#It's way more helpful than any therapist at Arkham can do

[masquenoire]

  ✿ 

PRE-ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP MEME 0.2

“Damn, I haven’t heard that bitch’s name since we were both kids. How the mighty have fallen...”

FRIENDSHIP.     childhood friends  /  work buddies or coworkers  /  family friends  /  friends with benefits  /  smoking buddies  /  adventure buddies  /  fake friends  /  recently friends  /  party buddies  /  friendship of need  /  dying friendship  /  circumstantial friendship  /  partners in crime  /  old friendship  /  [ your muse ] is the good influence  /  [ your muse ] is the bad influence  /  [ my muse ] is the good influence  /  [ my muse ] is the bad influence  /  opposites attract  /  ride or die  /  frenemies  /  roommates or flatmates  /  penpals  /  exes to friends  /  enemies to friends  /  other

ROMANCE.     childhood sweethearts  /  [ your muse is mines ] childhood crush  /  [ my muse is yours ] childhood crush  /  exes  /  exes to lovers  /  forbidden lovers  /  highschool sweethearts  /  secret relationship  /  opposites attract  /  long distance  /  unrequited [ from your muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from my muses side ]  /  unrequited [ from both sides ]  /  skinny love  /  friends to lovers  /  enemies to lovers  /  spurious relationship  /  power couple  /  newly entered  /  soulmates [ metaphorical ]  /  soulmates  [ literal ]  /  awkward  /  turning toxic  /  toxic love  /  cheating [ on your muse ]  /  cheating [ with your muse ]  /  other

FAMILIAL.     siblings [ half ]  /  siblings [ step ]  /  [ my muse ] is an older sibling figure to your younger sibling figure  /  [ my muse ] is a younger sibling figure to your older sibling figure muse  /  [ my muse ] is a parental figure to yours (only to deceive others)  /  [ my muse ] is a child figure to your muse  /  guardian figure  /  legal guardian  /  adoptive child  /  foster child  /  [ your muse ] is taken under mines wing  /  [ my muse ] is taken under yours wing  /  other (not by blood or marriage but they’ve known each other so long they’re basically siblings at this point)

ANTAGONISTIC.     dangerous to each other  /  dangerous to others  /  unpredictable  /  rivals  /  petty  /  developing into sexual or romantic tension  /  based off family matters  /  based of off circumstance  /  based of professional matters  /  based off misunderstanding or lies  /  conflict of ideology  /  betrayal  /  hero - villain dynamic  /  enemies  /  fight club  /  friends turned enemies  /  lovers turned enemies  /  exes turned enemies  /  other

[dairy-farmer]

Tim getting lobotomised from the villain of the week, now Bruce has to look after him in every way (including sexually). Dick and Jason are sad that Tim's changed at first but slowly they accept it and it brings them back together as a family, Tim seems happier now anyway, watching children's shows, carrying around his plushies, getting fucked, being bathed, why bother trying to fix him when it makes them all happier? (Maybe Bruce even arranged it in the first place to keep him from leaving)

tim becoming permanently injured snaps something among them. because it's one thing being killed, another thing becoming physically and mentally scarred. with tim it's a deliberate act of cruelty designed to extract the most pain from tim's friends and family by forcing them to see what they've taken away from tim.

tim. poor tim. they were too late. it's not until his distress beacon turns on, activated by this new villain that decided to make their name by taking out one of the 'birds' of gotham, that they arrive.

his injuries are minor. some rope burn around his wrists and a cauterized circular scar above tim's eyes where the sick fuck had used a laser to sever tim's prefrontal cortex.

they don't want to believe at first. but the villain had left documentation, scans, taunts to show them how they were a "threat" to be taken seriously. they track him down in a matter of hours, it's the fastest they've ever caught a rogue. they won't go to arkham. it's highly unlikely they will ever even leave a hospital bed for the rest of their lives given the damage jason had done. because unfortunately for that villain, red hood had gotten to their location three minutes before anyone else and that had been more than enough time for him to instill his own personal brand of justice.

they extend every effort they can to fix this. leslie says there's not much she can do. yes she's a doctor but neurology is not her specialty but even without it she knows that...injuries with the brain are very complex and intricate matters. bruce extends every effort. he flies in doctors, specialists, doctors who have been retired for years but had been the best of the best, professors who don't even practice but have done more for the branch of science than anyone else, he gets special permission to visit villains in prison to get consults from them even though it burns the ethics seared into his bones but he can't deny that some of them know their stuff.

in the end its the same. the brain is complex. it's a deeply important organ but so much of it is still an enigma. bruce is given prescriptions for tim, recommendations for therapists for him, told that his support is all he can offer, a few of them even tell him that...that a care home might be the best option for tim if he doesn't feel equipped to deal with someone who is disabled.

at every person who can't help him bruce and the others grow more desperate. they're thinking of consulting magic users but zatanna says that's not their specialty. bruce thinks of consulting that short list of metas the league has of those with healing powers but none are particularly skilled and can only hear minor cuts and breaks. bruce thinks...of the pit...

and stops himself. and in a moment knows he's gone too far because he knows that tim would never want that. he wouldn't want the pit. and so...with a heavy heart bruce calls it off. tells the others to stop their desperate search for a cure or a fix. they have to accept this. tim is still alive, he's still tim. the brother and son they all love so much. and tim might be a little hurt and a little less of himself but that doesn't mean they love him any less.

so they have to try, to try and adjust to how things are now. it's easier than they thought it would be. but also hard in ways they hadn't expected.

tim had a temper sometimes, tim was a grouch in the mornings, tim got angry and always knew what to say to hurt someone, tim was independent, tim was private, tim was funny, tim was rude, tim stood up for himself, tim never hesitated to call them out on their shit.

tim was an incredibly self sufficient person. he was like a plant that could go months without being watered and it wouldn't die. he was resilient. and they didn't realize how much tim was away and absent until they saw him each day to help him. bath him, dress him, feed him.

tim isn't fully helpless. there's some element of cognition he retained given that he still refuses to eat the navy beans that alfred makes for lunch one day. tim has preferences, things he likes and wants and enjoys. it's easy to love tim like this. he's so...simple. so easy to please and make happy and ask for forgiveness.

dick holds and kisses the top of tim's head all afternoon while movie after movie plays and tim doesn't fuss or whine once.

damian finds it easy to endear tim to him by offering little gifts. chocolates, candy, stuffed animals. things that make tim trust him without a second thought and it soothes some hurt indignation inside him that had always simmered because he and tim had never really fallen into that easy relationship once damian had stopped wanting to kill him.

jason...jason finds an ease at being with tim. a simplicity. he'd always harbored some suspicion towards the other. he was...conniving. sneaky. it was just hard to believe his words and not feel like he was being conned or used as some pawn in a bigger scheme because jason wasn't cooperative and when bruce wanted something that's what HE did and everyone said that bruce and tim were so similar...

maybe it's cruel. fucking disgusting even. but...jason likes tim better this way. tim's capacity for trickery has been greatly cut down. jason could ask if tim spoiled his dinner by eating chocolates when he wasn't supposed to and tim would clutch a stuffed hippo close and say he didn't, all while melted chocolate would be smeared on his lips and cheeks. tim is an open book. and with a family full of bats its a breath of fresh air. even alfred isn't fully transparent. with tim there's an honesty between them.

tim is different now. softer, weaker...sweeter.

they get used to him fast. tim requires more careful attention but its nothing they aren't willing to do.

until dick goes to get tim dressed for the day and finds his panties soaked through and tim making soft sounds and pressing his thighs together.

and bruce tells them that tim may have become changed mentally but his body is still very much that of a young adult. that he has needs and desires even if he can't understand them or do anything about them.

and they try to ignore it initially. dick cleans between tim's legs and ignores tim's soft noises and the wet stickiness coating his thighs. they ignore the soft slopes of tim's body, the hard ridges and lines of him having softened from retirement.

tim grows agitated, frustrated, upset. bruce already had tim on birth control because the pain of his period would just confuse and cause him unnecessary pain.

so..jason brings up a possible solution. an idea. there are...toys they can give to tim, things to help him along. tim's clearly in discomfort.

and they do. they try to offer them but tim doesn't understand what to do with them. he gets frustrated, upset.

so...they need to help him. just like how they have to help tim in other ways now they have to help him like this. if that means they help part tim open and press a toy in before turning it on so tim can squirm and writhe on it well, that's just part of the job.

they escalate without realizing it.

sometimes they're out in the garden or on the couch in the sitting room, or in the library and tim gets needy... but they don't want to go all the way to tim's room where they store his toys. so...they just use their fingers. their hands are clean so it should be okay and tim seems to enjoy it so much more. he's curled up close and weakly clutching at their clothes while they press fingers in and gently rub at his front- so they keep doing that until they suddenly they don't use the toys anymore.

damian is the one who gets curious. he's young, he's horny, he's curious- they really should've realized that. and damian after having his fingers dripping and hand drenched with tim's..release. he grows...curious. the smell, the taste...

before he knows it he's using his mouth on tim instead of his fingers and tim just likes it so much better. he gets all sweet and pliant afterwards and damian likes seeing the different reactions so he keeps doing it until dick finds him with his head buried under tim's skirt while tim squirms and whines on the carpet, his hands wrapped tightly around a stuffed giraffe.

damian doesn't get...grounded. but he is reprimanded by dick for allowing tim to lie on the floor which could hurt his back and for making tim's panties messy and not properly cleaning him up.

it progresses. it just does. suddenly dick is gently poking the head of his cock into tim, checking his reactions and whispering assurances and telling tim that dick will make sure this feels good that he wants tim to know what this feels like because he will never have gotten to feel it otherwise.

sex with tim is nice, he's so vocal and doesn't hesitate to express how much he enjoys something which is refreshing. every person dick had ever fucked always tried to retain some kind of dignity or clung to the idea that they needed to pretend like he wasn't good at what he was doing to 'check his ego' or something. tim reaches for him, kissing at his cheeks, and whines so sweetly and breathlessly when dick presses in nice and deep filling up his baby cunt with cock. tim is tight and hot and so pliable and easy to move around into good positions and though dick may have been hesitant at first that changes after the first time he sinks his cock into tim with a thick wet sound.

it's good. it's nice. its addicting fucking tim. pumping their hard cocks into him, watching it disappear into tim's hot little cunt, pressing flush to his puffy lips, gently fondling his baby tits, and fucking him in all different ways until he's clenching hard and going 'ah ah ah' on their cocks while the head is pressed right against the entrance to his womb and their spilling ribbons of warm cum all over his walls.

tim is so much happier after they fuck him. he cooperates better, behaves better, has less tantrums, is more affectionate. its a win win for all of them.

the only rule to it is that they're not allowed to fuck tim through the night.

'you're robbing him of his sleep' bruce scolds them after tim can barely stay awake at breakfast because damian had kept him awake the entire night by fucking him. its the reason tim sleeps in bruce's bed with him at night, so none of them get any ideas and also so bruce can prevent tim from rolling off the bed.

it also means bruce is the first of them to get to fuck tim as soon as he wakes up when his cunt is all warm and wet. bruce enjoys fucking tim's thighs, not quite trusting himself to push in. he's significantly bigger than his sons after all, even jason doesn't try to work in more than half his cock. but tim seems content either way, laying under him, underwear and little shorts pushed down to his knees, shirt pushed up to expose little, pink tits. bruce coats his cock in wetness and fucks the wet seam, listing to the thick wet noises and squishes as tim whines and grinds up against him.

truly tim has never been happier. the family has never been happier, and bruce has never been more content.

he knew when he'd found that new villain's plans during his raid of the office building they worked to track down a different criminal that he'd made the right choice in stepping back. he'd considered how things would turn out and they'd far exceeded his expectations.

sabotaging tim's distress beacon to delay by half an hour once activated was the best decision bruce had ever made. tim had been making to many moves that had bruce tensing, making too much talk of perhaps moving to san francisco permanently.

no. at least this way bruce's family stayed together. and thats all that really mattered in the end.

[zeroducks-2]

I've just finished Gotham Knights and I get that people aren't happy with the fucked ass haircuts but like, I do believe this is the most progressive and well written Jason Todd we've ever gotten in recent times. Even in recent comics. Like damn, bro goes to therapy, picked up his interests and hobbies again (e.g. the cooking and the reading and the shit talking) from his "Robin makes me Magic" days. Like yeah, he's still edgy, but he was murdered by a fucking Clown, he's allowed to be edgy. We got a Jason Todd that isn't diluted to "the angry black sheep character" archetype. He's healing, working on himself, his relationship with his family, and he's fighting his way (brutal and all strength and tact) to do what he stands for and what he believes is right. And his heart is just so big and full of compassion, but it doesnt blind him and make him wishful or naive. He's so well balanced in Gotham Knights. I hope this version of his character is written in future comics. I'm sick of DC writers making him this angry anti-hero who's only reasoning and purpose in life is to get back at Batman for failing him and so many others. Jason is allowed to be more than his trauma. Thank you Gotham Knights for seeing that.

I'm glad you enjoyed the game anon. I personally am not a fan, not because of Jason but because of the game itself. The dialogues felt stale, more reminiscent of tumblr "incorrect Batfam quotes" than the source material, and the NPCs felt dull compared to how full of life they were in the Arkham series (so much so I would hide in random spots just to hear them talking about the current game events, especially in AK). The most unforgivable bit to me was Tim not having ever fought the rogues because he's "young" - I've never seen anything more insulting and infantilizing for a character which already heavily suffers for being treated as the useless one, never allowed to participate in the game changing dynamics or to have meaningful arcs, and is relegated to being the cute little bisexual twink.

That being said it's a matter of taste, and Gotham Knights is surely a good game for those who prefer a wholesome loving family approach to these characters. Jason working on himself and going to therapy and having a good relationship with his "family" is surely what lots of people (especially in here) want to see. Me, I don't think any amount of therapy would help since therapy is based on shared human experiences and repetition of patterns, and Jason died and dug himself out of his own grave. That's not a trauma any therapist would have the means to help with. They indeed "diluted" the event in the game, changed the fact that Jason dug himself out of his own grave and was functionally braindead and homeless for two years, and made it so UTRH never happened in order for therapy to make any sense, because there is no reconciliation possible with a parent that slit your neck to save the person who broke all your bones with a crowbar and then murdered you.

It's kinda like when Wally went to therapy (canonically) after Barry's death. The therapist was a good one and he tried! But ultimately he didn't manage to make a real difference because Wally is the Flash, a super-powered creature with time bending powers who does things on the scale of absurdity, and who also happens to have had an extremely traumatic childhood and to have just lost the only person who ever loved him unconditionally. His problems have roots in reality but are out of the scope of any therapy method currently known to man.

And Jason is more than his trauma, but pretending his trauma doesn't inform his actions and can be solved with him "working on himself" is not an approach I hope they take in comics. I'd rather they went back to Jason doing things his way and protecting the people of Gotham in the only manner he finds helpful, because he experienced on his own skin (twice!) that Batman's methods don't work. I'd rather they allowed him to stop clashing with Bruce as main theme of his stories, and have his own plotlines in which he's in between a vigilante and a mafia lord (which they were doing with Dick by the way, before chickening out and have Slade bomb Bludhaven) with Bruce only as a cameo sometimes.

We have a high number of morally irrepressible characters who always do the right thing more or less. I'd like Jason to be something different, something darker, because there is a dramatic lack of grey characters and anti-heroes which were sanded down to either 100% bad guys or 100% good guys. I hate that, why can't we have nuanced choices and people struggling with the darkness they carry, why does everyone need to be a perfect "unproblematic" paragon of goodness who would never do anything wrong. We have A LOT of characters like that and I love them, I really do! But if everyone and their families are like that then it's really frickin boring!

Plus, I'd like the characters to actually struggle with their past traumas in a meaningful way, otherwise why even giving them those traumas to begin with. Give me Tim still grappling with how he couldn't save his father, give me Dick haunted by all the times he slipped and let go of the no killing rule in a way or another, give me Jason haunted by the tragedy of being abandoned by every person who was supposed to protect him and working from there to being the protector of everyone else.

That's what I hope DC would pick up and write about. I was never much for fluff and wholesome things unless it's in small amounts, I always preferred strife and complexity. But hey, I'm glad you enjoyed the game, at least one of us did!

[ectonurites]

My personal pet peeve is when fics just ,ake up shit to make other characters look better or worse than the others. Like Dick never threatened to put Tim in Arkham that’s just character assassination or when they make up shit and say Jason protects women or children and the rest of the batfamily doesn’t understand him when Jason has explicitly harmed both women and children in the past. Idk it really makes me mad when they tear down other characters to put their favorite on a pedestal lol

Understandable 100%!!!!!! I am also not a fan of that sort of thing.

Like, I do think that a certain amount of it is... accidental. There are a lot of people who interact with & make content about the batfam that have not read many (if any) comics themselves, meaning information comes secondhand and... well, the internet game of telephone leads to details getting lost or changed along the way. like, I have on more than one occasion spoken with people who genuinely believed Dick threatened to put Tim in Arkham and were shocked when I explained that no, he suggested Tim see a therapist in Metropolis in Red Robin #4 and people blew things out of proportion.

But regardless of whether the intention is character assassination (or in the Jason example, trying to make a character look 'better'/more righteous than they are typically portrayed to be in canon) or if it's just an honest mistake, it can still be very very annoying just how common these sorts of things are.

In general it's why I do like to answer questions and explain things when I can, so that I can point people at the actual canon and help... cut through the misinformation/mischaracterization. Like ultimately even I myself have my own opinions and biases that come into play when I'm the one retelling things, I'm human there's literally no way to avoid that, but I include sources and panels so that people can then go look further for themselves and not just take everything I say as fact.

At the end of the day, being a comics fan on here that really likes the actual canon (yes actual main comics canon is very flawed in many ways, but I still think it's interesting and it grasps my attention so much more than the popular fanon reinterpretations of things do) is... a frustrating experience more often than not.

[canidfeline]

Thomas Wayne's Journal - Page 117

I have scribbled in every other page in this journal either in a rage or a mental breakdown. Some rambles remain. (of which i will post later)

I'm 18 and it has been eight years since I was adopted. I have not used this journal much.

I have met someone. Someone that I sincerely cannot in good conscience go out with or tell Bruce, Alfred or any of my siblings about.

I've watched her and kept track of her and I learnt her name. Linnet Marrow. I don't doubt Bruce knows of her, he always does. He knows every one of Crane's students as a way of perhaps finding a contact that could help him. But I know her, I don't just know OF her.

She uses the alias Magpie. Ironic, considering Crane's name is Scarecrow. Although, maybe it makes sense. Sometimes I can't tell if she's Harley levels of obsessed with him, mentally vulnerable, drugged by him, or, in the same vein as the previous suggestion, has been exposed to enough fear toxin she's either scared enough of him she obeys everything he says to survive being killed, or is scared of everything apart from him and sees him as a saviour.

It would make sense, she's from a heavily religious background and family. Her father - who, by the way, could be another reason for her relationship with Crane. Father issues? Anyhow, her father was a heavy catholic, probably the one who instilled the fear of God into her, probably harshly, possibly forcefully. Her mother was a speech/language therapist. Possible experience at Arkham, but every other one of my research results conflicts with the last.

Three siblings, neither exactly remarkable. One as pretty as h I'm not writing that. I'm ashamed of myself.

She is pretty. As much as I am ashamed of myself to admit. It's probably the reason I've even researched this much. I've been attracted to girls before, obviously. I'm an 18-year-old male. But mostly I was too afraid to approach them. I scratched that out so if this is found Dick, Tim, Jason, Cass, Steph and possibly Damian can't make fun of me.

So the whole manor. Apart from Alfred.

But, Linnet does attract me. Black hair with white highlights (possible trauma streaks like Jason's). I can't specify as I always wear the contacts when I'm fighting her, but her eyes are a very pretty amber. Yellow, maybe. I have no idea.

Average build for an 18-year-old female. If I can call her that, Dick told me some girls think that's weird to call them but I don't get it. Perhaps a bit more... starved, but not malnourished.

Tall, for a woman. Which... looks nice to me.

I've watched her, as I said. It was nice to observe her routine. She's surprisingly kind. A kleptomaniac, but a kind one. Someone with a strange view towards people, as she seems both extremely empathetic and extremely unempathetic. Her apartment is dingy but charming. The building opposite hers' roof is half-walled, so I had a good view of it and could still avoid detection. It's covered in plants so I'm surprised she isn't friends with Pamela, but it just makes the whole place look nicer.

I sound like a stalker.

Am I a stalker?

I am a stalker.

I haven't watched her change, so no more than Bruce.

I can't be with her. She is a criminal, not even a sympathetic one like Selina, she's fear-gassed people for Scarecrow, has taken hostages, and has been an ACCOMPLICE in multiple murders but hasn't actually murdered anyone.

I cannot do anything with this attraction, I just want to acknowledge it so I can move past it.

But she is pretty. Too pretty for what Scarecrow has her do.

I am in trouble.

[pencil-for-a-dog]

The best thing he can do.

Summary: Jazz and Danny argue about her last decision.

Characters: Danny Fenton, Jazz Fenton

Tags: Little angst I think, Halfa! Jazz, Au Danny Fenton is an overprotective brother, and older in this au, Fentons are not good parents, But Danny and Jazz are the best siblings, ooc bc Au and I don't know how to write, this came out as a fever dream i think, mention of Arkham, implied crossover (DCU), I have no beta for this, or knowledge of English, I'm not a native speaker. Drabble. I can't name things.

Words: 858

Notes: The idea, sketchs and more sketchs.

[AO3]

Jazz is not going to do an internship is going to work

Jazz could be the most mature girl he knows and the best little sister in the world, but she is going to give him a heart attack, seriously.

Look, Daniel Fenton, a.k.a Danny Fenton, is not a overprotective older brother, he just development the right amount of anxiety, protectiveness and instincts that comes with growing up in a house with two obsessive and kinda negligent scientist, a lot of dangerous chemicals around and a little sister who was supposed to be the normal one but she became a Halfa, fights with this white ghost dude, this definitely-not-a-therapist, this green and white techno ghost, this white and suspicious organization-

Huh, maybe white is the true color of evil.

But that's not the point.

THE POINT IS, Danny is NOT overprotective, he just cares a lot about his sister, maybe more than what he should, and she is on her way to give him the most spectacular heart attack in the history of humanity.

"YOU ARE GOING TO WHAT-" He yelled as he aggressively stood up, calling the attention of his co-workers. He didn't noticed it.

"Shhh, Danny! Low your voice!" A nervous voice said through his phone.

He took some breaths before he sat down again, this was unbelievable, truly unbelievable.

"Jazz" He started, quieter and more serious than his exalted tone from before "You can't do that"

Maybe it was because of the way he said it, maybe it was because they were arguing a lot, maybe it was the subject finally sinking into her brain, but the silence was the only thing he received from the other side.

He didn't know what to do, what to say, and he didn't have a chance before she speaked again.

"I'm legally an adult, Danny" she declared in an unexpressive note.

Danny felt cold.

("That's not an excuse" Everyone said "They may be adults but they didn't make good decisions"

" They should be there for you two"

"We're fine" He said

The sad look on their face said everything and nothing at the same time.

Danny knows they aren't fine)

"That doesn't mean a s- that doesn't mean anything Jazz!" Suddenly, he felt more conscious of where he was, as every time their parents appeared in the conversation, either directly or indirectly. After a brief look at the environment he started to cover his mouth with his hand, to hide what he says from his co-workers.

"Yes, it does" She cut him "That means I can do my own decisions without asking anyone and you can't force me to leave it Danny"

"But Jazz! It's Arkham! I'm not letting you go to Arkham to be the newest toy for those psycho- criminals!" He whispered in an aggressive way. The eyes on him never were for good reasons but he couldn't care less at this moment.

"I know what I'm doing!"

"It doesn't look like that-!"

"IT FEELS RIGHT, OK?" She screamed to interrupt him "It... It just feels right" her whisper was devastating for Danny, she was desperate, vulnerable

"Jazz..." He didn't say anything, he couldn't say anything else, she needs to explain to him, to make him understand and Danny understands it, it's about her and he must hear her reasoning to do that.

"It's just... I want to help, I need to help, to protect" There was no noise in any of the sides, but it wouldn't mattered anyways, they were in their own world of words "You... You wouldn't understand it Danny but I NEED this, I'm dead to a certain point, I'm connected to life through an obsession, a thought, this might be the best chance I have to have a nice life."

"... Stills Arkham, Gotham"

"Danny... Please, I need to"

He took a breath as he pushed down his frustration. He doesn't want to accept it but she's right, she is an adult who should make her own decisions even though they are going to bite her later. Even though she's too young, too dreamy, his baby sister had to grow up. Fast. Faster than any kid. Faster than anyone he knew. Faster than himself. Even though he made everything he could to avoid it.

He sighed. He doesn't want her to do this but, what can he do when he knows she would do it no matter what he does or says?

Inhale. Exhale.

"I still doesn't like it" Was said anyways "but I know you, Jazz, and I know I can't do anything when you're that determined"

Inhale. Exhale.

"Thanks big bro" the relief and the happiness in her voice were evident. Danny smiled. Shakily but smiled.

He knows the best he can do is support her. Be there for her.

To catch her whenever she falls. To help her to learn from her mistakes.

And she usually can handle herself, she's intelligent and a Halfa.

He knows that.

But he couldn't get the feeling of failing her (over and over again) away from his chest.

He thinks he will learn to live with it one day. Someday. (He know he won't)

But if he starts to make regular visits, then it's not his fault.

[nightcolorz]

Poorly describing my versions of the Gotham rogues:

Joker: “yolo” in its most dangerous form, def is writing a slow burn enemies to loves fic about him and Batman. Gay and homophobic 💯 The other rogues don’t invite him to pride celebrations anymore cause he’ll keep calling people slurs “as a joke”. Him and Edward have longterm beef, like schoolgirl levels of petty drama.

Harley Quinn: would describe herself as a “girlboss” unironically while committing heinous crimes. tweeted “clowns aren’t funny” after breaking up with Joker (ended up causing a huge scandal). The OG “I can fix him” girl. Is sort of the rogues free underground therapist (god knows they need it) cause they can’t get professional help without being sent to Arkham.

Poison Ivy: Breaking News: Cottagecore lesbian commits mass murder cause her plant wilted. She’s what republicans think environmentalists are. Would get in a fist fight with that vegan teacher cause “plants have feelings too”. Has beef with most of the male rogues, supports ‘kill all men’ without realizing it’s a joke (she prefers ‘kill all humans’ but figured she had to downgrade because the Gotham city sirens are humans technically).

Cat Woman: “OH NO! It appears I’ve gotten stuck backwards in the bank vault step-Bat 😏😏😏😏😏😏, looks like I’m not stealing any more diamonds today 😰😩”. Mad respect for Selina, she just wants diamonds and bat dick, no tragic backstory or complex motivations needed. I personally like to headcanon her as wearing a straight up cat costume (ears and a tail like a true furry) cause it’s way funnier to imagine a sophisticated rich woman dressing up as a cat to steal shit than whatever bullshit DCs up to these days. Trans catgirl supremacy 💎👍

Scarecrow: That one guy who gets angry at people because “Halloween costumes are meant to be scary 🤬😡😑😒”. Doesn’t even attempt to express emotions, is the human embodiement of this emoji: 😐. His presence is more jarring than threatening, his intimidation levels are somehow underwhelming and overwhelming at the same time. The other rogues have collectively decided that he’s asexual under no assumption other than that they don’t want to imagine Jonathan having sex. Overtime Jonathan has become basically fearless (he smokes his own fear gas like vape just to feel something). Jonathan and Harley became good friends when they both worked in Arkham, their dynamic is surprisingly wholesome.

The Riddler: Didn’t get hugged enough as a child and is now making it everyone’s problem. Would hold a bank hostage to show Batman his third grade spelling bee medal. Is the only autistic rogue that gets accommodations in Arkham because he won’t stop bugging the guards. FTM trans ofc (his names Edward Nygma for Christ's sake). He ran away from home at seventeen and faked his own death (his deadname is legally dead lmao). Uses the terms “alpha, beta, and omega male” unironically.

Two Face: “Yeah, I mean, I didn’t wanna blow up the orphanage either, but Y’know the coin said-” The other rogues talk to Harvey as if he’s constantly at his breaking point, which is half true. Harv is a stone cold mf, he’s the rock that’s holding Two Face together tbh. Edward calls Harvey and Harv Jekyll and Hyde cause he’s that original. All the rogues have at least a sneaking suspicion that Bruce Wayne is batman and use Harvey as their little primary source (being ex besties and everything), until they find out Selina and Bruce are a thing of course. No matter how much evidence he’s faced with Harvey will never accept Bruce Wayne is batmam, he’s not ready to consider that one of the only positive people in his life has been duking it out with him this whole time.

Penguin: He’s the rest of the rogues chill gay gangster uncle I don’t make the rules. The iceberg lounge is like the Batman villain equivalent of The Central Perk from friends (aka: its their default place to hangout). Oswald always makes a fuss about them not making reservations ahead of them but at this point it’s just performative. Everyone’s 99% sure Oswald and Edward fucked at some point (Edward always makes a show of flustering Oswald when he needs a loan). Ossie always takes care of the others belongings when they’re in Arkham (he has a special place in his heart for Jonathan‘s crows).

The Mad Hatter: I love Jervis lmao he just really likes Alice in Wonderland and that’s a valid ass villain motivation 👍. One of the smartest rogues but doesn’t get enough credit because of how childish he is. He dresses in kids clothes, not just because he wants to but because he’s small af and can’t fit in shit. In public while the rogues are undercover Jervis usually wears a beanie or a baseball cap (he’d get spotted instantly if he wore his usual, but on bad days Jervis can’t bear to be without a hat). Jonathan and Jervis play chess a lot together in Arkham, and frequently engage in intellectual discussion, Edward tends to be a piss baby when Jon encourages him to do the same, he’s not ready to accept the reality that Jervis can match his intelligence.

Killer Croc: Waylon has a surprising amount in common with Jonathan, they share southern solidarity. He doesn’t travel out of the sewer often so the rogues will occasionally come to visit Waylon there (Edward always makes sure to complain loudly about the smell). Will show immense affection and loyalty to anyone who treats him as human (poor guy just needs a friend ☹️).

Mr Freeze: Literally just dead inside, someone give this poor bastard a hug. Victor stands as the most awkward rogue, he‘s sorta like the odd one out. The other rogues don’t interact with him that often because he’s sort of a party pooper. He’s the straight friend on thin ice, haha get it. Mr Freeze is my sisters favorite Batman villain because she thought the ice puns were funny in Batman in Robin, little does she know I’m embarrassing myself on tumblr in her glory.

Music Meister: So many of the Gotham rogues have horrible childhood trauma and Music Meister is just like “people bullied me for being a theater kid 😩😭💔😔”. In all honesty he’s iconic, in my au universe thingy I have him join the dork squad latter on and he sticks out like a sore thumb for a bit. I feel like him and Jervis would really hit it off though (mind control buddies, ha), although Jervis would always get him to sing Alice in Wonderland songs. In Arkham they have him wear a dog collar thingy and zap him when he sings, he gets bullied for that lol. anyways I’m sure I could make more of these, but it’s 2:20 am and my mind went blank. If y’all liked this I could always put more au headcanons out (I have A LOT)

[chocolate1721]

I haven’t seen a lot of the class touring Arkham fics anymore, so here’s my prompt. Ok more salt and rogue trying to adopt Marinette.

So the class is touring Arkham. They were walking through the cafeteria or recreation room, their guide was rushing them because the inmates are due to come any minute. Lila slows down and trips Marinette, then she kicks Marinette’s sketchbook across the room. The class leave Marinette behind while she is scrambling for her book. When she looks up she finds two of Gotham’s Rogues in front of her.

Harley and Ivy weren’t expecting to have anything exciting to happen. There has been gossip about a foreign class touring Arkham, but other than that it’s been pretty quiet. They walked into the recreation room and froze. There is a child there. There is a child by herself there. They immediately went over to her, and they saw shock in her eyes when she saw them.

“Hey there girlie whatcha doing here by yourself?” Harley asks her gently.

“Uhm, my class and I are on a tour, but it looks like they forgot me.”

Harley and Ivy steered her towards an abandoned sofa and sat on either side of her. They soon got her to spill what’s happened. Harley went into ‘therapist’ mode. Marinette didn’t know how long she was talking about her problems, but she soon had her head in Harley’s lap while Harley strokes her hair.

Once all of the tears have been shed. Marinette showed them her designs. Some based on Gotham architecture, some based on the vigilantes, finally presenting outfits based on them. Ivy and Marinette start talking about making an eco friendly fabric. Harley knoticed what time it is and walks over to the door. She bangs on it a few times to get someone’s attention.

[[More]]

“What is it?”

“You know that French tour from earlier?”

“Yeah what about it?”

Harley moves enough for him to see Marinette talking passionately with Ivy. “I think that left someone behind.”

The worker pales drastically. They ran like a bat outta hell to get their superiors. This news ran up the chain of command until it got to Gordon.

Gordon was having a stressful evening. The Joker recently escaped, there were more muggings this past week than usual, and now he gets a call from Arkham. Only telling him to get over there as fast as possible. Not knowing what he is going up against he called Batman.

Batman and Red Hood arrived at Arkham. As they approach Gordon to see what’s going on they hear a worker panically describing how he found a French child in the room surrounded by the inmates. Red Hood demands to know which room. Once getting the info they both rush to the room. They were expecting the worse: torturing, beatings, crying. What they were NOT expecting is a small French girl braiding Poison Ivy’s hair while having Harley Quinn braid her own hair.

“The riddler should be shot and his clothes should be burned, then the ashes have to be scattered at the four corners of the world. The different shade of green on that man is more than a forest. Like, having a green themed outfit is fine. Wearing it everyday is fine. But what is NOT FINE is whereing every shade of green PLUS purple question marks. It’s like he’s asking to be slapped!” Marinette ranted.

Red Hood grabbed Batman’s shoulder and pulled him out of the room. He turned fully to Batman, placing both hands on his shoulders, he started shouting. “YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO ADOPT HER! DO YOU HEAR ME! SHE IS TOO PURE AND INNOCENT! I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO CORRUPT HER!”

Batman just brushes him off and (glides? Shadow melts? Skulks?) into the room.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but may I ask what is going on?”

Marinette yelps in suprise. Spinning around to come face-to-face with the dark knight himself. “Uh-um-I-I-I-“

“She won a scholarship for her class. They were taking a tour today and left her behind. She said she has been bullied by the class for a while, and there is this one girl lying about everything.” Harley intervened for Marinette.

“Hmmm, you won the Martha Wayne scholarship?” Marinette nods shyly. Batman kneels down to be eye level with Mari. “What’s your name?”

Marinette looks at him and smiles brightly. “My name’s Marinette.”

After being dazzled by her bright, sunshine smile. (Red Hood is in the background being the dramatic ass he is shielding his eyes and yelling “TOO BRIGHT”) Batman then speaks up. “Your class wasn’t supposed to tour Arkham.”

Marinette freezes. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“Arkham is far too dangerous to tour. Who decided that the class was to come her.” Batman questioned her as they walked towards the door.

Before she could answer Harley interrupted. “Oi, Batsy! You can’t adopt her! She is our baby!”

“That isn’t up to you Harley.” Batman retorted.

“I told you earlier Bats, you’re not adopting another one” Hood spoke up.

“B-b-but I already have parents” Marinette informs them.

“It’s ok sweet pea we adopted you emotionally.” Ivy soothes.

“Ok let’s go inform Gordon what happened.” Red Hood directs her to the commissioner while Batman stepped away to make a few calls. He then calls Marinette’s parents, and tells them what happened. They give him permission to watch over their daughter.

By the time he walks back to where Marinette is, both her and Red Hood are ready to go. Hood helps Marinette into the back of the Batmobile, then climbs in next to Batman. Batman then turns to Marinette. “I called Mr. Wayne and informed him of what happened. He told me to bring you to his house, he wants to know what made yours class think you had a to of Arkham.”

“Thank you Mr. Batman.”

Marinette gets out of the batmobile and meets Alfred at the door. Batman calls Red Robin. “Red Robin I want you to find out why the class went to Arkham today.”

“10-4 B”.

By the time everyone returned from the cave Red Robin had what he needed.

“So it turns out one of the students made a fake email, under your name and told the teacher that they had a tour that was left off of the schedule. Then sent an email to Arkham to have them expect them.”

“Who was the student?”

“A Lila Rossi.”

“Hmmmm it seems like we will have to keep an eye on the situation.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok so now it’s a few days later and the class is at Wayne Enterprise taking a tour. When the Riddler suddenly takes them hostage.

“Which one of you is Marinette?” Riddlers demanded

The class has no hesitation when pushing Marinette into the him. Marinette quickly regains her balance and squared up to him.

“What do you want with me.”

The Riddler gets close to her face in a dramatically scary way. Then quickly backs up and shows off his outfit. “I heard you don’t think I’m stylish.”

This is all the invitation that Marinete needed. She lays into him. No mercy.

“Absolutely. It’s worse in person than in the pictures!”

The Riddler gasps dramatically. “How dare-“

“Oh I dare. I dare I can redesign your entire wardrobe and make it look 10 times better.”

As all the hostages are being saved the class tries to leave, only to be stopped by an officer.

“Ma’am I’m sorry but you have to stay and give your statements.”

Bustier was insisting that it was too dangerous for them to stay there. If the police want their statements then they can come to their hotel and get them. The officer motions to the bus driver to not leave. The bus driver is more than happy to stay put. He is sick and tired of this ungrateful class.

Not too long after, Marinette and the Riddler walk out. The Riddler looks excited about his new clothes. He is so ready he heads straight to Gordon. He asks Gordon if he can have a package delivered to Arkham. Gordon is suspicious until Marinette shows him her designs. Gordon agrees.

As everyone is giving their statements Lois Lane arrives. Alya is extatic, she thanks Lila for getting her an interview with her idol. Only to turn around and see her idol interviewing Marinette.

Lois marches towards the girl who seems to be at the center of all this. A small girl standing next to the Riddler. She approaches her and asks for an interview. The girl agrees but apologizes in advance for any miscommunication between them. Lois asks her what happened. Marinette explained how the Riddler came to see if she really didn’t like his clothes and how she ended up redesigning them.

“But how would he know you didn’t like them?”

“Maybe Aunt Harley and Aunt Ivy told him?” Marinette shrugs.

“Wait! As in Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy?! How do you know them?!”

“Oh we met when my class left me behind in Arkham.” Marinette says nonchalantly.

Everyone around them freezes.

Caline quickly comes over and starts telling Lois that “you can’t trust everything she says. We are from France, so she most likely misunderstood you.” She continues to try and pass of Marinette as incompetent, troubled, attention seeking, and being a bad role model for the other students. All of this is caught on camera.

Bustier then roughly guides Marinette back to the class.

As Lois is processing this, the officer that stopped the class from leaving came over and explained what the class did. Leaving that same student behind in a hostage situation, then demanding to leave. Lois is horrified.

Both she and the officer go to Gordon and ask if they can use the body cameras of the officers there in the story.

Gordon immediately agrees. Once he knows why.

The story ran that very night.

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

just because you’re afraid it doesn’t mean you’re broken.

Titans 3.05

once more into the cold dark void of the internet with my stream-of-consciousness take on a superhero tv show...

spoilers ahead.

1. i cannot believe that among the first things i get to hear in this episode with my own two ears is the line 'eluded our overdudes'. why must you give me such pain along with so much joy, show?

1.5. scarecrow stringing jason along on this path to red-hood-dom is not something i would’ve ever expected, but does kind of make sense. 

1.55. i don’t know all the details of the original resurrection arc in the comics but i like that jason, weirdly, has a greater role to play in his own demise and rebirth? i think it makes it easier to draw a line between his past trauma, the demonstrably shitty and terrifying responsibility of being robin, the ways bruce and the titans wronged him, his responses to that, the reasons he turns to scarecrow, and his final evolution to red hood. it makes for a smoother character arc rather than a one that was interrupted for two decades before somebody went oh hey let’s resurrect that kid that the audience once voted to kill and make him an anti-hero!

1.75. what’s crane giving him? anti fear toxin? anyway, crane is a fucking creep and i’m not sure i want to see a whole lot of him on my screen.

2. oh, um, heads up: there’s a long sequence of unsteady cam + flickering lights right after the title card upto the 3:16 mark. it’s a bit headache-inducing so if you want to skip, you can go ahead and do that. 

2.45. that’s... weird... why would he dream about... donna...

ok, who am i kidding. i’m going to jump right into my theory about Why Titans Makes Sense Actually because the show itself is apparently not interested in explaining itself:

a) it makes no sense for jason to be conjuring up donna--who famously did not care much for him!--in his dreams. (he wasn’t even there when she died.) or for her to be telling him don’t go or there’s still time.

b) this leads me to think that that’s actually donna, in some sort of limbo between life and death, the kind of place where jericho used to be

c) rachel has demonstrated that she has the power to link the minds of the titans across great distances--she called jason and hank/dawn for help in 2.01, she linked up everybody later in the season, projected dick’s hallucination of his father into their brains without even realising she was doing it, and in the finale, she managed to get dick into conner’s brain. she’s in themyscira now. is this how she gets donna back to life? but reaching out to her in that non-space between life and death?

d) the next obvious question is: why isn’t donna appearing in the dreams of the other titans? she probably is, but they have better reason to be dreaming about her since they were actually close to her, unlike jason.

e) but why would she warn jason in particular? does she foresee jason entering the afterlife--however briefly? does she have an idea of what jason plans to do and what he will become?

f) anyway, more trippy mindscapes and weird psychic powers, yay!

2.5. my heart clenched when bruce comforted jason post-nightmare: clearly i’ve been reading way too much batfam fic. this is a side of bruce we haven’t really been told to expect by all the characters on the show calling him a ‘psychopath’ (*cough*unreliablenarrators*cough*) and him getting jason to speak to a professional speaks volumes about the kind of self-reflection he’s done post dick’s departure, and maybe some of the regrets he has with regards to how he dealt with dick’s traumas.

i mean, just look at him when jason dismisses his concerns! BRUCE IS TRYING JASON

anyway, i have a whole lot more i want to say about this, but i’ll save it for later. 

also: LESLIE THOMPKINS!!!!

3. i really like molly--and i love that she’s a friend from before jason got taken in by bruce, the implication that they meet up regularly and that she’s a grounding influence on him (tho clearly not grounding enough to not go along with his dumbass idea about confronting a child trafficker alone). 

3.5. aw, jason. robin was his armour against everything in the world that would throw him down and chew him to bits, but san francisco proved that even robin wasn’t enough to protect him. it’s really interesting how ‘disillusionment with the idea of robin’ is so integral to the traumas of both dick and jason but in such different ways. 

4. LESLIE!!!!!!! i even forgive her office being so goddamn blue because leslie! 

4.5. it makes so much sense for titans!verse leslie to be a therapist, because this show is so inward looking anyway, and therapist sessions are a useful tool to showcase this character work in a story. besides, at least in fanfic, leslie often seems to double up as a counsellor anyway. 

4.6. oh man. i’m not terribly convinced by walters’ red hood (tho i think that may be the point--argh. i’ll come back to this thought later. have to stop getting distracted!) but he plays the asshole kid that’s trying not to let any real emotion seep through really well.

“you’d like me to punch you, wouldn’t you”

5. not sure what to think of batman’s little trophy case other than the show winking unsubtly at us and going look look - catwoman! the riddler! two face! you excited yet?! it’s like the scene from the end of amazing spiderman 2 when they were trying to drum up excitement for a sinister six spinoff by having harry osborne walk by a bunch of display cases with stuff from iconic villains in them.

... but then again, bruce does like to display a lot of shit in his batcave, including his dead robin’s bloodstained costume, so.

5.5. bruce is so soft with jason it’s killing me. beyond just trying to learn from his mistakes with dick, it speaks to his own genuine desire to balance his dedication to gotham with doing the best by his sons, although he’s often not successful with that. 

i love that titans is really playing the long game with bruce wayne, with each season and character-perspective sliding in fresh pieces of a bigger puzzle. titans’ bruce has always been a phantom of other peoples’ making, but now we’re getting the idea that he’s a whole lot more complicated than other people make it seem.

5.75. it really recontextualises some of his actions from previous seasons: the fact that he locked dick out of his security systems in 1.06 is likely his way of respecting dick’s independence and his desire not to be associated with batman/gotham anymore. jason knowing about bruce’s tracker while dick doesn’t is probably bruce trying to be more honest and upfront with his charges. bruce sending jason packing off to sanfran to spend time with the titans is probably not him passing on a big responsibility to dick (as i first uncharitably thought) but him trying to get jason out of the toxic influence of gotham for a while and a sign of his trust in dick as a leader and a mentor,

5.8. i mean, bruce is a prick, but he’s also human.

6. i think leslie is doing some good work with jason here, though she may have overstepped the line with her line about robin as a construct being projected by a man with BPD. her speculations about bruce’s diagnosis have no place in her session with jason, and if bruce confides in her, an egregious violation of patient-therapist confidentiality. 

(about the diagnosis itself... i don’t know. i can’t really confirm or refute this without a whole lot more information, and i’m not sure if the writer of this episode means BPD in the same way an actual professional might.)

6.5. i think a huge thing that gets missed out in a lot of recent comics as well as movies/shows is that bruce didn’t create the robin persona out of whole cloth. dick did. he’s the starting point of that legacy and to call it entirely bruce’s creation is blatant erasure of that. in fact, i’m surprised that dick doesn’t feature more in the conversations they’re having about the pressures of being robin. after all, the guy had been robin--bruce’s partner--for such a long time before jason. 

6.8. (and here’s the primal part of me that resonates the deepest with dick grayson--the Eldest Daughter part--that’s sort of resentful: that jason gets the therapy and softness and the learning from mistakes when it took years and years for bruce to reach out in any meaningful way to dick.)

7. oooh that was a great scene!

it’s fun to do these stream-of-consciousness live reactions, because the moment you step down from your soapbox, the episode goes right into tackling what you were just complaining about. bruce means well, he’s learning, but he goes about exactly the wrong way to help jason: taking away robin now can’t be read by jason as anything but a devastating judgment call from bruce. and iain glen really sells the moment that bruce realises this--too late--and his helplessness in trying to get jason to see that it isn’t jason’s fault that he’s trying to do this. he loves jason enough that jason is enough. 

7.5. aaaah so jason brings up the elephant in the room at last. dick got everything makes sense from his perspective, where getting to put on a costume and fight crime means approval, means being something stronger and better than you are. dick got to be robin, then nightwing, and a leader of a whole team of other costume-clad heroes. 

8. ... how did jason just walk into arkham????? this is ridiculous.

8.3. i mean, clearly jason’s not thinking straight, but betraying batman like this puts his possibilities of being robin again even further away. 

8.5. watching that chemistry experiment montage was strangely funny. this guy is looking for an antidote to fear? well, constantly mixing up and inhaling gases concocted by a mad-scientist supervillain is something only the very fearless--reckless to the point of foolishness!--would do. what’s to say crane’s not given you a formula for a drug that will keep you tethered to his every will and whim? hmmmm?

8.7. so he sought out the joker to... test the formula??? 

9. wow the “loud and clear... boss” hits different after a whole episode of them referring to each other as father and son.

9.3. waitwaitwait HOLD UP. wait a DANG MINUTE. you’re telling me that scarecrow had enough resources that he could not only have folks on the outside steal jason away and dunk him in a lazarus pit (i TOLD you that this show would bring up and dismiss ra’s al ghul in a ten second aside! I TOLD YOU) but also have his own little chemistry lab in the basement, AND have enough resources for jason to build his red hood persona???????? all of this in barely twenty four hours?

well there goes my ‘jason orchestrated his death’ theory. it was nice while it lasted. *cups hands to the sky* fly away, my baby.

9.6. a part of me is gleeful at the rushed nature of such an iconic transformation though, especially when compared to all the character work that went before it. we’re so used to getting the opposite that it’s fucking delightful to have a show that’s more interested in exploring its characters’ minds rather than battle scenes or recreating transformations from the comics. that’s taken such bold and exciting steps to fully convey all the nuances of its most recognisable character, bruce wayne, from casting an older actor to play him to unflinchingly showing just how damaging the vigilante lifestyle has been to him and the people he loves. BRILLIANT

*sporfle*

10. again, heads up: a whole lot of flashing lights between 40:28 and 42:00. 

10.3. i guess it’s the super-compressed timeline that’s really throwing me off. where did he have the time to get/develop the mind control thing from? or is it something that he got from the cabal of villains that he intimidated at the beginning of 3.02? very messy.

10.5. i love molly, i hope she shows up again this season.

11. aaaand that’s it! that was a solid episode as flashback episodes go, but now i can’t wait to return to the present.

[thethrillof]

Fanfic MashUp!

The Batman: Ethan + Eddy

Numbers 85 + 59! Plz

85: Innocent Physical Contact + 59: Interrupted Declaration of Love 

the thing is. edward is a genius. and extremely blind to his own self. like. entirely. he is touch-starved. 

he does not realize this fact.

ethan is kind of fucked up with touch too, with the whole. clayface thing. he used to be able to turn into anything, so any sort of touch he could prepare for and block could be, in fact, blocked off entirely by turning into stone or whatever. on the other hand, not expecting a grab or attack or whatever means that an unexpected touch could just sink into his body.

he is better at self-reflection than edward is. but he thinks he’s used to just absorbing things and that it’s not an issue when it is an issue.

edward and ethan get to know each other in arkham’s better wings. riddler can be dangerous but comparatively fine to let socialize; ethan, post-clayface, is chill enough to interact with the safer inmates when joker is either very locked up or out. riddler is fascinated by ethan bennett, the name that yinsy used to cover the batman himself.

they interact. they have anger management sessions together. they talk. it goes...well enough, though sessions with an actual therapist is mostly riddler spitting riddling insults and ethan being quietly exasperated and/or amused.

eventually, edward gets to just. sit on the floor. and lean against ethan’s legs. which is weird. but. it’s not bad enough for a guard to pull him up onto a separate chair. ethan doesn’t kick him away despite being tense. (and in that moment ethan realizes oh. well. he is touch-starved after all the clayface misery.)

it ends up getting to be more of that. riddler’s usually in chains while ethan isn’t, but chains won’t stop them from bumping elbows or patting hands (briefly, briefly) or partially leaning against the other’s side.

riddler is...still far too messed up by everything--julie, being riddler at all--to dare consider love or even real affection. but ethan...ethan. ethan knows he cares. ethan knows arkham is working for him, who is actively trying to improve, who’s had his temptations taken away. edward is wrapped up in his own walls and the revolving cast of psyche people aren’t doing him any favors. so he starts thinking about the future. ethan isn’t sure what he wants beyond wanting to help people. and edward is right here.

it’s not quite a declaration of love in the traditional sense. more like...a declaration of wanting to try. try to aim for some sort of future by actually giving each other a mutual hand up. 

unfortunately! there are not a lot of places to just talk in arkham asylum. there are still a lot of ears, whether it be other inmates or the guards standing right there or the cameras. every goddamn time ethan almost manages to, someone or something gets in the way. 

and the worst of the interruptions is a breakout. staged dramatically and blowing a whole wing by joker. of course. 

ethan realizes how helpless he is compared to how he used to be and is flung headfirst into a panic attack. 

edward wraps around him to calm him down.

the talk of future doesn’t happen then. it’s too much. but after, cooling down realizing that riddler hadn’t used that time to get away himself--that gives ethan significant hope for whenever he finally can.

[longitudinalwaveme]

Arkham Files: Heat Wave

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Mick Rory, also known as Heat Wave. Patient suffers from pyromania and cryophobia; the intelligence test administered upon his admission also suggests that he may have a mild intellectual disability. Session One. 

Heat Wave: Hi, Doc! It’s nice to meet you! 

Hugo Strange: (a bit taken aback) Hello, Mr. Rory. 

Heat Wave: You can call me Mick, Doc. Everybody does. 

Hugo Strange: Very well. Mick, do you know why you are here at Arkham Asylum? 

Heat Wave: I guess they finally decided I was sick enough to be sent here instead of prison. I know I’m not right in the head, Doc. 

Hugo Strange: Actually, no. You’re here because Iron Heights is currently incapable of housing costumed criminals, and a series of bewildering judicial and bureaucratic decisions resulted in all of you“Rogues” being transferred to Arkham until such time as Iron Heights is repaired. That being said, I am glad to hear that you are aware that you have a problem, as it means that you have overcome the first hurdle on the road to recovery. 

Heat Wave: (Pleased) Really, Doc? Boy, am I glad to hear that. 

Hugo Strange: Mick, according to your file, you suffer from pyromania and cryophobia. Is that accurate? 

Heat Wave: Yeah. (Brief pause) That’s what all the shrinks tell me, anyway...and I’ve seen a lot of ‘em over the years. 

Hugo Strange: Yes. And I am certain that you will be pleased to hear that I have experience in treating pyromania. You see, Mick, Arkham Asylum happens to have its own resident pyromaniac. 

Heat Wave: You talkin’ about Garfield Lynns? The Firefly? 

Hugo Strange: Yes, actually. 

Heat Wave: (Clearly nervous) He’s here? Now? 

Hugo Strange: Does that concern you, Mick? 

Heat Wave: Yeah. It...it does, Doc. 

Hugo Strange: Any particular reason?

Heat Wave: I’ve heard things about him, Doc. Bad things. 

Hugo Strange: What sorts of things have you heard, Mick? 

Heat Wave: That he...that he deliberately sets people on fire ‘cause he wants to watch ‘em burn. That he’s a pervert; that he burned his girlfriend alive ‘cause he couldn’t be happy with her unless she was on fire. That he burnt down a zoo to learn what a bunch of dumb, innocent animals looked like when they were on fire. I’ve even heard he intentionally set a little boy on fire once-a kid! How could...how could anyone do that to a kid? (Pause) I’m a sick, sick man, Doc, I’m not denying that. I know I’m the last person who should throw stones about something like this...but Lynns sounds like a psychopath. He sounds like he likes hurting people. I...I don’t wanna be like that, Doc. And I’m scared. I’m scared that that’s what my pyromania’s gonna turn me into. Bad enough that I hurt people when I set buildings on fire...bad enough that I killed my family when I accidentally set our home ablaze….I don’t want to do what he does. I don’t want to go around setting people on fire!

Hugo Strange: Mick, mental illnesses display differently in every sufferer. The fact that you and Mr. Lynns share a common mental illness does not mean that you are necessarily at risk of starting to behave in the way that he does. He has a more serious case of the disease than you do; consequently, his behavior is more destructive and aberrant than yours. 

Heat Wave: Are you sure, Doc? 

Hugo Strange: Quite sure, Mick. If your extensive file is to be trusted-and given the sheer volume of psychologists who have contributed to it, I believe it is-you have never, at any point, expressed any excitement at the idea of a person being on fire. As such, I have no reason to believe that you would take up the habit of deliberately lighting people on fire. 

Heat Wave: But what if I get worse? 

Hugo Strange: Given the diligence with which you apparently seek out therapy even when not incarcerated, I don’t think that your condition is likely to exacerbate, Mick.

Heat Wave: Come again?

Hugo Strange: As long as you continue to seek treatment, you’re not going to get worse.

Heat Wave: Doc, you have no idea how happy you’ve just made me! (Starts crying) 

(Long, awkward pause as Heat Wave cries and Hugo Strange attempts to make soothing “there, there” type noises) 

Hugo Strange: (Clears throat) I am glad that I was able to ease your mind, Mick. 

Heat Wave: (Sniffling) What do you think we should talk about now, Doc? 

Hugo Strange: To be honest, the first question that comes to mind is how you have survived so long as a criminal when you’re willing to weep so openly and readily over something comparably minor. I was under the impression that such behavior would be viewed as a weakness to be taken advantage of, Mick.

Heat Wave: I’m six foot four and weigh 240 pounds, and pretty much everyone knows that I’m a pyromaniac. That tends to intimidate people into keeping their mouths shut. (Pause)  I...I actually don’t much like fighting, and the sight of blood makes me feel a little ill, but almost nobody knows that because pretty much everybody’s too wary of me to try picking fights. The guys who are dumb enough to try get pummeled by Digger and Evan before they ever get to me. See, that’s the thing with the Rogues. If you pick a fight with one of us, you pick a fight with all of us...and Digger and Evan fight really dirty. 

Hugo Strange: In other words, you’ve survived because your reputation precedes you. (Pause) And, I suppose, because you have a pair of excessively violent friends. 

Heat Wave: Pretty much, Doc. 

Hugo Strange: In speaking of your friends...why did you join the Rogues, Mick? Serial arsons motivated by your illness aside, you don’t exactly strike me as a career criminal. 

Heat Wave: I...I was hoping to turn the pyromania into a gimmick. I thought that maybe...maybe it would help me get my sickness under control if I used it as a theme. Dumb idea, I know, but I was desperate. And in my early twenties. That makes you stupid by definiton. 

Hugo Strange: And why are you still with them, Mick? Is it the money? 

Heat Wave: No. It’s because they became my new family, Doc. 

Hugo Strange: Wanting to build a new family for yourself is an understandable motivation, Mick...but wouldn’t you be better off finding one that isn’t entirely composed of violent career criminals? 

Heat Wave: Probably...but Doc, the world wouldn’t be. The Rogues are the only family I can have, because they’re the only ones who can protect themselves from me. I destroyed my first family. I...I can’t risk doin’ it again. 

Hugo Strange: So in order to protect people from you, you help a bunch of career criminals rob banks and jewelry stores whilst wearing a fireproof suit, calling yourself Heat Wave, and wielding a flamethrower? I don’t understand your logic, Mick. 

Heat Wave: (Pause) You know, somehow it makes a lot less sense when you say it. 

Hugo Strange: (Sighs) I believe you honestly mean well, Mr. Rory. Unfortunately, you have very little common sense; most likely stemming from the fact that, as the intelligence tests that were administered to you suggest, you are mildly intellectually impaired. 

Heat Wave: I can’t say I’m surprised to hear that, Doc. The guys are always tellin’ me that I’m a bit slow. 

Hugo Strange: Fortunately, with enough therapy, I believe that we will be able to help you overcome your mild cognitive impairments. 

Heat Wave: Sounds great, Doc! 

Hugo Strange: You are by far one of the most cooperative patients I have ever encountered, Mick, and I would like to thank you for that. 

Heat Wave: Hey, Doc, no problem! With all that you’re doin’ to help me, I should be thanking you! 

Hugo Strange: That won’t be necessary, Mick. I am simply doing my job. (Pause) Now tell me, Mick-what do you think of the Flash? 

Heat Wave: The Flash? He’s great. I’ve never met a nicer guy. 

Hugo Strange: You...like the Flash? 

Heat Wave: Of course! (Pause) Just...don’t tell the guys, okay?

Hugo Strange: Nothing you say is leaving this room, Mick. You do not have to worry about my telling anyone, including your fellow “Rogues”. 

Heat Wave: Oh. Good. (Pause) Yeah, I like the Flash. He wants to help everybody. He’s even gotten me into contact with some of my therapists.

Hugo Strange: Fascinating. (Pause) Unfortunately, we have reached the end of today’s session. I will see you the same time tomorrow, Mick. 

Heat Wave: Okay, Doc! See you then! 

[fleckcmscott]

Stepping Stones - Chapter 2

Chapter links: 1

Summary: Y/N and Arthur share a delightful life, one that isn’t perfect but wholly theirs. When his struggles take a serious turn, she's surprised by the toll it exacts. Though the steps they'll have to take aren't easy, walking them together makes all the difference.

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Struggles with mental illness

Words: 3,739

A/N: Once again, a heartfelt thanks to @sweet-nothings04​ for offering to beta-read this story and her encouragement. Her contributions have been invaluable! Also, thank you guys for your support! I hope you continue to enjoy this story. And don’t worry: there may be angst - but there’s love, too. 

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask! I’m still working on requests and Way Back Home!

Y/N wasn't used to being searched. It'd last happened at the District Courthouse when she'd gotten in the wrong line and nearly wound up in the jury room for a murder trial. At least the stout woman in Arkham's visitor entrance lobby was more pleasant than the bailiffs.

Unassuming in a white polo shirt and black pants, her nametag introduced her as Gladys, and the split "I Can Help!" sticker along the top cemented her as a fixture. She was friendly for a Gothamite, commenting on the sunny weather while unceremoniously dumping the contents of Y/N's handbag onto a plastic table pad. Asking about the ride over as she politely ignored tampons and confiscated a nail file. She spelled Y/N's name back to her before jotting it on the sign-in sheet and offered a genuine smile. "You have a nice time with your husband, dear. Just check out with me before you leave."

Visitor's badge pinned above her left breast, Y/N adjusted the collar of her red silk blouse, ensured the heart pendent around her neck was centered, and pushed through the door marked "Visitation."

Her kitten heels click-clacked across the checkerboard linoleum floor. The cafeteria was large, like an elementary school gymnasium without the scoreboards. Lack of funding had turned the once pristine walls to the off-white of a bathtub that had seen too few scrubbings. Large windows dotted them in sets of two, each covered with grate from the inside. Metal fans were riveted to their frames, a poor attempt to compensate for the lack of fresh air. To her left, six rows of steel tables stretched halfway across the room, about a third full of staff and patients, family members and friends. A metal buffet stood to her right, along with a sign stating a menu of beef cutlets and gravy would be served at 5:30 PM. A pony wall separated a family area on the far end. She spotted a patient with his wife and daughter watching cartoons together, ones that were old enough for Y/N to have grown up on.

It struck her how average the place felt, similar to the hospital back home she'd spent far too many hours in. It made sense: the people here were patients like any other, even if they were under lock and key. When she headed to the aluminum coffee urn on a rickety steel cart, there was a woman, around thirty, making conversation with a new wave chick, holding a ragged teddy bear and pulling her hair. Their eyes met and Y/N attempted a friendly smile. Once she'd purchased two cups, she sat by a window and crossed her legs, foot swinging back and forth as she sipped the stale liquid.

She tried to quell her nervous anticipation. Due to his time of admittance, Arthur's forty-eight-hour observation period had stretched late into Thursday night, well after visiting hours. Tasks big and small had punctuated the wait. One of Arthur's clients called to confirm a birthday party, and Y/N, hazy from lack of sleep, explained there'd been a family emergency.

Then it dawned on her that she'd have to find Arthur's gig list, which meant rummaging through his desk, a private space she'd respected since presenting him with it for their anniversary. Thank god he no longer locked the drawers, because she had no idea where he kept the key. (There were only so many hiding places in their three-room apartment, but she had no desire to search every nook and cranny.) The yellow legal pad resided in the top left drawer, under a prop catalog and kraft paper notebook. After ringing Gary and asking him to fill in ("I'm not sure I can do all these, but I can mention them at HaHa's." "That'd be great but don't get yourself in trouble. And, please, leave out Randall."), she telephoned eight households and three businesses with his contact information and apologies.

She worked extra hours in the evening to make up for the time she'd inevitably take off when Arthur was home, an arrangement that wasn't strictly legal, but she didn't see the harm in. Her colleagues graciously ignored the number of personal calls she made, to ask how Arthur was doing and learn about policies. While he wasn't yet rational, staff said, he was cooperative. Well, mostly cooperative. He'd eaten breakfast and referred to everyone as sir or ma'am, but he'd also caused a ruckus when he'd come to and found his wedding ring missing. They'd made an exception to the no jewelry rule and given it back. Personal clothing wasn't permitted, either, besides underwear, and toiletries were out of the question. It irked her - he deserved the dignity of his own hairbrush - but she didn't want to single him out by arguing for further favors. So she shuttled over a week's worth of briefs on her lunch break, chest tight as she gave it to the man with headphones at reception.

Despite the setting, despite the weight of not knowing what mood he'd be in, a thrill bubbled through her veins. Whenever a silhouette appeared behind the glue chip glass of the patient entrance, her pulse skipped. Y/N knew it was silly to expect a lot this first visit but she couldn't help it. She missed him. She missed him. Like it had been thirty days instead of three.

It took about six minutes for the door to crack an inch, and a full ten seconds for it to open completely. An orderly propped his weight against it, pointing in her general direction with his head. She stood and smoothed her palm down her A-line skirt, ensured the hem was at her knee. Maybe it was selfish, perhaps even foolish, but she hoped the surprise would be a highlight of Arthur's day, make him feel better, and she hoped seeing him would be one of hers. He was still her partner, after all. Still her Arthur. That would never change.

Clad in white scrubs and white shoes and about twenty feet away, Arthur stepped over the threshold and scanned the room. She gave him a modest wave when she caught his eye. His approach was more tentative than she would have liked, his steps shorter than usual, fists balled at his sides. As he drew closer, she noted the oiliness of his hair, the two-day black and grey stubble on his chin. His crow's feet had grown deeper, his eyelids slightly purple. Exhaustion dripped from every pore. The cut on his forehead had scabbed over into a thin line, quite modest considering its origin and how much he'd bled.

But he was as beautiful to her as always. The hint of a smile tipped her mouth. "Hi, Arthur."

"Hi," he said lowly. A reservation she barely recognized clouded his light green irises.

Part of her began to suspect popping in like this had been a mistake. Giving up wasn't in her nature, however, especially when it came to the love of her life. She forged ahead, closing the gap between them. Dr. Kellerman had advised her to let Arthur set the pace of their visits, to offer support while respecting his boundaries. Yet, touching him had become as vital to her as breathing, and it didn't occur to her to ask for permission before she reached to cup his face.

His skin felt papery under her fingertips, and red, flakey spots of dermatitis bloomed next to his nose and below his eye. He smelled of cheap bar soap and detergent, though whiffs of his woodsy masculine scent lurked underneath. But his clothes were clean and fit him well, better than half his own wardrobe. "I'm so happy to see you," she said, tracing his sharpened cheeks.

He nodded weakly, lips pursed into a grimace of disbelief. "Good."

"I got us some coffee. We can sit here or on one of the sofas."

"Here's fine."

She took his hand and led him to their table, itching for him to entwine their fingers, lamenting a little when he didn't. While he followed closely, his posture radiated tension like an oven radiated heat. Rather than the gait they'd adopted over the years, he moved as if he was afraid to touch her, as if he feared she'd disappear. Or reject him. Once he was situated and stirring sugar into his cup, she sat beside him and bumped their legs, refusing to let his fears go unchallenged. "How's your room?"

"It's okay. Just me. I'm not there much." He blew lightly on his steaming brew. "I haven't seen this part of the hospital before."

Y/N arched her brow. "No?"

"Penny had trouble getting over here to visit. When I had episodes."

Flabbergasted, a huff of disapproval escaped her. Arthur had been in out Arkham six or seven times, and Penny hadn't made it over once? According to Arthur, she'd been sick for a while, but what about twenty years ago? Even later, they hadn't had any money, which meant she would've had to care for herself while he was away. If she had had the wherewithal to go through the process of committing her son, couldn't she have at least called a cab? Y/N pushed her ire aside, not wanting it to affect Arthur. "Did you see your therapist today?"

"Mhm."

"Is he good? Does he listen to you?"

"He's fine."

She took a long drink. "Did you get the underwear I brought over?"

"Yeah." he sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling. "They wrote my name on the waistband."

"I'll get new ones," she said, tapping her chin in contemplation, opting for a little cheer. "Donahue's has a racy number from Mad Mod. How'd you feel about zig-zag bikinis in maroon?" Instead of the laugh she'd craved, the incredulous smirk he saved for ridiculous suggestions, his knees quaked, bouncing and bouncing, freshly wound springs in bleached cotton.

None of this was going as she'd pictured.

Self-consciousness was atypical for her, a personality trait she'd shed in her late twenties after a failed marriage and the beginning of her parents' declines. Being with Arthur felt secure, open, even during his worst days. When he'd discovered his mother's Arkham file, learned the details of his abuse. Or the weeks after she'd passed and any chance of finding out more about himself, the truth about his father and chance to get a crumb of paternal affection, had died along with her.

Gathered at this table with her husband and bad coffee, old insecurities returned with the force of a subway careening at full speed. She sought to encourage him but didn't want to dismiss his feelings, harken back when he'd been burdened with "Happy." Her questions were obviously getting on his nerves - she was at a loss as to how he'd react to more of them. Their banter had vanished. The clues she had to follow were based on an old map, comprised of well-worn paths to joy she could walk with her eyes closed. Now those paths were overgrown with weeds.

But she wouldn't stop trying to trim them. Some shears were in reach: a woman's magazine lay abandoned on a nearby table, famous for its relationship quizzes and bedroom advice. She snagged it, scooted her chair closer to Arthur, and flipped through the glossy pages until the headline "Are You Meant To Be?" screamed in bright pink font. She cleared her throat and read aloud. "'You and your husband are shipwrecked on a desert island. You can take any household item with you. What item would you bring?'" She paused, then went with what first came to mind. "Toothbrush. I can't expect you to kiss me when I-"

"Why are you acting like this?"

Her gaze locked on him. "Like what?"

"Like I haven't fucked everything up."

Automatically, she reached for his thigh, not heeding the angry twitch of his jaw. "You haven-"

He batted her arm away, inadvertently knocking the magazine to the floor. "Don't lie to me," he rasped. "I don't like you seeing me like this. I don't want you to have to come visit and pretend." He wiped his nose with the back of his hand, an anger she recognized as shame dripping from every word. "Can you please just go?"

Pain lanced through her, pain she hadn't felt since her father, deep in the throes of dementia, had accused her of stealing from him. Her lashes lowered to hide her hurt. Arthur acting like this was proof of how out of sorts he was, how much he was struggling with his illnesses. But it didn't make his behavior any easier to take, even if she firmly believed it should. She had to try to accept him as he was in the moment. To forgive him and herself for pressing him too far, too quickly. To listen to his request for time, the way he'd listened to hers after the Murray show, giving her the gift of patience and understanding. A gift he also deserved.

Pushing herself to stand, she glanced at the orderly and lay a gentle palm on Arthur's back. To her relief, he didn't retreat. "I'm here if you need me," she said softly. "If you feel up to it, give me a ring. We could both use a joke or two." Fingertips caressed his distended shoulder, and she pecked the crown of his head, breathed in the oily musk of his scalp. Not entirely pleasant but him all the same. "We'll see each other soon. Get some rest and remember I love you."

~~~~~

"This woman wandered in off the street the other day. Pointy-toed shoes, fur coat, pillbox hat like she thinks she's Jackie Kennedy..." Perched on Y/N's side of the bed, Patricia dunked her orange pekoe teabag, gave it a good squeeze, laid it on her saucer. "She wanted to sue the Wayne Estate for damages to her Bentley, because Thomas Wayne had broken a legally binding oral agreement - she must have read a legal thriller and gotten haughty - to fix the potholes in Old Gotham when he was mayor. I told her to complain to Public Works, but she decided to camp out at your old desk to clip her nails. Finally, Matt had enough and offered her a phone call to Gotham PD or ten bucks for her trouble." She shook her head with a chuckle. "What a jackass. Retirement can't come soon enough."

"Don't wish your life away," Y/N retorted, inadvertently quoting a pamphlet she'd gotten from the Arkham gift shop, "Care for the Caregiver." The title had made her balk: Arthur bathed himself, fed himself, knew who she was. But it had been a straw to hold onto, albeit feebly. She retrieved a curved, wooden hanger from the closet and stuck one end in the arm of her freshly ironed blouse. "Besides, you've been working since you were sixteen, right? I give it a year before you'd go stir-crazy."

"Actually, I've been thinking about taking a class or two at the learning center," said Patricia.

"Oh, really? What kind? Pottery, advanced baking, conversational Spanish?"

"How to find nicer friends."

Hand on her hip, Y/N smirked over her shoulder to find Patricia's teacup raised for a toast. "Let me know what you learn," Y/N said, hoisting the laundry basket onto the bed. "I could use a few pointers." She batted the older woman with a dress sock, then fished for its companion. She shook them out. Aligned the cuffs and toes, smoothed the nylon with the side of her hand, folded the fabric into thirds. The top drawer's left ball-bearing slide stuck when she tried to pull it open, and she made a mental note to ask Arthur to take a look at it.

Without warning, a profound sense of loss swept over her, flushing her cheeks, her forehead. He'd been gone almost a week, the longest they'd been apart aside from conferences and training. Her days had been blessedly busy but dragged on nonetheless, slow as the secondhand on her watch when the battery had to be replaced.

Arthur had gotten in the habit of leaving a note whenever he had an early gig or errand to run, just a few words stating where he was, that he'd be home later, that he loved her. Though she knew he was in Arkham, she couldn't stop her heart from expecting one when she made morning coffee. She ached to pull him inside before he lit a second cigarette, and for his teasing kisses when he'd resist. The way he brushed his teeth from side-to-side, eschewing her method of small circles and daily flossing. Last night, a hot flash had kept her awake, and she'd longed for the feel of his strong, slender hands rubbing refrigerated lotion into her calves, a trick he'd learned to quiet his mother when she'd gone through what he politely referred to as The Change.

Y/N had never wanted to love someone so much she needed them, but Arthur had made it safe. And now here she was, anguishing over a stubborn piece of furniture. She gave the knob another good, hard heave until it popped off into her palm. With a groan, she slapped it on the top of the dresser, between his wallet and her jewelry box.

A gentle hold on her elbow halted her. "The clothes'll keep," Patricia said.

The compassion in her voice, subtle chords that would sound like judgement to others, loosened Y/N's stance. Granted permission for her to take a break from coping and give into grief. Slinking down onto the mattress, she picked up Arthur's blue house pants from the mound of panties and trousers and hugged them to her breast.

"Your anniversary is coming up," Patricia continued. "Will Arthur be home for it?"

"Yes. Three weeks is all the insurance will pay for, and Dr. Kellerman said we were lucky to get that." Most patients were discharged after two, even if they had nowhere else to go.

"How is he? Do you think he'll be ready then?"

"I'm not sure. He barely comes to the phone." She'd tried letters, too. Written on her office letterhead, declarations of her support and affection that were as stilted as the motions she regularly drafted. Something for him to read when they couldn't speak, when they couldn't touch. But he hadn't responded.

Although Y/N was the sole person he'd added to his list of allowed visitors, he hadn't signed the release. Sure, she'd learn the details of his care if a court remanded him, but she wasn't about to have him declared legally incompetent, not unless everything went to shit. But she had deduced his schedule by calling and asking if he could come to the phone. He's in group, Mrs. Fleck, the charge nurse had let slip. Or, You can try in an hour. He should be out of one-on-one by then.

Therapy three times a day. Safety and daily living skills. Goal setting before bed. No wonder he hadn't had the energy to say good night.

"I know what you're going through," Patricia said. She stretched to put her empty teacup on the nightstand. "When Robert got back from Korea, he kept his distance. Buried himself in starting his business, was gone most nights on extra late repair jobs, worked, worked, worked. It was nearly a year before he really came home. But he made it and Arthur will, too."

The intimacy behind the disclosure was a welcome invitation, a hook that tugged at Y/N's core and confirmed honesty would be all right. She drew a shaky breath, fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of Arthur's pajamas. "I thought I'd seen everything. Losing my mother, going out of my mind with my father. Those were finalities I couldn't prevent." Rapid blinking fought the wetness of her eyes. She swiped at them with the heel of her hand. "If you had seen him, Patricia... I just hope Arthur understands. I don't want him to think I wanted him to leave."

"Listen to me." Patricia adopted her mentor tone and hugged her tight around the middle. "There's no way he'd believe that. Remember when we doubled at Kao Wah? When we were in the restroom, and he ordered your favorite dish without having to ask what it was? He adores you." She swept her hand through the air as if she could sweep away Y/N's woes. "You promised to take care of him through everything. You did what you had to to keep him safe. You couldn't have done anything else, Y/N. Don't doubt yourself."

After some moments Y/N nodded. "You know, my parents had a swimming hole on our property. When I was young, I used to skip stones across it and make wishes. For my doll's arm to mend, for my parents to say safe, for my sister's surgeries to go well." She chuckled and dabbed at her cheeks with Arthur's house pants. "I guess it was like praying, which I never had use for." The slightest smile edging her lips, she turned to Patricia. "Let's go to Gotham Park and throw some rocks."

~~~~~

The next morning, eleven percent of her worries cast away by a currently sore right arm, Y/N walked past Sherwood Florist, a closet of a shop around the corner from her office. Storefront freshly washed, robust floral arrangements on display in large, spotless windows, and an owner in horn-rimmed glasses checking the temperature of the nearest cooler, she decided to stop in. Yes, the florist told her, an expression of dubious curiosity on his face. They delivered to Arkham. Just include the patient's full name and ward in the address, and it'd be sent this afternoon.

She chose a squat, plastic vase filled with daisies and a yellow enclosure card with a bumblebee in the lower left corner. A bit cutsie for her taste, but it was the only neutral choice among birthdays and congratulations. She pondered what to write, pushing back the urge to ask him to reach out. A minute later, she put her pen to the cardstock. "I miss you like thread misses a needle. (Good thing you're the comedian - that was terrible.) You're not alone in this. You have my whole heart. - Y/N."

~~~~~

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[aggressive-positivity-network]

Ok but like. Yes the Joker's actions are unforgivable, but he's not evil. He's a man who never got the help he needed. He shows a lot of signs of bipolar disorder, and while he's likely also a psychopath and/or sociopath, those are personality disorders that people are born with and the harm done by, both to the person diagnosed and those around them, can be minimized with therapy. He's unmedicated and without a therapist, and if that changed he could be a good guy again

I’m afraid I’m going to have to respectfully disagree.

You see, evil to me means that someone does unspeakable things and they aren’t willing to change - with the obvious caveat of someone being forced to do something out of necessity (i.e blackmail, held at gunpoint, hostage, etc.).

The new Joker movie, which offers the most background information on your argument, is truly tragic. I cannot deny that. It explains - but not excuses - his actions in a way that is soul-crushing and heart-wrenching. No human being deserves what Joker sustained. However, I am looking at the big picture Joker. The Joker after the movie. The Joker in his natural habitat, if you will.

Let’s start with 60’s Batman Joker (I’m only mentioning cinematic appearances - I know next to nothing about the comics). He was very, very tame, never interested in killing the heroes or causing any real harm, but coming up with heavy-handed, punny schemes to mess with Gotham.

Now the many animated versions. These are important. Because, with every new series, there was usually a rerun of the origin story and the “first scheme.” And almost every time, without fail, Batman would say something like this:

“Joker, you don’t have to do this. It doesn’t have to be this way. You’re sick. I can get you help, so you can feel better.”

And it never stopped there, either. Batman would occasionally bring this offer up again, usually if Joker himself was in danger. That’s what makes Batman different from a lot of other superheroes. He doesn’t just say, “It doesn’t have to be this way,” but also brings up the villain’s obvious sickness - and it’s quite obvious he’d rather help than beat someone to a pulp. The fight is just out of necessity - well, it usually is. For some reason he doesn’t include petty crime in his helpfulness (he has been seen beating up several henchman and bank robbers without giving them the compassionate spiel). However, Batman is a whole other can of worms. This is about Joker.

There are also several instances where Joker sees the consequences of his actions and still does nothing. The greatest example of this is the loss of Harley Quinn as a partner - or, more accurately, a puppet for his bidding. You would think that the loss of such an asset and supporting character would be a wake-up call. Nope! Joker literally does not care about people, property, or any sort of moral code.

In conclusion, Joker is a tragic, but still very much EVIL character. And blaming it on his mental disorders implies that people with these conditions have a natural ability to harm those around them, which is usually not true in the slightest. It may harm them in social situations, but never in a way that leaves other people with lasting damage like Joker does. Due to his past actions, therefore, I don’t think he could be redeemed. No amount of therapy - as we’ve seen countless times in Arkham and with pre-acid Harley - is going to fix this man.

[arthurflecksgirl]

Hi sweety❤️ Can I have a fic where Arthur helps x reader who's having a panick attack? him calming her down, cuddling her... thank you so much 😘

My dear friend. Thank you sooooo much for your request. I really really hope you like the result.

Summary: You`re greateful for how far you and Arthur had come in your relationship, how much progress he made to experience true happiness. But then you discover one of his journal entries. Is he still in the same dark place he was before? Just the thought of him suffering is giving you a panic attack. But Arthur is right there with you...

The dim light from the tv screen was the only light that filled the living room. Murray Franklin was talking to a well known comedian. You watched Arthur resting on the couch. He was falling asleep during the live show, even though he was looking forward to this episode all day, he was so tired, his eyes got heavy when Ellis Draine and his Jazz Orchestra started playing already.

"One day" you thought watching him breathe in and out like it was the easierest thing to do when you suffered from waht he had been through. One day he will be sitting on Murrays couch and telling his own jokes. And his idol will be proud of him like a father. Because he deserved it. He deserved the world.

Arthur seemed at peace with himself sleeping. That was new. Which made you proud of how far you two have come in your relationship. He was getting better.You felt it every morning waking up, receiving your good morning kiss from his coffee stained lips and cigarette tasting breath. He was making baby steps but looking at it now, over a year later it was a total different world he was living in. The one you created together. Ever since you met him you wanted to cure him. To support and comfort him through everyday life. To help him out of his mindset which was all that he had known since he was little.

People kept telling you that it was impossible to heal wounds like his. To heal someone that experienced his kind of trauma. That all he needed was proffessional help. But you knew that they missed out at something. Just because he needed his meds didnt mean that love wasnt the key for his cure.  You knew that there were some scars hidden inside of him, buried so deep that it would take years to get through and be able to work on that. But you also knew that being  loved was the only thing in this world that could ease Arthurs pain and make him the man he always wanted to be. He was destined to be.

And every single day  spent together was proof that he was making progress. His smile became more and more genuine. His laughing fits didnt happen as often anymore and if so they wouldnt last that long because you would hold him and help him breathe until it was over. He also told you about his journal entries and how they changed. His therapist was also seeing the changes. He was talking about how much more poetry and beautiful thoughts filled the pages.

You gently stroke his hair. Watching him sleep always felt pretty intimate to you. He was so vulnerable and unaware of his beauty. But you knew that even in his sleep he was aware of another thing- your love. Thats why he was even able to get some sleep.

You took another close look at his face. You could never get enough of him. It was risky to give him a kiss on his closed eyelids. Arthur had a very light sleep and could wake up any second but there was no way to fight the urge to do so. His eyelid fluttered under the soft touch of your bottom lip, but he didnt wake. You let your index finger travel over his dark eyebrows. They were shaped so perfectly, matching his piercing eyes and the slight circles underneath them. His body was still stressed out from work. His fragile body which was trying so hard not to break down while starving.

His stomach problems caused by his meds was another thing you had to work through. You looked at the bowl on the table. he almost finished his soup today, which was a good sign. You smiled, got up from your knees and walked to his desk to get the empty cups of coffee from the morning. It was time to make the dishes.

But the moment you grabbed the cups his journal distracted you. It was opened. You wondered about his last entries, the ones he wanted to show you because he wrote some new poems lately.

It took you a moment to think about if it was even okay to have a look at the opened page but it was already too late. One sententence was marked, the letters thicker than the rest of the written words. It caught your eye without a warning. And when you read it, your heart stopped for a second.

"I just hope my death makes more cents than my life"

Why?

Why the hell would he write something cruel like that?

The letters started to blurr through your tears. One tear was falling upon the page. Right on the word HOPE.

Shit. Now he would notice that you came near this page. You nerveausly grabbed a handkerchief and pressed it on the spot where the tear was soaking through the page. It was too late, making it look even worse.

You started to cry , throwing the handkerchief on the floor.

Why?

Yo thought he was getting better. There was so much proof.

Did he felt like his life was worthless?

Didnt make any sense?

Was he feeling like all of this wasnt making sense?

You thought you helped him.

Was it al in your mind? His proress? Him becoming a happier version of himself? Was it all a lie you told yourself?

The possibility of Arthurstill being the same tortured soul as when you met him simply broke your heart.

Why was a beautiful and gentle soul like him suffering so much? How cruel can the world be to him?

Was he still wishing he was dead? Was he still lying in bed at night, fantasizing about ending his own life?  Would he ever hurt himself again? Risking to being locked up at Arkham, so there was no chance to share a bed together? Just visits with him being handcuffed on the other side of the table? Was there still a chance he was that unhappy inside?

Tears fell like rain.

The pain inside your heart grew with every thought that crossed your mind. If life was still torture to him, why wouldnt he talk about this to you? Didnt he trusted you enough? Was he embarrassed about how he felt? Or was it simply because he didnt wanted you to get worried about his condition?

It was all too much.

You started to feel like your throath was getting tighter. Like the walls were closing in. Everything inside of you screamed. There was this nameless fear inside of your guts. Possesing you, hurting you. It was getting harder and harder to breathe.

Dizzyness overcame you with all its power. Cold sweat. All of the sudden the happiness you felt while watching him sleep was being sucked out of your body. And now all you knew was fear.  Liek it was the only emotion left in the world. Pure, naked fear in its rawest form.

A panic attack.

You had experienced this before but never this intense.

You sat down on the chair, trying not to look at the opened journal again.  It hurt so much. All of it did. Your body. Your heart. Mostly your heart. And your head. Both heavy from tears and the thought of Arthur being suicidal.

Your breathing got heavier as you started to sobb.

And then you heard Arthurs footsteps. His naked feet on the floor. You woke him up. He was finally resting and you woke him. This made you feel even worse.

"Oh my god Y/N, darling. What happened?" He noticed your tears and heavy breathing.

"Dont worry....Arhur....please....just go back to sleep okay? You need your sleep.  You`ve been working hard today...."

Arthur checked your pulse "Oh shit, your heart is racing. Did you took any medication? "

"No..."

"Did something else happen?" He checked your forehead, noticed your shaking hands. "Looks like you`re having a panic attack. I know the symptoms very well. I had so many in the past when I woke up from nightmares."

You nodded. Still sobbing like a baby. Arthur gave you one of his handkerchiefes and started to stroke your hair "Oh darling, I kow this feels terrible. But it will pass. Just try to breathe. Breathe with me okay. Remember when you helped me breathe during my laughing fits? I will do the same with you now okay?"

"Okay"

Arthur lifted you up and carried you to the couch.

"Is that okay? Is it comfortable?" you nodded. He was so caring it broke your heart. He cared so much about you, while inside he was suffering from so much pain.

He positioned himself behind you, resting both of his hands on your tummy and told you to breathe in and out like he did. Until you felt your breath becoming one with his. Just as calm and deep.

"Good" he whispered, his gentle fingers under your shirt. He knew that skin on skin contact helped calming you down.

"You`re doing great" his voice was everything you needed to hear.

"Oh Arthur....I feel like I cant breathe...."

"Shhhhhhtt.....baby I know. I know how it feels. Your body is telling you lies. You can breathe. Just do it with me."

"You felt Arthurs chest lifting up and down, his warm breath in your neck. He was everything to you. You needed him to be happy.

Arthur placed thoughtful kisses all over your neck. As soft as a butterflies wings. You tried to concentrate on the details. His long , dark eyelashes crossing the spot behind your ears. The tip of his nose tickeling you. His muffled "I love you`s".

"I`m sorry I woke you up"

"Dont be!"

"There was this sudden fear coming over me. It was like....I thought I was dying."

"I´m right here with you Y/N. Nothing bad is going to happen to you, I promise!"

You nodded. Knowing he was right. Nothing could harm you with Arthurs arms around you. You just wished it was the same the other way around. Wasnt it the same?

His journal said it wasnt.  His written words hitting you like a knife.

"Do you know what triggered this?" He asked you, while his hand was caressing your chest.

Should you tell him? He would notice the wet spot on his journal page anyway.

"Arthur I am so scared to tell you this but...I was ...oh god....I was looking at your opened diary  page. It was lying on teh table when I was getting the coffee cups and there was this sentence that caught my eyes......" you started to sobb uncontrolable.

"What page?" he asked "Please dont cry. Ohhhhhh please ...." he pulled you closer to his chest so his heartbeat was pressed against you.

"You wrote....."I just hope my death makes more cents than my life...." Arthur. This hit me so hard. I didnt knew you still felt like this. I dont know.....what to say....I`m just.......oh Arthur....." you pressed yourself against him as if your life depended on it. Arthurs white shirt was now soaked with tears.

"Ohhh nooo darling. That was my old journal. My therapist wanted to bring it back to her to proof how much progress I made since I met you!"

You loosened your embrace to look him in the eyes "W-What?"

"Yeah" he shrugged "I just marked the darkest pages to see how far we have come and stopped at this one before going to sleep."

The weight of the world was falling off your shoulders "Really?"

"Yes.....oh  Y/N I am so sorry you had to go through these emotions just because I was so stupid to leave my old journal lying on the table. "

"You are not stupid Arthur!"

"Well this time I was"

"It was my fault....I shouldnt have looked at the page in the first place".

The air was finally coming back. Your body was starting to relax again.

Arthur held you close in his arms "That was the old me. And yes sometimes I´m still having dark thoughts but its just.....echoes from the past. Its not part of our reality anymore. Its just ghosts. They`re not real. Just trying to tell me lies. So I am not listening to them . I´m listening to you. To your words of love and comfort. I`m save with you. And you are save with me. Remember?"

"I remember Arthur. I love you so much!"

"I love you more"

"Thats impossible" you smiled, kissing his upper lip.

Arthur rested his head in the crook of your neck whispering "If I`ve learned one thing from being loved, its this: Nothing`s impossible - with you in my arms".

@impulsiveclown @will-you-be-there @jokerownsmysoul @missjoker96 @arthurskitten @lynnesm @nonnymousse @gwynplaine89 @ajokeformur-ray@damnrightobsessedwithim @sgtsavoytruffle  @duhliriouss  @flowerglitterwoman @thirstforfleck @spookyhome @iartsometimes  @you-cant-cry-in-here @bustafatclownnut @jokerismyhubbie  @check-out-this-joker @darknessisafriend  @arthurhappyclown    @neon-umbrella-for-stella    @call-me-harley-quinn  @arthurjokersgirl

@aarthurfleckk @mylovelycrazyworld @clownalog @ajokerfangirl  @the-one-who-is-chaos @sabrinaeileensnape @raven-romanoff

[curious-menace]

ABC of Arkham Scarecrow U-Z

A-E here  F-J here !  K-O Here P-T here  U-Z here 

U: Underdog : have they been bullied? have they bullied anyone? have they been physically attacked by a bully? have they ever been doubted?  have they surprised people with being good at something?

Jonathan has been bullied practically his entire life, even as Scarecrow  the other rogues tended to poke fun at him. No one believed he had it in him to pull off what he did on halloween. I'm sure in a moment of singular clarity, he even doubted himself for a second. Yes, he’s attacked many of his bullies, his patients in the asylum and blackgate serving as stand-ins for his childhood tormentors. Unlike riddler he never put in the effort to track most of them down so he makes do with surrogates. Unfortunately that old adage of the abused becoming the abuser became more and more true over the years. He’s not as much of a bully as Riddler but he’s still pretty cruel and always seems to punch down when the opportunity presents itself. 

I like to think his most surprising talent is his musical prowess. He's able to turn his hands to most instruments, particularly the violin and piano. Everything, except the clarinet. He hates the clarinet. 

V: Vomit:do they vomit often?do they get lots of stomach aches? are they good at comforting someone ill? what do they like as far as comfort goes? do they burp, cough, or hiccup most when nauseous? when vomiting?

Gross as it is he probably does throw up quite often. You can hear him from a mile away making horrible burping and retching noises when he’s sick like the boomer from left for dead. It's really not helping the whole zombie comparison he’s got going on. If he’s nauseous he does a sort of hiccup burp and his stomach makes a lot of whining noises. Or maybe that's just him tryna breathe.

Since he can't chew his food properly, swallowing huge chunks of food and expecting his stomach to do the work has led to a lot of stomach aches and unplanned trips to the bathroom to get rid of what little food he actually eats.

No, he’s very unnerving when he’s trying to comfort people. He used to be a doctor so he can prescribe the medicinal kind of comfort, maybe share some of his strong whiskey if you're in pain but he’s really not good at hugs or back rubs. You know that gif of someone stroking a sick person's back with a broom? That's him. To be honest he's just as bad at being comforted; he just sort of whines and complains like he’s dying even if he just has a cold. 

W: Water:do they drink enough water? have they learned to swim? Do they like to swim? Can they dive? can they swim without holding their nose?

Surprisingly, yes he does drink a lot of water. Water gives him that full feeling in his stomach that means he can go longer without eating. No to the rest of the answers unfortunately. He did learn as a child, his family presumably hired tutors for him but ever since the incident with croc he’s developed somewhat of an aversion to water. Don't dare call it a phobia within earshot of him mind you, he will go off on one. 

X: Xylophone-What is their favorite genre of music? Do they have a favorite song?Do they have a favorite band/artist/singer?  Can they sing well? Can they rap?

I don't think he likes a particular genre, he just sort of listens to whatever sounds good on the radio or some stuff from his past. Maybe Johnny cash? Some volbeat? He likes ost’s from movies like Halloween’s tubular bells or the exorcist theme. He used to be able to sing a little (kinda like Johnny Cash oddly enough) but now his vocal cords are so damaged he’s hardly able to talk some days. If he took lessons, maybe talked with a speech therapist maybe he could get back to that. No he can't rap, but he does speak in rhyme sometimes when he's in full Scarecrow mode.

Y: You: how old were you when you created them?what inspired you to create them? were they different when they were first created? Do you enjoy writing them more than other characters? what’s your favorite thing about them?

Obviously I didn't create Scarecrow, if I did I would be having some stern words with DC right about now. I first started to like him when I played Arkham Asylum for the first time, roughly 2013 or thereabouts. I bought arkham knight when it came out in 2015 and that's when the love really took off. I love most incarnations of Scarecrow but arkham verse and btas are my favorites. 

I do enjoy writing for Scarecrow, although I run a riddler blog right now I'm fixated on Scarecrow so I'm writing him most often. I think my favorite thing about him is the same thing i love about the other batman villains, his depth as a character. He can just be a spooky bad guy or you can spend days going deeper and deeper into his motivations, his reasoning and all the pain the character carries. Like a lot of people, I can see myself in Scarecrow and while I deeply empathise with someone who has been abused and traumatised, this doesn't mean I condone what he does. 

Except for shooting robin, he was 100% in the right.

And btas Scarecrow did nothing wrong, don't @ me. 

Z: Zebra:what’s their favorite animal? Do they like animals? cats or dogs? What's their dream pet?  Do they have any pets at the moment?

He likes certain animals for their creep factor; spiders, snakes, scorpions etc but Crows are probably his favorite, ignoring the fact they can't really be domesticated . most animals are just...well Lab rats to him, regardless of species. That's not to say he doesn't like them, but only when they can be useful to him. I doubt he’d be purposefully cruel to them the way he is to people, but sacrifices need to be made.  I feel like he might have allergies but he does have a preference for cats because they make good lap warmers and much like him, only give and receive affection on their own terms. I think his dream pet might be some sort of nightmare animal from the nth dimension, like a xenomorph but house broken. He’d settle for some sort of hell hound in a pinch. 

Uh well, no “pets” as such. He has the crows but they aren't really pets, more like they follow him because sometimes he has corn in his pockets. I don't think he can really look after things that need feeding every day, himself included.

so arkham scarecrow is currently living rent free in my 1 braincel. i will absolutely keep writing him because i am having too much fun. 

[forlornmelody]

Trust Exercise

Rating: E (Smut with some plot, for flavor.)

Fandom(s): DC Comics

Ship: Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn

Linkage: Ao3

Summary: Harley wants to try something new, but Ivy isn't sure her girlfriend is ready to see that part of her.

Note: Commission for @rookie009. Dude, thank you so much for commissioning me again. And insisting I write my faves. <3

->->->

Ivy’s in the lab when Harley finds her, nose-deep in an experiment she’s been running all day. “Oh, hey, babe. Did you get my text?”

“Mmhm.” Harley’s hands grasp her shoulders, her fingers meandering past the collar of her lab coat. 

“So, you know that I can’t do date night tonight.” Harley’s lips find her cheek, then her ear, and the tissue culture Ivy’s been working on for the past hour slips from her fingers. 

“Sure you can.” Her lips meander down her neck, as Ivy stares at the ruined culture with both horror and... arousal. Something hot roils in her belly, and Ivy stifles it as she turns around. 

“Harley. How many times do I have to tell you--”

“Mm. You’re even more pretty when you’re angry.” Harley grabs Ivy by the lapel of her lab coat, pulling her in for a kiss. The jungle surrounding the lab roils as if shaken in a gale force wind. 

Ivy breathes her in, and pushes her back, holding her girlfriend at arm’s length. “Harl, if you want me to tie you up, you only need to ask.”

Harley flushes, biting her lip as she glances away. Ivy draws her attention back with a finger under her chin. “Do you want me to tie you up?”

“Ives…”

“Harleen Francis Quinzel, I promise you I won’t ask again.”

“Yes!” Harley says quickly.

“Yes, what?”

“Tie me up.” Harleen swallows, her tongue darting out to wet her lip. 

“And?”

Her skin blushes pink as one of her pigtails, and Ivy almost doesn’t hear her. 

“What?”

“I said use your vines.”

“You sure?” The words fall out of Ivy’s mouth before she realizes what she’s asking. Sure, she’s usually the dominant one in bed--Ivy knows what she likes and how to ask for it. But this...Damnit, Pamela. What if this is too much? What if being tied up and used reminds her too much of…. Ivy doesn’t even think his name. She just conjures up an image in her head and sets it on fire. 

“Ives?” Harley says, her eyes widening and her mouth shrinking into a small oh. 

“Sorry?” 

“You okay, Pam-a-lamb?” Harley brushes her thumb across Ivy’s cheek, pushing a wisp of hair out of the way. God, she must look like a mess right now. 

“Of course!” she lies, and a nearby fittonia albivenis wilts in protest. Charlie, as she liked to call him, always is a dramatic asshole. “Go on.”

“You sure? Cause George doesn’t look so good.”

“Charlie.” Ivy sighs, rubbing her forehead.  “His name is Charlie.” She nods over at the opposite corner, where a helianthus annuus, commonly known as a sunflower, is giving her a judgmental stare. “That’s George.” 

“Daisy Girl...if the plants are upset, you must be upset.” Harley Quinn leans closer, so Ivy has to meet her eyes. “You can’t lie to a therapist, remember?”

“I can try,” Ivy mutters. 

“I know you too well, Pam-jam. Now tell me what’s eatin’ ya.”

Now, Doctor Pamela Isley could uncover her sordid history with her parents, charm school, the nice conservative respectable university her parents sent her off to--the one she dropped out of and ran away from, the respectable open minded one she graduated from, the mentor who ruined her and created her, and the day they met in Arkham, but Harley already knows she doesn’t dump her past out of the trash can for everyone to see, especially when there’s a bed in sight, metaphorically speaking. God, what a buzzkill that would be. “I want to believe you, Harls. When you say you want this.” Ivy presses her thumb into Harley’s bottom lip. “But how do I know you’re not just saying this to make me happy?” Like she always would with...well. 

“Easy. You trust me.”

Does she? 

The powder-mix lemonade crashes against the opposite wall, barely missing her therapist’s head. “Stop fucking analyzing me. I’m not your rat.”

Dr. Quinzel doesn’t defend herself or argue against the insult. “You’ve good aim.” She does, however, flinch. Something twists in Ivy’s gut. At first, she thinks the Morton’s cafeteria slop has turned sour yet again, but Ivy notices the feeling runs deeper this time, and it spreads like frost throughout her middle, all the way to her lungs. “Softball?”

Fucking hell. She’s feeling remorse. “Gymnastics.” The answer spills out of Ivy’s mouth before she can stop it. 

And then Dr. Quinzel’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Me too! Did you compete? Which team?” 

Ivy spills some more, and they swap memories, apparently having crossed paths without remembering the other at one point or another. Not that Dr. Quinzel would have ever recognized Dr. Pamela Isley when she was a tween with braces and an awkward smile. Or Dr. Isley would have remembered Dr. Quinzel was a spirited overachiever with a chip on her shoulder. Actually, Pamela takes that back. She can see some of it now. She also notices Dr. Quinzel’s hands intertwined with her own. And the warmth between them. 

 “Please, call me Harleen.” Harleen smiles shyly, biting her lip. 

Ivy gulps. “Do all your patients get to call you that?”

And just like that the moment’s gone. But Ivy’s hands feel warm long after Dr. Isley has left the room. 

->->->

Ivy should have known this was a set up. The security guard missing from his post. The alarms turned off. The dark room where the lights should have had motion sensors and generator backup. She should have turned back the moment she noticed, but she couldn’t leave this warehouse like this. Not with one of two middlemist camellias sitting inside, ripped from its soil in New Zealand and brought to Gotham for a filthy auction.

The moment Ivy touches the leaves the door slams shut behind her, and she notices the sealant sprayed on all the windows. Oh no. A hose hisses on the floor, and Ivy slowly feels the air being sucked from the room. No. No. No. Not like this.

There’s no chair, no bat, nothing to break the windows with. Just Dr. Pamela Isley and the lonely Middlemist’s Red that will die with her. Pam closes her eyes, and tries not to hyperventilate, counting her breaths just like Harley taught her—

“NOT TODAY ASSHATS.” Glass shards rain on the floor, and an alluminum bat clangs against the concrete floor. “Pambsel?” Soft fingers touch her shoulder. “Ivy? Come on, Ivy. Stay with me.”

“Ivy?” Harley’s staring at her in their bedroom, her eyebrows lifted in concern.

“I trust you more than anyone else.”

Harley brushes her lips against hers. “And I trust you more than a stripper trusts her heels.”

“God.” Ivy chortles despite herself. “That’s terrible, Harley. Maybe I should keep you from talking.” Those words sound so...different once they’re out of her mouth. Like cinnamon candy burning on her lips. 

For once, Harleen Francis Quinnzel has nothing to say. Her mouth hangs slightly open, to the point that Ivy wants to trace it with her fingertip, maybe slip her finger past those lips to see Harley suck on— “Would you?” Harley whispers, blushing as pink as one of her pigtails. 

“I’d love to.” It’s a little unnerving how easily this comes to her. “But there’s only one thing.”

“What’s that?” Harley leans closer, her hands grasping at Ivy’s clothes, pleading without pleading. 

“What’s our safe-word?”

“Puddin’?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Batman?”

“Nope.”

“Come on, Pretty Girl. You’re killin’ me here.”

“It has to be a word we both agree to, Harley. Rules are rules.”

“Says who?” Harley leans in close, her hands on her hips. 

Ivy smirks at her, whispering in her ear. “Says the woman who is about to give you a night you won’t forget.”

At this point, Ivy half expects Harley to say Arkham, but she doesn’t. “Robinson Park.” 

It’s Ivy’s turn to lose her words. Of course, Harley would name her old hideout. Well. Not just any old hideout. The place where they first kissed. “That’s--that’s two words.”

Harley grins proudly, pressing a soft kiss against her cheek. “Does that break the rules, Rosey Cheeks?”

Ivy allows it. She also allows herself to check with Harley several times as she persuades a nearby pharnera vahili to stretch towards them. The plant balks initially at the thought of making its flower buds large enough to penetrate, but Ivy mutters a quiet “Coward” and the plant swells to prove her wrong. Perhaps Peter would be a fitting name for this one? Brushing the buds, she strengthens him, hardens them, really, and shoos any creatures or enzymes that would bring harm to her favorite person in the whole world. 

“Ready, Harley?”

Harley nods, biting a grin. 

Ivy steps towards her, pinching her chin between her finger and thumb. “If this is going to work, I’m going to need you to use your words, Harleen.”

“Yes.” Harley gulps a breath of air, and she closes her eyes as if she’s about to kiss her. 

Pulling out of her reach, Ivy returns to Peter, stroking a few tendrils, feigning more interest in them than her lover. “Then remove your shorts. I’d hate to ruin them.” 

“These always were your favorite, weren’t they, Red?”

Indeed, they are. “Perhaps.” Ivy can’t help but watch them slip down Harley’s cream-colored thighs. She itches to get between them but that will have to wait. “Now lay down.”

“But--”

“It’ll be easier to secure you from the bed, trust me.”

“Always.”

Again, that itch. That burning unyielding need to touch every inch of Harley’s skin, exposed or not. This is just as much an exercise in patience for her as it is for Harley. Ivy whisks her fingers, curling the vines around Harley’s wrists and ankles. “Is that comfortable?”

Harley nods quickly, only to see Ivy quirk her eyebrow impatiently. “Yes, Ives,” she says, her breath ragged. 

“How about now?” The vines lengthen and grow, suspending Harley’s prone body in the air. Ivy wishes she could draw how beautiful Harley looks like this, her mouth parted and arched back, her legs already flushes with need. 

“Amazing.” Harley closes her eyes. “I feel like I’m floating.” 

“And what is our safe word, again?”

Harley starts to say it, only for Ivy to brush between her calves with a tendril.

“That tickles!” 

“Don’t squirm.” Ivy smirks despite herself, stroking the inside of Harley’s legs, from the bottoms of her calves to the narrowest point between her thighs, edging around her center but never quite touching it. 

Twisting in her restraints, Harley groans. “Don’t tease me, Pam-Pam.”

“I believe you asked me to tease you. Isn’t that the point?” The tendril snakes past her middle, scratching under her chin. “To make you beg for it?”

“Please.” The vine edges back down, circling her warmth, now moist with the juices dripping down her legs. 

“Please what?”

“Touch me.” She pleads, seeing Ivy’s lips pressed in a thin line. “Touch my clit.”

“That’s my girl.” Ivy resists the urge to mirror the motion of her plant. Her own thighs twitch with want. Her vine grazes Harley’s lower lips, feather light in their touch, and Ivy aches at the whimper slipping from Harley’s mouth. She keeps circling with smaller and smaller circles until Harley shakes and keens. And that’s when she drags the vine against where Harley wants her most. 

“Oh fuck. Fuckity-fuck fuck.” Harley strains against her bonds, her hips writhing against the vine. 

Ivy licks her lips. “Would you like this vine inside you?”

“Mmhm...y-yeah.” Harley’s voice breaks on the edge of her first orgasm. 

Then Ivy pulls away.

“No, Ives, please. Please touch me. I’m--I’m so close.” 

“I know, Harl.” Ives steps around the now massive bulk Peter has grown into, caressing Harley’s own cheek with the back of her own hand. God, she wants to tear off all their clothes right now and just have her way, but she can’t. Not yet. “I’m going to give you something special.” One nail presses into Harley’s cheek, enough to indent, but enough to break the skin. “Would you like to know what it is?”

Sweat glistens around Harley’s hairline as she looks back at Ivy helplessly. “Yeah.” She manages. 

Shit. She must be thirsty. “Hold on.” She snatches a water bottle, holding it to Harley’s lips. “Drink some water.” Ivy doesn’t pull the bottle away until Harley’s finished it. She downs her tea. Then she rubs her fingers together, until oily spots form on her fingertips. “This oil will heighten your sensations. Do you want it?”

Harley can’t even form words at first, but she manages. “Please, Pammin-Jammin. I need you.”

Ivy also licks her lips, her entire mouth tasting like vegetable oil, but stronger. And the oil packs some heat. Not enough to burn, but enough that she’ll need to wash her mouth out later if she’s going to focus on anything. “I need you too, Harley.” She brushes her lips against Harley’s and want hits her like a gale-force wind. With the way Harley moans into her mouth--she feels that way too. Patience. Even the quickest-growing plants need time to breathe. 

Before Harley can deepen the kiss, Ivy trails her lips down her chin, her neck, and her collar bone. She massages her shoulders, her arms, then up her sides and back down again. Ivy kisses down to her chest, avoiding Harley’s already too sensitive tits and just focusing on the valley between them, pausing a moment to listen to her quickening heartbeat. Harley squirms, and Ivy holds her steady, paying careful attention to the planes of her abdomen. Her hands move around Harley’s hips, pinching either side of her ass, covering her thighs and in between. “Oh, Ivy.”

When Ivy finishes caressing Harley’s feet, she stands up to see Harley’s face caught like a saint in a Raphaelite painting. She guides her own hands around one of the tendrils, slowly, gently penetrating her as if she were using a dildo. And when the tendril is as far in as it’ll go, Ivy grins against her ear. “Ready?”

“Mmhm,” Harley whimpers. 

Ivy snaps her fingers, and the tendril takes on life of its own, pumping in and out of her lover without any guidance from her. 

“Fuck!” Harley gasps, her wrists twisting in her bonds as she seeks purchase to rock back against the vine. “Oh, fuck that’s good.”

Ivy finds her hands drifting down towards her legs. She clenches them behind her back to hold them still. Not yet. Focus on Harley. But focusing on her and how fucked she is seems to be part of Ivy’s problem. Licking her lips, she asks, “How do you feel about anal?”

“Mm?” Harley probably means to ask, but her mm sounds more like a moan than anything else. 

Making a point of rolling her eyes, Ivy snaps her fingers a second time, and the vine pulls out of her. 

“No no no. Please. I was almost…”

“I asked you a question, Harl.” Ivy growls, more from arousal than annoyance, but Harley’s eyes widen.

“What was the question?”

“Do you.” Ivy grips Harley’s chin. “Like. Anal sex?”

 Harley’s eyes brighten and her frown morphs into an ecstatic smile. “Double penetration?” She bites her lip. “Would you?”

“I’d love to. But first.” Ivy pulls out a familiar bottle--her own recipe. She squirts a generous amount on her fingers, and ringing a circle around Harley’s butt hole, and then little by little, probing inside with her finger. “Good girl,” she whispers in Harley’s ear. Her lover starts to tense up, and Ivy holds her hip firmly with her other hand. “Relax. You are the most amazing person I’ve ever known, and you have done the impossible time and time again.” 

“You...you really think t-that?”

“I know that, Harley.” Her finger gets pulled deeper inside, and Ivy works her open gently, as Harley’s eyes glaze over and her mouth drops open. “And tonight, I’m going to make you feel how amazing you are. Do you trust me?”

“Mm. Y-yeah.”

“Then you’re gonna take more for me.” Ivy whispers, taking Harley’s lobe between her teeth. Harley shudders and nods, and Ivy, slowly, gently, and with more oil, adds a second finger. 

“Nn--Ivy, Oh god. Please. I--I need.”

“Need what?”

“More.” 

“More what?”

Harley moans--whimpers in reply, “I---make me come,” she begs, sprawled in mid-air, and Ivy raises her free hand to pull the prepared vines. “Pam-Pam, please.” She croaks. “Please, Pamela.”

The vine droops just inches from Harley’s hips.

“Pamela Isley!” Mrs. Saint-Claire always pops the p in Pamela’s name, and spittle flies out of her mouth. How many times do I have to tell you!” Those skeletal hands jerk her shoulders back. “Back straight! Like a puppet on a string!” Pam’s so tired. She just wants to go home. Well, maybe not home. “And smile for once! It won’t kill you.” Mrs. Saint-Claire yanks her wild curls into a peppy poiny tail. “How are you going to win a man like this?”

“Pam-pam?” Harley’s looking back at her, her eyes still dark with want and pleasure, but her eyebrows are lifted in concern.

Maybe Ivy should hold back, more. What if she goes too far? But Harley would tell her. She’d say the word. She doesn’t pretend, not in bed, not unless that’s...well. Maybe it would be nice to pretend. A different time, perhaps. 

“I’m still here,” Pamela says more to herself than Harley, and she refreshes that vine until it’s erect and moving again. “Are you?” She coats the vine slick with oil, and she slips her fingers out completely. 

“Yes, yes, please.”

“Then take it.” The vine enters her slowly, filling her already stretched hole, pumping in tandem with the other in her cunt. And fuck it, Ivy reaches down and touches her own center, hissing at how sensitive she is already. 

“Yes, yes, yes!!” Harley’s always been loud in bed, but she’s never screamed like this. Ivy smirks, directing a third vine to mimic the motions on Harley’s clit that Ivy’s already doing to her own. And oh, Harley shakes, rattles, so full and so hung she can’t move, only ride the wave as the vines move in and out and around her. “Fuck yes.”

“Are you close, Harley?”

“Y-yeah….” And then her eyes shut, and her mouth forms a silent oh, and her body jerks, clenching around the vines.

“That’s my girl.” And Ivy brings her down slowly until Harley relaxes, and she pulls the vines away, untying her wrists and ankles and holding her close. “How’re you feeling, Harls?”

Her lover doesn’t answer at first, nestled against Ivy’s breast, her eyes distant and warm. “Thank you.” Harley nestles into her breast, breathing her in. “I feel amazing, as promised.” She giggles, and Ivy’s so busy laughing with her to notice the hand creeping towards her now naked legs. “Oooooo. What’s this?”

Ivy gasps, unable to help her moan at Harley’s touch. “Harley, you don’t have to--”

“Jesus fuck, you’re wet. Why didn’ you say somethin’?” Harley toys with her, circling her engorged clit and playing with her labia.

Ivy can’t bring herself to her own defense, too focused on how nice Harley’s fingers feel. She squirms, gripping Harley’s shoulders. “Harley--”

“Shh. C’mere. Lemme return the favor.” And then Harley lays back on a newly formed flower bed. With strength Ivy didn’t think she’d have at this point; Harley pulls Ivy’s thighs towards her face. 

“You sure?”

“Isely you’ve gotta stop asking me that.” She tilts her head up, kissing the inside of Ivy’s thigh. “I love you. Of course, I’m sure.” Her lips drift toward Ivy’s center, half-cleaning up the mess they’ve made, half-making it worse. 

Biting her lip, Ivy swallows her gasps, trying to hold on. “Harl, I--” Oh. It’s like she’s never felt another’s mouth on her, though clearly Harley (among others) have been down more than she can count. 

“Shh,” Harley manages to say between long licks. She edges the tip of her tongue around her clit, drinking her in without drying her up. Fuck, she still has pleasure oil on her tongue. Not as strong as at first, but Ivy doesn’t need that strength. 

Maybe that’s what love is. Trust that the other person won’t let you fall when you step too far off the ledge. Someone to hold your hand when you do fall, so you can fall down together. Someone to pick you back up. “Harley, I need--oh.” Ivy groans.

“‘S okay, Ives. Ride me.”

Ivy doesn’t need to be told twice. She grinds down, not so hard as to smother Harley, but enough to feel her mouth that much more. Oh god, fuck, she’s sucking her clit and--

When Ivy comes to, she’s lying on her side, with Harley playing the big spoon. “Holy shit, Harley,” she says, her mouth dry as cotton. 

“Your turn,” Harley shoves the water bottle in her face, and Ivy drinks it dry. “Not bad, eh?”

“Not bad at all.”