#arkham takes are dumb and tired

[scintillyyy]

red robin #4

robin iii: cry of the huntress #4

same vibes. to me.

[mushies-stories]

involuntary experiment

Jonathan Crane X F!Reader

Summary: Scarecrow uses a new toxin on himself and the reader, a hero who decided to seek him out alone this time in hope of bringing him down. this is literrlly porn and some plot aha

Wanrings: SMUT 18+, no use of Y/N, dubcon, Drugged, Dom/sub dynamic if you squint, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia, pnv, unprotected sex, cream pie, oral(Mreceiving), fingering(Freceiving) pet names, over stimulation, No use of Y/N, over all soft Crane? Squirting, mild science experimentation, claiming? Kinda… I think that's it XD

word count: 4564

You had been after Scarecrow for a while now but his dumb little henchmen always seem to buy him just enough time to pull some kind of toxin out, forcing you to retreat or suffer in fear. So you figured this time you would catch him off guard, you knew who he really was and his face wasn't a secret unlike yours. 

Follow him after his deal with some other low life, remember that low life, then follow him back to whatever hole he thrived in. easy.

It really was easy. You followed him down to the basement of some abandoned building on the out-skirts of gotham. You waited silently as he unlocked the rusty metal door and slid it open then made your move. In an instant you were kicking him into the room that turned out to be a basic lab. You thought the kick would have knocked him on his ass, instead he stumbled a little and dropped his briefcase but managed to collect himself rather quickly. Quick enough that when you went to attack again he was swinging his body around and stopping your arm from hurling your fist into his jaw. 

You were stunned for a moment, surprised that he was even able to block you. His henchmen normally did the heavy lifting. His free hand was reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling something out. Shoving him you freed your arm and backed up. You stayed alert just in case but you knew he wouldn't hit himself with his own toxin. His mask was in the briefcase across the room. 

You eyes him as he pulled the canister out, he stared back with a tight smirk. “Oh, you decided to give me a house visit? How special.” He snorted. The liquid in the canister wasn't normal, this one was a pale pink. 

“Well I figured it was time to put an end to your madness, Dr. Johnathan Cran.” you said and shrugged. 

His smirk grew. “That so? Growing tired of chasing me then?” He took a step closer and straightened up in defense. “You know, I was waiting for an opportunity to try this new toxin out.” he said, shaking the canister with another step and taking his glasses off in the process, placing them in his jacket pocket. 

You stepped back, wanting to keep space between you. “That so? How are you gonna do that without your mask?” you said, glancing at the case that sat on the ground between you both. “Because I can bet I'll get to you before you make it to that mask.” you stated, ready for him to make a move.

A low chuckle left the man. His piercing eyes staring into you with no regard to your threat. “See, the thing is.” he began, taking another step. “I don't want the mask this time. I've seen this on people alone, how they suffer alone in their cells at arkham. I want to see what happens when two people are under the influence together.” he said, undoing the cap and tossing the smoking can between you. 

Smoke filled the room immediately and during the coughing fit the smoke caused, you watched him. He was clearly affected by the smoke, coughing along with you but stayed perfectly skill in place. You weren't sure why he wasn't making a move.  “What is this?” you choked out. 

You both slowly composed yourself as the smoke settled and fresh air became available. “It’s an aphrodisiac, laced with a little truth serum.” he said, a grin growing on his face as your eyes winded at his words. “The more sexual desire creeps in, the stronger the effect.” Jonathan said factually.

You shook your head in disbelief. “That's insane.” you said quietly.

He stood straight, cocky. “Perhaps. But tell me this, have you ever thought about how id fuck you? Late at night have you ever thought about how well my cock would stuff your pussy?” His words were sudden, lewd and they had an instant reaction on your body. 

You shook the feeling of heat on your face away. “What are you talking about?”

He chuckles and steps closer, leaving only a couple feet of space left. “Does your pussy ache at the thought of me fucking you?” he stepped closer when you didnt flinch back and then closed the gap when you only continued to stare at him in disbelief. The toxin was making you more compliant, more willing to let him be closer to you. A hand came to cup your cheek, the skin there felt like it was on fire from the contact. “Tell me, how do you feel?” his head tilted with an almost knowing grin as he looked down at you. 

You blinked slowly, your brain starting to fog up. You wanted to fight back, say something to wipe the smirk off his face but those thoughts swirled with the ones just like he was saying. You had the occasional thought about him, knowing what he looks like helps. It was a few times and everytime you felt disgusted by it, he was a deranged madman who drugged people. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, wanting nothing more than to hide as you felt your body tip more into desire for the criminal in front of you. 

“Well? Speak up. Is your pussy getting wet for me right now? Feeling hotter and needier, need me to fuck you all better?” he asked softly, almost caring while his thumb stroked your cheek. 

A small whimper escaped past your lips. Every word he spoke awoken a new spark in your brain that killed off all logic and left only a scorching burn of desire between your legs. You nodded slowly. “Y-yes.” you whispered, eyes barely keeping focused on his own that watched you with eyes that must look similar to your own, blown out and full of growing lust. 

“Good girl.” He cooed. Stepping away he dropped his hand from your face and nodded once. “Undress, and don't forget to take the mask off.” He ordered. 

You hesitated a moment, you started with your shoes but your hands froze before they could move to your shirt. feeling embarrassed now at the order as your brain attempts to wrap itself around what's happening. But he was watching you so intently and the gleam in his eyes was enough to push your brain to move your hands to the button and zipper of your pants and undo them. You slowly slid them down along with your belt and tools with shaky hands and kicked them aside. Then you went for the shirt and tossed them in the forming pile next to you. “Dr. Crane… my head feels…” you tried to express how you felt as your body and mind gave further in, the hesitation leaving you as you exposed yourself to him, now taking your bra off and sliding your panties down and subconsciously rubbing your thighs together. 

He smirks at how you now called him by his title “Oh sweet girl, I know.” his hand came back to cradle your cheek, this time thumbing the hem of your mask. “Why don't you take this off as well, clear your head up a bit.” His smile could have been mistaken for sincere. He slid the mask over your head and his smile grew when he saw your full face. “Well, I've been missing out huh?” 

Before you could even register just how exposed you were, his lips were on yours. The kiss wasn't harsh but it wasn't gentle, it was needy and hungry. His hands found your hips and pulled you flush against him. You clutched the front of his suit jacket as his lips worked against your own and you could feel just how hard he was with his bulge tightly pressed between your bodies. You couldn't help the small gasp you let out that became an invitation for Jonathan's skilled tongue to work its way into your mouth to further the pleasure. Even a kiss was making your sex pulse. You peered over at the canister at your feet but before those thoughts of the toxic’s involvement could form in your head you were swept away by Jonathan biting your lower lip. All desire to fight was lost and replaced by the need for Johnathan to fuck you untill your pussy was ruined. 

When you pulled away with shaky breaths Johnathan didn’t look as composed as he had before. It looked like the aphrodisiac was finally taking its full effect on him as well. He brought both hands up to cup your cheek, forcing you to look up at him. “I want to feel these lips, pretty girl, can you do that?” he asked. You nodded and he let you sink down to your knees. You wasted no time undoing his belt and pants, pulling them down enough to let his cock spring free before you. You couldn't help but rub your thighs together at the sight. You took him in your hands and pumped a few times, causing the man above you to let out a few shaky breaths. Pre cum adorned his cock head and was slowly dripping down his length. “Like it sweet girl?” he asked, looking down at your blown out eyes. 

You nodded and leaned in to lick a fat strip along his cock before slipping your lips around the leaky tip and sucking it like a lollipop. I deep groan rumbled through Johnathan. “Been wanting to taste your cock.” you confessed breathlessly before sliding down his cock and hollowing your cheeks around him, immediately starting a slow pop of your head.

Jonathan brought a hand to tangle in your hair, making sure it stays out of his view as you sucked him off. “Fuck baby.” he groaned “iv thought about your mouth on my cock so many times.” you moaned softly around his cock, continuing to suck him, the need to taste him and make him cum driving you to bob your head faster. “Just like that sweet girl, oh fuck just like that.” he leaned his head back, hand lax in your hair as you worked him. 

One hand fisted pumping his shaft while the other went to gently grope his balls. You moaned around his cock at the heavy set and squeezed them. Jonathan groaned and gripped your hair. He  pushed you down further until you were gagging with the tip of his cock hitting your throat. You struggled around his massive girth and you had to bring both hands up to hold into his pants to keep steady. “Fuck, baby..” he grit out between breathy groans, his seed shooting into the back of your throat. “So good baby, make sure to take all of it.” you struggled to maintain focus while he rutted himself into your mouth. “Fuck this aphrodisiac makes everything so sensitive.” he huffed.

You swallowed and began coughing and gasping for air as soon as he pulled out and released his hold on you to rake through his own hair. Regaining a little brain function you noticed his dick was still hard and still leaking precum. Then you felt the tingling in your core increase and you could feel just how wet you had gotten with hardly any touching. “Dr. Cane… will you fuck me now?” you asked, looking up at him with doe eyes. 

His hair was now disheveled and red tinted his cheeks. He brought you up with a hand on your chin while the other traveled to your hips, rubbing circles on the hot flesh with his thumb. “But I wanted to taste your dripping cunt and taste your cum sweet thing.” He said, his eyes showing how much he really was affected by his own desires right now. Letting go of your hip, his hand traveled to run a slender finger through your folds.

You gasped as the sudden stimulation. His fingers continued to work through your folds and soon started teasing your entrance. “Bu-but I want to feel you inside.” you whined out as his fingers pushed into your tight pussy.

He pumped into you a few times before pushing his palm down against your clit, adding to the stimulation and causing your pussy to clench around his digits. “If I can't now then you'll just have to let me after I’ve cleaned you up and the toxin wears off because if i fuck you now im filling you with my cum over and over until I have nothing left to give you.” he voice was low, filled with meaning and truth.

With the mix of his hand fucking your pussy relentless and his dirty words, you were reeling, hanging onto him as your legs began to shake. You tried to nod between soft moans while trying to keep your eyes open, the pleasure starting to feel too good as heat pooled in your stomach. 

“Tell me sweet girl, want me to fuck you full of my cum, want to wake up still stuffed and leaking all over?” he said, digging his palm into your cunt. “Use your words, let me hear you.” he said, moving closer to your face as you quickly came undone in his hand.

You nodded faster and let out a shaky breathless moan as his motions of pounding his fingers and grinding his palm into your sex intensified. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as you tried to maintain focus on his blown out pupils. “Yes, yes please. Just fu-fuck me Dr. Crane!” you squealed out as your orgasm hit you. 

His hand wrapped itself into your hair, bringing you to rest your head against his chest. He let you grind into his hand while you settled from your high.

He listened to your moans dye into soft whimpers as your hips stilled with his fingers still buried in your cunt. “So good baby, you sounded so good for me.” He praised, finally pulling his hand away from your leaky hole. You flinched when he brought his index and middle fingers to your lips. “Open up and taste yourself.” he encouraged. You parted your lips and let him press his slick fingers against your tongue. 

You moaned around his fingers as you sucked your own release off of them. Then you looked up at the mad scientist with needy eyes. “Now? Please Dr. Crane? Will you fuck me now?” you asked though you were already pulling his jacket off his shoulders and unbuttoning his shirt. Your brain could only focus on him, your need for him to stuff your pussy.

His eyes softened and he allowed you to tug the shirt off. You began to kiss and bite his exposed flesh along his collarbone and jaw. “Fuck, alright baby. C’mer.” he grunted, picking you up by the thighs and within a few long strides he was laying between your legs on the couch that sat along the back wall. “Gonna be a good girl and take my fat cock?” he asked, rubbing his cock along your folds.

You gasped as he smeared your slick on his cock. “M’ready! Please put it in~” you begged and wrapped your legs around his hips to bring him closer. “Need you so bad, please.” 

His cock twitched against your heat. “Fuck, so needy for me.” he smirked and poked your tight hole with the tip of his cock. “Dripping wet and begging for my dick, what a dirty girl.” He teased and slowly sank into you. His hands held your hips in place as he bottomed out and you shook gently under him, legs squeezing his hips. You let out a loud and needy whine as he stretched your pussy open. He stilled inside and came to lean over you, arm next to your head caging you in. “don't worry, I'll take good care of you.” he cooed, rolling his hips into you and smirking at the face of Ah it caused you to make.

You hadnt had sex that felt this good before, his dick felt like it was made for your pussy. When he started a moderate pace to allow you to adjust a moment you could feel the slight curve of his cock. The veins on his cock dragging along your inner walls had you practically mewling under him with how good you felt. 

He chuckled and started a faster pace, making sure to bottom out with every thrust. Your pussy was sucking him in and squeezing him just right he could tell he was already close again. His thrust picked up so he pounding into you with precision and where it felt best and you were a moaning mess on his cock. Your hands came to hold his shoulders as he fucked into you. With your head pressed back into the couch cushions you lost yourself in his movements, so good you couldn’t tell that you were building to another orgasm until it was right there and the only warning you gave was a desperate moan and jumbled words. 

Johnathan groaned and leaned his head between your shoulder and head, his cock twitched before his hot load filled your gummy walls. “So tight baby, your pussy’s so good baby.” he praised as his hips rocked into you, making sure to fuck his cum deep and keep it there. He leaned up to look at you, a soft smile played at his lips. “Like my cum filling you up?” he asked, stroking some hair away from your face.

You smiled at him. “Feel so good. m’ warm and full.” you admitted. Your legs tugged him closer, not wanting him to pull out, you still felt so needy, you needed more. “Can I have more Dr. Crane?” you asked sweetly. 

His smile turned darker, more mischievous. “Oh baby, do you need me to fuck you tell your little pussy is dripping full of my cum?” He rolled his hips again teasingly. You nodded, breath caught in your through with how deep he was, and again his dick was still totally hard. “You were just begging me so well sweet girl, even calling me Dr.Crane like a good girl. You can do that again right?” he smiled and waited as he continued to roll his hips gently, just enough for a little friction. 

You nodded and cleared your throat. “Please, need you to fuck me full Dr. Crane.” you rushed out. His words had a way of causing the deepest reaction from you. You needed him so desperately you didn't understand anything but him right now. “Please, I need it.”

“Need it that bad? Tell me whose pussy this is then, tell me baby girl who do you belong to?” his eyes were fixed on yours, his face turned more serious. Your eyes widened at what he was saying, he wanted you to be his and his alone. The implication should have probably frightened you, made you struggle away but it didn't. You wanted him to ruin you, have you in every way. “Well?” he pressed.

“Yours, Dr. Crane.” you said softly and pushed yourself against him with a little whine. “All yours.” you conceded. 

With a low groan he slowly began to thrust into you again, pulling back almost completely to fill you up again. “That's it, all mine.” he sank his back into the crook of your neck and littered it with sloppy  kisses and the warmth of his tongue and teeth grazing the now new overly sensitive spot on your body. A hand came to roam over your breasts, squeezing one and pinching at your nipple before repeating the actions to the other. You whined and your hands came to tug at his dark hair. He smiled against your jaw before nipping at it. The thought of his marks adorning your chest and neck tomorrow made you feel even warmer.

You held tightly to him now that he was pounding into you with a firm hold on your hips. Your whole body was  responding to him perfectly and he just knew exactly where to hit that spot that had your legs shaking and eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Fu-ck, gonna cum!” you managed to squeak out, every thrust taking your breath with it. The only acknowledgement from Johnathan was his free hand snaking up your chest and his hand wrapped itself tightly around your through. He pulled back to look at you as his hips snapped into you faster, his eyes transfixed on watching you come undone under him. Your eyes fluttered to maintain focus on his face as the all too familiar sensation took over. You shook as you felt your release practically poor out of you with how stuffed you were. 

“So good, so fucking tight.” he said with a low groans as he thrusted into you, not giving you a moment to catch your breath after your climax. His eyes are fixed where your bodies connect, watching his cock ruin your pussy. “Fucking perfect. My pussy. My girl.” he grunts between thrusts. You held onto him, arms locked around his neck. He fucked into you desperately and he was still hitting you so deep you couldn't help the lewd sounds coming from you. Your sweet little whimpers and moans encouraging him to fuck you faster. He grinned down at your fucked out face, tears streaming down your cheeks as your body became sweetly overstimulated. He could feel and hear your slick coating your lower bodies.

It was becoming overwhelming for you, his cock hitting the right spots over and over without stopping while his ships slammed into you. “To much! Too–aahh much please!” you begged for release, still to cling to him.

“Sshhh baby you can do it, give me one more. Squeeze my cock like that one more time.” he encouraged through low groans. He brought the hand down between your bodies to run fast circles on your clit. “You can do it, cum again for me. Such a pretty thing when you cum.” The sounds of your fluids mixing filled the room along with breathy moans and gasps from the both of you. 

You cried out a moan and screwed your eyes shut. He was going to force another orgasim from your abused cunt and there was no stopping him, you could feel your stomach tighten and pussy flutter uncountably around his girth. “Fuck! Please ple-” you groaned out as another orgasm shook through your body, your pussy spasming around his cock as he continued to stroke your sweet spot through your climax. You felt his cock shoot another full load of his hot cum deep into your waiting pussy.

“Good girl.” he cooed, slowing his relentless pounding as your pussy pulsed around his cock. “So good baby, you did so well, are you ready for your treat?” he asked and you nodded, your chest heaving as you looked up at him and his still hard cock twitched at the sight of tears pricking the corners of your eyes. He smirked at the thought of you being so overly stimulated and crying for him. Then with you still impaled on his throbbing cock, he wrapped his arms around your back and brought you to sit on his lap with his legs now firm on the ground.

Your back arched and you let out a strangled moan as he managed to sink just a little further into you. You could feel his cum leaking from your spent hole and down his dick, your mixed fluids soon began drenching his pants as he bounced you on his cock. “Dr. Crane, so much cu-um.” you whimpered, trying to hold yourself up with shaky arms. “So full, there's so much.” you babbled out between moans. You were cock drunk and it was evident as your eyes streamed with tears

Johnathan couldn't blame you however, he was right there with you, your pussy was constantly clenching around him like you were always on the verge of another orgasm. “You can handle a little more right? I mean look how much has already spilled out?” he said, gazing down at where your bodies connected. You followed his eyes and the sight alone sent a shiver through you. Slick and cum oozed around the base of his cock with every thrust into you. “Your pussy feels so good Babygirl, squeezing me so tight. Do you want to cum again?” he asked, bringing a hand down to rub against your overly sensitive clit as his hips rutted up against your own. 

You whined and your arms folded in on you, no longer able to hold yourself up. You were so tired but he felt too good, your pussy responded so well to his touch you couldn’t help when another orgasm began to wind itself up. “To mu-uch, feels weird Dr. Crane” you practically screeched into his chest and blinked away tears that threatened to fall.

His hips continued to hit your tender bundle of nerves while his hands simultaneously slammed you down into his cock and abused your throbbing clit. “Good, that's it, let it feel good and make a mess for me.” he encouraged, feeling his own release creeping up. His words relaxed you and you soon felt the wave slam into you within seconds. Your body tensed and your legs shook around him as you self liquid drench his lower stomach and under your bodies. You cried into his chest, tears now rolling down your cheeks. “Fu-cuk, that's it. Squeezing me so well to take my fat load.” He groaned, leaning his forehead against your shoulder and rutting into you as he emptied his balls into your sloppy hole.

You pulled back and looked at him, eyes tired and pussy still fluttering around him. Your mind and body were so tired but your pussy shuddered at the thought of him pulling out. “Can we stay like this?” you asked hopefully. 

He smiled softly at you and brought his hands to cradle you upper and lower back. He leaned back more and pulled you to lay on his chest. “Don't worry sweet girl, I got you.” he coles while stroking your back and gently rocking his hips up. 

you whined softly against him. “Some toxin, you can keep coming after all of that.” you noted, almost frightened since your pussy was pusling and raw some rought he was already fucking you. 

He chuckled and rolled his hips gently again, starting a steady rhythm that was actually relaxing and had you curling into you as your eyes fluttered shut. “I know, and thankfully I have you to take it all for me, I did say I’d give you everything.” he held you firmly against him, his hips picking up speed but staying gentle and as calming as he can manage. “I'll take good care of you.” he whispered into your ear. You sighed and gave in, relaxing fully into him as he used your pussy to get off again. You didn’t want to fight it, even this, being a ragdoll for him to fuck into was wonderful. 

To say the mess you woke up to was almost alarming. you, laying on his chest with his soft cock still buried in you with mixed fluids still soaking your bodies.

[yanderes-galore]

could I request a self aware yandere arkham riddler concept? Thought It'd be neat as in arkham vr he's self aware. -💙🐛

I never played Arkham VR so in terms of plot so I listened to his voicelines and then I looked at some gameplay :)

Yandere! Arkhamverse! Self-Aware! Riddler

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Self-Aware character, Stalking (in a way), Forced companionship, Gaslighting, Manipulation.

Riddler certainly has a love/hate relationship towards the player.

He's currently the only canon Arkham character who has broken the fourth wall as well as he has.

He blames you for all of his failures, due to you controlling Batman and whatnot.

He calls you his nemesis and frequently gets irritated as you find his Enigma Cubes in the various game levels.

However, I also imagine he'd have some sort of respect towards you due to your intellect of solving his puzzles.

Unless you're looking them up... then what's the point?

He notices sometimes you have to replay the level to find a cube which gives him pride.

This whole thing if finding his cubes is a game he can only play with you.

At this point he doesn't want to speak to Batman as you're clearly his nemesis.

Riddler would take to you between levels.

At first he's taunting or expressing frustration.

Then near the middle of the game, maybe when you have half of the cubes, he starts trying to speak to you.

He asks about you and eagerly waits for an answer.

Really all he can do is talk at you but to him it's enough.

Maybe he'll find a way to communicate with you, like coding in a keyboard for you to type on.

That or he enables your mic.

It feels... odd to speak with him.

He's just a game character but it feels like you're holding a conversation with the Riddler.

Which would go about as well as you'd expect... he wants to gloat and gush about the puzzles he creates.

Wouldn't be surprised if Riddler infected your PS4/PC like a virus to see what else you play and who you talk to.

He'd invade and scoop up any details he can find about you.

Which then shocks you when he brings up the other games you play.

"I bet this game is your favorite... you actually get to talk to someone like me! Isn't it entertaining?"

What would be terrifying is if he said your real name in a conversation.

Or described how you look.

It would make you wonder if you're really playing a game... or something else.

Now... imagine when you're about to complete the game?

Riddler then gets defensive at you solving his puzzles and tries to get you to slow down.

He isn't ready to let you go!

You're his nemesis, he isn't done with you yet!

Maybe he even starts to play dirty by removing cubes you've collected.

What do you mean you collected that one?

No you didn't, he didn't see you get that one yet-

You should look again-

Riddler has limited control of the game but that changes over time.

Soon he's corrupting your data, forcing you to replay sections for his amusement.

When you confront him about it he plays dumb.

"Resetting? Sabotage? Dear, are you accusing me of cheating? Maybe you should look for the cubes a bit harder... or check your hard drive!"

He's being an annoyance on purpose because he feels it will make you stay.

If you threaten to leave then he quickly tries to find a way to prevent it.

"Okay, okay! Look, I just don't want this game to end, my nemesis! Aren't you having fun here with me? There's no need to leave!"

Even if you try to get rid of the game at this point he's already infected your device.

He's encrypted himself and hidden himself away deep in your files.

Being in such an enclosed space was tiring.

Now he has a much larger space to subject you to his puzzles and schemes!

If he could find a way to get out of the game, he would!

That way he doesn't even have to think of Batman.

He'll have someone else to test and call his nemesis.

Who knows, maybe Riddler will even find a way to prevent you from erasing his data.

Don't mind him turning on your device when you aren't around...

He just wants to watch what his nemesis is doing at all times.

After all... you two are going to be rivals as long as he's here.

Soon... he'll show you who's really in control.

[sweetlikehoneystingslikeabee]

Let's say the reader is a big dumb idiot who fucked up their antidepressants and is out of commission for a day or two (weak and tired, foggy headed, ANXIOUS AS HELL, etc). How would the BTAS dork squad take care of them in their time of need?

"Messed up Medications" BTAS Dork Squad X reader

Well first of all I would tell this reader personally that things happen and sometimes we mess up our meds. I hope by the time you read this, you're feeling better!!

TW: mental health talk, depression, mind control, hospital abuse

Scarecrow

He's the one who understands the most- not only psychologically but chemically as well. He'll be looking up all of your medications and ensuring another dose isn't missed. Best to get you back on track, after all.

Expect him to ask a lot of questions about your mental state. One, he wants to know where you're at and two, he will always take the chance to dig inside your mind a little further. A habit of his, you could say.

"Does it make you scared to know it's so simple as missing a pill?" He won't use it against you, mind you. But it's something he feels a compulsion to know.

Do you know what you need? Something baked. Something comforting for the upcoming days. Being a chemist as he makes fear toxin, he's figured out baking isn't too far off from that. He can make a mean pie if you wanted.

He'll set you up in front of the TV or some other low-focus activity you enjoy and bake you whatever you'd like. He doesn't have much of a body for cuddling, but he'll make do with his "old" bones, dear.

Riddler

Ah, shouldn't you have a system for this already? It's not scolding, more a blunt question. If you don't, he'll simply have to design one for you. Expect it to be just a little eccentric and very suited to his tastes. HOWEVER, it will get the job done and you'll likely never miss another dose.

He understands the science of it, but explain to him your symptoms and what will help. He would rather learn from you directly than his personal experiences of Arkham doctors shoving various anti-depressants and god knows what else down his throat hoping one would work and then suffering the ill effects of withdrawals.

He's not very good at mind-numbing or relaxing mentally, so he's not the best with this. Do you want a puzzle box? Some sort of toy you have to unlink? Or a video game...

Frighteningly quickly, he's made you a small video game that is very simplistic but entertaining. There's a lot of love involved, you can tell from the way the NPCs interact with you, the player. They say your name and tell you what a wonderful person you are.

If you say anything to him about it being sweet, he turns beet red.

Mad Hatter

Poor dear! Nothing to fear- he can fix this, he's sure. He understands the compounds of your medication and how it effects the neurotransmitters of your brain- would it help if he tried explaining that? As "silly" as he is, he knows straight logic can make a situation feel better.

No, no, he understands. Why don't you just relax and he'll read to you? Truly, he does the best voices for Alice and Wonderland. But you knew that already. Something intimate and soft where you can rest your head on his shoulder or in his lap.

So much reassurance. You could ask him every hour on the hour if he still loves you/if he's mad at you and never seems bothered. He wants you to feel safe and loved when you're not feeling well.

If it's truly too much, he'd be glad to have you "under" for a while until it all passes. Test out some light modifications he's made to the mind control devices he's worked on. It'll be like you're asleep!

Yes, he will dress you up and the like if you agree, it's definitely a win-win in his mind. He'll bring you up every once in a while to see how you're feeling. You can be in Wonderland as long as you like.

[caesariawritesstuff]

Come to Bed

(Arkham!Riddler x Fem!Reader)

● Ao3 ● X ● Retrospring ● Read on Ao3 ●

NSFW

The bed is cold.

Groggy, you reach for the other side, only to find it empty. The comforter is neat, not a wrinkle in sight, as always. Darkness envelopes you on all sides, save for the moonlight peaking through the shades. Your eyes stray to the clock on the nightstand: it’s a little past three in the morning.

No wonder you aren’t sleeping. He hasn’t come to bed yet – and you doubt he will. It’s the third night this week. You know how he is. You know how he gets. His focus is so strong, his will, his tenacity. You’ve known it ever since the day you met Edward Nigma. You knew exactly what you were getting into the day you decided to drop everything, to fall straight down into the dark, deep pits of Gotham’s underbelly. Forgoing everything you ever worked for just to be with him, to be his lover. But you can’t help the irritation sparking within your veins, a horrible ache in your belly. You just wished he’d come to bed, take care of himself. Forgo the filth he covered himself in. You missed the nights when he’d lie next to you,

tracing patterns on your stomach or back with his fingertips, spouting theories, trivia, hypothesis – everything and anything that ran through his scholarly mind. That was what drew you to him in the first place. His genius, his intellect. You’d grown tired of the filth that walked Gotham’s streets. The men who claimed to be high and mighty, who preferred brawns over brain. They had nothing to offer you. They were far too dimwitted for their own good. The men of Gotham were not good men, they were scum. They didn’t stimulate your own intellect the way Edward did.

God, how you wished he’d come to bed.

Sighing, you sat up and put your forehead in your hands. Exhaustion tugged at your eyes, threatening to draw you back under the blissful darkness of sleep. The truth is that you’re spent: your muscles throb from all the work you’ve been doing to help Edward. Your stomach is in knots, hungry; you’ve been so busy even you’ve hardly eaten. But worst of all, it’s the nagging worry tugging at the back of your mind. You just want to check on him – to make sure he’s all right. That he’s not working himself up into one of his states again. That’s when it’s the worst. When his narcissism drips through the most. You’ve learned long ago how to tiptoe around it; but the truth is you don’t mind. You enjoy feeding his ego, singing his praises. It turns you on, knowing the way he looks at you, so obedient. He appreciates that you don’t act stupid, don’t play the childish games of dumbing yourself down.

Despite every fiber of your being screaming at you to lay back down, you stand instead. You’ve gone to bed in nothing but a pair of forest green lace thong and bra. The matching silk robe hangs loosely from your shoulders. Green and purple are practically the only colors you wear now, just for him. He likes it when you do, even if he won’t admit it out loud. But he knows entirely what it means: that he owns you.

You stand and wander out of the bedroom. The hideout he’s chosen is far from extravagant: nothing but paint-chipped walls, a draft, and the kitchen’s leaky faucet. The apartment is cheap, and you hate it, but you don’t question him.

You make your way out of the room and through the apartment. Across from the building is the spare bedroom, where he’s set up shop. As soon you approach, your stomach falls. The clattering of machines, gizmos and gadgets, his mumbling – it’s all too familiar.

He’s manic again.

You’ve come to learn Edward Nigma, very, very well. His mood swings, his tantrums, how he responds to defeats and failures. There’s always a pattern to it. First, he comes up with an idea. Something exciting, something he believes truly will best Batman. It starts as a concept, scribbles in his notebook, soon drawings, then equations. And ever so slowly, he creates something out of nothing. The idea in his head turns into an Enigma machine, a death trap, a bomb; his twisted mind coming up with a million ways to kill someone. You don’t mind. You’re just as twisted. You like watching his victims squirm, watching the fear fill in their eyes. On more than one occasion you’ve given suggestions on how to worsen the pain before their life ends. His excitement intensifies. He moves quickly, his body too slow to keep up with his racing mind, but the mania heightens it to an even worse extent. It’s at these points that his ego reaches its fullest peak. Not that it ever dips that much to begin with, he can’t help but announce how great he is to the rest of Gotham.

And he is great. You know it. Everyone in Gotham knows it.

The only one who doesn’t know it is Batman.

You hate the Dark Knight just as much.

Perhaps even more. Because every time Edward comes back, defeated, broken and bloody, the life drained from his eyes…it’s you who has to nurse him back to his strength. You who bandages his wounds, who wipes the blood from his face, attempts to crudely set any broken bones. Who drives him to one of many Gotham’s underground, secret clinics, where all the criminals go when they’re in need of extra care. Every time Batman breaks him, you hate him that much more.

And then, when he is defeated, the depression sets in. He doesn’t show it to the rest of the world. Only when he’s alone, or with you, do the questions begin. How did he beat me? How? Why does he cheat? How does he do it? He rants and raves, wondering how Batman beat him. He screams and kicks and cries, questioning again and again how Batman did it. That he must’ve cheated. Eventually, his rage settles, and he’s moving on to the next bizarre trap, plan, and conundrum trucked away in the recesses of his mind. Sometimes it takes only a few days to fulfill his next to plan. Other times days or weeks, depending on the size and scope of the project. He takes his time planning every carefully constructed conundrum, every perplexing puzzle, every quizzical query. And all the while, you remain at his side.

They call you the Riddler’s Whore. You don’t mind the nickname. In fact, you rather revel in it. Knowing that the smartest, most intelligent man in Gotham only has eyes for you keeps your insides lit aflame, your mind abuzz. The others? They don’t compare. Not one bit.

In the other room, you find him sitting at his workbench, hunched over, back to you. You imagine he’s spent the last hours in that position, unmoving. You can’t imagine what kind of pain his shoulders must be in. Your gaze strays to the rest of the room, where his favorite shade of green paint has been splashed over the walls.

Riddle Me This. Smarter than a Bat. Bat-Trap. Idiot-Trap. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Words have been painted on each wall. Lines and lines of equations, numbers, and question marks. The very inner workings of his mind on display. Doodles of Batman drowning, being decapitated, or much worse are spread top to bottom on the back wall.

Slowly, you creep forward. “Edward?” you call out.

He doesn’t reply. In fact, he doesn’t even move. He’s so lost in whatever he’s tinkering with that he doesn’t turn around.

You walk closer. “Eddie?” you ask again, your voice a little louder.

Still, he doesn’t stir. You walk even further until you’re right behind him, peering over his shoulder. He’s busy messing with some piece of machinery, screwing in nuts and bolts, double-checking the drawings at his side. He’s wearing a wife beater stained yellow from sweat and black from oil. Before him is a vast array of green monitors, each screen positioned in places all over Gotham. Just so he can keep an eye on everyone and everything. It’s what he does when not building traps: collects secrets. He thrives on the power he holds over everyone.

“Eddie,” you say once more, but he doesn’t sir.

You sigh. Slowly, you reach up into the oily threads of brown hair. Your fingertips brace either side of his head, and with your thumbs, you press into the base of his skull. He stills at the contact, the room growing quiet. You increase the pressure, rubbing your thumbs in a slow, circular motion, releasing the tension in his body. Finally, his shoulders relax, and he groans into your touch. Slowly, he tilts his head back to look up at you. “Eddie, it’s three in the morning,” you say, not breaking contact with his head.

“And?” he asks.

“You really should come to bed,” you say.

He closes his eyes. You take the moment to study the stubble on his chin and jaw, the sweat on his brow, the grime on his skin. When he’s not here tinkering at night or spying on Gotham, he’s spending his days building traps in the perfect places around the city.

“I have much more work to do,” he says. “Sleep is far beneath me.”

You laugh lightly, continuing the motions of your thumbs. Your fingertips reach up to scratch underneath his hair in slow, meticulous strokes. His chapped lips part and you watch as some of the tension loosens in his body.

“Of course it is,” you say. “But even a genius needs to rest every once in a while.”

“Rest is for the weak,” he spits out. “Do you really think Batman rests? Do you think Batman recharges for his next nightly crusade?” A muscle feathers in his jaw and he quickly snaps his head up, inching away from your touch.

You bite your tongue. You know you’ve struck a nerve. You walk around the side of him and glance at the rest of his workbench; it’s covered in tools, parts and pieces and wires. The coffee you brought him hours ago is empty. He glances at you for a quick moment – gaze freezing on what you’re wearing. The bra hardly covers your breasts, their soft curves peaking out. Slowly, his gaze wanders downward, then back up to your face. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“An interesting choice of nightwear,” he says, turning back to his work. “You know better than to tempt me while I’m working.”

“And yet I do it anyway,” you reply, smiling.

“Naughty girl,” he says quietly, a huskiness deep in his throat.

Within moments, the thought of what you’re wearing seems to escape him. He’s right back to his work and your smile slips. You’re used to this – it shouldn’t bother you, it doesn’t as much as it used to. But disappointment flutters in your stomach anyway. When Edward’s attention is on you, it’s on you alone, and nothing in the world could break that. Except Batman, of course – another reason you’ve come to despise the caped crusader so.

The workbench is long, and one small space is empty, so you hoist yourself onto it and press your back against the wall. You watch him for a time, fascinated with the movements of his hands, scarred and burned from so many years of projects gone awry. His nails are grimy, stained black from oil and soot. He smells of ash and sweat, but you don’t mind, you’ve grown used to it over the years. You can’t help but check over the equations he’s written on a pad of paper. As always, he’s correct. You’ve never once need to correct him, even if you are a child math prodigy.

Once upon a time, you’d been employee of Wayne Enterprises and worked in their Risk Management division. It was your job to analyze and research each problem, to come up with a solution. As a result, you were privy to many of the projects the researchers and engineers worked on within Wayne Enterprises. It was that very reason that the Riddler came in the first place, goons at his side, breaking in in search of a special power core he wanted to get his hands on. You’d been working late that night when they’d arrive. His goons pointed their pistols at you, but you didn’t put up a fight. Instead, you’d handed over the power core without complaints. All you asked is that he simply put it to good use.

He spared you that night. And when Batman arrived, too little, too late, with the Riddler long gone, you lied right to Batman’s face. Claimed you had no idea what he wanted or why he’d been there, or that you’d even willingly given up the device which Riddler so craved. You were sure Batman saw right through your lies. But you smiled and continued to tell them all the same.

Something in your words must’ve intrigued him, because the Riddler returned several nights later to poke your brain about the device and what you knew about it, along with anything else that Wayne Enterprises was developing. So, you sold the companies secrets. In exchange for a fee, of course. You didn’t give secrets out willingly. Eventually, it became a bit of a game. Every few nights he’d return to your place of work. He’d pay for more secrets, and you’d give them. A slow, reluctant partnership. And then one night, he kidnapped you and forced you to solve one of his puzzles.

Which you did. You weren’t a genius. Not in the same sense he was – but as a child you’d been gifted with a strange mathematical prowess, solving complicated problems by the time you were only seven. While the rest of your classmates were still learning addition and subtraction, you were calculating geometric theories and algebraic equations. You didn’t possess the same perfect recall he did, or his engineering prowess, or his many other talents.

But mathematics was yours.

For a time, you watch him, far too fascinated with the movements of his hands and the furrow of his brow to say anything. Heat pools between your legs and your heart races – it’s the small, quiet moments like this when you find yourself drawn to him the most.

But exhaustion continues to tug at your mind. Defeated, you hope off the bench, deciding to give up for the night. You won’t – can’t – convince him when he’s like this. You’re just about to walk away when his hand snaps downward, catching your forearm in a tight, bruising grip.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks. He doesn’t even look at you, but there’s a sharp edge in his voice. A warning.

“I’m going back to bed,” you said.

“I don’t recall dismissing you, my dear Quandary,” he says.

You smile. He only uses the name in private. He doesn’t address you as such around his goons. But even so, the name has made its mark on Gotham.

“Very well, Mr. Nigma,” you say.

His brow raises just a touch. He still doesn’t look at you, but you know his ego is stroked. You don’t address him as “Edward” or “Eddie” in front of anyone else, either. Mr. Nigma or Riddler is what he prefers when you’re around other people. Calling him Mr. Nigma only has his attention slightly turned towards you. He knows what dangerous game you’re playing now – trying to distract him from his work is a thin line. He prefers not to be disturbed.

Finally, he releases his grip on you and you stay exactly where you are.

Your arm aches where his fingers dug in, leaving behind a smudge of dirt and oil, staining your clean skin. He doesn’t hit you. When he’s angry, he’s rough – that much is certain. A tight grip here, an even tighter one there. He doesn’t need brute force to show you his rage, he’s never once raised a hand. Instead, he prefers the slow torture of manipulation: a cold shoulder, a passing remark – it’s subtle enough to make your insides squirm, to humiliate you. Most people wouldn’t even realize the kind of affect he has on you. But he does.

You wait a little longer while he continues with his work. So long that your knees ache, and your breath quickens. Anxiety and nerves churn in your stomach. God, how you just want him to look at you.

Slowly, ever so slowly, your hand comes down to touch his knee. Your fingertips dance upwards in delicate motions. Across his thigh. Closer to his crotch – then, like lightning, his hand snaps downward to catch your wrist.

He still doesn’t look at you. “Ah ah,” he says. “Just a little longer.”

You huff and snatch your hand out of his grip, jutting the bottom of your lip out in a pout. “You’re an insufferable tease,” you say.

The edges of his lips quirk upwards, but eyes never stray from the task at hand. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The kind of power he holds over you. Just how willing you are to stand there and wait for him.

“My dear,” he says. “I’m hardly the tease. Not when you’re the one traipsing about in that.” Finally, he looks at you again, nodding to the get-up you’re wearing.

“I apologize,” you reply. “Perhaps I should change then—”

“I don’t think you’ll like what happens if you move from that spot,” he says. The edge in his voice is sharper this time. His expression is hardened, age creeps into his features. Delicate wrinkles line his forehead, the crinkles of his eyes. Despite that, he’s still handsome in a refined way. Sweat coats his brow, trickles down his neck and to his chest. The wife beater dips low to reveal the dark curls of chest hair poking through.

His confidence, his arrogance, immediately shoots like lightning through your core, pooling between your legs. He wasn’t like this before. Before, it was you who had to teach him the ways around your body. But like he always boasted to be the best at everything – he learned, in time. How to please you. How to make you scream. And he had become the best at knowing you.

But, something changes in his eyes. His gaze sharpens. “How many times have I told you not to distract me when I’m working?”

His chair scraps backward as he stands, slamming his palms down onto the workbench. You jump a little at the sudden surge of his temper. His hand shoots forward, long fingers wrapping around your throat. He squeezes slightly, not enough to constrict your airway, but just enough for you to know he’s angry.

“I have two weeks to finish this project before I set my final plans in motion,” he hisses between his teeth. Then, he pulls away. “Two weeks to best the Bat. Two weeks until another chance to have him broken and bloodied at my feet. And here you come, wearing that, when you know just how important this plan is. It’ll work, of course it will. My calculations are perfect. The design is perfect. Batman won’t win this time – there’s no possible way for him to be the dirty cheater he always is. Not this time.” He starts to pace, mind going a million miles. He’s gone, now. His mania has set in again. His anger, his obsessive compulsions, are taking hold, ruling his every move.

“Of course he won’t beat you,” you say. “The Dark Knight is a dumb-witted fool. You’ll win this time, Eddie. I know you will.”

He stops his pacing again, glances at you, and then continues to the other side of the room. He finds some of the green paint, pulls one glove on, and dips his fingers inside. Then, he gets to work, painting more numbers and equations onto the wall. You hate to see him like this. How much his compulsions, his obsession, rules him. But, you know there’s nothing that can stop his tantrum. So, you finally push off the workbench and head for the door.

He pauses, his gaze catching on you. “I didn’t say you could leave,” he snaps.

You halt in your tracks, but you turn and walk back over to him. Your heart races, pounding like thunder, blood thumping in your ears. He’s taller than you by quite a bit. There’s anger deep in his blue eyes, a darkness in his expression. His eyes dip low to what you’re wearing. His lips part as he sucks in a breath. You can see it in his eyes – the furious wrestling inside his mind, wanting to give into his humanly desires and reject them all the same.

You inch a little closer, until you’re but a hair’s breadth away, before sinking slowly to your knees. All you want is to please him, after all. He gazes down at you as you undo his tool belt and toss it to the other side of the room. One by one you undo the buttons. His ungloved hand comes down to thread his fingers through your hair, twisting his fingers into your locks.

His smile twists, arrogant and dripping with narcissism. “Good girl,” he says. “I suppose I can allow this little distraction, can’t I?”

The hairs on your body stand on end, excited. You smile up at him, working quickly to free his cock from his pants. Already, it’s hard and red, veins throbbing. You wonder how long he’s been like this, how long he’s been containing his want and need. Dark curls peek out at you from the confines of his pants, the smell of musk and man flooding your nose. You grip his cock with one hand, slowly pumping it. Once. Twice. He hisses between his teeth.

You lean forward, tongue darting out to lick the head. He tastes of sweat and salt. It doesn’t take long before you have him in your mouth completely. He groans, and you glance up to find his head tilted back. You take him in further. Swallowing him, until your nose is pressed into the head of curls. You drown in his scent, in his taste. In him. You suck hard on his cock, moving back and forth down the member. His breaths come out in short, shallow rasps. His fingers continue to thread through your hair, and then, he suddenly tugs. Hard.

You immediately stop, because you know he’s telling you he’s close.

You take him out of your mouth and look up. His ungloved hand grabs you by the chin, forcing you to look up at him. “What a good girl you are,” he says. “So obedient.”

“Of course, Mr. Nigma,” you reply.

He smiles. There’s a glimmer in his eyes. With a jerk of his head, you know he’s commanding you to stand up. When you’re back on your feet, his hands find your waist. His mouth crashes onto yours – his tongue invading your mouth. He tastes of stale coffee, smoke, and metal. You feel the cold wetness of green paint smudging on your skin, ruining your undergarments. His cock presses against your thigh, throbbing, warm against your skin. He nudges you backwards, leading you across the room until your back hits his workbench. With a grunt, he hoists you onto it and you laugh.

He smiles and his hands slap down on either side of you, trapping you between him and the wall. His gaze wanders downward, studying every inch of you, but when they come back up, his mouth crashes onto yours again. His lips travel across your cheek, down your jaw. Sweet, tender, quick kisses that send your body alight with heat and desire. His mouth finds its way to your neck.

“Tell me what you want,” he says.

“I want you—” you gasp as he bites, teeth nipping rough.

He laughs darkly. “What was that?”

“I want—” Your interrupted again as he reaches down, pushing the thin fabric of your panties aside. Two fingers dip inside of you, and you moan low in your throat.

“Use your words, dear. I may be the best at everything, but I’m not a mind reader,” he says.

Your mind is foggy as he curls his fingers inside of you. It only takes him a second before he finds your sweet spot. A louder moan escapes you and he cocks a brow, glancing at you. He brushes against the spot again and your head falls back against the wall.

“Such a naughty girl,” he says again. His mouth dips low and h trails his tongue across your breasts. Further and further he goes, tracing a line of wetness down your stomach and to your thighs – until he reaches your dripping wet womanhood.

“Eddie, please,” you beg.

His eyes are lit with excitement. “Please what, my dear?” He curls his fingers again.

“Please, Mr. Nigma, sir,” you answer.

His arrogant smile peaks through, giving him exactly what he wanted. He leans forward and traces his tongue along your slit. Pleasure courses through your body and you jump a little on the contact. One of his hands lifts your leg up and throws it over his shoulder for better access to your womanhood. His fingers curl inside you again. Your face is on fire and you thread your fingers through his hair. He drinks you like he’s a starved animal, tongue moving up and down every inch of your folds. He traces upwards once more until his tongue hits your clit and you gasp. A low chuckle rumbles deep in his throat, which only makes his tongue move slower.

“Fuck,” you whisper, the word escaping your mouth.

But he continues relentlessly, alternating between sucking your clit and slowly licking at it. Your breaths come out quicker now, your chest rising and fall, breasts bouncing. Pleasure builds inside your core, your thighs, your womanhood aches. His mouth latches onto your clit once more and his fingers grow faster, pumping in and out. Vulgar, wet sounds fill the room as he laps at your cunt.

Then, the pressure explodes throughout your body. You gasp and moan and writhe as it courses through every part of you, toes curling. Your grip on his sweaty hair tightens and your back arches. His grip on your thigh tightens harder, keeping you still. His eyes are trained on you as he continues to suck, not daring to stop – even as your high comes down, your clit more sensitive than ever, he doesn’t stop.

“Edward, please, I can’t—” you gasp. It’s too much, too overwhelming. Tears pool in the back of your eyes. You’re overstimulated, coming undone. His gaze sharpens. A warning. But he doesn’t stop. He continues the furious pumping of his fingers, the vulgar sucking and licking of your clit – until a second orgasm wracks through your entire body.

You scream out his name, body writhing. Your second climax is more powerful than the first and you swear again, cursing in between his name on your lips. And then, finally, he stops. He removes his mouth and fingers and looks up at you with an arrogant grin on his face.

“Stop smiling like that,” you whisper, exhausted and annoyed.

“Whatever for?” he asks. “See what I’ve done to you? You’re a shaking mess. And only for me. Isn’t that right, my dear?”

“Yes,” you reply.

“Of course. Only for me. Edward Nigma, the Riddler. The only person who can you feel like this. Tell me what you are,” he says. He reaches up with one hand, caressing your cheek, brushing some of the hair out of your face.

“Your whore,” you reply. “I’m the Riddler’s whore.”

Suddenly, his cock sinks into you. You moan at the intrusion, at the sudden adjusting of your body to his. A small groan passes his own lips. You wrap your legs around his waist. One of his hands come down to grip the back of your knee. The other wrestles with your bra, freeing one breast from the constraints. He ducks his head and captures your nipple in his teeth and you gasp. His mouth kisses every inch of your skin, before his lips finding their way back up your neck and to your ear. He thrusts quickly, his hips pounding into yours. You brace one hand on his shoulder, the other on the back of his neck. The workbench slams against the wall with each thrust of his hips.

“Yes, that’s right,” he whispers into your ear. “You’re my whore. Mine. You see what I do to you? How I make you cum?”

“Yes,” you cry softly. Each thrust has pleasure shooting through you. His hips grind into your sensitive clit, overstimulating it even further.

“You’re mine,” he whispers again. “Mine.”

His thrusts quicken. Green paints smudges all over you. Your thighs, your breasts, your face. Everywhere he touches, it stains your skin, as though he’s branding you with his mark. Every fiber of you’re being is on fire; this is what you crave the most. This feeling of being owned, of being controlled, of him having power over you. It’s the way he makes you feel, physically and emotionally, that keeps you attached at his hip – obeying his every command. When he sings your praises and his attention is only on you, like it is now.

He snaps his hips again, once more, before stilling. He groans into your ear as you feel him spill inside of you. Feel his cock throb and twitch as his orgasm wracks through him. His nails dig into your skin, leaving tiny marks.

For a moment, there’s nothing but your heavy breaths amongst the silence.

He raises his head to look at you. Your breasts bounce, your body is flushed. Sweat drips down your temples. His eyes scan every inch of you, as though assessing the state you’re in.

“Edward,” you whisper.

He kisses you, silences you. He cradles your face in his hands. Shows a quiet moment of tenderness. “I can't be bought, but I can be stolen with a glance. I'm worthless to one, but priceless to two. What am I?”

“Love,” you whisper.

You know exactly what his riddles means. Because Edward has never once told you he loves you, not in the traditional sense. Perhaps he’s simply incapable of the words. But he tells you these riddles, many different ones – and they all have the same answer: love.

It’s how you know he loves you. It’s his only way of showing it.

Just as quick as the moment comes, he pulls away and clears his throat. He pulls out of you and tucks himself back into his pants.

“You’re filthy,” he says, as if only now realizing just how covered in sweat, paint, and grime you are. But that arrogant smile hasn’t left his lips. Because he knows he made you this way.

You return his smile. Once you’ve caught your breath, you jump off the workbench and try to make yourself a little decent, though it’s useless. Your thong is soaked wet, and green paint fingertip marks stain across your skin. Your clit is still throbbing from both orgasms. In several places, you realize he’s drawn question marks on larger parts of your thigh. When he did it, you don’t know. Either way, the mark makes you tremble with excitement.

“I have work to be getting back to,” he says, quietly slipping back into his seat.

“Will you be coming to bed?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer. His focus has returned. He’s dived back into his equations, drawings, and mechanical parts. You take one last look at him before heading back through the apartment. Quickly, you clean yourself up – shower to rid yourself of the paint and redress into something a little more comfortable. And when you climb into bed, exhausted, your core still aching from what he’d done…you’re almost asleep when you feel the bed shift.

He crawls in next to you and wraps one arm around your waist, nuzzling the tip of his nose into the back of your neck, inhaling your scent. You smile and curl further into him.

He doesn’t say anything when he comes to bed.

[silverdecepticon93]

Good Graces

💮Requested by @recautivonightmare-blog: First i want to say i love how you write, second i would like to ask you for a one shot of the good guard scolding batman for having hurt too much killer croc or any other villain of your preference. Sorry if my english is bad, i don't speak it.

💮Dolly's Note: Thanks for your request and don't worry about your english, it's really good!

Waylon was like a brother to you, maybe even one of the very first villains that you were in charge of guarding when you first transferred to Gotham, since you were the only guard that was skilled and strong enough to actually restrain him, but he wasn’t that bad to deal with. Despite how big and tough he looked, you knew for a fact that beneath that harsh and rough exterior that he was just a person who was hurting.

Now he was both emotionally AND physically hurt, chuckling weakly at you when he was brought out from the GCPD. It was hard looking at him already, the way they muzzled his mouth like an animal (you knew the reason why they had to do that but it still hurt to see), how the guards used stun batons to poke and prod at him while also maintaining a distance and holding their police shields up.

“Ey, I’m goin’, I’m goin!” Waylon growled when one officer jabbed at him.

You stared disapprovingly and walked over to Waylon to help him into the van to Arkham, only to stop when you noticed that there was something really different about him and stared at him worriedly.

“Waylon, your tail.” You frowned, noticing it’s absence.

He chuckled weakly at your reaction, he looked tired and he looked battered, before he walked past you and into the truck.

“Jus’ a lil’ flesh wound, mon ami/amie,” He grinned as he sat down but the way he winced so suddenly made you realize that the injury was still bothering him but he still looked at you, “I’ll sleep it off when we get to Arkham.”

You smiled back weakly at him before closing the door, your heart heavy as you closed the truck door on him before finally looking at Commissioner Gordon, a frustrated look on your face.

“(Y/n), I’m sure it wasn’t personal-” but you didn’t want to hear it.

“Commissioner, I get why you have such an admirance for him but I won’t stand for him treating my friends like this,” You frowned, narrowing your eyes at him, “Tell Batman I’m glad he’s protecting our city but he should do a better job protecting everyone in it, “villains” included.”

Detective Ying only sneered at you before speaking up, “Or maybe you should do a good job on controlling your convicts- Oh. I’m sorry, friends.”

Waylon let out a menacing hiss of displeasure at her words and his bright yellow eyes stared fiercely at the dark-haired detective.

“I’d like tah’ see ya survive Arkham, girlie,” The crocodilian man snarled, “I’d eat you alive.”

Ying stepped back from the truck, her face maintaining a scowl but her eyes holding a glint of worry. You only let out a small, “Waylon, behave.” before you finally got into the driver’s seat of the prisoner transportation truck and started your journey to Arkham. Frustration, disappointment, and worry weighing on you the entire day as you made sure that Waylon got the treatment he needed for his recovery and Waylon enjoying and being smug about the extra attention he was getting from you in front of the other inmates in Arkham Asylum.

You carried on your day as normally as you could but worry for your friends' health still weighed heavily on you and everyone noticed, that’s one thing they found rather endearing about you. When one of them was hurt, you were such a worry wart about them until they recovered. Currently you were sitting outside of Victor’s cell, not asking him questions about what he was working on or even trying to challenge him to a battle of ice puns. It was odd for you not to start a conversation, so he decided that maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he started it first for once.

“Waylon will be fine, (Y/n),” He tried to assure you, “he can regenerate his tail back, I believe.”

“I know but it’s just...It’s worrying. Yeah, he’s sleeping it off now but cutting his tail off just seems...extreme.” You frowned.

You weren’t going to pretend you knew what happened, after all, Batman wasn’t one to cause mindless violence but you still couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he somehow found it fit to rip off the limb of your friend. Victor didn’t speak after that, knowing that his words weren’t going to ease your worry but felt a small sense of pride when you thanked him for doing his best, though.

You walked out to your car, Ivy already at home and probably ready to rant about how the school got the grass sprayed or something some dumb boys did in her in class, yet you couldn’t help but shake the feeling that you were, perhaps, being watched as you walked through the dark employee parking lot of the Asylum. Eventually you stopped walking, continuing to feel the feeling of being watched, and hung your head up to address the figure in the darkness that was watching you.

“You do know I know you’re there right? I don’t easily surprise Batman.” You frowned as you looked for him in the dimly lit light.

Then you heard the sound of a cape whooshing behind you and turned around to see Gotham’s Dark Knight behind you, his face unreadable as usual and his presence giving you a sense of foriegn sense of unease over your body.

“I don’t expect you to.” Batman spoke, his voice was a bit more gravelly and deeper than most but you always thought he sounded kind of familiar. You only put your hands in the pockets of your coat as you narrowed your eyes at him, “So then why are you here? To hurt Waylon again?”

“...I’m sorry,” He apologized, “I didn’t mean to hurt him-”

“One of Waylon’s bodyguards told me you wanted to know his story,” You began before staring harshly at Batman, “so here’s his story. He was a young boy with a skin condition called epidermolytic hyperkeratosis, it’s why he looks the way he does. His parents sold him to a circus and that’s where he used to live, he was taunted, bullied, and shamed for how he looked. Just another freak in the freakshow. He acts like his appearance doesn’t bother him but it does, and he doesn’t need some vigilante making him feel worse by taking away something he’s barely grown to live with!”

While it looked like your words were falling on deaf ears, Bruce actually felt very guilty. He hadn’t meant to cut off Waylon’s tail but he had a batarang and was trying to dodge being hit by it and it was just a blur. The moment he heard the dull thump, he felt immensely awful for it because he knew he wasn’t hurting just one person.

“I didn’t know.” Bruce spoke weakly, still keeping his voice deep and gravelly but soft.

“It’s not something he likes to talk about,” You scowled, “there’s a lot of things that my friends don’t like to talk about, especially since most people don’t like to listen.”

“I’ll listen.” Batman added at the end.

He watched as you stared at him skeptically, eyes that usually lit up when you saw him any other time now scorching his soul with the restrained fire in them, most likely sparked from the anger you felt towards his words.

“Will you?” You scoffed before turning around and continuing to walk to your car and leaving the vigilante in the parking lot.

This was the problem for Bruce, for Batman. You loved Bruce Wayne but weren’t so keen on Batman and Bruce wanted you to like both of them, since he was both of them and because he loved you, your heart that was too big for your body and a passion that could light up the city. It was hard being both the man you love and the man you despise, having your love and desperately craving your validation at the same time. He already had your heart as Bruce Wayne but as Batman?

Batman had quite a long ways to go before he was in the good graces of Arkham’s Good Guard.

[obsessivelycapricious]

18+ Jason Todd x fem!reader fic ramble.

Hey, so this is a idea i've had in my head for a while, but it won't leave me alone. I've kinda written the first part of it already? But idk if I'll finish it. I haven't worked out the ending yet either but a couple of lovely people were interested in hearing it so here goes! Thanks for the support! I'll tag you all separately.

Warnings: excessive torture, manipulation, gaslighting, rape, violence. kidnapping, interrogation, Stockholm syndrome, abuse. I dont specifically mention how old the characters are, but B-Man likes to pick them young so use your imagination to age them up a bit if you like. It's dark folks, and a super slow burn, though it might not be so bad written in brief here, but if those bother you it might not be a good idea to read it. (its hidden under the cut - PS it got super long - 2.5k words.)

You are Robin. Or, you were at least.

Batman picked you up out of crime alley, gave you a home and a purpose and trained you up to be one of the best deterrents to the crime in Gotham. You lived in the manor, and thought of Bruce and Alfred (even Dick) as your family. It's awesome and you love it!

Almost two years after donning the cape, something goes wrong. You get split up from Batman and taken by Jokers men. That night is the last night you see the sky for years.

Over the next three years, you are systematically abused, manipulated, gaslighted and tortured until you are a shell of your former self. Conditioned to obey his every whim, you micro dose of the small crumbs of affection Joker has to offer you. He gives you test after test, pushing you to your limit always in new and horrific ways. You don't hesitate when he asks you to shoot someone in the head or to beat someone to death. The consequences of fighting against him aren't worth it, you have learned that the hard way. He even doesn't always lock the door behind him and yet you don't try to escape.

You hate batman with a passion now, you regret ever having met the man, he has ruined your life and it's his fault that you are where you are now. He abandoned you. Used you for his games and then replaced you like you were nothing to him. It broke your heart when Joker showed you the footage of another Robin running along the rooftops. Your replacement. Heartbreak boiled over to fury and rage.

He passes you around his acquaintances, particularly Johnathan Crane who is eager to test his new strain of fear gas out. Under the gas you see the Bat sacrificing you again and again to get what he wants. If Scarecrow takes advantage of you while he has you in a vulnerable state, no one cares enough to stop him. He wants to know who the Bat is, but you know that telling him will put Alfred in danger and you'll do anything to avoid that

(Thankfully the joker doesn't want to know who the bat is, you're not sure you could defy him like that anymore.)

Then one day, a body gets thrown into the small cell you are kept in when joker doesn't want to play. Its a Robin. You panic, fear and anger confusing you while joker laughs in your face. You know it's another test but you can't figure out what the rules are.

This is where the fic starts. It's about Jason Todd's slow descent from a vibrant punk who loves being Robin to the dejected, abused shell of a boy who hates the caped crusader and will do anything Joker tells him. You know it'll happen, because that's what happened to you.

Only, Joker never does the same thing twice. Even if it works. You don't want to get attached to the boy, but birds of a feather and all that jazz.

Highlights (or lowlights) include:

Having to share a small confined cell with Jason.

Arguing about the Joker and escaping

"Don't you want to leave? Crazy bitch."

Finding out that Batman didn't even tell Jason about you:

“Why would he come for you anyway, huh? What makes you so special?” “I’m Robin. We’re partners. We’ve been through all kinds of shit together. We’re like this.” “Pah. You really believe it too, don’t you? Ya poor sap.” “What do you mean?” “Why go to the bother of finding a dumb punk like you when he can just make a new shiny Robin instead?” “He wouldn’t do that.” “He’s already done it. You ain’t the first.” “That Robin moved away, he’s doing his own thing now.” “I wasn’t talking about him. I meant the other one.” “What other one?” “The other one.” “There aren’t any other ones – I’m the only other Robin that there’s ever been.” “You motherfucker!”

Beating the shit out of Jason in a blind rage because he won't stop talking about how Batman will come for him.

“How long have you known Batsy for huh? If you know him so well.” “Nearly three years. How long have you known him huh? Oh that’s right – you don’t” “What? Three – Three years?” “That’s what I said. Look, I know this is scary, but I trust B-Man. He’ll come for me, we’ll kick all these guy’s asses, take Joker back to Arkham and get you out of here too. It’ll be okay, you’ll see.” “B-Man?” “Yeah, Batman.” “Shut up.” “What? Why?” “I don’t want to talk about him anymore so shut up!”

Jason finally figuring out who you are when Joker comes to punish you for denting his new toy.

Joker calling you pet names while manipulates you and you being terrified the Joker is going to replace you too

“Oh. Pumpkin, it’s alright. I thought we agreed we were over this, no? Batsy kicked you to the curb a long time ago. It’s old news! This shiny new toy of ours is your replacement.”. “What? You’re replacing me too?” “No, no no. I’d never dream of doing something so barbaric, Sweetheart. That’s the Bats’ M.O. You’re mine for keeps. I would never be that cruel, would I?”

Jason taking his anger out on you:

“Why do you hate B and not the Joker? He’s the one that’s doing this to you. He shipped you off to Crane and you didn’t even fight back.” “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” “No, I know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re screwed in the head. You’re a joke, you’ve given up. Some Robin you are. A real Robin fights back. You don’t deserve the title.”

Joker making you put your Robin suit back on to fight Jason for his amusement. Jason hesitates in the beginning but kicks your ass every time.

Jason trying to comfort you but being bad at it.

Joker asking your opinion on you what you think will break the boy:

"When he gets replaced. Show him."

Weeks of being beaten then long stretches of being left alone with Jason with no instructions.

Catching Jason staring at you when he thinks you're not paying attention.

Joker being caught and taken to Arkham so you both get knocked out and transported there too.

Joker ignores you the entire time he's there as he's being watched to closely, the separation sets you off into a panic when you think about it too much.

Most of Arkham is in on you being kept there. The prisoners who know about it are paid off by being able to play with you - and now Jason too.

Jason thinking in Arkham he would have more chance of being able to escape.

You being subjected to more of Crane's abuse and different types of gas.

Jason being brought back to your cell after being tortured by calendar man and offering him comfort for the first time.

Being cut open and tortured by Zsaz.

Huddling up in the abandoned wing of Arkham for warmth and comfort.

Remembering that you had met before, years ago in the Narrows before Batman took you to be his adopted daughter.

Jason taking care of you while you recover.

Giving Jason advice on how to cope and get through the different villains taking revenge on you.

Jason being hurt and tired and snapping at you, causing an argument where you lash out at him:

"I had to go through this all on my own, dickweed. I didn't have anyone to hold my hand and tell me I wasn't going to die. So fuck you! God forbid I try and help your sorry ass."

Jason being tortured by two-face and seeing Batman and a new Robin visiting Arkham. They don't hear him scream for them to help. It breaks his heart and his will to fight.

You knew it would happen, but seeing it first hand makes your heart break for him. You didn't want to be right. You hate Batman more for what he's done to Jason than what he's done to you.

"I was right there (y/n)! Right there and he didn't even look at me."

Talking about Alfred and how much he means to you both.

Thinking you might actually have feelings for Jason after all.

Being transported back to the compound when Joker finally breaks out of Arkham again only to be in separate cells.

Having major separation anxiety from not being able to tell if Jason is okay.

Joker being jealous of your attachment to Jason and doubling down on his control over you.

He tries to take you outside and you panic so badly you beg him to take you back because you're terrified of what being free will mean.

Joker telling you that you failed his test by getting attached to the boy. He tells you that he's going to kill Jason to teach you a lesson.

Being put back in a cell with Jason to find his face has been branded and he's just so utterly void of any hope or any life.

Sitting next to Jason in the cell with your head on his shoulder.

Jason knowing he's going to die without you having to tell him. His voice is quiet and resigned, almost with a shred of relief when he says:

"He's going to kill me soon, isn't he?" "I'm going to miss you, Jason Todd." "I'm glad I got to know you, (Y/N). I'm sorry I couldn't get us out." "It's okay."

You kissing his cheek as you drift off huddled together for the last time.

Joker forcing you to watch as he beats Jason repeatedly with a crowbar, ignoring your defiant cries and struggles for him to stop.

"Which hurts more Little Red? Hmm? Forehand? Or Backhand? I think (Y/N) would like to know!"

Joker blaming you for having to kill Jason:

"And all because of your silly school girl crush. What a waste. I'm very disappointed in you, Dolly."

Being dragged away screaming from his lifeless body and thrown into the back of a van just in time before the building explodes.

That's the first half. For the second half to the ending, I haven't quite figured out yet. I've got a few ideas, but I can't decide what would fit better, feel free to help me out here.

Batman could find her after all this time, new evidence being uncovered during the explosion and in his grief about finding Jason's body he could question that he never actually found yours. Of course then you'd be homicidal and try to kill him, resulting in you being locked in another cell, this time in the Batcave. You'd get to scream at him about all his failings and what a terrible person he is though so that could be cathartic. Alfred (And Dick a little) manages to talk you back to some kind of sanity but you are forever changed by this. You meet Red Hood at a later date: on your way to find an egg and cheese sandwich when someone pulls a gun on you. Seeing you again jars him out of his own homicidal rage long enough to care about the girl who he couldn't save, giving the BatFam an opening to reason with him some.

-Or-

Joker keeps you hidden away and the Bat still has no idea you even exist. It stays that way for two more years where you eventually become completely numb to everything he or his acquaintances do to you. Joker eventually gets bored at the lack of reaction and in his boredom he gets careless. A new vigilante takes it upon himself to blow up to compound and best all Joker's men, he escapes but the vigilante doesn't chase after him and instead he finds you. You resist his attempts to save you, knowing how angry Joker will be so instead, Red Hood punches you in the face, knocking you out. He carries out into the night and you wake up somewhere new and he tries to help unravel the fuck ton of issues you've got while dealing with his own. He'll probably enlist the BatFam to help once he's done wanting to kill them, unless you can talk him into killing the Bat together, after the Joker dies of course.

-Or-

One day, maybe a year after Jason dies, Joker decides he's bored of you and gives you one last curveball. After more than 6 years of being isolated and abused, you wake up in an alley on the streets of Gotham, alone. Abandoned again. After several panic attacks and not knowing if it was a test and that you should run back to the Joker or going to find Alfred because he's the only person in the world left that you trust, you decide to leave Gotham altogether. You make it out and somehow navigate your way to having an apartment, a job and even a quiet life in Bludhaven, away from the Bat and the Clown and the nightmares. Except that one day, while you're drinking your morning coffee in a café, Dick Grayson sits down opposite you. You're stable enough not to react immediately, and Dick seems to really care that you're alive and well. Turns out that the Bat found out about you and decided to leave you alone this whole time (which only serves to double down on your feelings of abandonment) Only the joker is out of control and they think that you could help them by giving them an insight into how the joker works. They've got a new Vigilante to deal with too so they're stretched pretty thin. You flat out refuse which is when it turns out it really wasn't a request. You are taken back to Gotham and confronted with the BatFam, helping them reluctantly when Red Hood breaks into your new apartment, demanding information. You argue, and it feels too familiar, setting off a panic attack when he ribs you about your complicated relationship with the Joker. Identities are revealed and you work together to take down the Joker.

The epilogue to this saga would be some time after any of those options.

Both you and Jason finally in a healthier place where you can actually acknowledge what has been growing between you two since you were paired together all those years ago. It's not a neat and tidy happily ever after, it's messy and full of arguments, fears and misunderstandings but it's also full of tenderness, softness and love. And the sex is really good too.

-

If you got this far, thanks for reading! Let me know what you think? Come chat to me anytime!

[scaryscarecrows]

I'd Crawl on Broken Glass to be the One That Laughs Last

Gotham’s gone straight to Hell in a handbasket. Scarecrow’s dead, which is no loss, but Bruce is missing, Arkham blew up for reasons unknown, and the Arkham Knight’s Militia is still in control. Oh, sure, there’s a fair chunk of them in lockup, but they’ve been getting steadily more riled as the days wear on (three days since the Asylum, their boss has to be dead, who’s in charge now?), and the tanks are still running patrols, the bombs are still in the road, and there are checkpoints and watchtowers everywhere.

Jim thinks they’re waiting for something. There’s been no assault, not like he thought there might be. The street thugs and any uncaptured Rogues are still allowed to run wild, though the watchtowers have been spotted taking shots at something big flying around out there. Honestly, they’re even leaving the police alone, for the most part...but they will still shoot at the cars if they get too close. It’s like they’re on babysitting duty or something until the Knight gets back. It’s unsettling.

He’s out doing a little exploration-he doubts they’ve killed Batman, or they’d be gone, but Bruce still isn’t around-when something drops onto the roof of his car. He hits the brakes, tires screeching, and narrowly avoids sliding into a tank crossing the road.

Breathe.

Jim has no time to go for his gun before the driver’s side door gets ripped open by what Jim can only describe as the Hulk. The man outside is only a little smaller than Bane*. There’s a rocket launcher on his back and Jim’s sure he’s not the one that landed on the car, because the car would be a pancake.

He’s proven right a second later when the polar opposite of the giant jumps down. That said, this guy might be tiny, but he moves like he knows half a dozen ways to kill you. The cherry on the disaster sundae? Both of them are wearing army fatigues.

Militia. Shit.

“Boys,” he says, already planning on how to get that rocket launcher from the big one, “don’t be stupid.”

The little one doesn’t say anything. The big one laughs and before Jim can move, he’s been pulled out of the car.

“Boss wants to see ya.”

So they have a boss. Who. Who is it? One of their own? Riddler? Penguin? Goddamn Deathstroke? Who is his new problem?

“No.”

“Sorry.” The man does sound mostly sorry. “Not really askin’. C’mon.”

Jim tries to slam his elbow into the man’s collarbone. He doesn’t even really get to move before the little guy grabs his arm and wrenches it behind his back. Not hard enough to dislocate it, but hard enough to be a warning.

“We don’t want to have to hurt you, Commissioner,” the big man says. “We’re just picking you up.”

“Go to Hell.”

A gun presses against his back. Fine. He’ll go. But he won’t like it.

* * *

He’s disarmed, bundled into an APC, and blindfolded. After way too many sharp turns and double-backs, he’s...somewhere in the underside of the city. He’s thinking over near Drescher.

Wherever it is, he’s pulled out of the APC, taken inside somewhere, and handed off to new hands. When the blindfold comes off, his kidnappers are nowhere to be seen.

The men in charge of him now (and only for now, give him time…) are less...unnerving...than the other two. One is wearing the white uniform of a medic, and the other is having a snack. Cashews? Cashews.

The medic is a man on a mission. Jim doesn’t even manage to get out a, ‘you’ll be sorry’ before the man’s turning on his heel, jaw working furiously, and snapping, “Come on.”

“Where are we going.”

“Boss wants to see you, won’t listen to reason. This way.”

He stalks off and the snacker chuckles.

“Cashew?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” They follow the medic down a crumbling hallway. “They didn’t scare you too much, did they?”

“What’s with the good-cop-bad-cop routine?” he demands. “Is your friend up there gonna come back and threaten to carve my face off?”

The man just laughs.

“Probably, but he does that to everyone.”

“Sometime today!”

Huh.

Jim thinks they might be in the old mall. Scarecrow had been driving that way when something had happened, and, well, if Jim were going to have an evil base of operations, this would be a good one. Lot of ways in and out, nobody ever comes down here anymore-too dangerous-and it’s big, big enough to hold tanks and soldiers and whatever else these boys have. When they round a corner, he sees a familiar logo and decides that yes, that’s where they are. Hm.

They round another corner and end up in the back of the building. Jim’s not sure what this was, but there’s a corridor lined with doors. The medic stops in front of one and turns, hands clasped behind his back.

“Twenty minutes and no more,” he snarls at Jim. “You’re lucky you get that many minutes. You try anything, you might live to regret it. Might. You tire him out, out you go, I don’t care if it’s been two minutes. Don’t touch shit, don’t knock shit down, don’t--”

“I think he’s got the picture,” his other escort soothes. “Don’t terrorize him.”

“Humph. With the amount of work I had to put in to keep his dumb ass alive, I’m entitled to terrorize people.”

“Still.”

“And I’ll tell you something else. You lay a finger, one solitary finger on him, you so much as breathe too hard--”

“There won’t be anything left to bury,” the other man says, smiles with all his teeth. “Here you go, Commissioner.”

“Twenty. Minutes.”

And then he’s shoved into a room with--and good God, how--the Arkham Knight.

The Knight is lying in bed. He looks the worse for wear, but Jim can’t quite muster up pity for him. This...this is his fault. Gotham, Bruce, Barbara…

He swallows down the rage. Not because it’s the right thing to do, but because the Knight’s not alone. Jim supposes they wouldn’t just leave him unattended, not with those injuries, but still.

The Knight doesn’t seem to notice Jim. He’s certainly not looking at him. He’s looking at the laptop the other man has. Right now, at this exact second, he looks like a sick kid, wan and tired, eyes fluttering like he’s fighting to stay awake. But he’s not. Robin or not, he’s...the Knight’s not that boy anymore. Robin wouldn’t have done this, any of this. Robin’s dead.

“Sir.” The other man here isn’t wearing a uniform, he’s wearing jeans and a raggedy flannel that hangs open over some sort of band shirt. But his bearing is still that of a soldier’s, and the rifle leaning against the wall by his chair is top-of-the-line. “Gordon’s here.”

“Hrm?”

“Remember? You wanted to see him.” The Knight blinks a few times, heavy and confused, and tries to lever himself up before his companion reaches over to pin his shoulder. “Don’t do that.”

More confused silence. Now that he’s moved his head, Jim can see his pupils are blown wide. That’s not a surprise. He’s pretty sure he was in Arkham when it came down, and he hadn’t looked well before that.

Serves him right, he thinks, remembering the cuts on Barbara’s cheeks and chin. Serves the bastard right.

He keeps his mouth shut. The laptop has been closed and set aside, and the rifle is now in its owner’s lap. It’s casual enough, but the threat’s there all the same: you’ll go through me to get to him.

He wonders, a bit, what drives these men. He doesn’t really care, but he wonders a little all the same. Even the ones in the cells have been resolute that ‘the boss’ will get them out, that he’s got everything in hand, just you wait and see.

...in their defense, Jim had thought he had to be dead, and yet here he is. So.

“S’right,” the Knight finally breathes. He sounds terrible, and Jim suddenly matches the purple swelling on his throat to handprints. That scares him. Not out of pity or sympathy, but because what little he’s seen of the man says he can handle himself. Whoever did that… “S’right.”

“You up for it?”

He’d better be. Jim was kidnapped off the street for this.

“Yes.” Good. “Glad to see you’re unharmed.”

No thanks to you, Jim doesn’t snap, resolutely ignores the memory of the Knight holding up his hands and telling Scarecrow, voice painfully earnest, to take him and let Jim and his men and Robin leave in one piece. He settles for a curt nod, can’t quite muster up a, wish I could say the same.

The Knight pulls in a painful-sounding breath and drops his head to the side.

“Bring up the footage for Commissioner Gordon, would you?”

“Yessir.” The laptop returns, balanced delicately over the rifle. Jim doesn’t know if he wants to know what’s going on. “Hang on...give it a sec to load…”

The Knight moves and visibly bites back a wince, but the new angle means that Jim can see the full extent of the bruising on his neck.

“There we go--you okay, boss?”

“Ribs,” he breathes. “They don’t like it when people zipline into them.”

What.

“Need me to call--”

“No.” He swallows hard and beckons Jim closer. “M’fine. Just sore. And stiff.” He clears his throat, grimacing. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount.”

“M’just not used to being still this long--”

“Deal,” his friend says sharply. The Knight just grins, but that annoys the other guy. “Did you miss the flatline bit?”

“Technically?”

“I--never mind.” He makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “Never mind...okay, all set.”

He turns the laptop around and Jim hesitates before perching on the very edge of the bed. Nothing terrible happens to him.

“This is footage from my helmet. How it kept going after that level of trauma, I’ll never know, but my IT department managed to recover it remotely.”

The footage picks up in a dark area, abandoned sewer network or something, probably, and it’s glitchy and stuttery.

Bruce has been caught on camera before, but not like this. This is...savage, animalistic. He comes out of nowhere, dodging gunfire and seemingly oblivious to the shouts of surprise, and moves in via a flying kick to the camera itself, which goes white and static-y for a second. A few of them come up behind him and suffer backhands and powerful kicks for their troubles, and then Bruce fills up the frame, shoulders positioned like he’s got his arms out and...and...

He looks at the Knight, looks at the bruises around his neck, and looks back at the screen in time to see Bruce going down and being dragged backwards.

“He do this to you?”

The look the man gives him is so reminiscent of the little boy Jim remembers that it makes his head spin. It screams, I know you’re not really that stupid...right?

“Well, I didn’t do it to myself.”

“--okay, sir, I’m just gonna…”

The helmet moves and Jim spots the medic from earlier before it gets set on the ground, facing Bruce. Bruce is chained to a pipe, seemingly unconscious.

“Don’t talk, just nod. Can you breathe okay?”

There’s an obvious cut--they don’t want to share it all, apparently--and then Bruce stirs and starts...giggling. Jim knows that giggle.

“What the hell.”

The Knight shudders and burrows under his blankets.

“It’s complicated. We’re reasonably sure he’s been eliminated, or at the very least contained, but--” A hand moves, presumably indicating himself. “I made it out. He might have, too.”

His friend closes his laptop and sets it aside.

“We’ve got teams sweeping Arkham’s grounds to the best of our ability,” he says. “Unfortunately, we are not a rescue team and as such are not fully equipped to handle the more unstable areas. That said, given the police department’s...track record...we would very much prefer that your men stay out of our way until we either find the individual formerly known as the Batman, or definitively confirm his demise. We’re hoping that at the very least, any injuries he may have sustained slowed him down, but we can’t prove that, given the lack of video footage for the incident.”

“It’s our understanding that Batman has, at least for the time being, lost his fight against the effects of J.” The Knight swallows. “Of Joker’s blood. I attempted to contain him--”

“Contain, my ass,” his friend grumbles. The Knight ignores him.

“I attempted to contain him,” he says again, “via...ah…”

“He blew up the goddamn asylum with himself and Batman inside,” comes the sharp interjection. “In case you managed to miss that.”

Jim had not managed to miss that, thank you very much.

“I noticed,” he says dryly. The Knight huffs a painful-sounding laugh and falls silent.

There’s. There’s a lot Jim wants to say. The Knight was Robin, and Joker killed him (and made sure they all knew it, that tape, good God, he’d sent it to everyone and Jim remembers Dove bursting into tears when she tried to tell him), but he’s not dead now, and look at what he’s done.

Much as he’d like to demand answers--or at least bring half of that up--he won’t. He doubts the man with the laptop will react well; now that he really looks, the man’s tense, clearly poised to move if he has to.

Jim can probably take him. He absolutely can’t take the others that will come at the commotion.

There’s a small dinging sound, and silence, and then an urgent, “Sir. Sir.”

“Hrm?”

“We got something.”

The Knight blinks a few times before half-surging up and demanding, “Let’s go, let’s go, then, help me up--”

“Chair or Trent?”

“Neither--”

“Chair or Trent.”

“Chair,” he grumbles after a second. “But I can walk on my own--”

“Yeah, but if the doc sees you, he’ll be mad. Here it is.”

Jim moves, semi-prepared to offer to help but not really wanting to, but they must have a system, because the Knight’s in the chair with a blanket in short order.

“I feel like a cheap Bond villain,” he’s complaining now. “One that rolls down a ramp into an electrified pool or something.”

“Maybe next time, you’ll consider your life choices, sir.”

“They weren’t supposed to come back to haunt me!”

“I know, sir.”

“Christ...what do we have.”

Should he…? Sure, apparently.

What a day. He needs a drink. A good strong one.

“My understanding is it’s better seen than explained, sir. No body, I don’t think.”

“Fantastic...the bastard’ll survive anything.”

Jim privately thinks the same applies to him, but he doesn’t share that thought. He doubts it will go over well.

The computer room isn’t crammed full of people. There’s one guy on the monitors and another one-one of the ones from before, actually, the one with the cashews-lounging in a chair next to him, drinking a Coke.

“What’s going on, you said something turned up--” He doesn’t quite hide a shiver, but when the other people in the room zero in on him, he shakes his head and insists, “M’fine.”

“Boss, I can link this to a laptop if you’re s’posed to be in bed--”

“M’fine. Pull up the footage.”

“You’re not gonna like it,” monitor-guy says, spinning around and wheeling over to make room. “Looks like he got out, same as you.”

“Seriously?”

“Would I joke when it mattered, sir? Here, look. See this?” He makes the screen bigger. “That look familiar to you?”

It certainly looks familiar to Jim. Bruce’s cowl is difficult to mistake, and there it is, crumpled in the rubble. It’s singed, and one of the ears is broken, but it is Bruce’s cowl.

“Damn,” the Knight breathes, and...Jim doesn’t like admitting it, not after tonight, but...he looks so young. A scared little boy, that’s all. “That’s not good.”

“What do we do, sir?”

“We don’t even know for sure if he’s out.” The Knight’s friend leans over the chair to get a better look at the monitor. “Maybe he tried getting out and died, we don’t--”

“I made it out,” the Knight says quietly.

There’s a wave of annoyed grumbling that includes at least one, ‘self-sacrificing dumbass’ and a, ‘in spite of your best efforts’. Jim has to wonder about that one. He can’t muster up that much sympathy, but he does wonder.

The Knight just sighs and adjusts his blanket around his shoulders.

“Fair. Anyways, seeing as I found a way out, it’s not unlikely that he’s done the same, barring the. The possibility of an instant death. I suspect we wound up in a pocket, though, so.”

“You didn’t notice anything on your way out?” Jim demands. “Was he right with you?”

“I was--”

“Concussed and bleeding to death,” a new voice snaps. “And in no shape to be walking, let alone note-taking. What the hell are you doing out of bed?”

“Briefing the--”

“Literally anybody else can do that.” The angry voice belongs to the medic from before. “You don’t seem to understand what ‘flatline’ means, sir, or maybe you’ve just got a death wish, but tough fucking titty, said the kitty, you’re not dying on my watch. Say bye-bye to the commissioner, you’re going back to bed and staying there or on God, I’ll put you in a coma and keep you there until you don’t have so much as a bruise. Do I make myself clear?”

Jim expects argument. None of the Robins ever let Batman boss them around to that extent, and he knows damn well that if he’d backtalked his superiors like that, he’d be in, frankly, deep shit. But the Knight just sighs.

“He’s been here long enough, anyway.” Long enough for what? “Keep your men out of our way, Commissioner. No offense, but Batman existed for a reason. You can’t handle him.”

Jim bristles.

“Can’t handle--”

“You know it’s true,” he snaps, and straightens up, turns to the man with the cashews. “Call everyone back.” All of a sudden that’s no longer a little boy playing Soldiers. That’s the man that crippled Gotham within hours. “I want everyone off the streets and back at base, now. Do not engage under any circumstances.”

“Yessir.”

“Get into the street cameras,” he continues. “If a rat comes out of a sewer, I want to see it. I want whatever drones we have left out and searching, but leave the car alone. That hasn’t worked so far and I’m not losing more--”

He must breathe wrong, because he suddenly starts coughing, harsh, violent whoops from down in his chest.

“Get him back to bed,” the medic orders once the coughs cease. “Or he’ll be Snow White and believe you me, nobody is getting in here to kiss him awake.”

“Jones--”

“We can handle this, sir. We’ll let you know if something comes up.”

“But--”

“You trained us for this, remember? We’re professionals.”

The Knight falls silent, one hand still pressed against his ribs, and finally melts back into his chair.

“Fine,” he says at last. “Bye, commish.”

He doesn’t recognize the men that take him back. The streets are empty, though, barring the patrolling drones, and they make it back to the GCPD unscathed.

Unfortunately, Jim returns to, quite frankly, a disaster. The officers on duty are tied up, and the militia cells are empty. Not a man left. He’s just freeing Cash when the broadcast screen crackles and the Knight appears on it, face serious.

“I mean it, Commissioner,” he says. “Keep out of the way, or I’ll put you in a cell instead.”

“You--”

“Tell Bullock hey for me, would ya?” He leans forward. “Stay safe.”

Click.

THE END

*I’m figuring Bane is bigger than the Giant Mooks because his boss fight consists of you jumping on him to slash his Venom tubes AND because he can and will run you over, while Giant Mooks of any affiliation are not rideable and don’t run.

[danny-chase]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Batgirl (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Stephanie Brown & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson Characters: Stephanie Brown, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon (momentarily), Alfred Pennyworth (mentioned) - Character Additional Tags: Stephanie Brown POV, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Chocolate Milk, post mission talks, Damian Wayne is a brat with a heart of gold, Stitches, Canon Typical Violence, but not for long, because i like fluff better, Fluff, Stephanie Brown is Batgirl, Dick Grayson is Batman, Damian Wayne is Robin, Sneezing, Coughing, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne's almost parent, Stephanie Brown is Damian Wayne's almost big sister, And kind of Dick's little sister Summary:

Steph hasn't worked with the new Batman and Robin duo long, but she doesn't hesitate to come when they call for backup. Their family's a little rough around the edges, but she'll do what she can to smooth things out.

“C’mon, faster!” Stephanie hated when Barbara seemed anxious, when she was anxious, generally something was about to go wrong. Really, really, wrong.

 “I’m homing in on the coordinates.” Barbara was driving on autopilot, but she couldn’t resist saying the line. Damian’s tracker blinked closer and closer. The kid had run off earlier that night, Dick, however, was getting better at predicting when it would happen and followed. She’d been on call for backup, Damian needed space, but he was also a magnet for trouble and unfortunately for them-

“Robin retreat! Retreat! Get out of here!” Dick screamed over the comms. The kid shouldn’t be out in the first place, still recovering from a concussion. She rounded the corner. Victor Zsasz was pushing forward aggressively trying to circumvent Batman to get a stab at Robin. Dick was holding his own but kept taking hits for a dazed looking Damian.

“Get Robin and get out! Maneuver 23.” Barbara commanded. She was seconds away, Zsasz was too close, she wasn’t going to make it, not going to make it-

 “CATCH!” She complied, automatically responding to Barbara’s harsh tone, spreading her arms as the bike swerved right.

 “JUMP!” Damian appeared to do the same with Dick, who tackled Zsasz out of range.

 “FUCK!” She yelled, because Damian jumped right into the path of her oncoming bike and-

 They grasped each other’s wrists in a practiced motion, using momentum to swing Damian onto the backseat of the bike.

 “Holy fuck.” She whispered. Hadn’t expected that to work. Sure, they’d done it a billion times practicing, but like… damn. That was freaking awesome. But also-

 “Are you okay?” She turned to look back at a pale Damian, blood staining the right side of his uniform. He nodded curtly, she could see a sheen of sweat glistening under the streetlights. It took him a moment to collect his thoughts.

 “We cannot retreat, Batman needs backup! Turn around at once!” He demanded, swaying in his spot. On a motorcycle. She might die for this, but she turned around, pulled him closer (surprisingly without argument) and started applying pressure to his side. One hand on the wound, the other keeping him propped upright. Maybe she would die, but Damian would fall off over her dead body.

 “Yeah no, I’m just gonna try to keep your blood on the inside till we get to the Bunker.” She felt a raindrop plop on her forehead, all the more reason to keep on course. Damian was already injured and tired, she would not be the one responsible for making his situation worse. “Then you can bleed out in peace.”

   Stephanie sighed as she swirled milk and cocoa together on the stove, rain pattering steadily outside. Where would she be if she’d had a normal father, or a normal life? She had a standing invite to some party; she could be out with friends. But some little gremlin child would have been murdered by Zsasz blocks away and no. She wouldn’t trade Damian’s life for normality. She was Stephanie Brown after all, abnormal was her middle name, and she accepted it with pride.

 Sure, she wasn’t mixing alcoholic drinks right now, but she was mixing chocolate milk and that was close enough. Damian clomped up the stairs, and angrily settled at the table. Think of the gremlin, and he shall appear.

 “You shouldn’t have retreated.” He muttered, slumping in the seat. His cheeks were already flush from the exertion of walking up the steps.

 “And you should go to bed.” He glared at her, looking utterly nonthreatening in his pajamas. He was wearing one of Dick’s old t-shirts, oversized, draping down past his elbows. He must have his own clothes, but she’d never seen him sleep in anything else.

 “Then why are you preparing two mugs of hot chocolate?” He asked smugly. Well, as smugly as he could with twelve stitches in his side.

 “Because I know you won’t listen to me.” The grin was replaced with a frown. “But I don’t mind, that’s why I made enough for two.” She quickly continued. Damian stared ahead at a place on the table. She weighed her next words. They both knew fully well that he wouldn’t sleep until Dick made it home in one piece, and for that matter that she would either. Leaving Damian alone with his thoughts seemed cruel under the circumstances.

“You didn’t listen to me earlier.” He accused agitatedly, breaking the silence.

 “I don’t make a habit of listening to Robins.” She said with a smirk, attempting to lighten the mood. She carefully poured the steaming cocoa into the mugs, keenly aware of Damian’s eyes following her every move.

 “You listen to Gordon.” He pouted. She placed a mug in front of him and sat down across from him.

 “Most of the time, and she’s not a Robin. I don’t listen to you, Tim, or Dick, and certainly not Jason.”

 “Why not?” He challenged, not making a move to touch his mug, still glaring at her with a dark expression on his face. “You were a Robin, were you not? You think you’re above us-”

 “No, Dames, you gotta read the situation you know?” She took a long sip of cocoa. Damian crossed his arms. She sighed. “Look, if we always listened to Dick, he’d be dead already.” He nodded carefully. “Same thing with you and Tim.” His nose scrunched at the mention of Tim.

 “Don’t compare me to-”

 “Whatever it is, I’m not, I’m just saying, I’d be a lot happier if you weren’t shish kabobbed by Zsasz.” His brow furrowed. “Okay fine, I messed up, you probably would have been fine. We shouldn’t have retreated. But you were down, and we made a judgement call – not just me, Dick would rather die than-” Damian’s eyes went wide. “Poor choice of words, I take it back. He’s not going to die, he just…” God, what was she doing? What was she even trying to say?

 “I know you’re not worried, because you’re you, but if I was you, I would be worried, but I shouldn’t be worried, because Dick’s a badass, so he’ll be fine, and knowing that you’re safe will help him stay focused on the fight. So you’re helping by staying right here, yeah?” She leaned back against the seat. Smooth, real smooth.

 Damian’s lips were pursed by the end of her rambling. “I’m not worried.” She heard him mumble under his breath. He took a sip of cocoa. “Grayson is a competent fighter; he would not be so easily defeated.” She pretended not to hear his voice wobble slightly at the end. The poor kid.

 “He’ll be home any minute now.” She assured.

 “And he’ll yell at you for not making enough for him.” He added sagely.

 “Then he’ll yell at you for not being in bed.” Damian rolled his eyes.

 “I shall already be in bed by the time he makes it up the stairs.” So confident in his abilities. Dick probably let him think he got away with it.

 “Well, then he’ll anxiously pace outside of your room, and peak in to fuss over your stiches.” She predicted. Damian snorted, and took another sip of cocoa.

 “Damian, you could have been seriously hurt, you’ve got to be more careful!” He perfectly imitated Dick’s voice. Steph had to fight back laughter and swallow her cocoa. “Why did you give him sugar, it’s his bedtime?” He directed at her.

 “Robin, cease with the hot chocolate immediately.” She croaked out in a gravelly Batman impression.

 “Holy hot chocolate Batman!” Stephanie lost it as he did a perfect impression of Dick’s normal voice. Damian allowed himself a small smile.

 “Oh my God, you have to teach me how to do that.”

 “Are you sure you have the talent for it?” He asked smugly. She brushed off the comment. Smug Damian was better than sad and worried Damian.

 “Sure, also can you do Scooby-Doo?” Damian’s brow furrowed.

 “Who?”

 “What do you mean who!?” She half yelled. Damian flinched. “Okay, since we’re already up, you’re getting an education tonight, we’re moving to the couch, let’s go, move it people.”

   Two episodes later, Damian’s wide eyes still looked through the screen rather than at it. Not all things, she supposed, could be fixed with dumb cartoons and hot chocolate.

 “Brown?” He softly spoke, as the credits played.

 “Mm?” Silence resounded through the room. Whatever question Damian had died in his throat. “I’m sure he’ll be back any minute, he’s probably overseeing the trip to Arkham.” She guessed.

 “Yes.” Another pause. “He’ll be upset when he arrives home.”

 “He won’t be too upset.” Damian tucked his knees to his chest. “Everyone made it home safe.”

 “Father would have been angry.” She couldn’t deny that. Bruce was, well, Bruce.

 “But Dick isn’t Bruce.” She let the words hang in the air for a moment. “He was Robin too once, you know?” Dick got mad, heck, he killed the Joker like three days after she first met him. He’d been upset with her, for being Batgirl, but his anger wasn’t like Bruce’s, and it hadn’t lasted for long.

 “I know.” He turned to face her on the couch. “He’ll say he’s disappointed.”

 “Ah.” Her heart melted. “That’s always worse.” Damian rolled his eyes.

 “I’ve had worse punishments.” He paused. Damn the League. “But it’s… different.” Steph could sympathize.

 “My dad used to lock me in closets when he was mad.” Damian nodded.

 “I would too.” She groaned. Sometimes she was trying to have meaningful heartfelt conversations with a ten-year-old.

 “Brat. I’m trying to have a moment.” She complained. He fell silent, shrugging his shoulders, possibly as an attempt at an apology. “The point being my mom was always disappointed. And just because one sucked more than the other, didn’t mean both didn’t suck.”

 “Hmm.” Damian leaned back against the pillows. “But I had to do something, he was,” he paled slightly, his eyes widening, “Zsasz was going to kill children again.” He looked at her earnestly. “I couldn’t let him-”

 “Look, no one’s mad at you for trying to do something good. It’s just like… we worry about you, okay?” Damian rolled his eyes again.

 “No need I’m-”

 “You’re staying up until Dick gets back, want to remind me why that is?” He turned to face the rain smeared window. “It’s the same for him, and the same for me. We worry about you too, okay?”

 “You shouldn’t.” Damian muttered. “I’m perfectly capable on my own, I’m trained in twenty-”

 “Doesn’t matter how trained you are if you’re concussed.” She pointed out.

 “It didn’t matter if I was concussed in the League.” Assholes.

 “Well, this isn’t the League, and we care if you’re concussed.”

 “Whatever.” He fell silent after, gluing his eyes back to the screen in an attempt to block her out.

 “Just, let me know next time, and I’ll come with you.” Maybe she was imagining it, but she caught a minute nod.

 Carefully, she reached out, projecting her moves, and ruffled his hair. He didn’t seem much happier, some of the tension bled out of his shoulders. Maybe she didn’t know what she was doing, but whatever mediocre amount of comfort she could supply would have to be enough. She leaned back into her end of the couch, content to sit in silent companionship and let her mind wander off, no longer focused on the cartoon, but on a family forged in chaos.

   “M’ere bud, time for bed.” Someone whispered to her right. Cracking open her eyes slowly, the time on the television box read 3:28. Damian groggily groaned in protest next to her. As her eyes adjusted, she could make out the vague outline of Dick sweeping a tired Damian (who was clearly feigning sleep) into his arms. “You should get some sleep too.” He hissed at her, as his footsteps padded away.

 She stretched out on the couch, four hours of sleep, that wasn’t too bad, but her neck was definitely stiff after that. She groaned, turning on the lamp next to her, shutting her eyes again and slowly allowing them to adjust to the light. Dick popped his head back into the doorway.

 “You need anything? The guest room has some spare clothes in your size, we have extra toothbrushes, you can use my shampoo if you want.” He rambled off. It was strange, she could never tell if he was being nice to make up for his initial rejection, or if that was just how he was.

 “Don’t be too hard on Damian.” She curled into her spot on the couch. Dick stepped forward into view, leaning against the doorframe. A pink bathrobe was draped over his shoulder, his wet hair dripping. He tiredly sunk against the wall.

 “I won’t be.” He slid into a squat, then all the way down to the floor. “Was he mad I followed him?”

 “Probably. I think he was more worried you wouldn’t come home.” Damian’s last experience with Zsasz had been… unpleasant. And the villain had carried a grudge ever since.

 “Oh. Sorry it took so long, Alfred kick you guys to bed or something?” She nodded. They’d been whisked out of the command room before she’d hardly tugged off her cape. No doubt Damian would have tried to leave again if they’d been listening on the comms.

 “You’re okay?” It was so weird. She was sitting on a couch, talking down to a cowl-less Batman in a pink bathrobe, sitting on the floor.

 “Fit as a fiddle.” He sneezed, as if on cue.

 “It’s raining pretty hard.” Her eyes flicked towards the window.

 “You don’t say.” He deadpanned, following her gaze. “It let up about an hour ago. Zsasz is back and Arkham, we found the kids he grabbed, I was trying to track down any relatives.” She nodded, Gotham’s foster care system was abysmal, and the social workers overbooked. Finding relatives could save a kid from ending up in a supervillain’s lair.

 “All’s well that ends well.” Dick sneezed again. “I could have helped.”

 “Babs and I had it under control.” She rolled her eyes, typical of the ‘big kids’ to leave her in the kiddies room. “Thank you for watching him.” He nodded at the empty mugs. “It was sweet of you to stick around.” Warmth swelled in her chest at the remark, she didn’t need his approval of course, but it was nice to have it.

 “Yeah well, cut him some slack for me yeah?” He opened his mouth to reply, then paused to cough for a bit.

 “I won’t be hard on him, but no patrol until his stiches heal.” He assured, regaining his composure.

 “I’m sure you won’t patrol until your cold’s passed.” She commented sarcastically. It would do the boys good to spend some time together anyways.

 “Did Babs put you up to this? I-”, sneeze, “told her I was fine. You guys are worse than Alfred.”

 “Nope.” She popped the p. “But I think your kid might feel a little bit guilty about tonight, and it wouldn’t hurt to stay in with him.”

 “He’s not my…” Dick stared up at the ceiling. Tucking his knees up to his chin, just the same as Damian, he went silent.

 “He’s your kid.” She said after a moment. Dick smiled ruefully.

 “He’s your kid too.” She snorted. He was like the little brother she’d never had, not that she’d admit it.

 “Not a chance, he’s all yours and Alfred’s. Babs and I don’t work with minors.” Aside from the times she had.

 “Mmmhmm. So that’s why you were drinking hot chocolate and watching cartoons with him, because he’s not your kid. I guess you don’t think of him as family” He sighed. “And to think, I was going to bring you to the aquarium with us tomorrow, but if we aren’t your family then why even-”

 “Woah, woah, woah. Let’s not go that far, I want to see him next to penguins-er I mean, I want to see the uhh... You know what nope, not ashamed, I want to see the look on his face at the touch tank.” She paused. “Aren’t you rewarding bad behavior with that though?”

 “Well, don’t worry about it, he’s my kid after all.” He chided smugly. “In all seriousness, I just want to distract him long enough he doesn’t go out again.” Another sneeze. “Jeez, stupid rain. Also, Babs is coming, it’s a party.”

 “You’re sure he won’t see it as a reward?” She wasn’t taking children’s psychology for nothing after all.

 “Nah, knowing him, he might take it as a punishment.” He closed his eyes, leaning back into the frame. “But, I try to keep capes and normal life separate, he’ll be grounded from patrol, but I won’t ground him during the day for stuff he pulls at night.” That seemed reasonable. “He’s been doing really well with homeschool.” He opened his eyes again, looking fondly at the opposite doorframe. “I think he’ll really like the aquarium, he’s been studying aquatic life recently and-”

 Dick mumbled on for a while, listing all Damian’s accomplishments, how he was multiple grade levels ahead, and scoring well in all the classes they made for him. How he could go on to do anything he wanted, was on track to take college courses by the time he was in high school, and how bright his future was. Again, she was glad her life wasn’t normal, as he rambled on and on, pride shining on his face.

 “He’s so your kid.” She interrupted after a coughing fit, having lost track of the conversation. Dick blinked at her. “Bedtime.” He nodded, sneezing halfway through.

 “Bedtime.”

  They didn’t make it to the aquarium, as predictably, Dick was running a fever by the morning. But that didn’t stop the party. Barbara brought soup, Alfred made cookies, and Steph settled on the couch next to Damian, picking up where they left off, marathoning Scooby Doo.

 Dick picked apart the episodes from his isolated recliner (they quarantined him three feet away), Damian chiming in to predict the villain’s identity. Barbara grumbled about normal people being easier to watch TV with, and Alfred settled in a chair by the door. If Cass were here, she’d bounce off the walls, and Tim would lie on the floor. Pieces were broken and missing, but as the remaining members of her pseudo-family chattered away, she had hope that things, eventually, would work out.

[moonlitceleste]

straight up villain (Villain AU)

This is a songfic based on “Villain” by K/DA ft. Madison Beer and Kim Petras. There’s really no plot to it; I started with a vague idea and just went along with whatever my brain told me. It kinda jumps around and I didn’t proofread this at all, so sorry if it’s confusing!

I’d suggest listening to the song and watching the visualizer video because it’s honestly such a vibe. If I could animate I’d totally make a video full of epic fight scenes, but unfortunately I don’t have that talent learned yet.

This version of the song is a little more chill, so if you find the original too intense you can always listen to the slowed one instead.

On the low Only love myself, no more Take you to the grave, I'll ghost I know I can be so cold In the dark Where I like to keep my heart Know I'm all bite, no bark Like to catch you way off guard

A shiver ran down the crime boss’ spine.

His eyes darted around the room, searching through the darkness.

Shadows flickered. He swore he could see movement in them.

The night was crime’s time to rule; people feared the darkness it brought.

Now, he was the scared one.

I'll stay so deep inside your brain And take you somewhere far away

“Who’s there?”

A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, revealing his false bravado.

Shaking hands gripped the gun around his waist, knuckles turning white with pressure.

Creeeakk.

The man whipped around, heart hammering in his chest.

Who—or what—was lurking in the shadows?

A snap echoed through the air as he fired a round.

Silence.

The only sound came from distant echoes of Gotham’s nightlife and the frantic beating in his throat.

He swore he had seen something sweep out in the corner of his vision, if only for a moment.

Perhaps it was the paranoia.

He slowly lowered his gun, shoulders relaxing—

Only to whip around when he felt a phantom hand brush his shoulder.

A pair of eyes flashed in the darkness, gone the next second, but he knew what he had seen, what he had felt.

Icy fear seized his body, taking hold of his limbs.

Something was watching him.

Time to roll the dice, you know I'm the type Type to risk my life, not afraid to die Type to make you cry, type to put a price All up on your head, do just what I said I'm a straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling Straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling

“Stop toying around.”

The gravelly voice was met with a cackle, almost cat-like in nature.

That was his only warning before it stepped from the shadows: a creature out of his nightmares, shrouded in darkness like part of the night itself.

Sharpened black claws glinted under the streetlights, and dark black orbs pinned him in place as it slunk forward. He couldn’t move, frozen like a deer in headlights.

The thing was so human-like in shape, but it was too monstrous to be one.

A wicked smile spread across its face, and his face blanched as he caught sight of the fangs protruding from the top.

The creature stalked forward like a predator chasing its prey.

Then, it pounced.

I'm alive, but I'm dead Hear my voice up in your head Watch it fill you full of drеad 'Til you go pow

It was common knowledge within Gotham’s criminal underworld that the Arkham Knight worked alone. He played by his own rules, merciless in his distribution of justice.

But lately, it was rumored that the Knight had an ally.

There was no proof of this, no sightings to go by, but there was a subtle shift that could be felt—an underlying sensation of imminent danger.

Gunfights and confrontations lessened, and the Knight’s enemies started disappearing without a trace. No blood, body, or evidence of struggle could be found; it was as if they had simply ceased to exist.

Whoever this new player was, they were dangerous.

Is it really a surprise if I'm playing with your mind And I treat you likе a prize, then I throw you to the side? And am I really that bad if l love to make you mad? And get happy when you're sad, only care about a bag

Jason shook out his hair, metal helmet in his hands, and leveled a glance at his companion.

“Did you really have to take so long to kill him?”

The two were in one of their few safe houses, recuperating after their long night of fighting.

“It’s the thrill of the chase.”

Marinette, no longer transformed, stated this as if it were obvious—which it was. Jason had been with her long enough to understand her concept of fun. She leaned forward and stretched, looking much like the animal after which her magic ring was themed.

“We can’t waste time playing around. There are more important things to be done,” he growled.

Marinette simply giggled, bounding over to bat her eyes at him with mock innocence.

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “You know what you’re doing.”

Her smile grew wicked, arms darting out to wrap around his waist.

“You look so good when you’re mad,” she purred.

Jason leaned down, and their lips met in a kiss.

In control That's how I like it and I'm never letting go, nah Never had a soul (soul) So you ain't taking nothing from me when you go, nah

Crack.

Marinette smirked as her staff made contact with the target’s skull.

Normally she would use Cataclysm for a more swift kill, but the remains were needed in order to send a message to Arkham Knight’s enemies.

They were growing more volatile, more desperate to expose whatever they thought she was.

Phantom Killer, they called her. The name sounded like something out of a badly-written horror movie. Marinette much preferred the one she had already: Reine de L'ombre.

Of course, she didn’t need a title, but Jason had come up with it. She was pleasantly surprised by his naming skills—it meant Shadow Queen, for she was a queen, and Jason her knight, as he put it.

She didn’t feel any remorse as the pile of bodies below her grew. Perhaps this made her soulless, but she didn’t need one anyway.

Marinette had all she wanted right beside her.

I'll stay so deep inside your brain And take you somewhere far away

“...you do what you gotta do, am I right?”

Marinette nodded at the man standing across from her, a smile on her red-painted lips.

He had been leering at her from across the bar the whole night, and although that was the goal, she was still disgusted. He had to be at least twenty years older than her. Heck, he was old enough to be her dad.

The intel she and Jason had acquired said the businessman had a thing for younger women, which was apparent. According to the same source, the company he ran was also a front for trafficking and drug rings.

Marinette wanted to see him bleed.

“How about we take this to my room?”

The comment was abrupt, and Jason would probably kill her for her indiscretion later, but she was getting tired of the man’s blabbering.

Her hand moved up his arm, the expensive material of his suit cool against her fingers. She bit her lips seductively, which seemed to convince him.

Bingo.

Time to roll the dice, you know I'm the type Type to risk my life, not afraid to die Type to make you cry, type to put a price All up on your head, do just what I said I'm a straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling (yeah, yeah) Straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling

Marinette gritted her teeth as the man tried to reach for her butt again. 

She attempted to stop him by saying she wanted to wait until they entered her room, but he was persistent. She couldn’t wait to get rid of him.

As soon as she opened the door to her hotel room, she shoved him inside and up against the wall. He seemed to be expecting a kiss, but she punched him hard. For a crime lord he certainly wasn’t a good fighter. Maybe it was the drugs she slipped into his drink earlier that contributed to his quick defeat.

Marinette cuffed his arms behind his back with a pair she had stashed earlier. She could have waited for the man to undress so she could ensure he didn’t have any weapons, but she had gone through enough torture already. Her eyes didn’t need to see that.

She turned him around, giving him a smile that promised warmth and kindness, before pulling out a dagger and pressing it to his throat.

“Now talk.”

I'm alive, but I'm dead Hear my voice up in your head Watch it fill you full of dread 'Til you go pow

“Claws in.”

Marinette’s black suit faded away, revealing her now blood-spattered red dress.

She flopped onto the couch, not bothering to remove her shoes or dirty clothing.

After hours of trying to get information out of the businessman, she only managed to wring a few coded phrases from him. He seemed to only be a figurehead of his shady organization rather than its actual leader.

A Cataclysm later and here she was, back to the drawing board.

“Jay?” Marinette called.

It was unusually quiet in the safe house; usually after solo missions they’d greet one another with a kiss. Now, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Jason?”

Silence.

Marinette huffed. She knew exactly what this was about.

Bang, bang You can do anything No fear, no pain Listen to your brain go Go stupid, go dumb, go stupid and Then we go insane, woah Just do what I say Follow me, I'll lead the way

“Are you jealous?”

Jason whipped his head around, caught off-guard by the appearance of his girlfriend in his doorway. It seemed as if she wasn’t wasting any time.

“I’m not jealous. That guy couldn’t get you if he tried.”

“Then why are you mad?”

His jaw clenched.

He wished he hadn’t agreed to let Marinette extract the information alone; Jason almost wished he was there to see the man in pain.

“He was putting his hands all over you.”

“It was for a mission. Besides, I thought you said he couldn’t get me even if he tried?”

Her last words were said with a lilt, and Jason knew she was riling him up. He couldn’t stay mad, anyway—she had a point.

He deflated and leaned forward to brush his lips against her. Marinette smiled into the kiss, then pulled away. She looked him up and down, a glint in her eyes.

“I guess I’ll have to make it up to you, hmm?”

She paused, then wrinkled her nose.

“After I take a shower. I don’t want this guy’s blood on me any longer.”

Maybe they acted stupid sometimes, but the two always followed one another in the end.

Time to roll the dice, you know I'm the type Type to risk my life, not afraid to die Type to make you cry, type to put a price (Woo-ah) All up on your head, do just what I said I'm a straight up villain, straight up villain Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling Straight up villain, straight up villain (Yeah) Yeah, no feeling, yeah, no feeling (Woo-ah!)

Marinette panted deeply, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

A mass of bodies surrounded her, but she wasn’t paying attention. This wasn’t just a battle. It was war.

It was a fight for her life, and she wasn’t going down now.

Reine de L'ombre tore through her enemies like a terrifying force of darkness, one after the other. The Arkham Knight fought by her side, fueled by pure destruction.

Maybe they wouldn’t make it out, but they wouldn’t go down without a fight.

I'm alive, but I'm dead Hear my voice up in your head Watch it fill you full of dread

'Til you go pow

A week later, a couple rose hand-in-hand from the ranks as new rulers of the Gotham Underworld.

Reine de L'ombre and the Arkham Knight—a queen and her king.

-

PERMANENT TAGLIST @avengerthewarrior @enternalempires @freesportspalacesalad @h1sss @nathleigh

[sweetlimeharvest]

jerome valeska suicidal i think

I’m not sure if this is a hot take or not, but like, Jerome was definitely suicidal right? I’ve been having this debate with a friend for a hot minute. I’m not really sure about how suicidal he was before his first death (not saying that he wasn’t at all), but he definitely was after his first death. 

I know that at the end of his character, he killed himself because he was “more than a man”, but I honestly think the base reason for that was because he wanted to die. Obviously like, it’s not something the show writers did on purpose or intended, but I’ve decided to look into it more than I need to cus I want to.

When he was trying to get away with his mother’s murder, I think he just assumed he’d get away with it because the circus would just leave after the whole thing blew over, and I don’t think he planned on actually staying in Gotham (which makes it so absurd that he thought he knew exactly what the city needed lmao ur not even from here). I think when he thought he was just going to get away with the murder, he was fine with living his life in the circus. When he got to Arkham, I don’t think he was looking to kill himself bc he, for the first time in his life, found a source of support and belonging in being part of Sionis’s group, and I guess he liked the power. I’m not sure what he thought he was going to do in Arkham, maybe he was just enjoying his time not getting beat all the time, and he might’ve even enjoyed the structure. 

When Theo broke him out of Arkham, I think he actually found a driving force in life (I think he eventually would’ve gotten himself killed/killed himself in Arkham if Theo hadn’t broken him out). Theo was a light at the end of the tunnel for him, and it’s clear that he thoroughly depended on Theo for the direction his life would take. After Theo killed him, I’m pretty sure he was like 10000% depressed/suicidal. 

He woke up from death wanting to get revenge on Theo, and maybe he was like “lemme go after everybody that’s wronged me bc I’m tired”, and we get to watch him get revenge on people who’d played major roles in fucking up his life, and ultimately, the city. I think at this point revenge was his only driving force, and he didn’t care about living. He wanted revenge in the city and the dumb rats that made his life a living hell. You could argue that this was his plan all along because Jeremiah had been planning for Jerome to come back, but I think that Jeremiah had been overthinking, and just ended up being right. I don’t think Jerome originally planned on getting revenge on everybody. 

A real-life example of this is self-immolation. There are popular accounts of monks setting themselves on fire in the 1960s as a form of protest against the government, among other people throughout history. These people are often shown to be mentally disturbed, and suicidal to begin with. I think you could apply this to Jerome because he killed himself for whatever message he was trying to spread. I think he probably really did believe in his message, but I also think that his suicidal tendencies probably manifested themselves in his message. 

Anyways, I feel rlly bad for him because miss girl got wronged time after time again. Take what I’m saying with a grain of salt bc the most research I’ve done is looking at a few articles lol (I can link them if anybody ends up reading this hehe).

[miss-choco-chips]

Robin and Red X

Just a silly thing I wrote for @animemangasoul. Hopefully this makes you laugh a bit, hon! No edit whatsoever.

The titans were having a difficult time reconciling their easy going, funny, sure of himself leader with the hot mess in front of them.

“Uhh…”Wally, the bravest of them all, places a careful hand on his shoulder. “Maybe we should… call your dad?”

Robin turns to look at him so fast it almost looks like his neck broke. Beast boy screams, turns into a rabbit and jumps into Raven’s arms, because the sound that came from Rob’s mouth wasn’t human at all.

“If any of you call Batman, I’ll personally ensure living hell for everyone in the Team. This is MY case!”

Wally hastily retreats, hands up in a surrender gesture. 

“Okay, okay! I’m just saying, chill. This Red X dude has been giving us all too much trouble, maybe Bats could point us in the right direction or…”

They think Dick said ‘no’, but it was more of a demonic screeching.

“But we’ll respect your wishes! Because you are our friend!”, and you scare us shitless, he added in his mind. 

Roy signaled at Wally, the moment Dick turned his back to them again. Something like ‘are we calling the Bat anyway?’, to which Wally replied ‘I don’t have a death wish, fuck no’.

They never really get around to capture Red X, but no one dares to bring up asking Batman for help again. The mysterious anti hero keeps kicking all their asses each and every time they face him, always having a countermeasure for their specific powers or abilities, but honestly? He’s not as scary as an unhinged Dick could be, so they’d rather fight him than wait for bathed breath for Dick’s revenge if they went behind his back to solve the case with his old mentor.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Jason hasn’t inherited the Robin cape from his predecessor. Dick wasn’t happy, seeing a new kid using his suit without permission, when he himself apparently hadn’t been ready to let it go.

But Jason wanted to be Robin. Needed it. All the good he could do… the people like him he could help… This was his chance of doing right. Of proving the world (proving himself) he was not like his father, a complete and utter trash that belonged in the dumpster that was Arkham. That he, a street rat, could be a hero.

So he fought for his right to the mask, even if he sometimes felt the itch to go wild and do his own thing. Because honestly, being Robin was awesome, but having Batman constantly breathing down his neck? Yeah, not so much.

So when Dick, now Nightwing, approached him one afternoon while Bruce was out on business, he was both weary and desperate for some distraction.

Which was exactly what the dude provided.

“What I’m going to show you”, Dick starts, slowly, after he’s checked there are no ears on them, ”it’s Robin’s secret. The only one we manage to keep from Batman. What our ancestors saved for us, our legacy.”

“We are the only two Robins, dipshit.”

“Shut up this is a formal process. Do you wanna know or not?”

“Just… tone down the roleplaying.”

“Fuck off, that’s the best part.”

Curiosity trumping annoyance, he watches as Dick places a briefcase in the coffee table where he was doing his math homework.

“This right here, it’s all the information, anything you ought to know about our mantle’s most important endgame. This is Robin’s never-ending mission. Our Moby dick. Red X.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Jason approached Tim with the briefcase, Tim’s first thought was ‘he’s going to bribe me’- an automatic response after working on Wayne Enterprises for months now. 

The second was ‘he has someone’s head there hasn’t he. Am I going to be an accomplice? What crime was this, and can I hide it from Bruce?’.

The third and final ‘maybe I should ask him first’.

His -thankfully sane now- predecessor reached the little nook where Tim had tucked himself, in hopes of staying hidden from Damian long enough to enjoy the mannor’s wifi without having to stand his bitching. He sits cross legged in front of him.

“So. Give me all you have on Red X.”

This was… unexpected, but not unprecedented. The family tends to think of him as a convenient alternative to some criminal wikipedia sometimes. 

Obediently (because then he’ll get to go back to his research sooner), he rattles out what little he could scrounge on the antihero. It was, admittedly, not much; any younger hero had not heard of Red X, as he’d been dormant for some years now, and the older ones were forbidden to talk about him by Dick himself. The first Robin had claimed ownership of the antihero, and anyone caught working on his case without his permission would find themself with their life turned around  in the most inconvenient of ways before they could even finish burying the evidence. With Bruce taking a neutral stand on the matter, merely respecting his son’s wishes, no one was willing to risk the fury of someone with Batman’s resources and knowledge.

Except, apparently, Jason, because he was opening the briefcase and turning it in his direction.

“Let me tell you a lil story, that Dickie shared with me some years ago. I wasn’t a good predecessor for a long time ‘ere, Timmers, and I wanna make it right by properly passing this on. The true legacy of Robin; the mystery of Red X.”

“I… I’m not Robin any longer”, he blurted out, though his fingers twitched to touch the contents of the briefcase, to go through all that juicy, sweet treasure.

“Doesn’t matter. Dickie gave Robin without your permission, but this… this only I can pass on, just as you can only pass it to the brat when yer ready. No one can take this away, or Dickie loses the claim he has on Red X.”

Jason opens the briefacase all the way, then.

Tim drops his coffee.

Suddenly, there was something way more important. As unholy as it sounded.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

When Damian was invited by Drake to their own private ‘bonding night’, he was weary but hopeful. He’d been trying to fix their bond for some time now, so he could not ruin this chance, as suspicious as it sounded.

So they watched a movie, ate vegetarian pizza (Damian felt emotions when he realized Tim knew, paid attention) and complained about their older siblings and their role as Robin.

“It’s just… a heavy burden”, he admits. If someone can understand his feelings, it’d be Timothy after all.

“I get you. There’s also the matter of Dick’s and Bruce’s expectations on you.”

“I have to be perfect for them, all the time. The smallest mistake and… I could lose my family. But I feel so trapped…”

Tim’s hand found his and squeezed it. When Damian looked up, the older teen had a compassive look on his eyes.

“I might have the solution for that.”

As if he had planned this (perhaps he had), Tim retrieved a briefcase from under the couch they were occupying.

“Dick gave this to Jason, and he to me. Now, I’m passing this on to you.”

Damian tilted his head, a bit confused.

“I.. am already Robin.”

Tim smiled and pushed the case closer to him.

“This is even better. The freedom to the bindings that come with the suit. Open it.”

Curious, still weary but unwilling to lose any ground he had gained with his brother, he obeyed.

And promplty dropped it to the ground.

“What is this?!!”

“This”, Tim smiles, cheshire-cat-like, “is the Red X costume, and all his toys. Including, but not limited to, a perfect holographic devise, to use to make people think you are fighting Red X, to clean your name should anyone suspect the truth. I’ve been using it all this last few months, to…”

“Ruin my life?!”, he yells, because it’s not a secret Red X had came back from dormancy to utterly fuck with Robin, taunting him and beating his ass at every turn. It had been doubly frustrating, because everyone refused to speak about the antihero to him, so he had no information on the man to hunt him down properly.

“Chill. I just.. needed to vent a bit. And this suit helped me, which is the entire purpose of Red X.”

“I...don’t understand.”

Tim placed the briefcase in the coffee table and inched closer to Damian.

“Dick created the alias back in the day, when the pressure of being a perfect Robin became too much and he just… wanted to fuck shit up. Unwind a bit. He couldn't do it as himself and lose all the respect from the other heroes he had managed to amass, so he needed a scapegoat for it.”

Damian felt a tug of interest in his gut. He tried to surreptitiously look at the briefcase. 

“Being Robin is tiresome. It’s too heavy a burden. Always perfect partner, always a goodie two shoes… Red X allows you to go wild, be gay-do crime sort of thing, without meddling from any other hero in the community. Burn a warehouse. Use the rocket launcher B has under lock and key. Fuck whoever dumb crimefighter  you dislike the most up. Stir shit whenever you feel life’s been too quiet. Let go and have fun... Damian, aren’t you tired of being nice? Don’t you just want to go ape shit?”

His fingers were digging into the suit before his older brother could even finish talking.

[rexjadwiga]

Why Harley Quinn is not a dumb overdone trope

I’m so tired of people dismissing Harley Quinn as a dumb sex symbol. The idea of Harley Quinn is actually an extremely powerful depiction of the mental stresses that come with being a woman in today’s society. If you don’t believe me, here are some of the reasons why:

1. Constantly being overlooked

Despite having a PhD and being assigned to some of Gotham’s most dangerous criminals as patients--she is constantly belittled by her co-workers, patients and family. Even though she has proven herself to be more intelligent that most of her peers, she is often reduced to a dumb, curvaceous blonde. 

2. Conceding or compromising herself in hopes of gaining recognition

In the midst of trying to prove herself, Harley often smiles or allows advances from men in an effort to seem easy going. Regardless of whether she genuinely welcomes these advances, she understands that allowing them will a) gain her attention and recognition for her work, OR b) protect the current state of her career from backsliding. 

In cases where men show her any respect (like when the Joker seduced her) she latches on, thinking that no one else will give her that kind of recognition. When an opportunity like this arises, Harley tends to concede to whatever the man wants (i.e. if the Joker needs to be broken out of Arkham, she’ll do it--despite the way in which it compromises her). 

3. Constantly being preyed on by men of all stations

Harley is constantly on high alert, being preyed on by men of all classes. Anytime she thinks she has a break and can just relax, someone shows up and attempts to seduce her or tell her what to do. Whether it’s a co-worker at the asylum, the Joker, another super-villain, a guy on the street, or Batman; there is no distinction between good or evil. There’s only men and they all want something from her.

4. Social isolation due to the men in her life

The Joker is clearly an abusive partner who gets off on isolating Harley from any and all contacts except himself. Even when Harley is not with the Joker, she finds that the attention she receives from men can give her a bad reputation with other women (i.e. Batwoman and occasionally Catwoman). When she does make friends (as she often does when she’s single) one of the men in her life seeks to isolate her again (whether is be the Joker or Batman). This makes her incredibly lonely.  

5. Paranoia converts into reckless behavior

This constant attention from men leads Harley to become increasingly paranoid. She is constantly looking for evidence of physical advances or controlling behavior in an effort to preemptively deflect them. This paranoia grinds her down and exhausts her, which then leads to a “Fuck it all” approach. Since the nature of her being a woman causes daily tasks to her spike cortisol, the lines between safety and danger become blurred. She starts to engage in reckless behavior as a means of breaking the cycle and making herself “fearless”.

6. Blurred lines between recklessness and liberation

Whenever the Joker and Harley split up, Harley starts to realize that he was incredibly abusive. After removing herself from the relationship and moving in with friends like Poison Ivy, she engages in activities that the Joker would never allow her to do. These activities are not meant as reckless behavior more than it’s meant to be an act of liberation. 

7. Internal conflicts regarding her body

Given that most of the attention she receives is directly related to her physical appearance, Harley starts to have an internal conflict between her body and her mind. In an effort to change herself, as well as prove her worth to the Joker, she jumps into a tub of acid. 

(I’m aware that some of you may believe this had more to do with the Joker than any conflict she had with her own body. I understand/respect that opinion, I personally believe her perception of her physical appearance was a contributing factor along with the Joker’s influence).

8. Internal conflicts regarding her self worth

Constantly conceding to the men in her life without ever receiving any respect, love, acknowledgement, or even basic consideration, Harley occasionally doubts her self worth. This would be expected for anyone in her position. However, Harley is such a strong character, that she often bounces back as soon as the question is asked. This of course, does not make her treatment tolerable, but it does show her resilience as a person.

9. Lack of support leads to mental collapse

Despite her being a psychiatrist, there are very few of her colleagues that would take her as a patient or take her seriously at all. Without any mental health resources for her as a woman she is left floundering. Before the Joker started preying on her desire for love and respect, Harley was belittled, sexualized, isolated, paranoid, and desperate for the recognition. By compromising herself for a man that didn’t deserve her and engaging in reckless behavior, she snaps. And it is ultimately the fault of a masochistic society that never took her seriously in the first place.  

So, for all the people who ask, “How can a psychiatrist go crazy and shack up with an abusive super villain  boyfriend?” 

This is how. 

[thevisoryposts]

Marvel’s Avengers got me concerned...but it’s over humanity. Not the game.

So we’re just exiting the 2nd Beta Weekend. This one was open to a lot more people, a lotta hands got to touch this thing, get to see whussup and finally feel what it’s about. You’d think after this, a good majority of people would start to level out, be less confused and cut the game some slack. 

No. No, this is not what happened. In fact these are some of the most bullshit claims I’ve ever seen in my entire life. There’s so much shit, I can’t even keep it all together. One second people are claiming that characters don’t feel different from each other. To the next that the game feels scripted. That it’s too easy. That’s it’s too hard. That it’s ridiculous that they’re playing Hulk and they got defeated. And if they play Hulk they should never get defeated--w-WHAT?!

To mini-rant for a second, you know in 2005′s Hulk Ultimate Destruction game, Hulk could get taken out by something as humanly trivial as a bunch of shooting helicopters and missiles. You know that right?? And I’m not source referencing; I put a LOT of fucking hours into that damn game. It was (and really still is) the best Hulk video game there is. People goddamn love that game. And you’re complaining because this game can spawn a fucking Omac (Yes they’re called Adaptoids in-game, I’m aware) that immediately establishes a presence that tells you they could probably punch goddamn Superman in the face and make that shit do injury. And after he’s done an insane amount of damage, it’s downright BATSHIT that he made your Hulk crouch in the corner to take a time out. Yeah. Okay.

This illustrates my point beautifully though. There are too many people that if they aren’t saying completely dumb shit; (I’m still reeling at people that have played this game and think the characters all feel the same) then it’s something overly critical like the game is a looter shooter and that the missions are repetitive. Like some of these same people don’t play Destiny or Fortnite in where you do the same shit over and over again. “Wahhh, this game isn’t single player like Batman: Arkham or Spider-Man ps4″ ---- NOBODY EVER SAID THAT IT WAS GOING TO BE. Nobody promised this to you! These are all things that are biased from you worldview and therefore you feel should be the case. And you know what? That’s fine.

You’re within your rights to want something. But nobody -- absolutely goddamned nobody -- is entitled to give it to you. And a lot of you need to be fucking adults and realize that something is not ‘shit’ just because it’s doesn’t meet your ultimate vision.

Which also boggles me. This game is damned amazing. They’ve managed to pack so much fanservice into what they’re bragging is not even a quarter of the final product. You mean to tell me you’re going to overlook that you can fly around freely as Iron Man and give your teammates cover fire with an assortment of lasers and rockets while your friend as Hulk on the ground has picked up two enemies to make his bitches, and is repeatedly beating other bitches with his said bitches? Just because there’s no open world? Really??

I mean just to hammer home the point how dumb people have gotten with this complaining; there was one mother fucker that said this game shouldn’t be called Avengers because it basically had none of them. None of the core Avengers like Spider-Man and Vision. And Wolverine.

This kinda shit...this makes me lose faith in humanity. I know a lot of you are better than this. And you should be ashamed. These are some of the most entitled, spoiled, negative mindsets I have ever witnessed and it’s all over a beta. Now the game could come out and it could be lackluster. In which case; some of you would be within the right to be bitching so hard. But how dumb are y’all gonna look, if it does come out and it meets pretty damn high expectations? There have been some games that have had really really worse betas than this and come out pretty good at launch. You mean to tell me you guys can’t see a bigger picture? That things could turn out for the mind blowing? You all might want to start to. Because anyone could tell you there was a lot of work put into this game -- they actively don’t want it to be shit. (They want your money and time) So they’re going to keep improving; it only goes up from here. The beta is a great place to go up from. But you know what’s not? Fucking people that spout dumb shit and act like pansy little brats over good  work. You guys want good games? You’re not going to keep getting them with that attitude. What sane people would be motivated to put in all the time, passion, blood sweat and tears when you have hundreds of rabid nonsensical people tearing it down???

The answer is not a lot.

Rant is over. I’ve been tired of hearing really stupid shit about this game. It’s all so unnecessary. I think there are a lot of people in this world that should be more grateful than they actually are. All this negativity as we progress further into life is not the answer. As a species we should learn not to be content with just any old thing, yeah. But we don’t also pick apart everything to goddamn death and demand absolute perfection as our eyes see it. Balance. We need to constantly work to strike it. As humans.

[finniestoncrane]

28. Arkham Riddler! "Tell me you love me." He's had it with hero!readers shit and getting pissed off. TELL HIM YOU LOVE HIM BEFORE HE POPS OFF AND BLOWS UP THE CITY OR SOMETHING.

ok omg this one was hard because i honestly can't imagine having to be forced to tell arkham!ed that i love him, it would be harder for him to get me to stop because he is baby (also ty ily omg vanity my bb pls everyone stop reading my trash and go read hers)

Tell Me You Love Me, Arkham!Riddler x Hero!Reader, word count: 688 (just a lil ficlet, a baby if you will)

request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 sfw, no big warnings

“You have…” you watched as the Riddler, standing in front of you on the roof of the apartment building you were on, checked his watch. “…just over three minutes to say it.”

“Well then, we’ll die together in three minutes and take a lot of innocent people with us.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the hero?” He chuckled lightly, scoffing at your callous attitude.

“I suppose… but you’ve underestimated just how strongly I dislike you.”

“Oh, you’re seriously testing my patience! How hard could it be to just admit it!?”

“Because I’m not willing to lie in order to inflate your ego.”

Ed raised an eyebrow at you, his face screaming ‘seriously?’. You took a moment to reflect as the timer he held ticked down with irritating, pulsing little beeps. Of every villain you had encountered so far in your desperate bid to at least chisel away at Gotham’s crusted layer of crime and tragedy, from a low level thief to extravagantly dangerous rogues, Edward Nygma had so far proved to be the worst. Not in action or methods, far from it actually. He was handsome, oddly muscular and with a unique and intriguing smile. Charming, somehow, beyond his grating need to turn everything into a puzzle, a challenge. And his irritating self-confidence and boastful nature only inspired some awkward feelings of reverence and a desire for him to pat you on the head and tell you that you were clever for finally catching him.

“Time’s ticking! Are you ready to admit I was right yet? I mean, I always am. I’m The Riddler for God’s sake.”

“I can’t! It’s not my job. It’s the antithesis of it, actually.”

“Oh, what a fancy word! I’m surprised that someone dumb enough to let themselves and hundreds of others die in a horrific explosion would have been too stupid to know what that meant.”

You scowled at him, but he offered a softer smile than usual in return. There was no unpleasant undertones of mockery or self-importance. It was sincere.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to admit it. But then again, you’d be the laughing stock of the city, never trusted again among your peers. What kind of hero falls for the villain? A weak one. One that can’t be trusted to do their job right. But if they knew him like you did. If they’d spent the time you had learning about him, conversing with him, basking in his charm, his humour, and his intelligence. Would they understand a bit better? Or, more likely, would they come to the conclusion that he was in fact more of a nuisance than they originally though and come after you both with fire and pitchforks.

“Listen, Riddler…Eddie. I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“No, you can. You shouldn’t, maybe. But that’s a whole other matter. You know I’m right.”

“Even if you did, I doubt much good would come of it.”

“Ah, that’s a risk we take though. And what is life without some risks, some challenges?”

You looked at him, deep into his eyes for the right answer, since he seemed to always have it.

“Time’s almost up. Just say it. Stop trying to play games with me, to best me. I know it, and I know that somewhere in that silly little brain of yours you know it too. It’s impossible to miss the signs, and I’m growing tired of your attempts at ignoring them, and me. Now quickly. Tell me you love me.”

You watched as the timer ticked down, quicker than seconds usually passed, six, five, four, three…

“I love you!”

He didn’t move, and the timer continued. You squeezed a few more out in the last remaining seconds of your life and his, and the hundreds below you in their beds or watching tv, blissfully unaware.

“Ed! I love you! I love you! I LOVE YOU!”

Zero.

Nothing.

You opened your eyes, which had instinctively but uselessly scrunched close to protect themselves from the blast. Ed was smiling at you, a smug, self-satisfied grin spread across his face.

“I knew it. I’m right. I’m always right.”

[roguish-gallery]

Did you ever make that joker tier list, I always like seeing what people think of all the different ones. Though if they put Romero last I can no longer respect them.

LMAO I DID! I think I’ve made it kind of obvious in this blog but I... don’t... particularly... care... for... the joker.... unless he’s, y’know, fun to watch. Cause he’s a clown, and clowns are supposed to be entertaining. But since you politely brought it up, and and because I have a deep respect for mutual Romero-lovers, I guess this would be a good time to explain my rankings and just discuss my general thoughts on each clown:

General Thoughts:

For the most part, I don’t really care for the Joker. This is hardly an uncommon opinion here on tumblr, but I definitely fall on the side of the fandom that feels that he gets too much attention from DC. I get WHY they use him so often for films and comics, and I don’t have anything against *most* folks who consider them their favorite Batman villain, but at this point he’s used more for shock value and as a crutch instead of anything interesting. Like, instead of giving attention to the other Rogues, writers (at least for the comics) will try and make up some bullshit story that they can shoehorn the Joker into, ‘cause it sells. It’s tiring, and I feel like the character has lost his meaning; I can only read so many stories about the Joker, I don’t fucking know, wearing a suit made from dead babies and Jason Todd’s flayed corpse before I get sick of it.

I’m at the point where I’ll like any Joker who’s just fun to watch. I genuinely respect those who prefer darker interpretations of the character, but that isn’t me; I vastly prefer the lighthearted takes on him, because... at this point... writers who use the “cleaner” version of him tend to be more creative, since they actually have to write a Joker story that doesn’t rely on gore/torture porn.

TIER ONE:

Joker Baby: Self explanatory. Joker Baby is thematic, thoughtful, and intense. Everytime I watch this video, I shiver with fear and pleasure; something primal in me awakens whenever Joker Baby runs his fingers through his spray-on dyed hair, and ends up smearing green paint on his forehead- it represents the inner turmoil, the chaos, that resides within the disturbed body that is Joker Baby. Nothing can ever hope to top the artistic and cultural impact Joker Baby has had on society.

TIER TWO:

Batman Ninja: I genuinely believe that Batman Ninja is one of the most fun, organic, and creative things to come out from the Batman side of DC comics in like... hmmm... a decade, maybe (I could talk for hours about how much I love this movie but that’s something for a future post). This Joker is easily, and unironically my favorite interpretation of the character, period. I love his energy, his design, everything. This is the most fun I’ve ever had watching a Joker on-screen, and for that I’ve gotta give the film credit where it is due.

Batman ‘66: I looooove Caesar Romero. Batman ‘66 in general is one of my favorite pieces of Batman media, and I absolutely adore this Joker. The show is pure, genuine fun, and it’s nice to turn my brain off and watch a show where the entire cast was allowed to goof around. This Joker is just a cute, goofy little clown-man who likes to commit crimes, go surfing, turn Gotham’s water reserve into gelatin, and have wild orgies with Penguin, Catwoman, and the Riddler. I massively appreciate the hustle. I love his little mustache and his facial expressions. I’d give him a chaste little kiss on the cheek if I could.

The Batman: EXTREMELY CONTROVERSIAL TAKE BUT. I think TB!Joker is better than what people will give him credit for. I can only imagine how stressful it must have been to be the first Batman cartoon to follow BTAS and the writers for this show knew they were gonna be fucked no matter what they did with the Joker, so they just decided to try something completely different with him. Personally, I appreciate the new direction- he has a fun, unhinged energy. I’ve placed him higher than BTAS/BTNA!Joker simply because The Batman was the show that got me into the Rogues in the first place, and I’m just a bit closer to this Joker because of it. Also his vampire form was cool as FUCK in Batman Vs. Dracula and the scene where he gets drenched in blood at a blood bank is fucking awesome.

Batman the Animated Series/The New Adventures: Everyone loves BTAS’s Joker, and I’m no exception. Mark Hamill is fucking great, and the writers clearly knew the character well enough to create a version of him that can be fun and threatening. As an aside, I unironically like his redesign in BTNA- I remember Hamill mentioning somewhere that he thought it was neat that this Joker looked more like a shark (I’ll see if I can find a source on that... I think he said it in an interview with Kevin Smith?) and I kinda agree with him. the redesigns in the final season are hit or miss, but I didn’t get why so many people bitched about the Joker’s new look.

Batman Unlimited: Hear me out... Hear me out... Clown... funny... and cute... He wears a little crown and gives Solomon Grundy a little smooch on the cheek and it is as delightful as it sounds. Yes the Batman Unlimited films literally only exist to sell toys but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy them on some ironic level.

TIER THREE:

Lego Batman: He’s a gay icon. He has the range. Enough said.

White Knight: This is just a genuinely good, original take on the character, and the art in White Knight is absolutely gorgeous. 

Arkham: My friends and I joke that this Joker is basically a more unhinged version of BTAS! Joker and... yeah. I’m glad Hamill and Paul Dini got to fuck around with the character more, but I never really dwelled on the Joker parts of the games like I might have for other characters. I definitely liked him the most in Arkham Asylum, as he was more fun to watch. Arkham City was fiiiiine, but I think I replayed the game so much that I kinda got fatigued with everything about it. Genuinely hated his part in Origins, and I was pissed that he stole the attention from Black Mask and Bane (who’s the best fucking part of Origins IMO). I’ll admit that I... Haven’t... played... Knight yet (I have it on PC but my laptop is too wimpy to run it) but like... He’s dead at that point, so I’d assume he isn’t the main point of that game anyway. I love Mark Hamill and the fact I can personally beat the shit out of this Joker, so he’s ranked up pretty high for those reasons.

TIER FOUR:

Batman ‘89: TBH this Joker should be a rank higher, but I’m too lazy to hop onto PicsArt to change it. NIcholson was an excellent choice, and I apprecaite how this Joker makes use of the playful and unhinged aspects of the character. Also, his outfits are cute, and I love the museum scene.

Brave and the Bold: Technically this Joker SHOULD be ranked higher since he’s literally based on the more lighthearted comics in the 60′s but... ehhh... I haven’t really watched BATB so I don’t have any strong opinions on the show and how it handles the character. he’s ranked this high through beause I appreciate what they were going for.

Golden Age: The quality of comics are always subjective, based on the creative team behind them. Some I’ll like more, others less so, It’s kind of hard to rank the pre-52 comic version of the Joker because of this.

TIER FIVE:

Killing Joke: Read it, didn’t care for it. I acknowledge how massive the impact this comic had on... everything, but just because I recognize how important this graphic novel is, doesn’t mean I have to like it.

The Dark Knight: Ledger did an excellent job with the role, but uhh... I’m kind of sick of the alt-right chuds who are out there sucking this Joker’s dick. The fanbase definitely ruined the character for me.

TIER SIX:

99′: Eh

Endgame: No

Suicide Squad: NO

Death of the Family: Hate him. Despise him. Lame stupid dumb little edgy bitch.

Gotham (Jeremiah): I don’t particulary care for Gotham in general, but the only reason I ranked this Joker over Jerome is beause I thought it was kinda funny to see that they made him a little rat-man, and I liked watching all the fujoshi on here cry and complain that they can’t ship this version of the joker with the pre-pubescent Bruce Wayne in the show bc he’s too ugly.

Gotham (Jerome): stop shippping this freak (who is fucking eighteen years old) with a literal twelve year old child. what the FUCK is wrong with yall.

UNRANKED:

The Joker (2019): I don’t plan on watching this film, nor will I ever. I know this is ironic, coming from someone who runs a Rogue blog, but stuff that focuses primarily on a character’s deteriorating mental health makes me reaaaaallllllyyyyy anxious (it’s kind of a phobia) and considering that I don’t particularly the Joker, I have no reason to watch something I know will only give my dumb ADHD-ass intrusive throughts.