her dress and taking a position dangerously close to her breast. She gasped and froze, breathing rapidly. She desperately searched her mind for some action she could take. He took his free hand and slowly traced the line of the necklace chain from the knot on the back of her neck down to her collar bone. For her it felt like time stopped and his hand would never come to rest. She watched him from his reflected image and suddenly noticed herself, a woman she barely recognized, in the mirror. Her hair tousled and the makeup slightly smeared, combined with the glittering red finery of the necklace - she felt somehow separated from herself.

She lurched backward with her body, in a futile effort to free herself. He easily kept her in his grasp in the cramped bathroom, his strong fingers digging into her ribs. She continued to try to wrench her body away from his hold, but as she struggled, she only felt more exposed.

"I can wait," he said calmly, running his tongue over the corners of his lips. She quieted again, catching her breath. He bent his head down to speak into her ear, never taking his eyes off their image in the mirror.

"Are you scared of what I might do," he said slowly and deliberately, "or are you scared of something…. else." He held her there for another moment, both of them focused on their reflection.

His hands were gone from her body as quickly as they had appeared. He slid out from behind her back and stepped around to face her, covering her view of the mirror with his tall form. She was frozen now, her body refusing to move.

He bent his knees slightly to lower himself so that his face was exactly even with hers. His eyes slowly rolled from her mouth up to her eyes and settled there with a calculating gaze. "How about a kiss?" he said casually, bringing his lips to barely graze hers. She felt chills radiate from the light touch down though the back of her neck and into the core of her body. His closeness was overwhelming. She turned her head away in shame. She couldn't even control her reaction to this man? He parted his lips slightly and backed away, clicking his tongue, putting his hands up in feigned innocence.

"Ok, kitten, I can see you don't want to play."

She leaned on the sink for support and hugged her chest in a protective motion. He put on his jacket, saying, "You can keep the necklace, but you'll need to take off the dress and leave it outside your door. My guys will pick it up. We wouldn't want you to have any evidence of our evening out to take to the GCPD the next time you go talk with them, would we?"

He left, slamming the door behind him.

Additional notes: This is fanfic, so of course I don't own any characters from The Dark Knight (Joker, Batman, etc.). The main female character is original.

[jasminau]

[jasminau]

here's my oldass Nurse!Joker sketch that I just found

it's like 15 years old but I somehow still like it?????

[jasminau]

oop just finished this doodle of the bois cutting their wedding cake

scene from chapter 14 of my Nolanverse Batjokes fic Life is so much better when you're dead

[jasminau]

[jasminau]

Ledger!Joker NSFW Headcanons

Warnings: degradation, dumbification, mild descriptions of sexual acts, references to drugs, this is pretty tame in the grand scheme of NSFW posts but I feel like it’s out of line?? Hopefully it isn’t.

- J is a firm believer that you’re too small/weak/d u m b/silly to do anything for yourself

- dumbification dumbification dumbification

- he uses blowjobs like a white noise machine. He will just tell you to get him off while he’s sitting around doing whatever he does. He won’t acknowledge you but somehow that makes it more fun. You would start getting creative with your technique to get his attention, it never works, but he enjoys it

- ✨CUTE NAMES✨ like bunny, dove, birdie, mamas, sweet girl/boy/baby, hunny bunny

- fake sympathy is his forte. “Aww that hurts, huh?” He never means it.

- he will lay you against his chest while y’all are laying down and make you cum. He has full access to your neck for choking (or a headlock) he can hold you down so easily in this position and degrade you and ugh so good

- if you try to pull away from him while he’s fucking you he will not let you. “Come back, bunny, where are ya going?” “Uh uh, stay there and take it.” And he will wrap your hair around his fist or take a handful, put his other hand on your upper back (your throat if you’re on your back) and carry on

- he has absolutely trained your throat 100% no doubt no debate. He took his time holding you down on his dick until you learned to relax and stop fighting it. He’d teach you to be messy because it’s always better.

- he likes to show you off. He will pick out an outfit for you to prance around in around “business” partners and his goons and what not. “Isn’t my dove the cutest?” The question is rhetorical, if anyone answers they’re dead.

- you have to use your words unless he has told you otherwise. He can recognize when you’ve been fucked dumb and really can’t speak (happens kind of often) but if you just try to avoid answering imposing questions he won’t stand for it. “Ya know we use our words around here, bunny.” “Ya wanna try that again?” “Ya have to ask politely, I don’t do handouts, sweets.”

- forced eye contact AND denied eye contact fffffff if he’s had a bad day and wants to get his anger out, it’s denied. If he wants to feel powerful and on top of the world, it’s forced.

- *this one is specific to people with vaginas I’m sorry I don’t really know how to describe anything else as I have not experienced anything else* he enjoys eating pussy he just doesn’t like feeling looked down on. It’s a struggle. But he’ll compromise and sit on his knees and pull your hips up so you’re essentially upside down. Then he’s always the one doing the looking ya know? J is good at keeping a rhythm (he learned that’s the best way to get people off, consistency) sometimes his face starts to hurt from the tightness due to his scars. If they weren’t there I don’t think he’d ever stop.

- J isn’t a big time smoker but something about fucking you from behind while holding a blunt or a cigarette WOOOOO maybe even you riding him, he’s propped up against the wall/headboard and y’all are passing a blunt back and forth oh my god oh my god

- He’s a dick and he will blow smoke in your face to be like what are you gonna do about it?

- ok maybe he’s a smoker just for my own selfish needs

- if you cum quickly from him doing very little to help he will absolutely rag on you for it. “You’re close already? Isn’t that cute.” “Dumb baby, cumming so soon. Ya’d think I never give ya any attention.”

- he reprimands you like a dog. If he catches you doing something you’re not supposed to he does the classic dad “AHT” to get you to stop. But it’s not him not knowing how to talk to a partner, he likes treating you like a pet. And he knows you do too.

- deity kink 🙂

- DADDY KINK SIR KINK I could do a whole other post about that dude it makes me feral

- y’all know that song that was popular on tik tok that says “two hands on her mouth like a muzzle”? Yeah that.

I feel like I could for sure do better but tbh I woke up like less than two hours ago and I’m struggling with keeping thoughts straight. Again, I apologize for any typos!

[jasminau]

Dark Waters

Part 3

Summary (part 3):

The Joker uses unconventional methods to get acquainted with Annie and launches a devastating attack on one of the essential aspects of life in Gotham, causing a crisis that will have lasting consequences for the city's stability and Dent's political career.

Notes: I'll be posting new chapters each week. The story diverges from the movie during the ballroom scene in part 1.

Special note for part 3: There is one event in the story this week that I've posted in whole on ao3 but did not include here (link in the text to go to the story on ao3). The portion depicts torture. If that is something that is not triggering for you, please follow the link to ao3 to read that part. I felt it was important to include in the story and gives insight into the characters.

(There is also a scene in the last portion of part 3 where I cleaned up the language slightly. If you'd like the original version, feel free to continue reading on ao3.)

I wanted to share an additional note just in relation to violence being part of the relationship at all. This scene of the story was written this way because I asked myself the question of what Annie's character would do after drinking the coffee in part 2. She likes to have absolute control over herself, so I felt she would have a strong reaction, completely shut down, and refuse to interact with the Joker. Then I asked what the Joker would do when confronted with that. This scene answered that question for me, and also provided a sort of forced moment of intimacy for the two characters. The Joker in my imagination for this story has a great capacity for cruelty and a great capacity for tenderness as well. Hope you can enjoy, whether you decide to skip or not!

TW: Brief mention of blood, brief cursing/crude sexual language, mention of underage marriage in character's past, some violence

Summary (all parts):

"'I've been here a long time, playing with your hair. You must have been thinking about something… important,' he said, his voice sounding strangely familiar.

He leaned in closer, his scarf falling down and exposing his scarred lips. He spoke as if he was telling her a secret that was only between the two of them. 'You know, people will think we're lovers, here on the rocks, watching the water.'"

As the social fabric of Gotham begins to fray and the Joker's intrusion into her life escalates, Anna struggles to maintain control. But is she threatened by the Joker or by something within herself?

Contents: Part 1 Part 2

Dark Waters, Part 3

Annie had been on alert for weeks now, terrified that the Joker would return. She wished she had somewhere else to go, to hide out in - but she knew no one here, and she realized that if he wanted to find her, he likely would. It seemed like he held the strings that controlled life in Gotham now, and he was orchestrating a mass puppet show where he decided what would happen next.

She knew going to the police was not an option. The officer's skepticism about her story and his threats about Arkham had taken away that possibility. As afraid as she was of the Joker, even dying in freedom was more appealing to her than living in Arkham. She had spent enough of her life in other people's prisons.

Whatever drug she had been given in the coffee wore off completely within a day and didn't seem to have any lingering effects. However, the feeling of loosing herself and having no control had disturbed her to her core. She found herself checking and re-checking her cups, her meals, her plates to make sure nothing unexpected was there. She consoled herself by changing the lock on her door and hoping that he would forget about her. She was utterly confused by his focus on her. She was nobody. It made no sense, but then again, nothing he did seemed to follow a logical path.

She was standing in the kitchen in the morning hours, trying to pull herself together for another day of work. She had not been able to sleep, jolting at every small sound in fear.

Then, she heard it, the click of the lock. The door didn't open, though. She heard muffled conversation and an unmistakable voice. He was back. She dropped to the floor, closing her eyes and drawing her legs to her chest, curling herself into a tight ball. She couldn't handle this again.

"Hello there!" he chimed lightly as he finally opened the door. His voice changed, becoming accusatory. "You changed the locks. But don't worry, I always bring an expert with me." He grinned, motioning theatrically with his purple-clad arms to one of the men behind him.

"Where are you?" He walked directly to the kitchen as if he could sense her there. He saw her curled up on the floor and said with exaggerated concern, "Oh, this won't do."

He motioned to his men to leave the apartment. She heard the retreating steps and the slamming door.

He dropped down to sit cross legged in front of her, the almost childlike pose in surreal contrast to his long jacket and menacing appearance.

"Let's talk it over, just you and me. Was it the coffee..? I thought you might enjoy that," he said, removing his gloves. He turned to grab a small trashcan from under the sink, keeping it in easy reach. He reached over and tried unsuccessfully to pull her clenched eyelids open.

"I want to talk to you."

She stayed motionless, clutching her knees to her chest, without replying or looking at him.

"You know, you brought this on yourself. I just want to talk."

[omitted portion, see notes above, click on this link to ao3 to read, go to chapter 3]

He reached down and gently lifted her to a standing position near the sink. She stood stunned, her fingers burning but her body relaxing in relief that the immediate threat seemed to be over. He guided her hands to the sink and gently washed each wound. She looked at him in wide-eyed fear, though she was so shaken by what had happened, she had to lean on him for support.

He acted as if he was impressed as he dried her hands and waited for the bleeding to slow.

"Don't be embarrassed," he said consolingly. "I break most of these so-called gangsters much quicker."

"So where are you from?" he asked with false familiarity. The scene was so absurd, with this bizarre figure dabbing at her fingertips. She doubled over in a sudden fit of laughter, the sound ringing oddly off the walls and uncontrollably bursting from her mouth. It was as if her body had already exhausted her capacity for crying and needed to find another outlet for her emotions. She struggled with all her might to regain control and was finally able to catch her breath.

He looked curiously at her, continuing with the towel, and repeated, "Where are you from?" in the same sing-song voice.

She took a deep breath. "I'm from upstate. I was raised in the Church."

He looked at her quizzically as some of the pieces began to fall into place for him. He had heard of the Church, a notoriously closed community of radical Christians in a remote, rural part of the state. A few men in his crew were members who had escaped from the group. From them he knew that that the cult group stockpiled weapons, intimidating the local government and causing them to turn a blind eye to their infringements of the law. From what he knew, they kept women in tightly controlled traditional roles, and it was extremely rare for them to escape from the group.

The complexity of his thoughts about her past belied the simplicity of his questions.

"Did Jesus save you?" he asked.

"No… I left," she said airily, looking into the distance blankly.

"Do you have any ice?" he said, and she looked at him confused, disturbed from her train of thought.

"No."

He wondered at the lack of creature comforts in this young woman's life - it seemed like she didn't have the simplest things. He reached into the freezer and found frozen vegetables, which he wrapped quickly with the towel and applied to the wounds, continuing to hold her hands so that the bag would stay positioned squarely on her fingertips.

"That's like a cult, right? So was there lots of sex stuff?" he asked nonchalantly.

"No, there was no sex stuff. Not until marriage," she said, the word marriage catching in her throat.

"Oh. When did you… marry?"

"When I was sixteen."

"Oh…" He raised his eyebrows.

He could see that she was in a fragile state. He adjusted the direction of his questions. "What did you do there, in this 'Church'?"

She searched her mind for something from her past she could share. "Well, when I was a child, we were taught to memorize Bible verses. All the time. Some of us memorized whole books of the Bible. You know, when you memorize something…" She trailed off, suddenly aware that she was speaking freely with the man who had so recently inflicted unbearable pain on her. She should be more cautious.

He had been studying her hands but in a moment, rolled his eyes back toward her face. He tightened his grip. "Do tell," he said, the sternness of his expression in stark contrast to the lighthearted words.

She tried to regain her train of thought. "When you memorize something, it's not just words on the page anymore. It's not something you are reading. The meaning, it becomes deeper. It… becomes a part of you." She stared forward, focusing on nothing.

"But, I left that behind." she said, and her mind turned to the financial burden of the legal fees that still suffocated her.

He looked at her, waiting for her to continue.

"A group of us wanted to leave, but the local government - they are afraid of the Church. And some of the men, they have allies there in important positions. They created a legal battle, and it was difficult for me to get the divorce. I lost everything. Now I… it's hard for me to even keep this apartment."

"Do you like Gotham?" he asked.

She looked up, startled by the question, and thought for a moment. "Yes, I like Gotham. It's the only place… where I can disappear." She stumbled on the words and realized that the one chief freedom of her life was also now lost, as she cast a sidelong glance toward him. She was no longer anonymous, allowed to hide in the masses of Gotham's parade of poor and rich, sane and insane. Now he had singled her out, for who knows what reason.

He continued to hold the ice on her fingertips. He was supporting her hands so carefully, it was hard for her to believe that he was the reason for her pain.

He didn't push her to speak further but sat a long time with her, silently. She slowly began to relax and leaned back on the cabinet doors.

"Kitten, do you have any food in this little apartment?" he asked out of nowhere.

"Yes, I have some food - I just went to the store yesterday." She was confused, was he hungry?

"Ok, good. They may decide to close the stores for a while." With that enigmatic statement he rose, balancing her hands and the frozen bag on her lap so she could continue holding it there.

"They will heal quickly, just give them some air and keep them clean," he said simply, motioning to her hands. "Now I have some other business to attend to - bye for now."

She continued to lean back against the cabinets, too overwhelmed to think of any kind of reply.

He hummed as he left, locking the door after him. Did he have a key to her door? The thought drifted through her mind as she leaned her head back, exhausted. Her fatigue took over now that he was gone, and she soon found herself sleeping where she was, propped up by the kitchen cabinets.

Whoever has will be given more, and they will have an abundance. Whoever does not have, even what they have will be taken from them. (Matthew 13:12)

The first shoppers to walk into the supermarkets that morning didn't notice the playing card peeking through the clear plastic wrap on the loaf of bread. They didn't see the corner of the ace of diamonds sticking out of the cereal box, or the three of hearts sealed inside the bag of carrots. They were busy, goal-oriented, getting their shopping done before work. But by the time one of the early morning shoppers had discovered the soggy queen of clubs inside the yogurt they opened that evening, it was already all the news stations were talking about.

Playing cards had shown up randomly, a few in all the main grocery stores in Gotham. But now the news was coming in that cards had been found in a few places far from the city - in other regions, in other states - all the way to the opposite side of the country. Government officials still hadn't made any definitive statements, delayed as usual by the slowness of bureaucracy. But experts were already telling people not to eat the food.

The radio broadcast came that evening, interrupting the usual easy listening music on the station that many of the stores played on their loudspeakers. But for those who didn't hear it, the local and national news quickly picked it up, playing it again and again as their analysts tried to interpret it. It was unmistakably the Joker's voice - by now, residents of Gotham were familiar with his drawling tone.

"Good evening! Were you surprised to find my cards in the grocery stores today? Don't worry, everything you bought is safe to eat, despite what they are telling you. But the problem will be tomorrow. You see, when they restock tonight, the food won't be marked with cards. There will be something worse in it, something invisible.

"Some of the food in the next shipment has been poisoned - you won't taste it or smell it, but it will take effect quickly. So I recommend a diet for a while. Let's find out what happens when Gotham is hungry. And how will the new mayor handle this? Will he rescue you?"

After the broadcast, finally, the authorities began to take action. They had to simply close the stores. There was no way, until they developed some kind of testing, to tell which food was safe and which had been tampered with. The federal government led the investigation effort and started to trace the playing cards back to major distribution centers, but the spread of the cards didn't follow the same logic as a simple outbreak of foodborne illness. The distribution was random, since the Joker had infiltrated some factories and not others.

The authorities reeled at the depth of the problem - not only were they not able to certify that any food was safe, even though it was likely the vast majority was - they also couldn't simply produce more food the next day. Factories had been compromised by the Joker. There were workers out there who had cooperated with him to add the playing cards and perhaps some type of poison. The workforce could not be trusted. The massive machinery of food production all over the country halted until a way forward could be found.

With all the major stores closed, a lucrative illicit market for food immediately sprang up all over Gotham. Where the food came from was anyone's guess, but those who had money were still eating. Those who didn't, or didn't have anything stocked away, were not.

As is often the case, the part of the city hardest hit was the part that was most ill-equipped to handle the shortage, Lower Gotham. The area was more tightly packed with people, and many residents already lived a hand to mouth existence. Rescue supplies like that used for emergency operations after natural disasters came to Gotham, but that allotted to Lower Gotham quickly disappeared, stolen by organized crime rings as well as individuals who were simply desperate. After the majority of the first shipment was taken, the food deliveries to Lower Gotham slowed to a trickle. Many people left for Upper Gotham or even departed from the city altogether.

The police who should have been overseeing the food distribution were busy elsewhere, looking for the Joker. Mayor Dent directed all of the manpower and financial resources of the city toward finding him. Checkpoints appeared on all the major thoroughfares. Murmurs began to circulate, especially in Lower Gotham, about Dent's handling of the crisis and why he was letting citizens starve while he pursued his fixation on the Joker.

People like Annie, with no connections and no resources, suffered the most. When she learned the stores were closing, she began to ration. She had experienced hunger before, and began the first week with few concerns about it. What mostly bothered her was that her employer, Gotham Culinary, immediately went on hiatus. Without food to serve and all events cancelled, there was no business to be had. She had no money coming in now, and she certainly couldn't afford to pursue the high priced food being sold on street corners at skyrocketing prices.

In the second week, she began to worry. She was seeing more and more desperate people on her walks in the city, and she decided she should not leave her apartment until the crisis ended. By the third week, she was out of provisions.

The situation had grown so dire in cities across the country that the federal government had abandoned its pursuit of answers and the compromised workers, and instead simply focused on reopening the factories, regardless of the danger. They didn't have the resources to test every article of food in the country for every possible type of contamination. It was finally accepted that it would probably never be known for certain whether the Joker actually poisoned any of the food supply, or whether the whole ordeal was simply another one of his tricks.

They found the machinery of production, after it had ground to a halt, difficult to bring back to life again. Not enough workers came back after the hiatus, and the intricate network of travel for goods had been so disrupted that delays and problems plagued the efforts to reopen. Still, hope began to spread in some areas where stores would briefly open their doors. The goods would be bought up immediately, forcing them to close again.

Annie's region of Lower Gotham would be one of the last to see this relief, and by the fourth week, all of her thoughts centered around food. She couldn't sleep well, but instead had taken to simply sitting in the middle of the open floor and laying down to doze for short naps anytime she felt drowsiness set in.

She watched the blackbirds fly past her window, she watched the sun set, she waited for the long hours to pass.

Annie had developed a frequent habit of running her tongue along the inside of her teeth. It was as if her mouth needed something to do since it had no food to chew, and the iron sweet taste was irresistible. It had been two weeks since she ran out of food.

She was sitting on the floor of the studio apartment when she heard the door open and knew it must be the Joker. Her eyes darted around the room as he entered with two of his men, and she struggled to compose herself. She stood and tried to back away into the kitchen.

"I thought I would stop by," he said smoothly, looking carefully around the room. "I'm sorry I've been… delayed. This Dent, he's really trying to find me. He doesn't realize it's his own people he needs to be worried about."

He walked toward her. The men accompanying him looked uneasy, as if her hunger was contagious. They seemed to think that if they came too far into the room, they would catch her disease. The Joker strode toward her until he was uncomfortably close as usual, seemingly unbothered by the clear evidence of starvation surrounding them.

"What do you want?" she asked in a raspy voice. Despite her strongest efforts, she couldn't control the habitual movement of her tongue.

After studying her face closely, he turned to his men. "Can't you see she's hungry? Go get her something to eat!" He motioned them away to complete their assignment. He took her hand gently and led her back to the spot on the floor where she had been, guiding her down to a sitting position again.

"Where will they find food?" she asked.

"Anything is possible if you have enough money. Don't you know that, kitten?" he said, a broad smile breaking out over his painted face.

His mood seemed to change, becoming more agitated. He began pacing around the room. "The mayor hasn't been taking very good care of Lower Gotham, now has he? He's even worse than I thought he would be. I should let everyone know what he's been up to." Her mind had trouble focusing, and she couldn't grasp much of what he was saying.

He took the sandwich from the men when they returned, glaring at them. "This wasn't the best option, but we'll make it work."

He settled himself down cross-legged on the floor in front of her, breaking the sandwich into sections with his gloved hands, giving her the first portion. She barely looked at it before taking it to her lips. Her tongue rolled the food from side to side in her mouth. Each bite was a perfection of flavor. She felt that she could taste every ingredient, sharply and distinctly. She had finished the piece in no time.

She looked up to find his eyes lingering on her, as if he had been watching attentively. She barely gave it a second thought.

"More," she mumbled. "I'd like more," she asked more clearly. He handed her another section. She gobbled it up as if it was nothing.

"More!" she commanded loudly. He looked at her, amused.

"No."

She lunged at the section he still had in his hand, but he was too fast and had it out of her reach immediately. She couldn't fight for it, she was too weak. Tears came to her eyes and she fell onto his knee, sobbing. He leaned over and drew the hair away from the side of her face. "It will make you sick," he said quietly in her ear. "You have to slow down." He moved to get up. "Just… rest for now."

He left the apartment, giving orders to his men on his way. "Wait four hours, then stock the kitchen, bring everything from the van up here."

The first few days were tough, but now Annie was regaining her strength. The Joker had been right about not overdoing the food at first - the first few small meals she had made her extremely sick as her body got used to eating again. It had all taken a physical toll, but what had bothered her the most was how foggy her thinking had become when she was without food. But now, she welcomed the return of her mental faculties. Everything seemed fresher, newer, now that she could concentrate and move freely again.

One of her chief sources of entertainment in the isolated apartment was exploring the odd hodgepodge of food that the Joker's men had brought to her. There were the cheapest canned items they seemed to have gotten from a surplus discount store, next to jars of olives and caviar that must have cost hundreds. She had no idea how they had gathered such a strange collection.

Despite her enjoyment of the food and her thankfulness to simply have enough to eat, the Joker still loomed like a dark shadow over her life. Every day she remembered what had happened the last time she saw him. She was ashamed that she fell on his knee so easily, groveling in front of him for food. It was as if she had no control of herself when real hunger took hold. She was glad he left so quickly - she didn't like the idea of him seeing her when she was so… compromised.

Without her job to occupy her time, her days took on a surreal quality. She would leave the apartment in the morning to walk in the city, enjoying the fresh air. The atmosphere of desperation was gone and had been replaced by a quiet solitude on the streets. Food was trickling into Lower Gotham again, and stores would periodically open.

This day was like any other. She had just returned from a walk and was ready to unlock her door when she heard a click and felt cold metal on the back of her neck. She realized she wasn't alone.

"Unlock the door," a voice commanded. It wasn't the Joker's familiar tone. Her breathing became panicked. The Joker's threatening and erratic presence had almost become part of her daily reality. This situation was completely different, completely unexpected.

"I said, open the door, bitch." The man hit the back of her head with the heel of his other hand, jarring her head forward. She quickly complied, and took the moment of entry into the apartment as a chance to turn around to see her attacker, holding her hands in the air in surrender.

The man entered after her, keeping the gun trained on her. She was surprised to see how ordinary he appeared. Brown hair, normal button down shirt. Nothing distinguished him from men she met every day walking on the street.

"I didn't tell you to turn around, but that's fine. I wanted to take a look at you. This is the Joker's favorite bitch." The man walked around her, closer now, as if he was appraising her to set a price.

"Wow, I didn't expect this. There's not much here. Nothing in the chest, she looks like a little boy. Maybe there's something sweet down below, though." He came closer and motioned toward her body with the gun.

"Is it sweet for him there? I don't know, doesn't look that good to me." He stood back again, moving his gaze to her face. "You know, maybe it's those eyes, those are something. Does he like having those angel eyes look at him? Maybe that's it. But I don't think that would do it for me."

She stood completely frozen, shocked by the crudeness of his words.

"I wonder why he comes here…" He stopped his circuit and stood in front of her. "You know he has every whore in Gotham on his payroll, right? He knows all the best ones. When he's done with them, some of them are crying. Those girls are used to it, they don't usually cry."

The man smiled, and she sensed danger. "Sometimes, on a good day, he gives them some extra cash, and then it's our turn, we get to have a go too. I wonder if he'll do that with you? Maybe I'll get to have a taste?" He suddenly put an arm behind her waist and pulled her closer. She felt sick, understanding the direction he was taking them. "There must be some reason he comes here, maybe I should find out…"

Suddenly she felt another presence in the room and spied the scraggly hair and white makeup over the man's shoulder. The Joker came closer, softly stepping up behind him. He looked at her, putting his finger to his lips silently. She drew her eyes away and back to the man that held her to avoid giving away his position. In another second, two gloved hands and a knife appeared at the man's throat. His arm fell from her waist. One of the Joker's goons followed and quickly took his gun.

The Joker let go of his hold on the man and moved in front of him. "Now what have you been telling the little kitten here, Benjamin," he said slowly, malevolently, drawing out the syllables of his name. "Talking about me and the ladies of the night here in Gotham? I do have my favorites, don't I. But I don't usually leave them crying, not too often…" He seemed lost in thought, staring into the distance.

His tone changed and he focused his eyes back on the man in front of him. "Well, let's see, now we have a problem." The Joker pulled the man's collar tight, so that he was struggling for breath. "You know where she lives, and I like to come on my visits sometimes…. I think we'll have to make an example of you. I don't want to have this problem again. Smith, come here."

The man who entered with the Joker came closer. "Why don't you call Don, tell him I've got something for him." He let go of the man's collar and patted him on the back as he sputtered. "Tell him I've got a surprise for him and his men, a very nice surprise." He enunciated the words forcefully, almost hissing. The man who had accosted her stood still, his eyes wide. "Ok, bye bye." The Joker slipped the knife back into his pocket and the two men left, Smith with a gun to the back of her attacker.

"This is such a fortunate occasion, kitten." The Joker turned around, lifting his arms in a theatrical flourish as if nothing had happened. "I was in the neighborhood and decided I need to stay here tonight. That naughty mayor has sent out too many extra patrols." She remained where she stood, shaken and unsure of what to do.

"Oh, are you still worried? I'm sorry about that, but now you don't have anything to be afraid of. You see, when you run an organization, sometimes you have to make an example out of someone. Now that he volunteered, I don't think we'll see anyone coming over here to bother you. I'll make sure that they all know how Ben-ja-min turns out." She stood still, unable to answer.

"I see, do you feel sorry for dear Benjamin? You want me to let him go? Ok." He paused, his face becoming cold, expressionless. "He'll tell his buddies about you, the worst of them, and someone else will come to you and try to outdo what he did today. Or maybe he'll just come back with a few friends and…" What he left unsaid chilled her more than his words had. "So do you want me to be… merciful? Hmm?"

She swallowed hard, coming to terms with her position and how real the danger was. "No," she said.

"Ok, that's good. It's settled." His more lighthearted demeanor seemed to have returned. He put his hand on her shoulder and brought his face in close. "Men are horrible, aren't they?" he said with exaggerated sympathy. She could only give him a sideways glance.

He turned and stretched his arms upward as if he was an average person arriving home from work, ready to call it a day. "So you do whatever you do. I'm tired, it's been a long day." He took off his purple coat, balling it up in his hands as if he would use it as a pillow. "I'll sleep here on the floor, so you can have your bed." She looked at him warily, making it clear from her expression that she would not be getting into her bed. She was not willing to appear so vulnerable around him.

"All right, then I'll take the bed," he said, promptly dropping the jacket to the floor and lying down on the mattress. He got up again slowly as if he had forgotten something and went to the coat, taking his knife from the pocket and placing it by the pillow. He didn't retract the blade and left it there, glistening next to him. He laid down again, facing her across the room.

She was unsure of what to do. She simply collapsed down to the floor, sitting where she had been standing. She was facing him, naturally wanting to be aware of any danger that might develop. He seemed frustrated by her vigilance and returned her look with an unblinking stare that unnerved her. She decided the best course of action was to turn around and face the other way, even though it meant she couldn't keep an eye on his activities.

He had a natural tendency to deceive, but she was somewhat convinced that he simply wanted to sleep. Despite his makeup and seemingly unending store of energy, he did walk in a stilted way today, like he had been in some kind of fight. With the danger she faced earlier, his particular brand of fear in her mind also seemed…familiar. She went ahead and laid down on the floor on her side, staring at the opposite wall. Of course she couldn't sleep.

She stayed where she was for a long time, until the quiet assured her he must be sleeping. She got up slowly, inching her way to a sitting position in the silence and carefully lifting her head to look around the room. With the rolling blackouts, it was completely dark except for the moonlight, which tonight was brightly streaming in through the open window. The air was hot and still.

The glint of his knife to the side of the pillow drew her gaze. Her eyes were fixed on it, realizing that she could stop this reign of terror, all his crimes, with one act. If she just picked up the knife and did the right thing - he was a killer, a lion stalking every institution in the city, and it would never end if he was left to roam. His men would certainly respond eventually, but her life was of so little value to her now, it barely seemed worth clinging to.

Other than a hopeless struggle to keep body and soul together in this city, all she seemed left with was her fear of this man. Her eyes involuntarily travelled from the glinting knife up to his face, with the makeup strewn over it haphazardly. She risked a closer look, edging nearer to the bed. Every line and blotch seemed like a work of art, every shadow perfectly aligned. The white paint gave him an unearthly glow in the dim room. She looked at his patterned shirt - he was like a sleeping jaguar, the luster of its coat shining every time it breathed. He was perfection - perfection fueled by chaos, but nonetheless she felt it would somehow be an unspeakable sin to kill this beautiful animal in the moonlight. Her tension eased as she realized she couldn't do it. She couldn't harm him.

She looked at his sleeping face for some time, her eyes studying the intricate patterns so arbitrarily interlaced on his skin. She finally began to pull back, turning around, ready to crawl back to her corner of the room and perhaps even sleep for a short time.

At her first movement, she was shocked to see his eyes snap open.

"Well hello, kitten." His voice was gruff, heavy.

She froze in fear, their faces inches away from one another. A smile curved around the edges of his lips. He sat up slightly and picked up the knife, holding the shining blade there between them. She held her breath.

"Yes, it is beautiful, isn't it," he said quietly. He retracted the blade and slipped it into his pocket.

"Good night," he said, reclining again on his side and closing his eyes. She began to move away as subtly as she could.

"Since you bothered to come over here to see me, why don't you just stay?" he said suddenly, not bothering to open his eyes. The way he said the words made it clear to her that she shouldn't try to move. She sat perfectly rigid and still on the floor. Hours seemed to pass, and exhaustion finally caught up with her. She slowly let her body lean against the side of the mattress, and finally her head fell back against him. She gave up, feeling his chest rise and fall with slow, regular breaths as she fell asleep.

Additional notes: This is fanfic, so of course I don't own any characters from The Dark Knight (Joker, Batman, etc.). The main female character is original.

[jasminau]

Dark Waters

Part 2

Summary (all parts):

"'I've been here a long time, playing with your hair. You must have been thinking about something… important,' he said, his voice sounding strangely familiar.

He leaned in closer, his scarf falling down and exposing his scarred lips. He spoke as if he was telling her a secret that was only between the two of them. 'You know, people will think we're lovers, here on the rocks, watching the water.'"

As the social fabric of Gotham begins to fray and the Joker's intrusion into her life escalates, Anna struggles to maintain control. But is she threatened by the Joker or by something within herself?

Contents: Part 1 Part 3

Notes: I'll be posting new chapters each week. The story diverges from the movie during the ballroom scene in part 1. In part 2, the newspaper article helps explain how changes have rippled out onto the political scene in Gotham.

TW: Some violence, drug use

Dark Waters, Part 2

From a distance, it looked like fireworks. Since it was early July, those further away thought it was exactly that and dismissed the flashes and pops. Those living closer, however, could see how low the explosions were and how unlike the colorful whirls they usually saw this time of year. The shower of sparks rained down to the ground under the high voltage power lines, some of them beginning their own fires below.

The transformers on the power lines leading into Gotham were exploding, unpredictably bursting into flame. The show was quickly becoming more visible as the buildings in the city went black and the only light came from the fizzling remains of the transformers and the fires they had sparked.

The Gotham Gazette Vol LXVII, No. 226 July 12, 2008

The man of the hour is certainly Harvey Dent, who wed his long-time girlfriend, prosecutor Rachel Dawes, today. Dent surprised the establishment in Gotham with his quick rise to power this summer, beating his opponents in the special election for mayor after the sudden disappearance of former mayor Anthony Garcia. The wedding was a sight to behold, an outdoor gala followed by a formal dinner and reception at Wayne Manor, hosted by the eccentric billionaire himself. Rachel was stunning in her elegant designer gown and a simple tiara of flowers, while Dent was dashing as usual, sporting a tailored suit and his signature mop of blond hair. The couple postponed their honeymoon, as Dent lost no time returning to work in the city center. He cited the pursuit of the Joker as the city's top priority, pointing out the destruction caused by his large-scale attack on the power grid. It's no surprise Dent has labelled the Joker as a danger to the city. The criminal mastermind has consolidated power among the city's mob bosses and seems to draw from an endless store of cash to fund his attacks.

"Gotham won't be safe until the Joker is in Arkham… or in the ground," Dent said on the steps of the capital building as he returned to his duties as mayor.

Annie was standing at the counter in the early afternoon, with bread, meat and cheese carefully arranged in front of her. She was making sandwiches for the next few days in this rare peaceful moment. Cars drove by erratically and she heard snippets of shouted conversations from the open window, but that was nothing unusual for a Saturday afternoon. She wrapped the sandwiches in foil with an experienced hand, carefully tearing off just enough to carefully cover each one, with the edges barely overlapping. She would need to make it last - she was usually able to hold off for months before having to buy more.

She had already taken precious money away from her paycheck to buy a gas hot plate and a flashlight to help her get by during the frequent power outages that now plagued Gotham. The most vital artery of the power grid that fueled the city with its bright lights and climate-controlled buildings had been destroyed in so many locations that it would take the city months to repair. According to the news, a massive cyberattack sponsored by the Joker had rerouted power systematically, overloading the transformers. Rolling blackouts to ration the power supply were becoming a regular occurrence.

Whenever she caught a news broadcast on the bus or at work, interviews with Mayor Dent highlighted his efforts to restore power to both sides of Gotham. But she noticed that every time she staffed a party in Upper Gotham, the lights were on, whereas the closer she came to her home in Lower Gotham, riding on the bus, the more likely it was for her to see the streetlights go black and the hum of the city suddenly become silent. The outages, though, were not the concern at the forefront of her mind.

It had been a month since she heard the Joker's chilling words broadcast on the news at work. "Did you know, there are over 16 thousand people named Anna in Gotham?" he had said. Did he intend for her to see it? Was it a threat? Or was it some strange coincidence, and he had now forgotten about her? She hoped for the latter, but as little as she knew of him, she felt that his words were not likely to be insignificant.

And then there was the problem of whether or not she should go to the police. The sparkling ruby necklace in her closet weighed on her conscience. Every day, she wished it would disappear, but it was always still there, hidden inside the small bag she had used to conceal it. What would they think of her story? Would they believe her?

Her focus quickly shifted to the door. She thought she heard the lock click. She froze immediately, not knowing whether to hide or stay where she was. The door opened and she knew it was him - his purple jacket appeared like a nightmare materializing, his back to her, appearing to be giving some kind of order to others in the hallway. He turned and entered the apartment, closing the door carefully. The Joker dropped the clown mask he had been wearing over his painted face on the floor. Her feeling of safety in her home, her last shred of security, simply evaporated.

She moved away from the counter in fear as he stepped in to the room nonchalantly, as if he was a neighbor casually dropping in for a chat. If he seemed imposing in the ballroom, he looked a hundred times more menacing in this small apartment. Somehow his strange attire and odd manner fit the ballroom with its high ceilings and theatrical decor - like he was an actor on an elaborate stage. Here in the dingy studio apartment, he loomed over the small space.

He turned his head from side to side, regarding the barren room. No photos of family and friends adorned the walls, and no personal touches seemed to make the apartment her own. The bed stood near the far wall of the open room and one solitary chair was pulled up to the counter. "I like what you've done with the place," he said, ending his survey of the room and turning toward her.

Time seemed to stop. She felt as if he had walked directly from her memory into her apartment - he had the same face paint and layered jackets. He had appeared so quicky and silently she questioned the soundness of her mind and wondered if perhaps this was an image that her imagination, overwhelmed by her experiences, was creating for her.

All the dread of the last two weeks formed into words. "Why did you come after me?" escaped from her lips before she could silence them, and she immediately regretted speaking.

He crossed the room in four long steps and was suddenly so close she could feel his breath. She didn't dare to move.

"To finish what I started," he said, his manner suddenly intense.

She was filled with fear but also bewildered. "To kill me?" she asked.

"What?" he said with exaggerated surprise, lightening his tone. "To save you, of course." He stepped away and moved to the counter, where he picked up an apple and took a messy bite.

"Please continue… whatever you're doing," he mumbled, his mouth full. She recognized that she should simply obey, though she had to fight her instinct to panic and run. He pulled the chair out into the main room and sat down, bringing out his cell. She forced her arms to continue ripping off sections of foil and wrapping the sandwiches. She worked slowly and deliberately, not daring to glance up at what he was doing.

He had been looking at his phone but his eyes soon found her again, carefully studying her motions on the counter from across the room. He shifted slightly for a better view, and then slipped his phone into a pocket and got up. She sensed the movement and froze immediately.

"Want some help?" he said with feigned normality. She remained still, hardly breathing. All she could do was watch. He glanced at her, licked his lips, and sloppily grabbed the foil. He pulled out a section, a bit more than she would have, and looking at her quizzically instead of at what he was doing, wrapped the next sandwich with very little care. Continuing to regard her expression, a mix of fear and confusion, he went for the foil again, this time pulling out an extravagantly long piece, more than she would have used in a week. He threw a sandwich in and wrapped the shining mass a needless number of times around the small meal.

Before she knew what was happening, he pulled the roll out of the box and let it fall to the floor, gliding across the room until there was a dazzling stripe of silver in front of them, reflecting the light in a surprising contrast to the otherwise dim environment. Their eyes lingered on it for a moment. He put his hand out and laid it on the foil, drawing his fingers inward to slowly crinkle one section. In the next moment, he had crushed the entire sheet into a messy ball and dropped it in front of her.

She looked up at him in confusion, wondering what he would do next. He glared back, sneering, "You know why I didn't kill you? You can't kill someone who's already dead." He turned on his heel and briskly left the apartment.

He was gone? She collapsed to the floor in relief, holding her head in her hands, sobbing with pent up emotion. After she was exhausted from crying and felt he was truly gone, she looked at the clock and realized she would be going to work in only an hour. She committed to herself that she would go to the police the next morning - there was no way around it now.

She rose to see the mess on the counter. Her fingers tried to unfurl the crinkled mass of silver.

She gritted her teeth as she walked the rest of the way to the police station. It was a bad habit that contributed to her headaches.

She felt that it was a necessity to come here after the Joker had actually shown up in her apartment, but it was a harder decision than it would have been for the average person. She knew from her long legal struggles to leave the radical religious group she grew up in that the law was not always just and unbiased. The local authorities upstate where she was from were terrified of the Church, and afraid to do anything that would push them too far. In the end, there was a deal with the group that allowed her to have her freedom. They had let one of the Church's members out of prison, almost as if it was a prisoner exchange with a terrorist group. Her experience with local law enforcement had been far from positive, and now she was in Gotham. The liquid of corruption throughout the state all flowed to this central beating heart, where it circulated and pumped out again, rejuvenated and refreshed.

She took a deep breath and climbed the pockmarked concrete steps to the large doors. She had to try twice to open them, but as soon as she did, a motley group exited, almost knocking her over. They ignored her completely and continued down the steps. From her experience in the city, she would guess that they were from one of the well-known crime families of the city.

She regained her composure and stepped into the police department. Gotham City PD was always busy, and the people she saw seemed to know exactly what they were doing and where they were going. She hesitated, wondering about whether her appearance would undermine her believability. She had large circles under her eyes that she had tried to disguise, for the most part, unsuccessfully. After the Joker's visit, she often woke up more tired than when she went to sleep, despite her exhaustion from work. She sighed, knowing it would have to do. She had to try.

She found an officer, who looked like he was in perhaps slightly less of a hurry than the others.

"Where can I find someone - I can talk to about… a break in?" she asked hesitantly.

"A break in?" The officer hardly glanced at her. "Yeah, just go up the stairs and to the left."

Somewhat calmed by having directions to follow, she made her way to the door he had pointed to. She realized it was a large waiting room with benches, and she went to the desk to check in. She sat down, looking over the strange collection of humanity in the GCPD today.

There was an older man in tattered clothes and a military jacket, his eyes darting around the room. Next to him was a nervous young couple, the man's leg incessantly tapping the floor, both looking extremely uncomfortable. The last person in front of her was a quiet woman sitting very still, with a jacket pulled up close around her face, despite the hot weather. Even with the collar pulled up, the blue and purple bruises were easy to see around her eye and cheek. Annie drew a deep breath. She had seen all of this before, but something about these people being shuffled through this office like so many rejected products at a factory made their plight seem much more disheartening.

After what must have been an hour, her turn came, and she walked into the small office. The walls were blank, giving her nothing that she could distract herself with to help calm her nerves. The officer behind the desk looked calm but impatient in the way he was rearranging the papers and reports in front of him. He seemed to be looking forward to whatever was coming next in a way that made her feel as if her complaint had already been dismissed.

"Good morning, please have a seat," he said without looking up from the papers on his desk. She sat down awkwardly in the wooden chair.

"Ok," he said, finally looking up at her. "You said at the front desk that you had a break-in?"

"Yes." she began. Her voice was unsteady - she never felt very comfortable trying to speak with officers, and knowing how far-fetched her story was made her want to get up and leave immediately. "That's right. But I should go back and tell you about what happened at the fundraiser first…"

The officer waited for her to continue, pen in hand and seemingly disappointed that it wasn't going to be a simple break-in he could file away.

"I work for… Gotham Culinary. I was staffing the fundraiser that Bruce Wayne sponsored, for Harvey Dent. The Joker, he came to the party with his men. It was in the news."

"Yes. We interviewed everyone who escaped before the fire, but I don't remember seeing your name on that list," he said skeptically.

"Well, I wasn't with the others who might have gotten out," she said. She tried to explain the strange events that had happened in the ballroom. Her speech was alternately halting and rushed, and she knew it didn't sound convincing. She flushed with embarrassment.

"We had reports of the Joker leaving carrying a woman - you're telling me that was you?"

"Yes."

He looked down at his papers again, and she thought she caught a look of amusement on his face. "Um, ok. Would you like to tell me about the break in now?"

She tried to shift gears into explaining the visit from the Joker.

"Well, he just opened my apartment door. I don't know how he did it without a key - can he pick locks? I don't know. But he came in and… he spoke to me and um…" She realized that saying he had stepped in to wrap sandwiches sounded ridiculous. "He just spoke to me and left. But, I thought that he had come to kill me. I don't feel safe anymore."

"He didn't take anything, he didn't harm you?"

"No."

"Uh huh. Do you have a date for the break-in?"

"Yes, it was yesterday, July… 15th."

He wrote it down on the report and looked up slowly.

"Is that all?"

"No, I also - I have this necklace. From the fundraiser, I mean. He, or his men, they must have left it with me, I found it in my pocket." She pulled out the heavy necklace and set it on the desk. For the first time, the officer had a genuinely concerned look.

"I'll take this into evidence," he said, bringing out a plastic bag and quickly enveloping the necklace there, setting it aside.

"I know it all sounds a little crazy," she said, smiling awkwardly, trying to show that she was a normal person who had been drawn up into this strange situation.

The officer got up, seeming to shake off the veneer of professionality he had been projecting. He came around to stand beside her chair, towering over her, crossing his arms and leaning back on the desk.

"Now miss, you expect me to believe that the Joker," he said with emphasis, "kidnapped you from the fundraiser, only to leave you outside in an ally. Then, the Joker, the criminal mastermind, the biggest gangster in Gotham, bothered to come to your place, miraculously undid the locks. And then he just spoke a few words to you? Why would the Joker be interested in someone like you?

"We have yahoos a dime a dozen coming in here, saying they have seen the Joker. You take the cake with this ridiculous story though. But what really gets me, is how you managed to get that necklace. Did you pull it off of a body in the ballroom? Did you find it on the street? What kind of a lunatic are you? I should book you right now and recommend psychiatric evaluation. My guess, they'd send you straight to Arkham. But I'll be honest, that's a lot of paperwork for me, and you look pretty harmless. Why don't you get back to your apartment in Lower Gotham, and don't waste any more of the GCPD's time? If we find out you stole this necklace, we know where to find you."

She sat shocked, almost paralyzed. She realized her best option was to leave as soon as possible. "Ok, I'll.. go." She stood up and walked out of the station in a daze.

She stood outside, trying to process what had just happened. She had worked so hard to escape the captivity of the Church. Even the hand to mouth existence she had in Gotham was worlds above her trapped existence in the closed world of the cult group. To go into an even more tightly controlled environment like Arkham was her worst nightmare. Like most residents of Gotham, she had heard stories of the long solitary confinements, the medication, the violently insane inmates kept there. She would have to hope that perhaps the owner of the necklace wouldn't be found, and they would simply forget about her visit. One thing was certain, she couldn't return to the police.

And what if the Joker came back? She felt completely powerless - there was no one she could appeal to. She started running from the police station, as if somehow she could escape from her fate by simply running down the street. She brushed past bystanders, unconcerned about their surprised glances. She ran until she reached the shoreline. This wasn't the place she usually came to watch the dark waves roll onto the unforgiving rocks, but she felt some sense of freedom in seeing the open horizon before her, knowing she had put some distance between herself and the police station.

All of the stress of the Joker's intrusion into her life and now the new threat of incarceration came into her throat and fought its way out in her screams. She didn't know she could scream so loud - the sound came out effortlessly. She screamed at Gotham, at fate, at this upside down world where she was trapped on all sides.

Luckily, there were few people around. With no shortage of homeless wanderers in the city, anyone who heard her would chalk it up to another unfortunate Gothamite whose mind had turned on them in the lonely streets.

She was finally done, her voice hoarse. She felt somehow relieved, empty. She looked at the time on her phone. She only had 30 minutes to get to work, on the other side of the city. She knew that she would be late.

It was the kind of day she dreaded. She would be working the kitchen at a large catered event, where the customers had required all the courses be made from scratch. It doubled her workload, and she knew she would be ready to drop by the end of the night.

She was making her coffee and realized she was almost out. It was the one luxury she allowed herself, and she looked forward to the plain black brew each day.

She returned to the bathroom, taking a shower to put herself together before work. Since the visit from the Joker, she had felt distracted and insecure. She hadn't been very good about keeping the apartment clean or taking care of herself, and the effort just to get to work seemed like an enormous task. She was always fearful, awaiting another inevitable visit. She felt a little refreshed after her shower and retold herself the words of the police officer, "Why would the Joker be interested in someone like you?" Despite the malevolence of the officer's words at the time, it was comforting to think that it made no sense for the Joker to seek her out.

She went back to the kitchen, nearly ready for work and taking her time to sip on the coffee. She sighed and wished she could just return to bed instead of embarking on what promised to be a difficult day. She adjusted her uniform, carefully buttoned but always seemingly slightly askew, never quite sitting on her shoulders correctly.

Suddenly something startled her out of her quiet reverie and she looked toward the door. It began to open, and she stood up in disbelief. The extra lock she had installed above the doorknob was undone. Had she forgotten to lock it?

She didn't have long to wonder, as the tall figure of the Joker entered the room. He looked rushed today, as if he was in the midst of some important project. He closed the door behind him and put away his phone. She realized that he was not wearing his usual purple jacket but instead had on a simple gray suit. She could see more of his face as he turned toward her. It looked like he hadn't had time to refresh the makeup and a good amount of it was completely rubbed off. She took a quick breath in surprise as she realized from his broad shoulders and more exposed face that he wasn't nearly as old as he had seemed on her first impressions of him - he looked to be in his early 30s, likely only slightly older than her. The thought was not comforting. She did not have much hope of fighting with him if there was a struggle before, but now that reality seemed inescapable as she realized how easily he could overpower her.

"Good morning," he said cheerily, but his face remained blank, as if his words had no connection to his emotions. Her eyes were wide with fear and her mind was racing to make some kind of plan for escape. He came closer to the counter, absentmindedly looking into the nearly empty cup, then pushing around her to look at the bag beside the coffee pot.

"Almost out!" he exclaimed. "You must like coffee." He shook the bag, as if emphasizing how empty it was. "You know, why don't you try real drugs?" He turned toward her and she realized how very close he was. The crackling energy of his demeanor today seemed almost palpable. He looked over and noticed the folded aluminum foil on the counter, the pieces she had managed to save from his last visit. He raised his eyebrows, amused.

"Here." He reached into an interior pocket on his jacket and pulled out a clear bag with white powder inside. He set it on the counter. "Go ahead, have some."

She didn't move, frozen. This was outside of the realm of anything she had expected.

"Try it, you'll like it," he said with an edge to his voice. He stooped down slightly so that he could look her in the eye, regarding her carefully. "I don't have a lot of time today."

He stood up and slowly opened the bag. She could see upcoming danger in his eyes and turned to make an attempt to run. He stepped forward and his arm was around her neck and shoulders immediately.

"Let's see what you do. How will you fight?" he said, his voice a mixture of anger and amusement. She made an effort to push his arm away with her hands but it was like a vice grip around her, solid and unmoving. She shook her body violently from side to side, trying to break away with all her might. He had to put in some effort to hold her, but it was obviously child's play for him.

"That was really good, you're stronger than you look. Probably all those dishes you wash," he said with an admiring tone. "But I can tell no one ever taught you how to fight." She started to scream, but even she knew that would do no good in some of the worst apartments in Lower Gotham. Even if someone noticed the sounds, they wouldn't intervene for fear of crossing the wrong people. She stopped to catch her breath. He tilted his head to quietly murmur in her ear. "No one's coming, kitten." Her mind reeled with the bizarre nickname. Had he said "kitten"? The thought quickly left her as she began to struggle against him again.

He resumed opening the bag with one hand calmly, still easily securing her with the arm he had wrapped around her.

"Here we go," he said, lifting the bag with his fingers so that it poured into his open palm. "This stuff is great. You can sniff it, breath it, eat it, anything works." She turned her head away as far as possible and closed her eyes and mouth.

"I guess we'll try all three." He suddenly placed his palm with the powder over her face, covering her nose and mouth. She refused to breath. "That's ok, I'll wait," he said calmly.

She couldn't resist for long, and her body forced her to draw a breath, involuntarily gasping for air. He took the opportunity and forced part of his hand into her mouth, wiping the powder off on the inside of her cheek. He withdrew it quickly and she began to cough and sputter, spitting out what she could. He let go and moved away. The powder covered the lower half of her face, and she continued her coughing fit, doubled over.

He waited until she began taking regular breaths again, helping her to sit down. She leaned on the counter for support. Her head was spinning, and it seemed everything in the room was shifting.

"It should be taking effect now, it's a little delayed. You may not want to drink any more right now, it could be too much," he said, picking up her cup and pouring the remainder into the sink, and then emptying the coffee pot as well, as if it was something he did every day. She moved her head from side to side, trying to bring his face back into focus.

"It was in the coffee, kitten, in case you didn't figure that out yet. The white stuff is just powder, it's harmless."

He walked away and turned to leave, opening the door. "Have a nice trip, see you next fall" he said lightly. Outside, he gave his man instructions. "Watch her, make sure she doesn't walk out a window or something." The man nodded obediently and went inside to stand watch by the door. She was still clutching the counter, but it was clear that her mind was no longer present, her eyes focusing on some far away world.

She felt that she was floating at first, gradually letting go of her thoughts, her burdens, escaping from the oppressive heat of summertime in Gotham. Suddenly she was back in the ballroom again, holding the tray of tableware. This time she felt different, light, like she could travel anywhere without being noticed or seen.

She saw him enter the ballroom from a distance. The colors struck her as they had before, but this time his red lips seemed to be leaving a trial of paint in the air. With every turn of his head, the color bled from his lips and stayed there, sitting in the empty space like a liquid, floating in irregular lines and curves. She tried to focus more carefully and found the red designs he left as he strode through the ballroom did not fade away but became even more clear and distinct.

She knew no one could see her today, so she made her way toward the floating swirls of red. She couldn't help herself - she reached out with her fingers to touch the magical streaks of color. They seemed to melt like waxy paint on her hands, staining them a bright red. She found that she could move the lines of color, and make new swirls with her stained fingers as she ran them through the empty space, as if the air was somehow water… She found herself dipping and spinning in the red hanging there, staining her clothes with bright whirls of color. She closed her eyes, lost in the sudden music that arose.

A moment of logical thought interrupted her enjoyment. Why would the band be playing when the whole ballroom was held hostage by the Joker? She opened her eyes and suddenly found herself in a sea of purple, the rough texture of the jacket scratching her face - she was suffocating again, his body crushing her against the wall - how could she be here? She had thought she was invisible… She looked up to see his white face and cold eyes, the paint seeming to flake off like powder in a white flurry around her, and she screamed, again and again, terrified.

The man at the door answered a call on his cell. "Update me, I'm bored," the boss demanded. "What is she doing?"

Her screaming was certainly audible on the other end of the line, but wanting to answer the question, he said, "Uh… she's screaming."

"Is that all?" he asked, unsatisfied.

"Well, earlier she was… maybe… dancing… I guess. She was smiling."

The Joker started to laugh, first a little, then uncontrollably. The man waited on the other end of the line, knowing that he shouldn't hang up yet.

He abruptly stopped his laughter and said, "Don't let her hurt herself. Give her another few hours and then leave once she's sleeping."

"You got it, Boss" the man replied unquestioningly, unfazed by the bizarre events.

Additional notes: This is fanfic, so of course I don't own any characters from The Dark Knight (Joker, Batman, etc.). The main female character is original.

[jasminau]

Dark Waters

Part 1

Part 1 summary: Anna moved to Gotham to disappear, but an encounter with the Joker takes away her anonymity and throws her life into disarray.

Contents: Part 2 Part 3

Notes: I'll be posting new chapters each week. I've had so much fun writing, hoping that maybe a few others out there will enjoy reading!

TW: Some violence, heavy themes including contemplation of death, major invasion of personal space

She immediately dropped the tray upon hearing the gunshot - it reverberated in the large ballroom, which had excellent acoustics. She was on the far side of the room, away from the activity, yet she had a good view of the group as they walked in.

Her heart seemed to stop, seeing the man in the lead. It wasn't hard to tell who he was, with the white face paint, black eyes, and jarring red lips. It was the Joker, the face she had seen in the newspapers and televised clips, striking fear into the heart of Gotham with his antics and erratic crime spree.

This was a world that was far removed from her everyday routine of work and survival. The gray hues of her sparse apartment in lower Gotham, the days and nights spent carrying dishes, washing, cooking - the debt she owed weighing her down and keeping her on the edges of life in the city. The physical toll of working constantly in a fast-paced kitchen gave her a kind of alertness that wasn't based on rest but instead on pure adrenaline and necessity, giving her the ability to perform well but also an unrelenting fatigue that plagued her.

She wondered why of all days, today she had been assigned to serving the guests instead of working the line in the kitchen. Since Bruce Wayne, the host of the event, was known as quite a ladies man, she had wondered if perhaps the catering manager wanted more women to be serving at this high-class event. Her simple ponytail and sparse makeup helped her dissolve into the background, but her striking, somewhat unsettling blue eyes may have influenced the manager's decision to add her to the service staff.

But in this moment, she forgot everything. Watching this man was utterly terrifying and also strangely captivating. She couldn't take her eyes off him. It was as if a streak of violent color was splashed onto her horizon. She hadn't noticed his bizarrely red lips in the grainy security footage that ran in news clips, but now when he was on full display, he seemed like a lightning bolt in red traveling across the white ballroom floor. She wasn't alone - the stunned crowd were all seemingly mesmerized by his shocking appearance and the turn the evening had taken. But as he drew near to each group, they looked away, afraid to make eye contact with this man and his goons. She watched until she could no longer see what was happening from her vantage point. The crowd seemed excited and she heard murmurs of 'Batman' - had he shown up to fight the Joker?

She could hear a shot and breaking glass, and then a deadly silence fell around her. The crowd seemed to be pressed down by renewed fear. Was the Joker still here? Was Batman gone? Her mind was reeling in confusion, her thoughts slowed by panic.

Despite herself, she couldn't help looking over to see what was happening. The tall figure in the purple jacket soon reappeared, his goons surrounding him, taunting the crowd. He had appeared frustrated before, but now he looked perfectly composed and at ease. He strode through the ballroom where most people now cowered to the floor, but others seemed stunned and unable to move from their original positions. He was almost to the elevator when he stopped abruptly and turned his head - toward her. Was this possible? Somehow he caught her gaze from far away, and now he was looking straight at her. It was as if he had somehow felt her eyes and seen her thoughts. And now he was turning to walk to her precise location. She thought she must be in some kind of nightmare - it didn't make sense, why would he be striding toward her instead of leaving the building? The police would be on their way.

And still, she couldn't break eye contact. She was like the prey frozen in front of the predator - somehow she was fascinated seeing her inevitable demise walking toward her.

She was nobody, why was he focusing on her?

His strides were unrelenting, breaking the space between them into smaller pieces until he stook right in front of her, far too quickly. He loomed large above her petite frame, looking so much taller up-close. She had the odd sensation that he was a protective figure, simply because her head was level with his shoulders - as if he were an older brother or a father. But looking up at him, she was shocked out of her temporary illusion. It was clear he was the Joker, the gaudy paint brighter and messier the closer he came. Her eyes met his again and for a moment she was lost - flecks of green and brown seemed to be dancing there, shifting all the time, like a fire was kindling in the darkness. She quickly snapped out of her trance and backed up to the wall to make a feeble attempt at escaping, her fear causing her to collapse to the floor when she could no longer move backward. She was like a prisoner on execution day, losing her ability to stand and walk to the gallows. She could hear others around her backing away, relieved that they weren't the ones singled out.

He simply came in closer, pulled her back to a standing position with one hand, and pressed his body up to hers, easily pinning her to the wall. One thing was certain, no one was going to make a daring attempt to rescue her. She was a non-VIP, a young woman in a cheap catering uniform - she would be a low priority for Batman and the police, even if they did manage to arrive. Her mind was still teetering on the horror of upcoming death and utter confusion as to why he had come to her. As someone who blended into the background, perhaps her one strength was her invisibility, and that was lost now. Time seemed to stop for her. She could feel the buttons on his vest, the rough texture of his jacket. She could smell him, feel him breathing calmly. As someone who lived a solitary life in the city, she was overwhelmed by this strange sudden intimacy, her senses overloaded. She tried to comprehend the fact that she likely only had moments left to live.

He wordlessly took his knife from his pocket and had it shining beside her lips in the next moment. But he turned away, his attention taken by his henchmen signaling that the police were closing in on the building. In that split second, something changed for her. She didn't want to be carved up in front of a crowd, and if he was going to kill her, she preferred for him to just do it and be done. She accepted her fate, and a strange calm enveloped her. She held up her free hand and gently guided his with the knife to her throat, away from her face. Something in the misery of her life, her deep fatigue, and her strange fascination with this wild animal in front of her led her to accept the end. He felt her body relax and turned back toward her, tilting his head slightly as if he was watching some unusual natural phenomenon.

She was surprised that he allowed her to move his hand downward until it rested on her neck. He seemed almost curious to see what would happen. He still hadn't said a word to her, nor her to him, but he looked into her eyes again and she felt that he could see the bleakness of her past and her struggle to survive in Gotham - as if he knew every thought. But somehow he could see this and yet no warmth, no empathy clouded his eyes. She could still see the uninterrupted flames there in his gaze. He seemed to take it all in with one unfeeling blink. A slight smile flickered on the edges of his bubbled cheeks.

He broke the silence. "Did you know, we are the only ones here?" Before she could think of any way to respond or even process his strange statement, he had loosened his grip slightly and with one hand, pulled a vial out of his pocket. He reached backwards to grab a napkin from a nearby table and soaked it with the vial's contents. It smelled terrible, like alcohol and gasoline mixed. Her terror came back with a rush as she realized this had something to do with her. She had prepared herself for death; she wasn't prepared for the unknown that could happen now. She squirmed between his body and the wall, but he easily resecured her so she could barely move. He placed the soaking cloth up to carefully cover her mouth and nose. Despite his men rushing around him, preparing to escape, he looked into her eyes, observing the fear behind them like a scientist watching an experiment, his expression blank. She was afraid of what would happen if she breathed, afraid of losing control.

She kept her gaze fixed on his eyes, still fascinated despite the lack of comfort there.

"Just breath," he said with some exasperation, exhaling forcefully on the word "breath." On his command her body gave up and finally took a desperate breath, and she immediately felt herself fading away. Her eyes went black even though she knew that they were still open, and as she lost consciousness, she felt the side of his face brush roughly against hers and heard him begin to whisper something in her ear.

"You…" But now she was gone, sliding into pure nothingness, her body collapsing to the floor as he took a calculated step back.

"Pour it out, let's go, let's go" the Joker called out loudly, his voice echoing off of the ballroom ceiling. A second wave of his men had entered the room, carrying what looked like gas cans, roughly painted in purple. They strode around the room, splashing the gasoline everywhere, adding an extra sheen to the shining marble floors. The scene was one of chaos as many partygoers struggled to find exits while others stood motionless, caught up in the unexpected shock of the events they saw unfolding around them.

"I'll take this one," the Joker said, loudly and gleefully, as he threw the unconscious woman roughly over his shoulder, her feet held in front and her head and arms swinging on his back as he took large strides toward the elevators. His companions had secured a way out for him in a stolen car that their allies in the police force would ignore. He paused for a brief moment and lunged out with his free hand to pull a sparkling ruby necklace off of a woman's neck as he passed by. "And may I have this, please?" he said with feigned politeness. She winced in pain from having the necklace snapped off her neck and cowered down to the floor, stunned. He swiftly pocketed it and picked up his shotgun.

"I bid you adieu," he said mockingly to those still watching the chaotic scene as he stepped onto the elevator. One of his companions lit a match and threw it onto the gasoline-slick floor.

His goons rushed around him to escape the building into their surrounding cars, while the Joker walked further on into a nearby alley. He unburdened himself of his human cargo and dropped her to the ground. He turned around, glancing at the building, now ablaze. He adjusted the position of her head slightly and quickly slipped the necklace into her uniform pocket. 'Take care' he said with a joyless grin as he ran to the car that had paused to pick him up nearby. The driver, one of his long-time companions, assumed the woman was probably dead, but his boss talking to unresponsive bodies was nothing new. He heard the boss humming as they peeled away and skidded through the streets of Gotham, to the part of the city where the Joker reigned supreme and no one would dare to interfere with him. The boundaries of that 'safe' zone for criminal activity were constantly expanding.

She woke up in a sea of black, not knowing where she was or what had happened. The first thing she could make out was the blurry orange glow above her. She blinked and slowly came back to herself. The glow came into focus and she heard the cracking flames - one of the upper floors of the building in front of her was burning vibrantly. Firefighters and police were running frantically on the road in front of the alley she found herself tucked away in. She was out of sight but perfectly positioned to watch the flames. Her body felt numb, like her arms and legs had yet to wake up, and she didn't want to enter the chaos of the bystanders and officials around the building's perimeter. She lay there motionless, the flames flickering on the sparkling surface of her eyes. She remembered the stories she had listened to as a child, about Sodom and Gomorrah.

"Then the Lord rained down burning sulfur on Sodom and Gomorrah —from the Lord out of the heavens…" She had shivered in fear as a child, thinking of the flaming rocks hurtling down to burn an entire city. In contrast, now the flickering flames seemed to spread warmth from her eyes to the rest of her body, as she slowly came back into consciousness. There was something almost beautiful about the way they hugged the stark edges of the building and licked the corners of the windows.

She jarred suddenly, realizing that the burning building in front of her was where she had been working, and everything came back to her. All the people in that room, had they escaped before this inferno? She felt like she couldn't breath as the details of the night returned - the group of men entering the room, the shots, the streak of red framed by white and black on his face - she remembered his face, so close to hers with its garish colors, the knife shining in front of her lips. Her strange decision to die quickly and his even more bizarre actions afterward. She remembered the horrible smell when he put the napkin to her face and the crushing pressure of his body.

She struggled to remember, had he put his face alongside hers, and whispered something in her ear, as her consciousness faded? Then it came to her, as if she was hearing it again, clearly enunciated and hissed into her ear, "You are the water, I am the ink." The strange words were somehow chilling, even though they made no sense to her, and she thought it was most likely that she had imagined it - maybe she had imagined everything? She instinctively put her hand up to the side of her face where she had felt his skin brush against hers. She brought her hand down, and in the intermittent light of the emergency vehicles and flashlight beams, she saw white and red makeup smears on her fingers. Her breath quickened in panic.

She forced her body to move and stood up unsteadily, her voice barely audible. "I think I need help. Something happened, please, can I talk to someone?" She pushed herself forward into the crowd of gathered onlookers and emergency personnel. She tried to direct her pleas to the officers she saw rushing by, pushing herself to say the words more audibly, "I think I need help." She was holding her hand with the makeup as if it was hurt - as if the colors had rendered it useless. An officer finally noticed her wondering confused in the crowd and seemed surprised when he saw her. He looked at her hand and touched her face. Pulling it back, he muttered, "It's just makeup." He motioned for an ambulance worker who was coming toward them to go back. "I don't know what you're up to, miss. Go home. We have lives to save here." He dismissed her pleading eyes and went back to directing the rescue operation and managing the crowds rushing up to watch the dancing flames.

She walked unsteadily to the train station, still holding her hand - she was far from her area of town, and she struggled to remember how to get home from here. Blue line, to L6, switch to the green line, 56th and Brooks. She mechanically switched trains and tapped her token on the gates, somewhat surprised she was able to complete the commute. She was relieved that it was early Sunday morning. This was the quietest time for Gotham's roads and transport. This was the one reprieve that went with her job - often she had to work through the early morning hours at late-night parties for Gotham's elite on Saturdays, but this quiet journey back to her apartment was a slight benefit that offset the exhaustion she felt every day after work. She made it up the stairs to her apartment and unlocked the door. She could often overhear fights and smell cigarette smoke in the hallways outside, but in the morning, it was sometimes calm like this. She just wanted to collapse into bed. The shadow of whatever drug she had inhaled hung in the back of her head, giving her a throbbing headache that was getting worse by the minute.

Her memories of the night seemed to be fading away, replaced by exhaustion and familiarity with her surroundings. The glimmers of luxury in the ballroom, the sudden ring of shots, that face… All seemed to be far away, in upper Gotham, where important people made important decisions. She wandered into the bathroom, thinking she should try to at least change her dirty clothes before climbing into bed. She stopped dead in front of the sink. In the mirror, she saw it, the white and black smear across the side of her face and a fat red streak from her cheek to her ear. She screamed and stumbled backward, her head striking the tile wall as she fell to the floor.

It was late in the day before she woke up. Despite the traumatic events she had been through, sleep had restored her somewhat. She realized that her work would begin in only a couple of hours, so she had to prepare to return to upper Gotham for another catered event. She decided to shower and eat something, replacing the rollercoaster of the night before with the regularity of her daily routine. It was a comforting thought, but also daunting. How would she work through the night cooking and washing dishes at the usual demanding pace with all that she had been through?

Luckily, she did have an alternate uniform to wear. She began to undress, but then felt that something was in her pocket. She didn't remember having anything in her pockets - what was this? She reached in, feeling the cold metal against her skin. She pulled out the ruby necklace, sparkling with a hundred shades of red, the gold links on the chain glittering in the fading sunlight from the window. It looked utterly foreign to this apartment, and in her hands - she had never held anything like it in her life. She had no memory of putting this necklace in her pocket, and noticed that the clasp on either end had been torn apart. She thought back through the events of the evening and her breath caught in her throat. Someone must have put it in her pocket, and it must have been the Joker's goons or the Joker himself. She sank down to the floor, disturbed and also finding herself in a new dilemma - should she take the necklace to the police? She saw how little they paid attention to her words the night before, and she worried that they would think she had stolen it herself. They might find it hard to believe she had innocently found it in her pocket. She would have to decide some other time - she needed to go to work now. She placed it awkwardly in a small bag in the closet, getting it out of sight to help clear her mind.

She couldn't return to normalcy. Every day she came back to her drab apartment with the faded carpet and wondered what to do with the broken necklace. She sometimes took it from the bag in her closet, turning the beautiful jewel so that it radiated like the sun, even in the cheap fluorescent lighting. Even though it reminded her of what had happened, seeing something so dazzling felt like a breath of fresh air in her suffocating life. She glanced at the pile of bills on the counter. She had to carefully calculate and juggle them, to pay some and leave others, so that she could keep the wheel turning and not lose her apartment.

Seeing the bills reminded her of the reason she was in this impossible situation. She remembered the court case with bitterness - the state had stepped in to help her dissolve her marriage and escape from the radical Christian sect her family had brought her up in, but in the end the legal costs all came back to her. She left her small town to seek solace in the anonymity of Gotham, but with nothing, and a pile of legal bills to settle. It was a miracle she had an apartment and a job at all. Even though she had read nearly every book in the small local library of her hometown, her closed upbringing left her with no formal education, not even a high school degree, making it nearly impossible to find work.

She sighed and collapsed onto the bed, thankful for at least the small comfort her home provided. She fell into a restless sleep.

Today was one of her easier days - she got to go in early and work at the catering company's restaurant instead of staffing a late night event. She purposely took the train and bus so that she could walk by the water on her commute. She loved to see the waves splashing onto the rock seawall, and it was one of the few things that gave her some comfort in her lonely world. When she had a rare chance, she would stop here day or night to watch the ceaseless movement of the waves. The night had a special charm, when the city lights glinted off the water and she was almost hypnotized imagining the unseeable depths of the dark waves. But today it was early evening, and she needed to move on to be at work on time. She caught the bus as usual. The still heat in the city seemed oppressive, making everyone sweat on the unairconditioned bus. She managed to crack a window that stubbornly allowed in a languid breeze from outside. She looked up at the power lines - they were covered with blackbirds. There were so many, they seemed to be weighing down the wire so that it might finally succumb and break under their weight. An ominous feeling crept over her, like the birds were some kind of evil omen…

"Benton street! Benton street!" the bus driver yelled, and she realized she was about to miss her stop. She pulled the wire hurriedly and the bus screeched to a halt. The driver grunted in frustration as she left, closing the door and speeding away the second she was on the street.

She trudged on to the restaurant, now visible and cheerful with its lights inviting guests in to dine. She entered through the back door in the alleyway. She stored her things in the locker and quickly tied on her apron.

"Hey Annie," she heard, and noticed the kitchen staff were all gathered around a small television screen perched high on the kitchen wall. "The Joker's taken over the channel 9 news." Everyone watched with rapt attention, as they could see the Joker's goons herding staff away from the anchor desk, leaving the chief anchor there alone. Someone was moving the camera closer to the desk to zoom in. And then there he was, the Joker, appearing from behind the camera and pulling a chair up to the side of the counter opposite the stunned reporter.

"Well hello there, Mike," he said, seating himself as if he was being welcomed onto the show for an interview. The anchor sat stunned and silent.

"I came here today because I have some concerns about lower Gotham," he began. "I think the city needs to leave well enough alone. The mayor and police chief in their cozy offices in upper Gotham, they don't know what's going on down here. They try to enforce their idea of order with extra patrols and I think it's just not good for ordinary citizens, like you," he said with emphasis, bringing his hand up to point at the camera lens and looking straight into it like a deranged politician.

His tone changed, lighter and casual now, turning back to the anchor.

"You know, Mike, I've been studying the city and learning so many interesting things lately. Gotham has a population of nearly 10 million people, and most of them live in lower Gotham. And did you know, he paused and turned again to face the camera, his voice hanging in the air icily, "Did you know, there are over 16 thousand people named Anna in Gotham city? Isn't that… crazy?"

She collapsed into a nearby chair, putting her head into her hands, as everyone in the room turned to look at her.

"That's weird, why would he say that?" someone commented. Everyone seemed to dismiss it, but she remained sitting for some time, the weight of his words crushing the little sense of normalcy she had tried to weave around herself since the events in the ballroom. What did this mean? Was he trying to threaten her? Why? Why would he even spend one moment targeting her? Her mind spun in confusion and a headache began to throb between her temples.

"Uh, Annie, we need some help in the kitchen," a voice shouted. She hastily got up and walked to the sink, helping with the washing, dishes piled high in front of her.

My original ink drop video, sorry about the auto-focus. :)

Additional notes: This is fanfic, so of course I don't own any characters from The Dark Knight (Joker, Batman, etc.). The main female character is original. The plot quickly departs from that of the movie.

[jasminau]

A scene from my fic, Guy, Interrupted (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One John Doe)

[jasminau]

Being intimate with J while on your period headcanons

I was feeling a type of way when I wrote these. There's not much to it, but if this is something you're into, I hope you enjoy!!

Warnings- mature language, soft J, menstruation, brief mention of blood, intimate touches, NSFW, sexual themes, period sex, ages 18+

J has never been the one to deny you when you're in need of some physical attention. And you being on your period doesn't change that.

In fact, these are the times where J can be a little more gentle with you. Since he knows that your body is extra sensitive. Especially down there.

He would allow for you to get as comfortable as you need, to sit or lay in any position you please. One of your favorite positions, is sitting on his lap or straddling his thigh. If you want to grind on him, you opt for sitting on his thigh.

If you don't want to have any form of penetrative sex, then J would be more than happy to oblige you in other ways.

Like heavily making out until you're left breathless and wanting more.

J would take his sweet time with you. Touching, kissing, and lightly nipping at all your sweet spots. With a firm grip on your hair, he'd expose parts of your neck to him. To suck and leave dark hickeys on your delicate skin.

He'll whisper lowly into your ear while his fingers teasingly rub and pinch your nipples. His gravelly voice sending chills down your spine, adding to the pleasurable sensation you're feeling.

"Look at how needy ya are." // "You're being such a good girl for me." // "You want more? Come on. Use your words and tell me ya want more."

J loves to make you feel good by playing with your nipples. He'll stimulate them for what feels like hours as he pinches, massages, and sucks on them. He'll spit onto his fingers and rub one bud while his tongue encircles the other. Depending on if your into it, he'll even nip them at them with his teeth.

J gets aroused when he's working you up like this. His hard on will poke at you and he'll even grind against you to get some friction.

Of course, you don't want J to feel left out. So you'd happily pleasure him with your hands and mouth. That is, if he'd allow you to. Sucking and jerking him off until he's fully satisfied or he wants to change things up.

If you do want to have penetrative sex, it's not until you're a quivering mess that J will consider sticking his cock in you. He wants you to beg for it, and he'll tease you until you can't take it anymore.

"Ya like that, hm? Ya like how I'm touching ya?" // "Aw don't be a shy little bunny, now. Tell me how bad ya want it."

"Mm, yes J.. you feel so good." // "So bad. Please, I.. I need you inside me."

J would slide his cock into you carefully. His pace would start off slow at first. It's taken a lot of time and a hell of a lot more patience for him to try and be this gentle with you.

But if you want him to go faster or even a bit more rougher, then he will. With your word, he'd practically snarl in response and quickly pick up the pace of his thrusts.

Because of your period, your pussy is much more slick and warm. He likes the feel of it while he fucks you.

That carnal side of him even enjoys the sight of it sometimes, and there moments where he can get really into it.

Your blood doesn't discourage or disgust him in the slightest. He doesn't care about it or about how messy it can get. He understands that this is what your body does. As long as you don't feel any pain and are enjoying yourself, then that's all he cares about.

[jasminau]

has anyone else finished watching penguin?? i’m SHOCKED and i need to talk about it