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disillusioneddanny · 4 months

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You Are in Love Jazz/Cass

Jasmine Fenton let out a sigh as she followed behind her boss as they made their way across the large ballroom. It was the annual Wayne Charity Gala for Criminal Justice Reform and as a public defender at Gotham County Courthouse, Jazz was unfortunately obligated to be there rubbing elbows with rich, pretentious assholes. It was for a wonderful cause, and all of the money went to local nonprofit organizations that helped give people the life-saving resources that would keep them from reoffending or resorting to working for the Goonion as Jazz had heard it called.

When she had first graduated from Harvard Law, she hadn’t known what exactly she wanted to do. What kind of law she wanted to practice, who she wanted to help. And then Danny had told her about how bad Gotham was. After he had started working with Constantine and the rest of the Justice League Dark on the more magical problems, he had started to tell Jazz about all of the horrors of Gotham from when the bats called him there for assistance.

It was then that Jazz finally realized what it was that she was wanting to do. She wanted to help reform the horrible justice system that was the Gotham City justice system and help with the major crime that was going on there. So she had put in an application to be a public defender in Gotham County to help the most disenfranchised people of Gotham and she found her way to New Jersey of all places.

Four years later and the public defender’s office had been completely redone under the watchful eye of Jasmine Fenton and she had managed to make it work like a well oiled machine. She had helped partner with a few nonprofits who helped them work on their basic needs while the PD’s office focused more on helping them keep from going to prison or worse–Arkham.

It wasn’t a perfect system but it was getting better. So here she was, prepared to schmooze with the best of them to get more funding for all of the different organizations that were helping them reduce Gotham recidivism. For the first time in her life, Jazz found herself thankful for the lessons that she had received from Vlad when it came to trying to get people to give her money. Not that she would ever admit that to her godfather.

She plastered her most pleasant smile on her face as she floated through the ballroom, trying to not be self conscious of the fact that she was in a long, green ball gown that had already caused a few people to make comments about the fact that combined with her red hair was reminiscent of Poison Ivy. It was a little embarrassing but her girlfriend had told her multiple times that she looked good in it and that had her feeling a bit better. If her girlfriend thought it looked good, then it had to be.

She would never lie to Jazz.

Jazz was slightly suspicious that her girlfriend didn’t even know how to lie.

Teal eyes roved through the city as she eyed the other gala guests, looking for her next target. She really needed to find someone to chat with or else she was going to start looking a bit too awkward.

Then, her eyes landed on the most beautiful woman in the room and Jazz felt her stomach flutter a bit in anticipation as she made her way to Jazz.

Jasmine Fenton was a ruthless, cutthroat defense attorney. She scared Harvey Dent. Yet her girlfriend seemed to make her weak at the knees every time she so much as looked Jazz’s way.

Cassandra Wayne was the only daughter of Brucie Wayne, the playboy billionaire and host of their lovely gala for the night. Jazz had met her for the first time just two years prior when she had been forced to attend her first gala. The woman had been following Brucie around like a shadow, a pleasant, if not forced smile plastered onto her face as she followed the man around the room, sneaking glasses of champagne from her overly intoxicated father’s hand whenever she thought he had been drinking too much, or glaring menacingly at women who tried to approach the older man in attempts to get him to bring them home.

Then her eyes had landed on Jazz and she had given her the most genuine, beautiful smile that the redhead had ever seen. Jazz had found herself compelled to go over and talk to both Brucie and his daughter and it was probably the best decision she had ever made in her life. Bruce had managed to convince Cass to drift off with Jazz while he got into a long conversation with one of the DA’s who was also at attendance at that gala.

Which was fine with Jazz. The two ladies had found themselves chatting the rest of the night, trading stories, people watching, commiserating over the fact that they were forced to even be at a gala in the first place. And then as the night had come to an end, Cassandra had slipped Jazz a napkin with a phone number and a smiley face before she gave Jazz another one of those breathtaking smiles that had her swooning where she stood.

And really, the rest was history. The women had found themselves talking more and more, seeking one another out whenever they had the chance. Jazz had gone to see Cass’s ballet shows and Cass started to make weekly trips to the courthouse to make sure that the red head was eating properly and taking care of herself.

Somehow they had found themselves here. In a happy, comfortable relationship, living together in a nice brownstone in Upper Gotham and attending fancy galas together. Cass still followed her father like a shadow and Jazz still had to unfortunately kiss ass to a bunch of rich billionaires but sometime during the night they would find one another and get just a little too wrapped up in one another to even notice anyone else.

“Fancy seeing you here, beautiful,” a soft, polite voice said, as strong, calloused hands twined with Jazz’s dainty soft ones. Jazz looked down at her gorgeous, amazing, beautiful girlfriend and felt her cheeks go red like it was that first night all over again.

“I know, it’s almost like your father is hosting the charity ball,” Jazz said with a soft snort. Cass gave her that soft, secretive smile that always seemed to draw the older woman in.

Her kohl lined eyes rolled once as she glanced over at where Bruce was laughing loudly, throwing his arm over Oliver Queen’s shoulder as he laughed raucously, causing others to look over at him in thinly veiled disdain.

“Yes, he does enjoy coming to these,” Cass said, her nose crinkled ever so slightly. Jazz just gave her girlfriend a small smile.

“He seems to be really hamming it up tonight,” Jazz said with a laugh as her girlfriend just let out a tired sigh and shook her head. That was one of the fun parts of getting to know Cass, Jazz started to learn a bit more about all of the family and their treasure trove of secrets. She learned that Bruce Wayne wasn’t nearly as ditzy and arrogant as he let people think and was much more level headed and open. She had gotten to know each of Cass’s siblings as well and learn a bit more of each of them.

And then she had gotten to learn the real secret about the Waynes after dating her girlfriend for a year. She had learned about their nightly activities and had been more than excited to learn as much as she could about them. Not only that but then she got to listen to them tell her fun stories about her baby brother. Apparently he worked rather closely with Cass’s younger brother, Tim and the two caused more chaos than Danny had ever let her know about.

It was fun, getting to know all of the secrets behind her girlfriend, to learn every facet of who she was and how she came to be. How there were days when words were just too much for the shorter women, when days were so hard and difficult that she couldn’t seem to get out of bed. Then there were the days when her laugh filled their apartment along with the pitter patter of her feet as she danced along the kitchen to music only she could hear.

And Jazz found herself able to talk to someone who understood what it was like to grow up with just plain insanity. She felt more comfortable telling Cass about her childhood, opening up about the fact that the reason she was interested in justice reform was because her own parents had been thrown in prison when she had been just twenty years old after what they had done to Danny. Not to mention the years of neglect that they had endured under her parents' care.

Cass never looked at her like she was insane when she mentioned times where she had to beat down turkeys with a baseball bat. They found solace in one another, a comfort that Jazz had never felt before in her life. She found acceptance in Cassandra Wayne and she was addicted to it. In love with the feeling of being in love.

Cass treated Jazz like she was fine china, a delicate thing that needed to be treasured and loved. And Jazz made sure that Cass felt the same way, that Cass knew that she was loved and valued. That the shorted, hardened woman knew that she was more than just a weapon for other’s to use. That she could be more than just Black Bat.

That she could be whatever she wanted to be. That she was Jazz’s tiny dancer that she adored endlessly.

“Would you like to dance?” Cass asked, the corners of her eyes crinkled slightly with her smile.

“You just like showing off,” Jazz said with a roll of her eyes before taking Cass’s hand, watching the way her yellow ball gown seemed to swish around her as she led the taller woman to the dance floor.

“I like showing you off, yes,” Cass said simply before she rested her hand on Jazz’s waist, the other holding Jazz’s hand carefully. “How is it?”

“It’s fine,” Jazz said with a huff as she looked around at the other party goers. “We’re raising a lot of money already and we haven’t even gotten to the silent auction yet. I just hate having to play nice with all of these people.”

“Better than me,” Cass said simply as she allowed Jazz to twirl her around a bit. Jazz gave her a small smile and shook her head in amusement.

“You just have to smile and you have everyone here vying for your attention. You’re the favorite out of Brucie’s kids, you know,” Jazz told her with a small grin.

“Whatever. Tim’s the favorite,” Cass pointed out. Jazz just shook her head and dipped Cass down before pulling her back and giving the woman a soft kiss.

“Whatever you say,” she murmured, lips a hair’s breadth from Cass’s. “If it’s any consolation, you’re my favorite.”

Cass let out a hum, her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she relished in the attention from the red head. “Everyone is watching.”

“Let them,” Jazz said, running her nose along Cass’s jawline for a moment before they went back to spinning and swaying and sashaying through the dance floor. “Isn’t that what you always tell me? Let them watch?”

Cass hummed. “Makes you more interesting,” she murmured. “Sometimes you’re scary, dancing makes you more approachable. More open.”

Jazz scoffed. “I’m approachable.”

“Intimidating,” Cass told her, pinching her side lightly. “Powerful women scare people. You’re powerful. Scarry. Unapproachable.”

“It’s not my fault that people are cowards and are intimidated by me,” Jazz grumbled. Cass just smiled and shook her head.

“No, but dancing makes you seem more approachable. More,” Cass paused and thought for a moment. “More human,” she finally said.

“I’m human,” Jazz argued.

“No, liminal. Big difference,” she said with a laugh. “Sometimes you stand too still, your eyes glow too much. Too strong, a little too other,” she said, smiling up at Jazz.

Jazz rolled her eyes and just gave her girlfriend another kiss. “Well, I suppose we can prove to everyone that I’m a non intimidating, kind, fully human person.”

Cass let out an excited giggle and allowed Jazz to spin her across the ballroom. The attorney just grinned as they took over the dancefloor, her love for her girlfriend bloomed in her chest.

#dpxdc #danny phantom #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dis writes #dis dreams #batman #dc x dp crossover #jazz Fenton #Jazz Fenton/ Cass Cain #femslash

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gilbirda · 3 months

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for the ask game: Danny Arkham Security Guard?

I've been curious where you're at with that for a while (I assumed the muse has fled and/or you're too busy with other fics), so had to pick that one when I saw it on the list 👀

From this WIP ask game

Haha! I knew someone would ask about it!

Honestly I have struggled a lot with picking this bad boy up... When I finally did a few months ago, the last edit was July 2022 😭

Long story short, summer 2022 was the time I really went down the spiral with Hardcover ship and literally every idea I had was for those two. I think what happened was that I realized there was an untapped potential and market for romance and all the classic romance tropes in DP fandom (I understood why that was the case, but still I was frustrated because I hadn't seen a single fic that made me crazy about any ship in DP) and it left me wanting.

Then I wrote Arkham Guard Danny and I did the bit where Jazz almost shoots Jason, and then I liked the dynamics between him and the siblings and I literally said in the AN if I ended up shipping him, I was debating between Jazz and Danny. *laughs in irony*

So basically I went "what if I write every romance story trope but Jazz/Jason?" and the rest is history.

And every damn time I went back to Arkham Guard Danny, I re read it and realized.... Is just so bad. I saw flaws everywhere. I saw bad characterization. I saw "angry robin Jason" and a bunch of things I don't stand by anymore and I felt like there was no way I could continue that fic and the difference wouldn't be felt. Was I too harsh with myself? Absolutely, but we are our worst critic.

Also? I felt the project running away from me. I started developing worldbuilding and ideas and I got mad because Arkham Guard is supposed to be simple. It used to be the "simple fic" I did while I focused on my magnum opus for DP fandom (Eldritch Ghost King Danny AU - "You and me and our best friend makes three"). If it got complicated I didn't want to write it anymore. And then it did and I dropped it.

Recently I went through a really bad situation and it kind of killed any want to write for dpxdc. I thought - why not go back to the basics? Revisit what really made me start in the fandom, what made me get a bunch of comments like "i got into dpxdc because of this fic". Took me back to when I started, how simple it felt to just write a fic and drop it to the ether and not worry about the things that made me want to stop forever.

So I did. Feels good to pick this up again!

I could go on forever but I won't continue rambling about this project (✿◡‿◡)

If you read up to this point, here's a little bit of what I have so far!

---

“Children,” Alfred stood from his seat, positioning himself between the brothers and their guest. “Let her breathe.”

“It’s okay, Mr. — uh…” She blushed as she realized she never asked for his name.

“Alfred,” the butler smiled, “Alfred Pennyworth.”

“Mr. Pennyworth,” she nodded politely. “I’m fine. I am aware that after that… theatrical spectacle, explanations are needed.”

“Indeed.” Batman cut in the conversation. “Proper explanations are in order. After I deliver the Joker to Arkham.”

“You can’t be serious!” Did the old man go crazy? Back to that wretched place?

Jazz frowned, seemingly sharing his thoughts. She leaned closer to the microphone and spoke in a controlled voice. “Where are you delivering him? In the hospital.”

Bruce took way too long to answer, so Tim did it for him. “Through the front door?”

Jazz didn’t find it funny. “Wait for me.”

“What?”

“I said, wait for me.” Jazz reached for her discarded jacket, eyeing the door to the elevator back to the manor. “Joker is my patient and I need to be there.”

“What for?”

She turned to look at Jason. “He doesn’t deserve to be left at the mercy of some of the people in the Asylum. They could—”

“He can rot for all I care.”

The vigilante walked up to her, getting in her way and using his height and build to scare her into submission. Jazz held his gaze, defiant, muscles tense and ready to throw down if needed.

“You don’t know that place like I do.”

Jason huffed. “Whatever the inmates want to do to him, he deserves it.”

“I wasn’t talking about the inmates.” Her teal eyes steeled with fury. “Arkham has a history of staff abusing their authority.”

#gil answers #ask game #redskyeatnight #dpxdc #danny arkham security guard

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 1 month

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The Unnecessarily Dramatic Death of One Jasmine Fenton

by Rowan_the_Escapist After her brother ascends to the throne of the Infinite Realms, Jazz Fenton becomes a psychologist working at Arkham Asylum, a job that requires her to go to a surprising amount of charity galas. At one of these galas, she meets a couple of Waynes, is attacked by ghosts, and makes a new friend. (and also dies) *TW at the beginning of fic--don't read if squeamish about blood Words: 8955, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Wayne Family Adventures (Webcomic), DC Extended Universe, DCU Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Categories: F/M Characters: Jazz Fenton, Danny Fenton, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne Relationships: Jazz Fenton/Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton Additional Tags: Battle Couple, Confusion to Lovers, They met at a gala, Bruce Wayne is Jason Todd's Parent, Jazz Fenton-centric, BAMF Jazz Fenton, Ecto-Contaminated | Liminal Jazz Fenton, Dead Jazz Fenton, BAMF Jason Todd, They trauma bonded your honor, Eldritch Danny Fenton, Ghost King Danny Fenton, Blood Loss, Like seriously blood loss is kinda part of the plot, Major Character Undeath, Character Death, like seriously she dies in this fic, she's not DEAD-dead, but still, Soulmates, it's really more like soulmate-ish but whatever, Anger Management, blood used in creative non-traditional ways, Rated For Violence, No Sex, Fluff and Angst, idk what Phantom Planet is and at this point i'm too scared to ask via https://ift.tt/qynN5J3

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the dark knight #the caped crusader #gotham #dcu #dc #ao3 #ao3feed

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justasimplesinner · 3 years

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Could I ask for some soft Arkham Eddie and Jon Headcanons please?

Arkham!Eddie soft hcs:

you're the only constant in his life. you and Batman. everything else changes by the minute. you're that one person he can always come back to, the one thing keeping him sane. you'll never leave him, you'll always be there. or at least he hopes. desperately so. he does not know what he'd do if he lost you

Ed is really fond of hot cocoa. like, he could drink that all day every day if not for his addiction to need for caffeine. whenever you bring him a cup of hot chocolate, he just turns into a little kid. even if it's for a minute or two, it's still adorable. he just has this little smile on his face, holding the cup with both hands up to his face as he curls in on himself a little, loving the warmth of the cup, the smell of cocoa, and he always lets out this little pleased hum after the first sip

despite popular belief, Ed's actually a dog person. as a kid, he always wanted a dog growing up, just to have some company. he never got one, of course. and if you ask him if you two could take in a dog, he'll grumble and act like he's opposed to the idea. "it'll slobber, it'll be loud and distract me, it'll take your attention away" - it's all bullshit. if you got a dog, he'd love it. a big dog, he doesn't really want a small little shit to bite his ankles. and preferably not a husky. they're way too fucking loud

he actually enjoys gaming. but every time, he points out everything that's wrong with the game and explains exactly how it should be fixed, looks for holes in plots, all that jazz. he can be alone in a room, doesn't matter, he will ramble on. he doesn't like sports games like Fifa or NBA not just pointless shooters. he likes logical games, sometimes he likes a good plot he can get invested into with good game dynamics, or something silly to play along with you. he does not take nearly as much time to relax as he should, but he likes to just chill on the couch with simple snacks and play some games with you

Arkham!Jon soft hcs:

he takes you on long ass walks into the forest, you stay there so long it gets dark. he searches for some bones, walks around with you, straying from commonly used paths. and yes, he does scare the living shit out of you once the night comes. he also once just pulled you close to him to slow dance you in the middle of the forest. you two have bumped into nearbby trees more times than you can count because of how lost you were in each other

he's actually fond of just chilling in bed sometimes. just laying and talking. talking and laying. he will choose a weird position to lie in, of course, and he will choose a weird topic to talk about, of course, but he loves those little moments with you. just sharing views and opinions, starting small little debates, gushing about your interests, getting to know each other even more

he loves reading, of course, and he adores whenever you two just read in the same room, or you do your own thing. you don't have to sit right next to him if you don't want to, just... be in the same room. be there. let him share this nice, peaceful moment with you, either both of you engrossed in your respective books or you calmly going about your own hobby, be it painting, sewing, knitting, even playing games. he likes to be able to share the simple joys with you

okay, this is a little more suggestive but i just have to - he actually adores making out with you. no kidding. it's like, the best feeling in the world. well, it was when he still had lips. he misses it terribly. he would always just come up to you and scare you or tackle you in a hug, and suddenly you two were kissing in the laundry room, in the kitchen, on the floor, on the table, wherever and whenever. he loved that. he fucking loved that so much, that he could just come up to you and you'd give him affection. he really wishes he could do it again, but with parts of his lips missing, it's... hard. everything is hard, honestly. but at least you're there. at least he still has you

#riddler #edward nigma #edward nygma #the riddler #jonathan crane #scarecrow #the scarecrow #my writing #fluff #some angst #as always #headcannons #rjshepherd

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ajokeformur-ray · 3 years

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I watched Joker tonight and typed out my thoughts as they occurred to me. Unedited; typos are guaranteed. I did this a few months ago and really enjoyed looking back at my thought process and I wanted to do it again so that I can look back and know that what I feel is real and true in my darkest times.

You're welcome to skip this; it's under a cut for ease of doing so. Warnings for occasional sexual comment lmao. There’s no self shipping in this, I don’t think.

word count: 2, 575.

I’M SOBBING and I’ve only just pressed play.

Heart squeeze Chest much ow

THERE HE IS

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Nooooo baby omg don’t pretend - let yourself hurt if it hurts. Don’t pretend.

Carnival Carnival Carnivalllllllll 😍😍😍😍😍

I am a Simp for one clown and his name is Carnival

Someone help him, I????

That sign hit Arthur as hard as my love for him did ksksksk

MY EYES BE LEAKIN💔💔💔💔💔

bb nooooo

Oh honey let me kiss those bruises and replace the marks of violence with love, hm? You’re safe with me.

Breathe, my love. Don’t fight the laughter. Let it out, let yourself go.

Screams into a pillow because????? much sad must kiss

“have you been keeping up with your journal?” LIKE HE HAS TIME

oHHHHH boi’s close to losing his shit

Do it, Artie. Give ‘em hell.

“I think I did” YOU TELL HER!!💖💖💖

I want to be his cigarette. Where’s Satan??? I got a new deal for my blackened soul which he took at half price😂😂😂😂

I’d have my hand between the door and his head so fuckin fast I swear

“I just don’t wanna feel so bad anymore” yep SAME

ohhhh peekaboo🥺🥺🥺

this makes me giggle ksksksk i watch this scene when i feel sad bc it always makes me happy for the time it’s on

he’s so good with kids; he doesn’t have to try and think about what’s funny, he just does it, he’s himself and it works

FUCK OFF LADY CAN’T YOU SEE HE’S STRUGGLING????

give

him

back

his

card

casually wrinkling my nose against tears lmao

ohhh the way he looks up at those stairs from the bottom

i can feel his exhaustion

me too, my love

step step step step

god i wanna get him the fuck outta gotham

and into my arms and a soft, warm blanket

“eat. you need to eat” LITERALLY WHAT I TELL MYSELF EVERY DAY IN HIS VOICE BC OTHERWISE I JUST WOULDNT EAT???? I’m losing so much weight asdfghjk its not enough tho

SUPAH RATS

Did Arthur come up w that joke or was it actually a Murray joke????

HIS VOICE IS SO SOFT IM CRY??🥺🥺🥺🥺

“I WAS PUT HERE TO SPREAD JOY AND LAUGHTER”

YOU DO BABY, YOU DO!!!! EVERY FUCKING DAY!!!!

go deepthroat a cactus randall - youre already a bit of a prick so🙃🙃🙃

“THE GUYS THINNK YOU’RE A FREAK BUT I LIKE YOU”

HOYT. YOU CAN GO SIT ON A CACTUS TOO

FUCK OFF

😡😡😡😡

“WHY WOULD ANYONE STEAL A SIGN”//”WHY DOES ANYONE DO ANYTIHNG?” HOYT YOU’RE SO FUCKING ILLOGICAL HERE IM????? ERIKA DOES NOT (ALSO WILL NOT LMAO IM A STUBBORN BIITCH) COMPUTE

Can arthur fuck me like he pounds the trash/????🥵🥵👀

those dark curls.... that crooked tooth... must kiss.🥺🥺🥺

pennys casual cruelty makes me so fucking angry

foreshadowingggggg ~ *JAZZ HANDS*

ugh the way he dances with that gun im👀🥵🥵🥵

he enjoys the power of it and his breathing gets deeper asdfghjk

clumsy baby omggggg i just COOED 🥺🥺🥺🥺

okay maybe im stupid but i genuinely dont understand this “senior who needs to graduate” skit i’m??? how is being an intro to western civ student funny im???? someone explain???

but also dont bc fuck that guy lmao arthur’s hilarious

true millenial humour (and brit humour lmao we’re dark asf)

THE WAY ARTIE TWIRLS HIS FINGERS AROUND HIS HAIR AND DANCES IN HIS SEAT IM???🥺🥺🥺

wanna curl up on his lap at night when hes writing and go to sleep with a

blanket around our bodies🥺🥺🥺🥺

when arthur wears a shirt at home you KNOW it’s a daydream

THAT CROOKED TOOTH IM WANT KISS.

WAIT IS IT CALLED STAND UP COMEDY BC YOU STAND UP... AND ITS COMEDY???

23 FUCKING YEARS, PEOPLE... TO REALISE THAT🙄

WHEN CARNIVAL CAME ON SCREEN I NTHE HOSPITAL I MADE A PORNOGRAPHIC NOISE LMAO I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

IF YOURE HAPPY AND YOU KNOW IT, SHOOT MURRAY

WOOPS WRONG LYRICS

😂

“doctor of laughter”🥺🥺🥺🥺

doctor i have a case of the Big Sad can you... do an exam? 😉😏

NO BB DONT BEAT YOUR HEAD UP THERES PRECIOUS CARGO IN THERE

in what world does chucking cold greasy chips in a girls hair being “nice”???

lmao fuck these guys

ohhh honey breathe. dont fight it, my love, just breathe.

my heart’s breaking for you, you sweet thing🥺🥺🥺

i love you so so so so so so so much ugh you’re an actual fucking angel

just breathe darling

i need to get you a cup of tea with honey in it, your throat must be so sore

ohhhh baby im so sorry

i’d take every single punch if i could

i’d die for you

i wish i could protect you

i wish i could look after you

and take all those hits

and kill those guys for you

im so sorry

sobbingggg

YES GOOD MAN THANK YOUUU

KILL THOSE ASSHOLES LMAO DESERVED IT

yeah i have a grey morality... im similar to deadpool in that way tbh

carnival comin’ to kill your insecurities

8 bullets in a 6 chamber???? mm-hm

DONT FORGET YOUR BAG THATS EVIDENCE

AND THE WIG

RUN BABY RUNNNNNNN

GO GO GO GOOOOOOOOOOOO

RUN LIKE THE WIND BULLSEYE

THE SOUND OF HIS FEET SLAPPING THE PAVEMENT IM👀

OOOOOH JOKER’S WAKIN’ UUUUUUP

fuck he’s so hypnotic

the way he runs his hand down his lower stomach asdfghj🥵

must kiss the inner tendons on his wrists and lick the blood off his face

must kiss

he moves like water

fuck hes so fluid

bathroom scene = the scene in which my heart and vagina clench at the same time

im WANT

T POSEEEEEEEE

“i still owe you for that, dont i?”

PUNCH OUT IS MY FAVOURITE THING E V E R

D O N T S M I LE

UGH I FUCKING HATE being told to smile if i don’t fucking want to so BIG mood

PLEASE SHUSH ME THE WAY YOU JUST SHUSHED PENNY IM???

but also dont lmao bc i’ll think you’re mad at me and i’ll hide in the bedroom for the rest of the day lmao i’m sensitive✨✨✨

i wanna sit on his lap and still his bouncing knees

“thats not funny”

fuck off penny yes it is

I JUST CHOKED ON MY COFFEE IM???

“but i do” god the P O W E R

ugh that fucking sexist piece of shit comedian can choke “women look at sex like buying a car” 🤢🤮🤢🤢🤮

chauvinistic pigs can die thanks

his lil trip upstage im cry🥺🥺🥺

ohhh baby. just breathe, darling. it’s okay to be scared. dont fight it. just breathe.

he and i both cover our mouths when we laugh/smile in the exact same way and it makes me feel closer to him

how can they think hes laughing at himself when hes literally gagging????

people only see what they wanna

the Penny imitation is👌👌👌

s m i l e

i remember when i came home from seeing this for the first time, i got home and dropped to my knees to cry in the bathroom. it was such an emotional release and so much love and i played smile to try to make myself smile but i only made myself cry harder lmaooooo ~

smile and thats life are my go-to songs if i gotta cheer tf up

danger sign = neither works

he looks so soft after his “date”🥺🥺🥺

“thats life” yeah but murray you dont even leave the studio so how do you know????

ngl arthur’s anger scares me.

anyone so much as raise their voice at me and i’ll cry really bad and i will shut myself away for the rest of the day and quiet anger terrifies me so his banging abt in the kitchen would freak me tf out😲

angry bb😭

he controls his anger so fast though omgggg ~

that soft please sends me

idk where it sends me lmao

down below probably

BARE FACED CARNIVAL OMG THIS SCENE IS SO CUTE

I LOVE THE MATCHING COLOURS ON ARTHUR AND BRUCE TOO ???

okay but the implication that arthur always carries a clown nose on him is🥺🥺🥺

hes such a good clown im?????

lmao im enjoying the show more than bruce is skskskk

arthur’s lil chuckle makes me🥺

his HUMMING im??? soft?????

his brows are so strong and dark omggg ~ he’s so beautiful

OKAY i’ll be honest i’ve seen this alfred/bruce scene and the thomas bathroom scene later on and the penny flashback scene a 100 times and i still dont fucking understand what did or didnt happen regarding arthur’s parentage im????

ive seen interpretations to say he is thomas’ son and some to say he isnt and i still cant decide so? im stupid i guess 🙃

“a clown thing?” the s a s s

“it’s exit only” yeah so’s my ass🙃

if i was there in the hospital room i woulda turned that tv off as soon as i realised what clip was gonna play

murray’s cruelty is d i s g u s t i n g

lmao hes an asshole

arthurs lil clap from joyyyyy ~ 🥺🥺🥺

did i say murray???

i meant m u r r a t

🙃🙃🙃

sneaky baby

wayne hall either has super bad security or arthurs v quick on his feet

🤔🤔🤔🤔

he looks so good in red omggg ~

f o r e s h a d o w i n g

arthurs smile when hes watching chaplin is how he smiles when we all gush to each other abt him and ourselves!!!

hes so cuuuuuute🥺🥺🥺🥺😭😭😍😍😍🥰🥰🥰

“told me what”

ohhhh honey🥺🥺 im so sorry. “crazy” is a trigger word for arthur; it made him start laughing in the bathroom with thomas

“touch my son again ill fucking kill you” yeah?? touch my arthur again and i’ll fucking kill you🙃🙃🙃🙃

^^^ that ones a joke do not come at me

the clerk in arkham was nice to arthur - he, gary and sophie are the good gothamites.

none of it was enough to stop his descent into joker, though, and i’d even say it was too late right at the beginning of the film, too...

his sock puppet thingy “they cut all those” is such a Joker thing to doooo ~

the way arthur’s laughing in the hall at arkham turns into sobbing is gut-wrenching omg the poor thing😭

i wanna hug him and protect him and help him to process this in a healthy way

sweetheart, if i could take all of your pain and put it onto me... i so would. i’d do it in a heartbeat.

i wanna get you into a hot shower, make you some food and sit and listen to you. we can either sit in silence or you can talk to me, my love, and you will be heard and understood and loved.

“i had a bad day”

IT’S OKAY I DIDNT NEED MY HEART ANYWAY OMG YOU POOR SWEET INNOCENT THING IM LOVE YOU🥺💔

THAT ENTIRE LATE NIGHT SCENE LAUGH/SOBBING GOT ME -

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

i just wanna hold you and protect you and help you and love you

I’m so fucking sorry, darling. i wish i could take it all away from you

“i havent been happy one minute of my entire fucking life”

NO ONE SHOULD LOOK THAT ANGELIC AFTER COMMITING MATRICIDE IM????

get

that

fucking

gun

away

from

your

face

boi dont test me ill fucking go feral or - no, tell you what, i’ll point the gun at me and see how you like it

im looking respectfully at the green speckled undies scene....👀👀👀

“coming” 😏😏😏

“my mum died im celebrating” and “i stopped taking my medication” and you STILL stayed in the apartment with Arthur????? dudes those are 🚨🚨🚨 signs

woe betide anyone who underestimates arthur fleck lmaoooo

randalls death scene makes me laugh every time omg i feel so vindictive

get WRECKED

i wanna lick the blood off his face. i really want to

ngl i think i have a blood kink...

“dont look just go” ME WITH MY ACNE WHEN I SEE IT IN THE MIRROR 😂😂😂😂

JOKERJOKERJOKERJOKER

ASDFGHJKL

ERIKA.EXE HAS STOPPED WORKING

JOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERJOKERRRRRR

😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍 MY BABY MY MAN OMG THERE HE IS IM CRY???????😭🥺😭🥺😭🥺

my mind is literally blank rn im just staring and crying and smiling so hard my face hurts????? im love him so so so so much

sweet thing’s so used to pain he gets HIT BY A CAR AND KEEPS GOING????

I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU

hghhhhhhhhhhhhhh

euirrrrrrgkjbgkfbirsghigrbugr

*incoherent keyboardsmash to portray utter love*

ohhh baby no dont cry. oh honey😭 i wanna sit on your lap and kiss your tears away

“i love dr sally”

you have a WIFE at home

“DO YOU REMEMBER?” THAT WAS YOUR CUE TO APOLOGISE LMAO GET FUCKED MURRAT

he’s so CUTE

omgggg ~

my hearts gonna give out its SQUEEZING SO HARD IT HURTS

YOU MOCK THEM, BABY!!! THEY GOT IT COMING

“i wanna get it right” hes so passionate

my comments have deceased in number bc im just too starstruck and in love to even think clearly lmao

jokers all i know rn and this is the most peaceful ive felt in WEEKS

im sobbing

ugh fuck this hurts so BAD

youre speaking the truth, darling. im so so proud of you and i love you so much

“THEY COULDNT CARRY A TUNE TO SAVE THEIR LIVES” LMAO INSIDE JOKESSS

literally sobbing right now ugh what the fuck youre in so much pain and in the middle of a breakdown and no one saw you

ugh baby im so sorry, you deserve so much better

you tried so hard and you were gonna fall no matter what

IN THE WHITE ROOM

“hi” baby they cant hear you but im COOING 🥺🥺🥺🥺

you’re so fucking cute

say the word and ill burn gotham to the fucking ground for you

i wanna sit atop that car and cradle your head in my lap and wipe the blood off your face and help you stand up and be there for you and and and😭😭😭😭😭😭 i love you so so so much.

i’d be so much worse off without you in my life. you brought a splash of colour which has never dimmed or faded. it never will.

b l o o d s m i l e

im wearing my inside on the outside now and it still hurts

angel💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

i see you and your pain. i love you.

i see you, angel.

his genuine laughter is🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

that cute lil “ksksks” he does im🥺🥺🥺

i always laugh with him omg the two of us are laughing together ugh its the closest i will ever get to sharing in his joy

t h a t ‘s l i f e

i love the hallway daaaaaaaaaaaaaance ~

them hips dont lie😉😉😉

i love you i love you i love you i love you omg the sun’s like a halo ugh i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you im singing along to thats life while i type out how much i love you at 220am lmaooooo ~

i l o v e y o u

#erileck #<- ref tag #arthur fleck #joker 2019 #erika talks

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malereader-inserts · 5 years

Text

Playing Dangerous

Fandom: Gotham Pairing: Edward Nygma x Male!Reader Summary: Edward was new to the whole side of him, he wanted someone with experience to show him the ropes, even if that person likes playing dirty and dangerous. Word Count: 1,600 Request: Can you do one for all of Gotham and one for Jim Gordon and Edward Nygma? A/n: After a long thought, I don’t think I will be doing the Jim Gordon request, sorry, hope you don’t mind! Want to support me? Kofi!

“Morning,”

Edward jumped out of skin upon hearing your low rough morning voice in the kitchen. He turns around to see you half-awake, leaning your back against the kitchen island with you only in your sweatpants as you take a sip of your coffee.

“Earth to Nygma,” You says, clearing your throat, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“Hi, yes, morning,” Edward replies, nodding, his eyes flickering down to your body and then back to your face.

You smiled at him, a tired smile and very charming. Edward takes a deep breath as he moves past you to find himself a mug for himself and for Oswald. The silence between you was comfortable in your opinion but it was making Edward nervous since he was still new to all the murdering, you were out here chilling even if you’ve murdered more than he can count on his fingers and toes.

“He takes it black with two sugars,” You advised him, finally fully awake, “Truth be told, Oswald isn’t a fan of coffee he prefers tea. I don’t know why he takes coffee so strong in the first place.”

“Tea for Oswald, I’ll keep that in mind,” Edward nods as he grabs the tea bag from the overhead cupboard, “And how does he take his tea?”

“Two sugars and a bit of milk,” You responded, washing your mug and leaning over Ed to whisper in his ear, “Don’t mess it up, pretty boy.”

Edward shivers, he feels much more nervous in your presence but when you’re breathing down his neck he can’t help but freeze. He doesn’t realise that he’s been holding his breath until you had fully left the kitchen.

He lets the breath out, slow and low. He looks down at the mugs and couldn’t help wonder why you’ve got him like that.

So, when he brings Oswald his tea, who’s eyes light up see tea and not coffee, Edward couldn’t help but ask about you.

“Oh, (Y/n)?” Oswald tilts his head with crooked eyebrows, he smiles and lets out an amused chuckle, “A real charmer, it’s terrifying.”

“Yeah, met him this morning in the kitchen.”

Oswald nods, “Ah, yes, well, he crashes here when he’s too tired to go back home or when he’s bored. I can’t say no because he scares me a bit,” Oswald looks apprehensive at the confession as if you were going to jump out from the shadows in the room.

“He made a real impression this morning, I don’t know what to think.”

“Don’t think,” Oswald warns, “He’ll prey, he’ll make you think and think, finds your weakness and then he pounces. It’s why Arkham couldn’t even touch him - he’s too smart for most people.”

“Smarter than me?”

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Edward, I advise you not as your best friend who cares about your life - I know that man, he’s much more dangerous than he lets on.”

Edward doesn’t see you for the next few days, in fact, he almost forgets you and your little interaction in the kitchen. That was until he was stress about Oswald’s position as mayor and wanted some peace and quiet. He saw a figure lean against his desk and felt eyes staring at him.

“Stress Nygma?”

His head shot up from his hands upon your voice, you stare him down with an easy smile. If the press was supposed to burst into the office, they would say you were a pleasant-looking man.

“Uh,”

“Come on, Nygma, if you want to be an aspiring villain in Gotham you got to show confidence, where’s the other guy I saw strolling around the house as if you owned the place?”

You were right, Edward was Edward, not dorky Ed back working for the police of Gotham. He was against the police, he straightens his back and nods, agreeing with you as your eyes light up.

“There he is,” You jazzed hands, almost poking his eye out.

“How do you know me?” Edward finally asked, looking up at you, trying to keep his breathing elevated around you but god when you smile, he can’t help but choke up just a little bit.

“You’re not using your eyes, Nygma, see you pique my interest... in a good, not murderous way,” Your chest rise and fall, as you move around the desk.

You played with a few of his desk toys before firmly slamming both your hands on the desk. Leaning over as Edward’s breathing hitched, you were so close to him he could smell you, the blood, the gasoline, the smoke.

“A pretty boy who’s caught my eyes,” You hummed, low and husky, Edward clears his throat, as you chuckled - pulling back and send him a wink before leaving him with an unanswered question.

Now, the nervousness around you was quickly changing into excitement, Edward was excited to see you mingle around the manor, judging Oswald’s choices. Edward got excited when he hears your voice arguing with Oswald and god, Edward got turned on when you threaten Butch or Victor.

You whistled, “Pretty boy.”

Edward looks up and turns to the direction of you, Oswald clenched his jaw to see you call Edward’s attention just like a dog. Oswald’s eyes were seething as you had made two interaction with Edward like it was nothing to wrap him around your pinkie.

“See you around,” You say, as Edward smiles.

Over the days, Edward he got increasingly confident, stumbling on a girl who looked exactly like his ex-girlfriend, and instead of taking her out on a date. He did anything to impress you, that means murdering an innocent woman because of the likeness of his ex.

When you leave, Oswald slams his hand on the table, “Edward, what are you doing?”

“Saying goodbye to (Y/n)?”

“Can’t you see?” Oswald limps closer and grabs the man’s wrist, “He’s playing you, he doesn’t like you in that way.”

Edward scoffs, a little bitter laughter escapes him, shaking his head, “You’re wrong.”

“Edward, as your best friend, he’s playing dangerous! I know (Y/n) longer than two conversations, you will get yourself killed.”

“That’s not true, Oswald!” Edward scrapes his chair and stood up at full height, “He just wants what’s best for me.”

“He’s not mentoring you, I am!”

Edward rolls his eyes as Oswald sighs in frustration, limping out the room to cool himself off. Edward’s eyes linger where you once stood, he had noticed minutes before your departure that you were reading a book as you lean against the bookshelf.

Whilst minding your own business, mocking and jesting the major of Gotham, he noticed how you took out a pen and wrote something within the pages of the books. You turned to face the bookshelves, hiding where you placed the book back in the bookshelf before bidding your goodbye.

Edward looks back at the door to where Oswald had disappeared through before making his way to the bookshelf, situating himself where you once stood. His fingers wiggled at the wide selection of books on the shelves, wondering what you have picked up.

Old-time classics as his eyes quickly skim the titles before his eyes catch one title: “Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde,” You were definitely calling him out on his whole demeanour. You found symbolism in the book to reflect Edward.

He flickers the book open, hoping to find what your messy scrawl would look like, only to be within the first couple of pages. It was a number, fishing out his phone to quickly dial the number.

“You’re quick,” Your voice responds almost instantly, no greetings as such.

“I’m observant.”

“Hmh,” You say, dismissing him despite Edward being proud of developing his observant skill, “Read to me, Nygma, the words next to the numbers.”

Edward could hear you walking down the busy roads of Gotham, the beeping of cars and people going about their day unknowingly passing a possible psychopath.

Edward clears his throat, “All human beings, as we meet them, are commingled out of good and evil: and Edward Hyde, alone, in the ranks of mankind, was pure evil.”

“That’s right, Nygma, could you possibly hold up to that namesake?” There was no teasing it was a dark challenge from you, voice as ice.

“I could,” Edward answers, clutching the book as he stares at the door, warily in case Oswald comes back in.

“Good, pretty boy,” You say, very condescending, “Say, we go out for dinner tonight, as a date, just you and me - we talk business, we talk about us.”

“Like Bonnie and Clyde?”

There was an exhausted sigh from your end, “Better than those two,” You say, obviously disgusted at the comparison, “What do you say, Nygma?”

“You know, I do have a name.”

“I’m aware, but, I have to make sure I’m not speaking to Ed or Eddie. I’m speaking to Edward Nygma and Edward only,” Your voice dropped lower, intimidating, “Dating me is a dangerous game, Nygma, I could show you things unimaginable.”

“I would do anything for that.”

“Anything?” You asked a slight drawl to your tone.

“Anything.”

“Okay,” You suspended.

Edward felt shivers down his spine, he could hear your breathing on the line, it was somewhat hot and somewhat terrifying. He wanted to know you, he wanted to know what it feels like against your skin. Dating you may be dangerous but it would be oh-so-thrilling. What shocks him is what you request for him to do, what he has to prove that he is willing to get everything you can offer.

“Kill Oswald Cobblepot.”

#edward nygma #edward nygma imagine #edward nygma x male reader #x male reader #Gotham #gotham imagine #gotham x male reader

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fordarkisthesuede · 6 years

Text

At the Brink of Midnight - Chapter 15

IT’S THE ONE YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR.

(And guess what, kids???? I made another big mistake! Turns out the Gotham Train Line, aka the Sky Line, already has a map! And I totally got the colors wrong. I knew there was the standard yellow-blue-green-red, but I got it a little messed up – the Gold Line is the one that runs all the way through Gotham. I'm going back and fixing everything in the last chapter asap. I’m really glad I got the urge to re-watch Season 1 or I’d be…(gasp) inaccurate!)

Important Spoiler Tags: Canon-typical violence, non-con drug use, hallucinations

(Read on Ao3 or continue below:)

Chapter 15: At the Brink of Midnight

“Are you kidding me?! It’s practically five to midnight on the doomsday clock, and you’re going off over my flying skills?!”

Bruce would have covered his face with his hand if he hadn’t been gripping the steering wheel so tight while talking to Gordon through the microphone in his cowl. He knew having John and Tiffany work together would be difficult, considering both of them held onto grudges and had tempers, but he didn’t imagine it would be like this. This was more like having two bickering kids, rather than two adults baring teeth at one another.

He supposed he should be grateful, but he was finding it hard to concentrate on talking when he heard three other voices in his ear. If he wasn’t so annoyed, he’d wonder if this was what John felt like while he was off his medicine, constantly hearing voices chatting at him in the background.

Tiffany huffed over the ear-piece. “Those are my drones! You have no idea how long it takes me to repair them! And I’m driving, how the hell am I supposed to watch you fly them?! If you break one-”

Joker was practically steaming at the ears in the passenger seat, a laptop perched on his knees, flying a drone through the cityscape of Old Gotham, heading towards the Green Line’s train depot. Bruce knew it was smaller than the Gold Line, where they were heading now, but it was still important that they scout it out first. Tiffany had made a good point before they left, advising they look into it first as it was closest to Crane’s hideout and more likely to have unmanned gas bombs. “I’m not going to break one! Just because I learned to fly them in a day-”

Bruce was very close to just reaching over and slapping his hand over Joker’s mouth to shut him up. Iman Avesta thankfully came to the rescue, sounding appropriately tired: “Both of you, please, stop arguing – it’s way too early in the morning for this. And Tiffany, concentrate on the road. Our drones are doing fine.”

Bruce saw Joker stick his tongue out, like either of the women on the communicator could see it, but continued to pilot the drone like he was supposed to.

Commissioner Gordon’s voice crackled slightly over the line. “Batman, I’ve got cars already heading out to the Blue Line’s holding station and the last station at East End, just in case anything’s there. You said the Green Line’s station might have some?”

“We’re checking that out now,” Bruce answered, his voice distorted into a growl by his cowl’s modifier, “I’m on my way to the Gold Line’s depot now.”

Joker tilted his shoulders like he was flying along with the drone. “You know, the more I think about it, the more familiar this sounds,” he commented, his piercing green eyes never leaving the screen nestled in his lap, “Wasn’t there something about a train being tampered with a couple of years ago?”

Bruce couldn’t answer, still being on the phone. “Gordon, we’ll tell you the second we’ve got confirmation on the Green Line’s bomb placements.”

“Thanks, Batman. I just hope they’re easier to take dispose of than last time.”

Click. Bruce’s phone disconnected, and he was instantly transferred back onto the cave’s communication line.

Joker continued. “Something like, ‘blah blah blah, train dismantled, heavy commute traffic, blah blah Children of Arkham’?”

“Yes,” Bruce answered, “Vicki Vale and the Children of Arkham had tampered with one of the train cars so it would disperse her drugs through the sprinkler system at the busiest station. I stopped them.”

Joker giggled, his voice coming out cold and mocking. “Ohh, old Scarecrow’s not going to like hearing that. He always prized his originality.”

Now that he thought of it, the Fear Toxin Crane made was a little similar to the drugs Vicki Vale had created as Lady Arkham. It made him wonder if Crane hadn’t been somewhat inspired by her, despite the vastly different ingredients to their formulas.

Iman Avesta’s voice phased in from the ear-piece. “If you guys are right about what he’s planning, it sounds like Crane decided to take the idea further.”

“I’m kinda surprised Lady Arkham didn’t think of using all the cars,” Tiffany chimed in; Bruce heard tires squealing in the background and wondered if she didn’t take a very sharp turn at a red light.

“Ehh, that was just a terrorist gig,” Joker replied, tilting himself as he flew into the Green Line’s train depot, “Scare the bourgeoisie and all that jazz.”

Bruce practically heard Tiffany’s eyebrow raise in mild derision. “I didn’t think they took public transport.”

Joker didn’t seem to notice dry tone, and continued as if it was a casual conversation. “No, no – middle class are included in that crowd, too; you need to brush up on your French! Hey, Iman, you manage to open the pod bay doors here?”

“Almost… Are the lights inside on?”

“Yup!”

“Good – I’m looking around the Gold Line, I saw a van parked below… Okay, the train doors at Green should be wide open. Batman, how far away are you?”

Bruce calculated his speed and time as quickly as possible. They had sped away from the cemetery while Tiffany was still bundling herself into her car – they had needed all the headway they were going to get. Bruce didn’t like the idea of Tiffany finding Crane first; he was too dangerous, and she still needed some serious combat training. Jackie had watched them leave, leaning against the door of her battered sedan, looking almost dreamily at the nitrous burners. “Two minutes. Three at the most.”

“Right. I’ll start scouting for Crane’s whereabouts. Joker, you find anything yet?”

“Patience is its own reward,” Joker replied with a haughty sort of air to his lower tone. “Though this heat-seeking feature really isn’t helping…”

Bruce took a sharp turn, causing Joker to clutch the laptop as he forcibly leaned in his seat. “The bombs at the diner weren’t professional grade – he had a timer on the one made from the fire extinguisher. He’s either using more basic timers, or clocks; neither will put out much heat.”

“Would’ve been nice to know before I wasted power,” Joker grumbled. “Ooh, wait, I found one!”

Just like that, his tone had shifted from annoyed to genuinely excited. Bruce wondered if that was just how he was, and Bruce had just kind of been ignoring it, or if the fact John hadn’t had a mood stabilizer in his system for nearly three days was enough to make his emotions fluctuate more than normal. It was a part of him that Bruce always liked – the unpredictability, the fascinating range of emotion John could put in a single sentence – but he knew it wasn’t an entirely healthy thing to have. Six months of being back on his medication had made him seem a little more balanced, making it more obvious where he was going to go next… Of course, John had just been around him for a couple of days. The past few hours he’d managed to talk to more people than usual, and two of them were still wary of how he was going to pan out. Maybe Bruce just noticed the fluctuations more because he knew John was being scrutinized, or maybe it was just because of the very stressful situation they were running towards.

“…now what?” Joker asked, a little bit of the thrill leaving his voice. “This thing doesn’t come with any lasers or anything to cut the cables with, does it?”

Tiffany swore under her breath, and Bruce heard a car horn in the distance. “All the drones come with an EMP pulse generator. It should be enough to shut it off.”

“For someone who calls themselves ‘Oracle’, you don’t seem to have God’s all-knowing eye firmly connected to yours,” Joker panned, the corners of his reddened mouth pulling up in Bruce’s peripheral vision, “I’m preeetty sure that an analog alarm clock isn’t going to be hurt by an EMP.”

Tiffany swore again, sounding more frustrated than before, and Bruce took another sharp turn down an alleyway acting as a shortcut. “Iman,” Tiffany grumbled over the microphone, “which drone are you flying?”

There was a clicking noise – Iman was probably looking at the Batcomputer’s remote drone map. “…Fox-2.”

“Does Joker have Fox-3?”

“Yes.”

“Joker, yours has a laser installed on the front, you can control it by pressing Alt.-Function-L and moving the W-A-S-D keys. It’s only good for short bursts. Don’t you dare break it.”

“Really?!” Joker squealed, “Oh, that’s so cool! But…wait, does the other one not have one?”

“No,” Tiffany growled out, suddenly honking as a pair of tires on the other end of the line squealed, “Hey, watch it, asshole! Ugh, if the rest of the bombs are like that, I’m going to have to cut them by hand.”

“You can borrow my knife,” Joker added helpfully, “I’ve always got some aces up my sleeve… Say, Bats, is it always the red wire, or the blue wire your supposed to cut?”

Before Bruce could even open his mouth to correct him, Iman’s voice cut in with a sense of complete control. “Joker, let’s switch drones – I’ll defuse it.”

“…oh, alright,” John muttered with a dissatisfied pout, “Take away my fun… Then again, I guess you’re the expert in this kind of situation! But it is the blue wire first, right? One of my newer neighbors in Arkham told me he always switched up the colors so no one could guess what the negative one was.”

“Generally speaking, yes,” Iman replied coolly, “keep your drone on the floor, and we’ll switch at the count of three.”

Bruce tried his best to tune everything out. He had to think, had to go over the memories of the last time he encountered someone in the train station… There were six trains held there at once, four of them he was sure were for the long Golden Line alone. The other two were likely for the Red and Blue tracks, despite the Blue Line having its own holding station at its tail-end. More than likely, Crane would move numerically, which meant he was likely somewhere between stations four and six, depending on how much work they had gotten done in a night.

He tried very, very hard to pay attention to his mental map of the facility, planning for the inevitable and the potential, while Joker insensitively asked Tiffany why she was so concerned over flying machines, and got the firm reply of ‘they were my father’s,’ which sent him fumbling for an attempt at an apology he didn’t know he had needed to give until now.

He knew that having three other people working around him at once would take some getting used to. He knew it was just technically noise.

But he used to have just one person to worry about, outside of the slim worries regarding his own mortality. Now there were three, two of which were about to be put in mortal danger.

He wasn’t even counting the fourth person he fretted over, currently sleeping on the other side of the world, who was going to wake up to some grim news, regardless of what happened tonight.

“Batman,” Joker called, his voice shaking Bruce from his thoughts, “I’ve found a bomb in the first train car. It looks like it’s glued under the back seat.”

“Then there’s going to be one in the second. Pull out and look in the third docking station. If Crane or his goons aren’t there, look in the fifth. I have a feeling he’s farther along than we want.”

“On it.”

Tiffany’s voice crackled slightly, and Bruce wondered if there was something interfering with the line. (Iman’s hearing aid, perhaps? But no, that should only be on her end…) “What’s the plan here, exactly?”

Bruce took a steady breath. He felt Joker’s eyes on him. “Joker and I are dealing with Crane. You’re going to dismantle the bombs in the rail-cars he’s already tampered with.”

“…okay.”

He heard the disappointment in her voice. Slight, but there, mixed with worry. Over him, or his choice of combat partner, he wasn’t sure. “Iman, have you found any more bombs?”

“Yes. There was another in the front, by the operating cabin. I can dismantle these in about a minute, provided they’re all made the same.”

“Good. Keep disarming them and send a message to Gordon when you’re sure you’ve found them all. His men should be on the way there.”

Joker stopped moving for a moment. “I found them.”

“Where?”

“Train five. Looks like they’re wrapping up… They’ve got a cart with them.”

He was transporting them all at once. “Oracle, how far away are you?”

“Less than a minute!”

“Good – we’re here.”

Bruce jolted the Batmobile to a stop in the Sky Train Depot’s parking lot.

The exterior of the station was as gloomy and utilitarian as before, the vaguely art-deco shapes of the roofs blending in well with the rest of the surrounding city. The orange lights perched near the giant doors did nothing to soothe him. They were candles in the gloom, mere glowsticks in the mouth of the path leading towards destiny.

Beckoning him forward, even as the wind pushed at him, swirling his cape the second he opened the car door.

Even through the layers of tight Kevlar and metal, Bruce could feel it was going to rain again.

Tiffany’s tires screeched to a stop beside the Batmobile, and Bruce heard the laptop John had been carrying click shut.

Bruce saw two unmarked vans in the distance. Crane was still there.

His stomach clenched along with his fist.

“Tiffany,” he said firmly as her car door opened, “Head to dock one and start dismantling the bombs.”

“What do I do if they go off?”

Bruce opened a hatch in the side of the Batmobile. There, amongst the empty spots for his gear, laid the gas mask for his cowl. He had several shots of antitoxin on his person, and several more stored in the car, kept stable.

Joker knew what to expect when hit with the toxin; Bruce had a fairly good idea of it, seeing the effects first-hand.

Tiffany had no idea.

He pushed the gas mask and one of the antitoxin shots into her hands. “These should help. Are the goggles you were wearing earlier real?”

“They’re older than you,” she answered, cocking a smirk, “but they’re waterproof. I don’t cheap out on my costumes.”

“Then wear them. If you start to hallucinate, get out of the area and take the antitoxin. I’ve got more in case we need it.”

Tiffany stuck the orange-hued injector into her own belt and let the black gas mask hang around her neck. “What about you two?”

“Oh, we’ll be just fine,” Joker answered for him, throwing his hat behind the car seat. “I’ve got more experience with Crane’s little formula than either of you two – I’ll make sure to take the hits in your places.”

The red smile and dark gleam in his green eyes spoke of yards more confidence than Bruce had thought he had. If the situation had been any different, Bruce might have likened it to when John had laid back on the Wayne’s king-size bed, ready and willing to take all of him on.

“Let me know if you need help. The drone can still send out enough sound to distract or deafen them…at least temporarily.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Bruce replied as Tiffany geared up her tablet. “Get going.”

The Batmobile locked itself down, and Bruce whirled away with John keeping right behind him, his grappling gun in hand.

With the trains being held below, it meant Bruce couldn’t waltz in through the lower door. He’d have to take the elevated one. They had a good chance of being heard, but it was the best way.

He turned to Joker as they carefully made their way in, stepping softly over the metal plates.

He looked determined. Poised. Fiery.

For once, he didn’t meet Bruce’s gaze. He was entirely focused on the group of people below them, working in low light.

Bruce peeked over the railing.

Several people were below.

One of them – Kip, he realized – was lifting one of the gas canister bombs off a small hand cart with the help of a very burly-looking woman with a buzz-cut. The train car next to them was empty, it’s lights on, and another woman with a dark purple ponytail was fixing a smaller-looking canister to the front cabin, where the operator sat. Bruce wasn’t sure what she was using to keep them in place, but she kept reaching for something on the floor. At least he was sure they weren’t being held in place by duct tape.

“Oracle,” Bruce whispered into the comm-link, “there’s a second bomb placed in the driver’s cabin. One of you send a warning to Gordon.”

“Got it,” Tiffany replied; Iman cursed in Farsi, but Bruce felt that was an agreement.

A fourth person was speaking, but Bruce couldn’t see them. It must have been Ivan, guarding the doorway below.

“You don’t have to hover over shoulders,” Ivan grunted, his Ukrainian accent just as thick as ever, “We have experience with delicate weaponry such as this.”

“I don’t care how many years your old boss made you cart dynamite around,” Dr. Crane’s voice replied, just as calm and stinging as ever, “You’re handling delicate gas canisters that are rigged to release its entire contents in half a minute. One slip-up will cost me more than just what I’m paying you.”

Joker was frowning in disgust, his teeth bared as he gripped the railing, acting like he wanted to leap over it.

Bruce squeezed his shoulder. “”Don’t,” he instructed in the quietest voice he could muster, “Wait for my signal.” He ignored the frustrated look he got in return.

Bruce made to softly walk around the catwalk, to get a better vantage point. It would be easy to glide down and start punching, but he’d have to wait until the bombs were placed. He didn’t want to risk the chance of the gas leaking into the air.

For a fraction of a second, it looked like a scarecrow had walked off its pole and wandered into the station.

Dr. Crane stood underneath the doorway railing, clad in a wrinkled flannel shirt, dark jeans, and oddly crisp work-boots, with what looked like a very dirty old square flour sack pulled over his head. There were two holes for his dull eyes – Bruce could see the gleam of glass underneath them reflecting the red light nearby – and a shoddily-stitched frown for a mouth. It was as if he had cut a hole there and decided to fix it back up with wide x-shaped stitches, not knowing how to sew. Dark stains were littered around the mouth and the frayed edges of the base, almost looking as if liquid had seeped out of the mouth like blackened drool or excess drink.

“This is my life’s work on the line,” Crane continued, flat and threatening, his voice lightly muffled by the rag-like mask, “If any of you ruin it in any way, I will ruin you… And it will be far worse than what your pathetic excuse for an imagination tells you… Now do what I tell you and keep a look out for me. You have only yourself to blame for Kip taking your place.”

Ivan crossed his arms and stood still with a ‘hmph’, surveying the place and the main doorway for any sign of movement that wasn’t of their little crew.

Dr. Crane moved back to the train car, where the woman at the front had just finished mounting the bomb, and seemed to be inspecting her work, truly hovering over her shoulder as the other two thugs worked on applying some kind of putty to the space underneath the back corner seat, away from the eyes of the doors. The canisters were long and painted beige, matching the interior paint of the train car, and once mounted Bruce could see how no one would notice them.

He thought quickly. The bomb was on the floor – it was still volatile, but if he yanked the woman out of the car with his grappling hook and threw a Batarang at the other, they shouldn’t be able to touch it… He might just have to wait until those two left the car, or else make a distraction to get their attention. The woman at the front was more of a liability, but with such a small amount of gas, it wouldn’t be as dangerous, and Bruce could easily apply the antitoxin. He should be able to hit Crane easily in the confusion -

There was the telltale whirr of a grappling cable, and Bruce knew his plan was practically moot as he turned to see Joker use his own colorful gun as a rope swing, descending with his back at Bruce as he swung out wide, stopping the cable just enough to stretch his legs out and plant his boots into the back of Ivan’s head.

Bruce took a glided leap down onto the floor.

Ivan shouted as Joker landed on his feet, grinning wide and brandishing what looked like several playing cards between his fingers.

Bruce threw a Batarang at Kip, aiming for his exposed shoulder as Tiffany’s voice rang in his ear, telling them she’d finished cutting the wires in the second train car; the woman beside Kip noticed the movement and pulled him out of the way.

“BATMAN!”

The thick-set woman stood, and Bruce saw her reach for the small of her back.

Dr. Crane finally looked up, the light in the train glinting off the glasses behind the holes in his hood.

Ivan cried out, and Bruce stole a glance - several playing cards were stuck into his shoulders and chest. Joker was already sliding out his riot baton, readying himself to swing.

Bruce threw several more Batarangs as he dodged a shot, managing to hit the collar of Ivy’s thug, and made for the head of the car, where Crane had whirled around, scrambling for his pistol.

Bruce dodged another shot from the woman, readying one of his electric bombs – he could easily throw one through the open doorway.

Except he heard the thundering footsteps of Kip.

Kip was roughly the size of a retired quarterback, and he was making his way to slam into Bruce with full force, a knife in hand.

Bruce held up his left arm defensively, the dull spines on his gauntlets jabbing into Kip’s outstretched arm. His heart pounded in his ears as the weight still barreling forward attempted to throw him off balance.

He saw Joker in the distance, jabbing the baton into Ivan’s stomach and sweeping his leg under the grunt’s feet, and felt a surge stem from his gut.

Bruce turned, letting Kip fall forward, and felt the flesh of his throat give into his fist.

Several loud bangs echoed in the station, and Bruce felt something push hard at his side and arm as little metal dings sounded at his feet.

Bruce met the woman’s steely eyes for only a second before they squeezed shut with a loud shout as several playing cards hit her forearm.

The handgun clattered to the floor, and Bruce felt something slice into the back of his calf.

One quick electric bomb to the floor took care of Kip, but Bruce felt the familiar hot ache of something being jabbed into raw muscle – the knife was buried in his calf.

At least he hadn’t needed to waste another Batarang – a barrage of playing cards hit the Ivy goon, and she fell to her knees.

“That’s quite enough,” Dr. Crane called out, his voice ringing from inside the train car.

The other woman tried to reach out for her partner from the front of the train, but she was being restrained in a choke-hold with the muzzle of Crane’s pistol pointed at her temple. “Mary…!”

“Hush, child,” Crane hissed, pressing the gun firmly into her head, “or I squeeze the trigger. I see you managed to escape just fine, Mr. Doe,” he said, seeming to shoot a glare over at Joker, who was advancing towards the car, “And you brought a new patient for me… How thoughtful.”

Bruce clenched his fists. “Let her go, Dr. Crane!”

“Oh, it’s not Crane any more. All of your foes have titles, don’t they, Batman? You can call me Scarecrow.”

Joker snorted, his grappling gun clenched in his hand, aiming at Crane��s head. “Ooh, very original. Decided to steal that off a movie poster, too?”

“Better that than a playing card,” Crane shot back coolly, “and I am quite original, thank you. At least I made my own look, rather than deliberately molding myself into someone else’s image. We all know how well that turned out, didn’t we?”

“Let her go,” Bruce growled, feeling his blood simmering dangerously.

“No. You see, I’m very annoyed right now. I’m going to have to dispose of three more bodies later, plus yours if I’m lucky, on top of having an experiment to oversee.”

Joker blinked, casting a look at the fallen goons on the floor. The woman dotted with sharp cards was still bleeding on the floor, but she was semi-conscious, watching everything unfold, her eyes trained on the woman in Crane’s choke-hold. “But they’re not…”

“I don’t like paying for services not fulfilled; those three obviously weren’t up to snuff. So I’ll tell you what, Batman – you step in here, let me probe that bat-brain for a little bit, and I’ll let her go. I’ll even tell you where the rest of my bombs are.”

“I know where the rest of your bombs are. I’ve seen your plans, Crane.”

“Scarecrow, please, let’s be formal. And I doubt you know about the ones I left behind in Arkham. All those so-called innocent lives… I’m sure you wouldn’t want to see any of them hurt.”

His blood might have run cold, if it hadn’t been on the edge of boiling.

The woman on the floor spoke up, her voice heavy. “Boss… Please, don’t hurt Dotty…”

Crane didn’t even spare her a glance. “That’s not up to me, my dear. That’s up to Batman.”

Bruce couldn’t risk the lives of Arkham, even if he could find it in himself to risk the life of the gang-banger in Crane’s arm.

Stepping into that train might as well be a death sentence. There was little room to run from a bullet, and with a life on the line, Bruce couldn’t risk much.

He stepped forward, forcing himself to breathe steady. “Fine.” He heard Tiffany and Iman’s voices on the earpieces, but he tuned them out.

“Wait!” Joker cried out.

“Not another step, Mr. Doe. I’m sure Dr. Leland would be very disappointed to find that you were responsible for a hostage’s death.”

Joker looked furious, and his shoulders and fists were as stiff as boards. He was clearly forcing himself not to just run at him. “Just… Leave Bats out of this! I’ll take his place; I’ll tell you anything you want to know!”

“No. I’ve already exhausted what I can from your pathetically clingy brain. I want to have a personal insight into Gotham’s dark knight.”

“Joker,” Bruce breathed steadily, meeting his eyes – beautiful, brilliant green, full of anger and desperation – and hoped it wasn’t the last time he’d see them. “It’ll be alright. Move those two out of the way.”

“Helping the people you just beat up? How noble of you,” Dr. Crane jeered.

Acid greens bore through white lenses for a moment. “You know I’ve got your back.”

Bruce nodded.

“Batman, I’m running out of patience. Please enter through the end door there.”

Bruce did as he was told, hating every moment, feeling heavy even without the additional sting of the knife in his leg.

“Very good. Now I’ll just close these so we can have some privacy – my dear, can you reach over and hit that yellow button for me? I’m afraid I can’t move my hands.” Dr. Crane moved backwards, tugging the nervous young woman with him to the control panel, keeping the gun muzzle pressed against her head. The doors closed with a weighty swish and a thunk that made Bruce’s heart feel like it was sinking. He heard John’s voice call out along with the wounded Ivy gang member. Bruce couldn’t hear anything over the comm-link; the thick metal of the train must have been blocking the signal. “That’s better; thank you.”

“Dotty,” Bruce said, trying to meet the gangster’s eyes, “I’m going to get you out of here.”

Dr. Crane lowered his head, and Bruce got the impression he was frowning. “No talking to the hostage, Batman. I know our arrangement isn’t ideal, but just pretend she can’t hear you.”

“What do you want, Scarecrow?”

“Just a few answers. I’m a man of science first and foremost. You see, I was studying you for some time, before your mysterious disappearance, and I was quite intrigued by you. A man who tries to stop crime by dressing up as a flying rodent – you either belong in a room next to John Doe, or at the head of the Agency. I’ll decide which.”

Bruce tried to concentrate on his breathing. The smell of old metal and dust lingered in his nostrils. He stared firmly ahead, at the burlap sack of a mask, rather than at the anxious face of the woman with the gun pointed at her face. He would not linger on the sight of the gun, and would not think back to that alleyway.

“I take it you decided on this…crusade because of a personal loss, due to a crime? What was it that drove you to do this?”

He was not thinking of that alleyway, and the smell of gunpowder. He was not thinking of pearls clattering to the concrete.

“And no lying,” the doctor instructed, “or Dotty here dies.”

He could lie, at the risk of the woman’s death. He could speak outright and risk exposure.

He knew Dr. Crane had suffered loss, too. His parents had also died by accident. Perhaps he could reason through that.

“You also lost something, Doctor. Your parents died almost thirty-three years ago, at a haunted house that caught fire. Was your survival what triggered your fascination with fear?”

“I’m the one asking questions, Batman,” Dr. Crane pressed, “Though I’m guessing by such a vague reply that you and I suffered a similar tragedy in our formative years. I’m sure it had a factor in both our lives’ paths, but it wasn’t the ultimate driving force behind it, was it? Mine was watching the birds on my aunt’s farm learn to scatter at the sight of me, or else risk an untimely demise. I’m guessing yours had something to do with watching a bat fly over the city…or perhaps flap by your face at just the right moment of reflection.” He was quite wrong; Batman was born in Crime Alley, he just hadn’t chosen his unique look until he rediscovered the cave underneath the house a couple of years later. “Let’s try a different approach – if there are a group of strangers strapped to one track, and a close personal friend one strapped to another, with a train on a split track careening towards them at high speed, who would you divert the train to save?”

Bruce frowned. He always hated that question. “I’m not working alone, Scarecrow. I can easily find a way to save them all.”

“Of course you would,” Crane groaned. “Such a heroic idealism you have… You know, I’m surprised you’re working with Mr. Doe. Did you know what his answer was? He’d save the single person. I can understand saving someone like Dr. Leland, given that she has almost a maternal role in his life, but I found he’d risk the lives of innocent strangers to save the likes of someone like Bruce Wayne. Can you imagine, choosing to save the greedy son of a notorious mobster who only visits him out of guilt? He’s really not cut out to be a hero, is he?”

Bruce grit his teeth. He knew Crane was just trying to rile him up. “I’m not here to talk about him. You said you wanted to talk about me.”

“Oh, but I can do both,” the doctor emphasized, squinting across the train car at the vigilante. “He’s fixated on two things, you see, and you’re the lesser of them. I want to understand what he sees in you – especially given that he almost killed you. Do you still think of it, sometimes? Sitting in that control room, watching him struggle to get your ridiculously-shaped tool out of his hand? How does it feel, watching someone who looked up to you fall so far from the proverbial tree?”

Bruce didn’t want to answer; he scrambled for something to say that wouldn’t let Crane know he was getting to him. The doctor actually let out a little laugh in response to his brief moment of silence – it was disturbing, to say the least, to hear a man with almost no expression let out an actual chortle.

“Oh, your expression says a thousand words… I’ve heard a great deal about you – from both my patients and my little colleagues, like Dotty here. They tell me you’re quite the rough customer; intriguingly enough, though, you’ve never reportedly killed anyone. How curious.” He tilted his head, like an animal trying to puzzle out an unusual toy. “Are you afraid of death, Batman? Does the idea of having blood on your gloves keep you awake at night?”

He seemed to be asking, more than taunting. Bruce willed himself not to move. It would take nothing to rush him, but it would cost the young woman her life.

He wasn’t about to prove Crane right by example. He thought back to the doctor’s published papers.

“It’s human nature to fear the inevitability of oblivion. It’s what ultimately drives us as a species,” he quoted, keeping a level tone, “but I strive to save lives, Scarecrow, not destroy them.”

“…you’ve read my work, I see. Plagiarizing me to append your own run-of-the-mill heroism isn’t getting any points from me, Batman. You must know you can’t possibly save everyone… I suppose I should have set the bar lower for you. Still, I’ll keep my bargain – Dotty, child, I need you not to struggle when I pull my hand away, or I’m going to have to shoot you. Nod if you understand.”

Dotty nodded, her frightened eyes flicking to the gun, and then back to Batman. Pleading.

Bruce wasn’t going to move a muscle until she was out of the car. He wouldn’t put it past Crane to shoot her the second she got free.

Bruce cast a look out the train’s side window. Empty. Joker had clearly moved the two thugs out of the way, likely near the door.

Dr. Crane released his hold on the young woman’s upper arm, and reached behind him into the control panel. “On the count of three. One. Two.” He threw the smaller gas canister into the middle of the car, the nozzle spewing green smoke, and suddenly every nerve Bruce had was on edge as he gave a helpless gasp, reaching for his belt automatically. He could get his grappling hook, fire at Crane-

“Don’t even think about it, Batman. I’ve still got a hostage.”

Dotty was clawing at Crane’s arm, struggling to kick away from the fumes filling the car, but Crane’s grip was clearly firm, just as the gun replanted against her head was.

“I did tell you not to struggle, Dotty.”

“You said you’d let her go!” Bruce shouted, his voice sounding more distorted than usual.

“And I am. I just want to see how my little drug affects you. It doesn’t really do anything to me, you see – I don’t fear anything.”

Bruce’s mind was whirling. He was becoming very aware of the lights, the sounds, the weight of the armor on his body…

“Three.”

The train doors opened, and Dotty was all but tossed out. Bruce stumbled forward, his blood pumping as he clutched a Batarang.

He had to hit Crane.

Had to get out of the train - the gas was filling the whole place.

Had to cut him, drive a blade into his chest, hurt him for everything he’d done…

Bruce lurched forward with an electronic whirr.

They were moving.

The train was…moving.

He heard distant shouts…screams…

He looked out of the window, only to see the bone-white paint peel away like rapidly decaying skin, revealing rust and black metal. There was no reflection in the glass there; only black, and two glowing white lights.

He could hear something new whispering in his ear. Groans. Gasping breaths. A strangled, rattling noise that sent his nerves on edge.

Familiar sounds of injury. Death.

He turned to look at Dr. Crane, and the length of train car between them seemed to expand like a long tunnel. White lights winked at him beneath dark holes of the Scarecrow’s eyes, and something dark and coppery dribbled down its mouth.

“Normally people grow quite aggressive, due to the adrenaline rush they get, but it doesn’t usually work instantly. It takes a bit of seeing their worst fears come out. What are you seeing, Batman?”

Bruce was hardly listening to the eerie voice coming from the scarecrow’s mouth. His eyes darted over the rusting car. The walls were warping, bubbling with something pressing at them like thin membranes.

Figures.

Faces.

A crowd of people pressing towards him from the walls of the train, groaning in pain. He recognized them.

The Children of Arkham. Oswald. Harvey. Alfred. Iman. Edward Nigma. Selina. Frieze. Bane. Harley. John. Tiffany. Jackie.

And scattered among them, those he knew were dead. Vicki Vale. Hill. Falcone. Countless citizens he��d witnessed the death of over the years, the bodies he’d seen.

Lucius Fox reached for him; his burnt face was gaunt and mangled, his glasses askew on his disfigured nose.

Thomas and Martha Wayne, pale and judging, watched from the ceiling, in the middle of the throng.

The windows were dark, but the outside showed a ruined city. Decayed. Corrupted.

He couldn’t save them.

He could never save them.

“Most people would have throttled me by now. Stabbed me, perhaps. I saw a man come out of the Main Street Diner brandishing a steak knife – he stabbed the first person he saw, thinking they were something from his hallucinations. You truly don’t want to kill anyone, do you?” Scarecrow taunted, tilting his head slightly. “That’s why you and Mr. Doe fell apart, isn’t it? You couldn’t stand the sight of him after that little bloodbath he made in the chemical plant.”

Bruce looked at his own hands. They were sharp and stained red. Dripping.

His fault.

“He couldn’t either, of course. He’s still attempting to put himself back together. I’m not sure he actually thinks what he did was wrong – I believe it’s more like he’s afraid of disappointing you. Does the thought of him killing again frighten you? Can you still see him there, blood on his mouth and hands, laughing at you, making a mockery of your pathetic beliefs?”

He could see John, reaching for him, black and crimson smeared on his face.

He could feel his blood surge. He was finding it hard to breathe.

The floor was rusting, red, and shining like liquid.

“They are pathetic, you know. There’s nothing wrong with doing everything to get your way. It certainly helped me – I finally fulfilled my goal of getting to work in Arkham. All it took was the lives of two doctors. It wasn’t a big loss for the asylum, anyway – they wrote such drivel. They didn’t understand what I wanted to do – what I’m doing now. I’m sure you can understand, now, can’t you? How I want to save people?”

Bruce blinked, stepping forward, his muscles tense. Something dull ached in his leg. He heard a sick splash, like he’d stepped in a puddle of something thicker than water.

He had to do something.

He couldn’t save the people around him.

But couldn’t he save just one?

Just one person, outside, in those ruins?

“The only way people can truly live is to be set free – and the only way to set them free is by having them overcome their fear. The undercurrent of your worst nightmare is always death… Facing death changes you. You said it yourself: my parents died when I was young, and it changed me.”

Scarecrow faced the window, looking out into the decaying, rusting ruins of the city, not seeing the corpses that made up the wall.

He couldn’t save him, could he?

He couldn’t stop him, could he?

He was a man. Just that.

Just one person.

He’d tried. Tried to save them all.

But how could he do anything – save them, save the city, clear away the corruption, the disease, the past – when he was just one person?

“I lost them from a simple accident. I blamed myself, as children do – but I realized I didn’t have anything to fear again.”

Gun. Alley. Pearls. Death.

Darkness shrouded them.

Bodies squirmed and moaned, pressing against the flesh of the train.

“I already saw my worst fear come alive, after all. But this formula – my work – it brings you that fear without the true cost. There are bumps, of course. People kill other people in fright. Kill themselves, too. They’re unpredictable like that. It’s quite fascinating, really… But sacrifices must be made for the future. The deaths of some will rebirth more.”

Terror.

No more death.

Guilt.

He’d survived. They had not.

Resolve.

He could try. He could be something. For them. All of them. For Gotham.

Renewal.

B a t m a n.

He lunged. His fist connected with Scarecrow’s chest.

A snap and a scream.

Scarecrow stumbled back.

Bruce hit the window where the mask had been. The armored knuckles made a spider web.

The control panel door slammed.

Bruce tore it open, the sliding metal screeching against the slotted floor, mixing with the yowls of the walls.

He felt a kick to the stomach.

Pathetic.

Bruce yanked Scarecrow into the air and threw him into the train car.

The train was slowing, the brakes squealing, the lights flickering back on and off, casting shadows.

“You think you can intimidate me?” Scarecrow coughed, scrambling to stand, reaching for the small canister. Bruce advanced on him, ignoring the blood splashing and sticking to his boots. “I’m not scared of you.”

Bruce heard his voice come out low and guttural. “You will be.”

He swung for his jaw – Scarecrow ducked and slammed the canister into his chest. Bruce stumbled a little, feeling a new dull throb under the black bat symbol. A Batarang found its way in-between his fingers.

The train doors opened, and Scarecrow ran.

Bruce’s feet splashed through blood momentarily before pounding on decaying asphalt. He threw hard, aiming for his back, missing by inches.

“Is that all you’ve-?”

There was the grotesque sound of meat being stabbed, followed by a gurgle.

A Batarang was sticking out of Scarecrow’s shoulder.

“You scum.”

Joker stood there, at the top of the station’s cracked concrete steps, his red lips stretched in a wide grimace.

Scarecrow backed away into the space between them, reaching for his wounded shoulder. (It looked familiar.)

“You think you can just run?” Joker continued, the dark green hairs of his head flickering like smoke in the wind as he skulked forward. “From me – from us?”

Bruce stomped towards the masked man, his fists clenched, blood pounding like a jackhammer.

(Adrenaline. Fear. Determination. Excitement. How it always was.)

Scarecrow aimed the pistol at Bruce. “Take one more step and I’ll-” Playing cards sliced into his hand, and he fired with a shout.

The bullet hit a crevice between Bruce’s chest and shoulder. He recoiled, hearing pearls clatter to the pavement.

He still stood, ignoring the pain, trying to tune-out his mother’s voice behind him.

More playing cards. Bruce’s fist smashed into Scarecrow’s jaw.

The gun smashed against Bruce’s head, tossing him aside. His ears were ringing.

There were fast footsteps, and Bruce blinked, his vision blurring for a moment as he refocused.

A knife jabbed into a spindly arm, and brown leather fists curled into flannel. Holding him still.

Bruce threw another punch, landing into Scarecrow’s stomach. A loud cackle reached his ears, high and familiar – so he did it again. And again.

Blood seeped from the burlap mouth. Disgusting.

Bruce shoved the thin figure to the ground.

Joker’s eyes were wild, the acid green pools practically boiling.

“Batman…are you alright?”

His leg and shoulder hurt, but he wasn’t alone in the decaying mess of Gotham. Not anymore. Maybe he never really was. Maybe the city watched him back. Like the gargoyles on the buildings. “I will be.”

Scarecrow coughed at their feet. “You’ll…be having nightmares…for weeks…” Dark holes stared up at him from the pavement. “Knowing…that I’m out there…”

Joker’s lip curled, his eyes blazing with what looked almost like real fire, and pressed a hand to Bruce’s back to guide him towards a rotting, wooden bench that surprisingly held his weight.

“You’ll have…to kill me to sleep! But you won’t!” Scarecrow taunted, wheezing a laugh. Then he was out of sight, blending in with the bloody concrete like he had melted away.

He didn’t care that Joker’s red mouth was too wide and dark, and that the dark tresses of his hair curled and whipped in the air, dissipating at the ends constantly. He couldn’t feel anything but a rapid heartrate, the aches in his body, and the weight of everything on his shoulders – he wanted to feel him, taste the blood and flesh to make sure he was as real, that he wasn’t the body in the pile of people he’d failed, that he wasn’t going to crumble and bleed in front of him.

“Wait here for me,” Joker whispered, pressing leather fingers against his cheeks for a moment.

Bruce watched him go, reaching out for him. His body told him to move. To run to him. He couldn’t let him be hurt. Not by Scarecrow. Not by anyone.

Bruce’s will held. He was told to wait. Joker would be back.

Joker was stepping towards the train, his low heels clicking on the pavement. Stopping at the red lump on the ground.

“You want to know the difference between you and me, doc’?” Joker taunted, anger and humor bending together, “People will say you’re crazy, after all this. They’ll say you’re a psychopath, or a sociopath, or something like that. But I’ve known since I met you – you’re not crazy. I’m legitimately ill. You’re just a monster.”

A cough.

“You liked watching us all writhe in front of you, didn’t you. Watching us suffer.”

The lump cried out – Joker’s heel was grinding into something on the ground.

Joker laughed. (Bruce blinked – he was not at Ace.) “Aww, what’s wrong? Can’t take a little pain?” A grunt. “This isn’t even the worst of it, you cheap pencil! You know this whole scheme you’ve got? It’s not original. Lady Arkham tried this kind of thing two years ago! Batman stopped her at the Sky Rails, too!” A crunching noise, like joints popping, following by another grunt. “Terrorizing the city? Planting chemical bombs on trains? All the same!” A crack, like breaking bone, near the front of the red thing. “Ha ha ha ha ha! Thomas Wayne had been using patients as lab rats before we ever arrived! You’re nothing but a knock-off!”

A wheeze from the ground. “You…don’t scare me…”

Joker frowned, amusement slipping from his face like it had been washed away. Thunder rumbled from above. “Oh, yeah? I know what might.”

Joker moved, dragging the lump into the empty train car.

Bruce strained to stand. He couldn’t… He wouldn’t…

“Revenge, huh… How selfish…”

“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong, Scary. This isn’t personal. This is for Arkham – for Gotham – for all those people you’ve hurt with your little experiment,” Joker spat, tugging the large gas canister forward, “See, I know you. You’re a monster - you’re going to heal, and then you’re going to talk, and that will cause a lot of trouble for Brucie and little Jackie – she says hi, by the way.”

Scarecrow’s body was in the doorway. The canister was in the middle of the car. He was straining to move as Joker backed away, a playing card in his hand.

Bruce strained forward. No…

“People will say you’re crazy anyway – so why not just make that the honest truth?”

In the blink of an eye, the proverbial clock was one to midnight, and Bruce was standing on the precipice of a choice all too clear to him as he stood in one of Gotham’s corroding Sky Rail stations: Bruce Wayne’s potential life or death.

A potential leap into darkness.

Someone’s sanity, in exchange for his normal life, the man behind the bat.

…he couldn’t.

It was too cruel. It was something his father would have – had – done.

Bruce couldn’t bring himself to become that. He couldn’t let Joker become that, either.

(There should never be another Thomas Wayne roaming the streets.)

“Joker,” he gasped, “no…”

Green eyes met his, fiery and dangerous, wild and manic. “You…! Don’t you understand?” His hands clutched at Bruce’s cape, desperate and pleading for mercy. “I can’t let him ruin Bruce’s life! Not again!”

“Please,” Bruce begged, his hands finding Joker’s arms and clutching. (He’d held them before.) “Please…” He pulled him forward, not feeling the aches or pains, just a weight pressing against his. Just his arms around him, like they were the only two humans left in their broken city. “Don’t go backward.”

He felt a breath release against him. The hands on his cape relaxed. It was like something washed away from the rust and decay surrounding them.

Scarecrow laughed weakly, crawling towards the center of the car. “You’re afraid. You think…dirtying your hands will ruin you…” His hand clutched the nozzle of the tank, and dark eyes glinting white leered at them both beneath the burlap hood. “And you’re afraid…of letting him down…! You have to…confront your fears…to be reborn…!”

Bruce reached out, desperate to save what he had tried so hard to stop. “NO!”

Joker pushed Bruce away with all his might, rolling to the ground as pressurized gas sprung into the air with a hiss.

Bruce’s vision swirled as dark laughs floated into the air, disturbing and gasping, like nothing he had ever heard before.

A rattled breath came.

Not his…not Joker’s…

“Wait…what is…”

Bruce winced, looking at the green smoke billowing out of the train car, and the lying figure looking at him, with wide, brown eyes glinting behind glass, all hidden beneath the Scarecrow mask.

“What… No…! NO!”

A shriek the likes of which Bruce had only heard on film screeched at him. Scarecrow writhed, flinching backwards, trying to curl in on himself as he hit the back wall of the train.

“I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO…!”

Bruce took shallow breaths. He was far away enough from the train car, but the gas might still have an effect. He sat up, feeling his leg scream at him as he jostled the handle of the knife still buried in him, and tried to stand.

Scarecrow flinched further away. “KEEP AWAY FROM ME!”

Joker blinked from the ground, rubbing his head. “Did he…?”

Bruce shook his head. “He inhaled it.”

“…I think I missed the set-up,” Joker mumbled. “Why did he go and gas himself?”

“He wanted us to confront our fears - to be reborn, like he thinks he was, thirty-three years ago.”

“Yikes,” Joker grunted, standing and straightening his back with a wince, “and I thought I had image problems…”

Scarecrow retreated further into the car, kicking and trying to get away as if Bruce and Joker were advancing on him.

Joker put something in his ear from his pocket and wriggled his finger. “Oracle?” He winced, and Bruce heard someone shouting. Oracle…Tiffany. “Look, just – WILL YOU SHUT UP FOR A MINUTE? Geez… Look, Bats and I are fine, Crane is…uh, rounded up, so to speak…”

Silence, for a moment, and Bruce decided to go back and sit on the bench. He’d gotten fear gas into his system, hadn’t he? That was why everything was looking…wrong. Gotham wasn’t like this, normally, was it?

“No, he’s just gone off the deep end… What? Ha! No, no, he got a face-full of his fear toxin…”

Bruce looked on his belt. He had something for these situations. He usually always did.

“Oh..? Oh, good, I was going to ask, I just… Yeah. Um…thank you. We’ll be waiting.”

Bruce found a syringe. Was that it?

Joker parked a seat next to him. “Clean up crew is on the way.” Green eyes darted down to his belt. “You got hit by the gas earlier, didn’t you? I saw the smoke as the train was barreling away. Oracle had to use her shot on that hostage girl – she was screaming like a banshee in heat!”

Bruce blinked, and his vision wobbled. “Joker… I can’t…”

“Oh! Yeah, no worries, let me.”

Bruce felt the frigid air hit the skin of his stiff arm, and a moment later felt a pinch there.

“Don’t worry, Batman,” Joker grinned at him, his eyes soft despite the sharp edges of his face, “I’ll take good care of you…”

With a red grin blurring in his vision, Bruce fell into darkness’ waiting arms.

Notes: Ahhh, wasn’t that fun? I hope it was. I can write emotion and horror and romance, but fight scenes are always hard. >:T Tell me if it turned out okay.

As always, thanks to all of you for supporting this story by any means. I’m truly honored and flattered that so many of you enjoy my work!!!! You guys make me feel like I can take on the world!!! >:D (And a super special thanks this time to @i-bet-you-wish-i for this sweet fanart!!! Remember, if you have fanart, I WANT TO SEE IT! @ me or tag me so I can find it easily on here, please!!!)

We’ve got at least one more chapter, and the epilogue. Expect it within 1-2 weeks, and keep circulating the links. :)

#batjokes #telltale batjokes #atbom #telltale batman #juce #at the brink of midnight #fight scene guides are all the same #and none of them are helpful :(#at least it feels like it #please tell me what you think #and if you have any pointers so i may write better in the future #i love you guys very much!!!!!!!!!!#see you next time!#^3^#canon-typical violence #non-con drug use #hallucinations #horror #what do you expect it's fear toxin

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victorluvsalice · 6 years

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Lovecraft Jazz: Meet Siren

Well, her name's not really "Siren" -- it's just what Victor and company end up calling her because they can't pronounce her actual name. Mostly because she happens to a Deep One. Victor meets her when, at some point during their adventures, he gets knocked unconscious and taken down to Y'ha-nthlei (the underwater city of the Deep Ones in Call of Cthulhu: Dark Corners of the Earth). When he wakes up, there's Siren, watching him. Victor's initially horrified, as you might expect, but as they interact, something interesting comes to light:

Siren's a nice Deep One.

Basically, this is me owning my earlier silly idea that Victor's Deep One "wife" should be like Dirk's "girlfriend" The Beast in the second season of Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency -- a character a little rough around the edges, perhaps lacking some fundamental human social skills, but ultimately a sweetheart. Siren's considered weird among her own kind because she finds humans interesting -- think maybe a Lovecraftian version of Ariel (the majority of Deep Ones just see them as a convenient way of breeding more Deep Ones). Thus, when she first meets Victor, her priority isn't babies -- it's just getting to know a human. Her antics bring Victor from terror to resigned, annoyed acceptance pretty fast. If I may use some paraphrased/adapted Dirk/The Beast quotes to illustrate:

Siren: You been sleepin a long time! [grins toothily at him] You my husband now! We gonna live together, and grow old together, and--!

Victor: . . .sorry, this is -- t-this is a lot f-for the first date! [tries to bolt]

Siren: [grabs him and drags him into a hug] No, no, not safe! You stay! Husband now, right?

Victor: I'm s-sorry, that really d-did sound like you used the word "husband" --

Siren: [patting his head] Yep! We live together now! You not need be scared!

Victor: [squirming] L-Listen, I -- I'm having one of those emotions where -- um, h-how to put this -- I'm actively regretting every decision that brought me t-to this moment in life.

Siren: [hugs] Luv you!

Victor: Oh God. . .

[later...]

Siren: [playing with Victor's hair -- maybe even brushing it with a fork] You fuzzy up top! Very fluff. You like fluff?

Victor: [sitting on a step and tolerating it, super-blandly] Yes, of course, darling.

Siren: [giggles and hugs him] My husband Vicky!

Victor: Yes, that's me now. I'm Vicky. This is my life. [sighs] I guess it makes sense. You and I will have -- [glances at her] squid, or whatever it is you have. And I'll live down here, as some sort of -- uniquely elegant macho fisherman. [pause] Or you'll eat me after mating like a fishy praying mantis. Either one.

Siren quickly notices that Victor isn't in the best mood and asks what she can do to cheer him up -- Victor, a little reluctantly, tells her about his friends and how much he misses them. In particular, he starts going on about Alice and how awesome she is. So, when Siren hears some noises outside in the hall, goes to investigate, and finds Alice here (the others having made the jump to Y'ha-nthlei too to search for him), she --

picks her up, brings her to Victor, and plops her in his lap to "unsad" him. And then actively helps the rest of the gang avoid some of the nastier Deep Ones while they're sneaking around. Everyone is naturally very surprised, if grateful. It comes out that Siren and her family have always been fascinated by humans, and wish they could live in better harmony with them. Alice asks if they can meet her family, all for having more allies. . .

And Siren quietly admits that they were killed for getting too buddy-buddy with the "lesser beings." Hell, the only reason she's still alive is because she knows how to hide from the others.

Well, they're not leaving her down there after that, are they? They get her help in defeating Mother Hydra and escaping the city, then take her along when they get the hell out of Innsmouth. I don't know if she'll stay with them past that for any future adventures, or eventually go off with someone else a la The Beast did with the Rowdies (I'm thinking that she might hang around Arkham and Miskatonic University if they hit that place -- maybe the biology professor takes a shine to her?), but she'll be a loyal friend to them either way. Heck, she even pushes Victor and Alice together because she doesn't realize "married" on land usually means monogamous. (Which leads to a rather funny moment when she tries to encourage him to make babies with all the girls shortly after the friends are reunited. . .even Lizzie gets a giggle out of it.)

#lovecraft jazz AU #deep ones #yes this is largely an excuse to do those adapted quotes #I think they're hilarious and I want Victor to say those lines #Siren was originally THE Deep One Victor was engaged to #but when I expanded out her backstory that ended up not making sense #if she's a pariah among her own people why would she be allowed a husband?#maybe she fights the Deep One who was originally going to claim Victor #you know during the escape #she gets a little banged up but triumphs #then once on land they really have to work to keep her from getting distracted #'Siren please everyone in this town wants to kill us'#'but shiny things!'#she sleeps in hotel bathtubs while they're on the road together #I have a strange amount of feelings about this fishy girl #queued

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jiminisjamin · 7 years

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The Diplomat | Part Two

// Jerome x reader.

Requested: Yes.

A/N: Y’all asked for it so, here it is! *jazz hands*! This might not be where y’all wanted me to take it, (or where you thought I would take it,) but this is where I went with it. Also, I’m aware this is very angsty and Jerome is being over dramatic, but I feel like this is how he would act. He’s never known love and affection, and all of a sudden for him to be wanting it, and craving it, etc, I feel like he’d be overwhelmed with emotion and such, and y/n doesn’t really understand that he craves and needs affection so much.

Summary: Jerome struggles with feelings that he can’t place as y/n plagues his mind. He desperately tries to stop from thinking about her, only to find her at his doorstep.

Rating: Mid-fluff.

Warnings: Lots of angst, really dramatic + overreacting Jerome.

Title: The Diplomat | Part Two.

Read Part One: Here. //

Jerome circles around his room restlessly, holding his head slightly. He curses aloud, angry that he can’t get her out of his head. Since the moment he’d seen her, something inside his mind had clicked. She was who he needed. She would fill the emptiness inside him. She would drive away the burning loneliness-

“No!” He shouts interrupting his own thoughts, slamming his hand down on the table, his hand wrapping around the edge of the desk. “Stop.” He whispers, his whole body shaking. His eyes close as his breathing quickens. He falls to the ground, leaning up against his bed. “I’m fine,” he whispers. “I don’t need her.” He grips the carpet, trying anything to steady himself. “I don’t need her,” he mumbles, tilting his head up. “I don’t need her. I don’t want her.” He opens his mouth to say this sentence again, but it comes out softer than a whisper. His eyes open and he stands up, looking around the empty room warily. In this moment, his heart aches more than it ever had. Over the years, he’d gotten used to the empty, cold feeling. Jerome was no stranger to seclusion, he was used to the feeling. It was always there with him. A dull, cold, aching sensation.

But now it seems to be ten thousand times worse. He can practically feel the burning in his heart, the ice running through his veins. His skin itches as he longs for someone’s touch; a hug, a pat on the shoulder…a kiss. He desperately wants something-anything. Jerome swallows roughly, closing his eyes once again as he attempts to force these feelings away. But, right as the darkness invades his vision, y/n’s face fills it. An audible gasp slips past his lips as his eyes pop open. He stumbles backwards. His confusion grows stronger at the electricity that runs through his veins, the warm feeling spreading throughout his body at the thought of her. “What…” He mumbles, running his hand over his face. “What is this?” He asks, talking to the empty room around him. A feeling a fondness begins to take over the loneliness, and panic sets Jerome’s mind on fire. “No,” he mutters. “Stop, please, no.” He holds his head again, closing his eyes tightly. “Stop thinking about her, please.” He talks aloud to himself, not having anyone else around to talk to.

The aching in his chest is still there, but it’s changed. He no longer feels alone; his heart doesn’t ache because nothing’s there. He can’t quite place it, but something, something has changed, and it’s worse. The feelings that begin to swirl around Jerome’s mind leave him weak, barely able to stand. They’re worse than anything he’s ever felt before, worse than all the nights he spent alone, beaten and bruised as a kid. Worse than all the nights in Arkham, when all that surrounded him was the screams of his inmates. It was worse than death.

For the time, he wants to see someone. He wants to keep y/n safe, protect her from the world around him. All he wants is to see her smile, make her laugh. Jerome never wanted her to feel alone. He wanted to hold her, let her know that there’s someone here for her. All these feelings mix with his utter confusion. How could she already consume his thoughts? He’d only known her for a few minutes. He’d barely said anything to her, yet he already felt himself becoming obsessed. The sound of the doorbell ringing yanks him from his thoughts, and his heart soars as he heads to the door, eager for the distraction.

When he pulls the door open, his heart begins to flutter, his lips part slightly.

“Jerome,” she whispers, staring down at the ground. “You told me to stay away,” she manages to choke out the words. Y/n’s eyebrows furrow. “Oswald told me to stay away,” she slowly shakes her head. “And I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why.” She looks up at him slowly. “But I can’t stay away…I need to know nothing’s going to happen,” she whispers. “So, please. Tell me to go. Tell me one more time, maybe I’ll be able to stay away. Tell me to go home, tell me I’m being crazy. Say it,” y/n shuffles and brings her gaze up to Jerome’s. He stares forward for a long time before his gaze flickers away, out to the darkness past her.

“It’s raining,” he whispers.

“What?” Y/n huffs. “Jerome, come on. Please. Just tell me to go.”

“I can’t.” He says, still not meeting her gaze.

“What? Jerome, please…tell me to go.”

“I don’t want to.” At this point his voice is barely audible.

“Jerome? Don’t say that…it’s not funny. What you said before…when I met you, when you said that…take it back, please. Take it back. I don’t want to get hurt, Jerome.” He flinches at this, his gaze finally dragging back over to her. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he lifts his arms, holding them out for a hug. Y/n stares at him, not moving. “Jerome…” He doesn’t move forward, but his head hangs down now, his arms slowly moving back to his side as he turns around, dejected.

“You can go.” He mumbles. Y/n moves forward in confusion, placing her hand on his arm. His whole body stiffens at her touch, and he pulls his arm away quickly, his head snapping over in her direction. Jerome’s blue-green gaze meets hers. His arm stays frozen as she reaches out again, grabbing his hand.

“Jerome…were you joking when you said…when you said that you’d love me?” Jerome flinches at the word, forgetting he had used it.

“Love…” He whispers, not able to make himself look away from her. “If this is what love feels like…” He furrows his eyebrows, tilting his head. “Why does it burn? Why does it hurt…” He reaches out weakly, brushing a strand of her hair back.

The fact that he’s nothing like he was when y/n first met him scares her. When she looks into his eyes, she doesn’t see Jerome. She sees a scared, broken version of himself. His hand rests on her cheek, his eyes searching hers for something, anything.

“What is it about you,” he whispers to himself, moving closer to y/n. “Why does it feel like this, y/n?” She stares up at him.

“Jerome.”

He closes his eyes, a smile staining his otherwise pained features.

“It hurts so much. More than anything else.” Jerome breaths, bringing his other arm around her, pulling her close and burying his face in her neck. Y/n doesn’t think about what’s happening as she hugs him back, closing her eyes too. Something about seeing Jerome with all his walls down, completely vulnerable, warms y/n’s heart.

“I have to go…” She whispers, attempting to pull away. Jerome still holds on tightly, a small noise coming from the back of his throat. She pries his arms off her, walking over to the door. “Oswald will be really mad if he finds me gone.” With that, she forces herself to step out the door, shutting it behind her.

Jerome stays frozen, his eyes finally opening as a tear falls down his cheeks.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispers, his voice breaking as he chokes back a sob.

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 1 month

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The Unnecessarily Dramatic Death of One Jasmine Fenton

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/qynN5J3 by Rowan_the_Escapist After her brother ascends to the throne of the Infinite Realms, Jazz Fenton becomes a psychologist working at Arkham Asylum, a job that requires her to go to a surprising amount of charity galas. At one of these galas, she meets a couple of Waynes, is attacked by ghosts, and makes a new friend. (and also dies) *TW at the beginning of fic--don't read if squeamish about blood Words: 8955, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Wayne Family Adventures (Webcomic), DC Extended Universe, DCU Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Categories: F/M Characters: Jazz Fenton, Danny Fenton, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne Relationships: Jazz Fenton/Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Danny Fenton & Jazz Fenton Additional Tags: Battle Couple, Confusion to Lovers, They met at a gala, Bruce Wayne is Jason Todd's Parent, Jazz Fenton-centric, BAMF Jazz Fenton, Ecto-Contaminated | Liminal Jazz Fenton, Dead Jazz Fenton, BAMF Jason Todd, They trauma bonded your honor, Eldritch Danny Fenton, Ghost King Danny Fenton, Blood Loss, Like seriously blood loss is kinda part of the plot, Major Character Undeath, Character Death, like seriously she dies in this fic, she's not DEAD-dead, but still, Soulmates, it's really more like soulmate-ish but whatever, Anger Management, blood used in creative non-traditional ways, Rated For Violence, No Sex, Fluff and Angst, idk what Phantom Planet is and at this point i'm too scared to ask read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/qynN5J3

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the caped crusader #the dark knight #dcu #ao3 #ao3feed

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gilbirda · 2 years

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Mondays, am I right?

Or Danny is an Arkham Security Guard, from this post

Forgot to link some AMAZING art for this idea. Inspired the 'sneakers' part.

SOME FANART FOR MY FIC

[Read on AO3][Read on FF.net]

Sequel - Employee of the month >>

The first thing Danny said when Jazz expressed her interest in interning at Arkham was:

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

To which she answered:

“It is said that you have to be a bit crazy to work in Arkham, soooo…”

Danny had to agree that her response was quick and true, but still he didn’t like her going to that madhouse and probably die because, I dunno, Joker woke up wrong or she tried to psychoanalyze the Riddler. He said this to her through the phone, hoping that she could imagine him pacing up and down the apartment.

“The security there is top notch, Danny, and the bat-fam is always one call away.”

“You know as well as I do that’s bullshit. The guards are human, some of those crazies are not.”

“That term is very harmful, Daniel,” she used her mom voice.

“Sorry. But you see what I mean, right? If anything happens I won’t be there to save you. Not in time, at least.” He could try and measure how long it would take to fly from his apartment to Arkham, just in case.

There was a long silence. He heard his sister breathe in, breathe out, like she was mentally preparing herself to say something.

“I… I heard, from other interns I talked to, that guard positions are always open. And that it’s super easy to get in.”

“Jazz. Are you-”

“Don’t. I know you. Don’t think I’ll ever forget the ‘visits’ when I started college.”

Danny looked down and stopped pacing. Maybe he was a bit overprotective of his sister. Maybe he freaked out for weeks after she moved to her dorm, complaining about how long it took him to fly there.

He regretted nothing.

“Gotham is too far from Amity. I prefer cutting the chase and having you with me in Arkham than dealing with a helicopter little brother on the reg.”

He swallowed the knot in his throat. “Is this your sisterly way of telling me that I should get a job?”

“I gave up after you were fired from the Nasty Burger. Nasty Burger, Danny! Not even Val was fired, and she had another job and the Red Huntress business!”

“I know…”

Jazz sighed. “I’m going to nap a bit and then finish packing things up here. I’ll text you the site where you can apply for the guard job.”

“Thanks, Jazzy.”

“Don’t call me that. Love you.”

“Love you.”

***

Applying for the guard job at Arkham was surprisingly easy. They didn’t ask for good grades, only a highschool diploma. They asked if you could solve problems quickly and efficiently - easy peasy, he was Phantom and he had been in the hero business long enough. Also they required no criminal records or whatsoever.

Fortunately for him, Daniel Fenton was as clean as he could be.

He passed the initial online interviews and finally was asked to do a physical ability test on site. Once upon a time he would have considered enhancing his human side cheating (and he did not cheat); but after moving out from his parents’ house and being adopted under Sam and Tucker’s wings, he felt more and more comfortable with his ghost side bleeding into the human side. What was Phantom, if not an identity he used to justify a duality that wasn’t there? Daniel Fenton died in the portal and became something else, but it never was about two sides or two faces - he wasn’t human or ghost, he was both.

Somewhere along the way he stopped even changing to his ghost form to fight low level ghosts. He could access enough of his abilities with his human body; and it helped when he mastered The glare (Sam trademarked it) and the ability to project an aura of fear to scare troublemakers back into the Ghost Zone.

“You got the job, kid,” the giant of a man sitting before him said with a slightly confused frown.

“I’m not a kid. I’ll be 24 next month.”

The other man looked up from his papers, probably the physical test results, and looked up and down the scrawny form of Danny. Instead of feeling insulted, he just laughed.

“I’m tougher than I look, uh, um, sir.”

The other man looked like he wanted to say something else, but gave up and shrugged. Danny guessed that he was probably expecting him to last very little.

“You start on monday.”

***

A few months into his new job Danny got the feeling that he found his calling. It was stimulating enough that he didn’t feel like dying all over again from boredom, and believe me, breaking fights between inmates was very entertaining; but also serious enough that he could satiate his obsession even so far from Amity.

He had been worried a bit about this issue, promising himself that he would fly back on weekends and give a hand to his B-team (a name they didn’t like but he still referred to them like that); but with time the inmates of Arkham, weird enough, became part of his ‘people’ per say.

It was a little bit like with ghosts - encounter, banter, beat up, return to the cell. The familiarity of the motions made the adaptation smooth and soon he felt comfortable enough to stop pretending to be human in the prison.

Jazz always told him to be careful with that around non-amity parkers. People from their hometown were used to seeing weird stuff and brushing it off as a ‘ghost thing’, but here, in Gotham, shining green eyes and sharp fangs was not going to be overlooked. And if people noticed, they would talk. And eventually reach the Bat’s ears.

Not good.

“And then I told that guy to mind his own business and he hit me! Can you believe it?” Danny came back to reality, nodding along. “Red defended my honor, because she’s amazing like that, but still we ended up here anyway.”

“Totally uncool.” He said.

“I know right?”

Danny sighed and checked his watch, knowing he had to move on with his patrol. “Hey, Harley, good talk. Do you mind if we continue after I finish my rounds?”

“Sure thing sweetcheeks,” she blew a kiss. “I will be here waiting.”

“You better.” His glare wasn’t The glare, but she still stuck her tongue at him and jumped down from the perch she had been swinging from.

He smiled from the other side of the bars, knowing that the other guard watching him from the reinforced door was one heartbeat away from a panic attack. No other guard dared approach Harley, with a good reason. The CAUTION tape on the floor indicating the minimum safe distance was also because of a good reason.

But Danny? Danny could go wherever he wanted.

Weird enough he felt at home in Arkham. Which shouldn’t be something positive, he was aware, but the inmates reminded him so much of his usual ghost villains that he inevitably formed a bond with them. He also guesses that the fact that he was already dead deleted the fear factor - these mortals didn’t even know that ghosts were a thing and couldn’t dream of harming him in a way that matters.

Also, maybe, because he soon found out he was higher in the food chain than any of these people. So far no one emitted a predatory aura stronger than his, and he checked. Not even Killer Croc, not even Bane. The clown dude, Joker, he still hasn't met (he had been told it was a matter of time, if he survived until then), but as far as he knew, that dude was only human and in theory he couldn’t harm him.

(Anyway, he hated clowns. After Freakshow he hoped to never meet one, but the Joker was, like, the main villain in this place so yay, his bad luck strikes again!)

“Good night, Mr Fenton,” a voice called for him. He turned, finding Edward Nygma in his prison clothes cross legged on the bed. He looked bored. “I heard funny things from behind the walls today.”

“Yeah? Like what?” He walked closer. The other guard he was doing rounds with stepped away from the cell, one hand on the radio, ready to call for backup. Danny rolled his eyes.

“No information is free, Mr Fenton.”

“What would be the price, then?”

“Give me a riddle.”

Danny’s eyebrows went up. “But don’t you know a ton of those? What could I offer that you don’t have?”

Riddler stood from his bed and walked towards the bars. “You are odd. That makes you interesting. Some new, something different.” He pointed at Danny’s feet. “For starters, I think sneakers aren’t part of the regulated guard uniform.”

Danny also looked down. “I love my shoes. What’s the problem?”

He left out that the shoes were ghost proof and wore them in case he had to fight a ghost (unlikely, but paranoia so far kept him, well, not alive, but on top of the game).

“Odd.” Riddle said the word like it was a compliment. “I’m still waiting.”

“Hmmm…” He thought for a moment. “I have no life but I can die. What am I?”

Nygma rolled his eyes. “A battery. You really suck–”

“Nope! A ghost!”

Riddler blinked. Danny blinked. The answer was a battery but he didn’t know any good riddles. He was more of a puny guy.

“Did you hear about the Italian chef that died?”

“I don’t know if that-”

“He pastaway!”

Nygma breathed in. Breathed out.

“You are cute. I’ll let you pass only because the death puns are funny.” He sighed. “Okay, I heard there was a break out planned for tonight.”

That erased Danny’s smirk from his face. His eyes glowed for a moment with a green tint, but Edward thought it was a trick from the fluorescents.

“Is that so?” He tilted his head.

“The North block, I heard.”

“When?”

Before the Riddler could answer, the lights went down. The guard behind Danny shouted something about the radio not working. An EMP? The man’s heartbeat started picking up as he reached for the flashlight, turning it on and blinding Danny for a moment there.

“Huh? Your eyes…” The guard shook his head. “I’ll go to the Central room, stay put.”

Danny waited a few minutes, letting the darkness wash over him and the other inmates, who noticed what was going on and started cheering.

“So?” Nygma said. Danny turned, and could see perfectly well how the man tried to look towards his eyes, but was missing the spot by a mile. “Are you going to do something?”

The halfa smiled despite knowing that the inmate couldn’t see him. “Of course. I’d recommend you stay right in your cell, mister.”

“And if I try to escape in the confusion?” The bravery was only for show, Danny could hear Riddler’s heartbeat picking up under the soft glow of his eyes. Sam had told him it was creepy finding him in the kitchen at three in the morning, sitting in the dark, eyes reflecting light like an overgrown cat.

“You have the choice. But that would be a bad choice for you.”

***

He didn’t bother changing forms, not that he could actually hide anywhere secluded enough and not alert anyone with the shiny rings of light. Daniel Fenton in his guard uniform walked the hallways of the Asylum quietly recommending the agitated inmates to keep quiet.

They listened.

Maybe it was how no one heard or saw him come until he touched them on the shoulder.

Now in the North Block he focused for a moment, noticing where the quickest heartbeats were located. Shouts from guards and some gunshots broke the murmur of the nervous darkness around him.

Someone had died. He knew.

But at least he found where they were - the hunt was on.

Gravity could barely hold him as he ran towards where the soul left this realm, his sneakers not making any noise as they hit the concrete, brain working with all the extra information from his heightened senses in the dark.

He found them.

They were four, the usual thugs, big broad men with guns and laughing and cackling at their last kill and what they would do after they got out of Arkham.

Down the hallway he could see the body of one of his colleagues - dead. His name was Carlos. He had a daughter. His husband was preparing a birthday party for him but it was supposed to be a secret. Carlos was dead.

“Where do you think you are going?” He said, letting his aura expand, eyes fixed on who looked to be the leader. “I suggest you go back to your cells.”

“Wha-”

“It’s the kid!”

“When did he-?”

“Go back to your cells.” Danny said again, not blinking even when they pointed their flashlights at him. His breathing was controlled, not letting rage consume him and do what he really wanted to do - which was pummel these criminals until they couldn’t eat solid food for months. It would be unprofessional.

“Or what, kiddo?” The leader said mockingly.

Danny hummed. “Or I’ll have to escort you back by force.”

He widened his stance, his mouth curving slightly up when the henchman at the back flinched.

“Fat chance, shortie, we are getting out of this place tonight.”

“You can do that. But I will find you and I will drag you back.”

The leader laughed and pointed his gun at the guard. “We don’t fear the Bat. Why the hell would we fear you?”

He opened fire, his henchmen took that as a signal and opened fire as well, not caring about if they hit the other cells or another person. They fired until the clips were emptied, and then they waited for the smoke and debris to settle and check that the guard was dead.

Danny clicked his tongue from behind them.

They turned, for a moment noticing the glowing green eyes on the guard’s face. Weren’t they blue a moment ago?

Danny's smile was predatory, from ear to ear, teeth unnaturally white and suspiciously sharp. “That was a bad choice.” He tilted his head, but the rest of his body was eerily still. “You should have gone back to your cell.”

The would-be-escapees screamed, throwing their guns away and turning to run. Danny was there again, green eyes looking down at them with barely reigned in fury.

“No running in the hallways.” Was the last thing they heard before everything went black.

***

Danny blinked when the lights came back on, ignoring the uncomfortable switch from night vision to his normal human eyes.

“Rowdy night?” Harley looked up from her book with a knowing smile. She probably knew by now what had happened, it took ages to calm down everyone and restore order in the whole prison.

Danny sighed deeply, letting his body slide down the bars of his new friend’s cell. She reminded him so much of Ember, or at least, the Ember he got to know after she stopped trying to take over the world.

“Mondays, am I right?”

The inmate snickered, approaching him to sneak a hand through the bars and pat his head. “There, there.”

“Is it always so tiring around here?” Danny tilted his head, angling it to see Harley’s face when she smiled.

“Sometimes it is funnier. Sometimes the Joker is here and everyone is tense.” Her mouth curved down a little when she said his name. “But something tells me with you around here things are going to change.”

Danny hummed in response, letting the pats calm him down a little. A colleague had died and he thought, because that’s how he was, that it was his fault. He could have prevented that if he had been more aware, if he had heard about the escape sooner. He had let his guard down, relaxed, thinking that Phantom wasn’t needed anymore.

He couldn’t have that in his new haunt. Things were going to change, and maybe this time Danny Fenton could make a difference.

BACK TO THE ARCHIVE (and check my other DP fics)

#danny phantom #danny fenton #danny phantom fanfiction #danny phantom fics #op danny #batman #batman dc #dc comics #arkham asylum #danny arkham security guard #Danny arkham security guard AU #danny phantom fanfic #dp x dc #detective comics #batfam #jasmine fenton

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