#ledger joker

[joashinray]

alpha scum🤔

[villainsontherise]

Sending a message

[artistcalledbella]

the masochist

[jesterfairy]

Hey my loves 💜

I’m so sorry for vanishing after that cliffhanger and promising a quick update—turns out I once again grossly misjudged how much editing I had left. Also turns out writing while going to bed at a reasonable hour is way harder than writing in a sleep-deprived 3am fever dream where I am merely a vessel for Joker’s voice and chaos. Who knew trying to practice better self care would put such a damper on things!

This next chapter is straight-up monumental. Like, I wish I were kidding. It’s basically a 7,000-word emotional boss battle made entirely of dialogue, tension, and micro-expressions I’ve rewritten so many times I see them when I close my eyes. Joker’s lines are eating me alive. I want them perfect. I want them razor sharp and true to the film and dripping with twisted tenderness and I just—AHhhhhh!!! 😩

But I swear, it’s nearly done. And it might be my strongest chapter yet. I am feral. I am foaming. I am crawling across the floor whispering “almost there” like a cryptid. I cannot wait for you to read it. Thank you from the bottom of my unhinged little heart for being so patient with me. 💜

It's coming, and I promise—the wait will be SO worth it 💀💚💜

[aestheticforzoe]

- Are they lovers?

- worse.

[jokingmisfit]

Different Jokers Reacting to you Needing to Take Medicine

Jeremiah Valeska

-This man is a genius. He already knew before you told him. He already did research on any and all medicine you have to take. 

-Jeremiah may keep you on your toes for a lot of things but he’s pretty chill about this. You could even take medicine for your mental health when it comes to Jeremiah. If it makes you feel better he’s all for it.

- God forbid the doctor drops you or the pharmacy won’t run the prescription. Jeremiah will not hesitate to start bombing buildings just so you can get what you need.

- If you have to get off one medicine to switch to another he’s going to be right there to analyze your every move (like he doesn’t already) to make sure nothing goes wrong. The second you act off he’s getting you back in there for a better med. Also if you start showing any symptoms he’ll know because he read everything on that medicine.

- He makes sure you take your meds on time everyday. He kind of likes the domesticity of it, the pattern. Jeremiahs stopped mid planning or meeting just to tell/text/call you to take your meds.

-Overall the perfect Joker for having to take medicine. 10/10

Jerome Valeska

-Jerome is the complete opposite of his brother. The man is a loose cannon and is always doing something or other. He had absolutely no idea you were taking meds.

 -Let’s hope you bring it up because if you don’t and he finds them he’ll flip shit. He’ll scream and rant and break things. He may even threaten you. He’ll feel so upset and so betrayed. You’ll have to explain very carefully what they’re for.

-If you bring it up, introduce it slowly, mention what’s physically “wrong” that makes you need to take it, then explain what the medicine does. At first he’s going to be hesitant but at least you can hold his attention. He takes things like this very seriously (especially if it’s you).

-He’s not going to be 100% happy about it but he understands. This isn’t about you not liking your brain, it's about you being in pain. He hates when you’re in pain.

-You can’t take mental medication with him. Jerome refuses to “let you destroy your precious mind.”

- If your doctor drops you or there's a problem with the pharmacy he’ll just cause problems. By that I mean he’ll start blowing the brains out onto the floor. Only to steal the medicine.

-You might think that Jerome will continue to know nothing about your medicine but as soon as you stop talking about it he’ll hyperfocus on it for a few hours. He’ll, by the end of his research, know everything about this/these medicine(s).

-He’ll notice if you start having physical or other symptoms he’ll notice but it’ll take a day or so because he’s so all over the place. Once he notices though he’s threatening people to get you back in there to “fix” you.

-He often forgets you even take it until you take them or need to go to the doctor. He just doesn't see it as something he should butt too much into

- He hates seeing you in pain so he’ll let you take them and he’s pretty good with it so I’d say he’s a solid 6/10 for this situation.

Dark Knight/Ledger!Joker

-He’s smart but he’s busy. Joker had an inkling that you were on something, he just didn’t know what.

-He finds out when he comes just waltzing in while you’re taking it or maybe while you’re filling a pill case. He doesn’t freak out on you but he dances questions off his tongue. As long as you’re honest he’ll be fine with it.

-However if you’re taking medicine for your mental health he’s going to put up a bit of a fight. He’s not going to get loud or aggressive, no. Instead he’s going to praise your mind and your way of thinking. He’s going to try and manipulate you into stopping. If you're strong enough to tell him you’re going to take it then he’ll let it go. It’ll come up every once in a while because he doesn’t like it but he won't force you to stop.

-If something goes bad with your doctor or pharmacy, it's sad to say you’re on your own. Joker is busy constantly and doesn’t have the time for any of that. That being said, if it goes on too long you’ll notice the exact type of medicine you need is found in bulk in your living room with a little bow on the top.

-Now let's say you need to switch meds. Jokers going to be right on top of that shit. You’ll probably mention it in passing but the Joker's biggest fear is something happening to you, so he’s going to make sure no stupid pill or shot is screwing you up. The second you show any “odd” symptom he’s crashing into a hospital, stealing a doctor, doing whatever to make it better.

-Joker acts like a distant caregiver in a way. He doesn’t get involved with it often but the moment you make a comment about any struggles you’re having with it he’s going to find a solution

-I’d say he’s pretty good with the medicine unless it’s mental cause then he may be petty sometimes. Overall a good 8/10.

Arthur Fleck/Joker

-He’s the most understanding for physical medicine and the least for mental. Arthur is 100% down for you taking medicine so you’re not in physical pain. Mental medicine is another story. He thinks it’s stupid and useless, he doesn’t take any and he was supposed to, look at how good he’s doing.

-He’s not letting it happen, you can’t take mental medication.

-He probably knew you needed to take it from the beginning. There’s a big chance it’s one of the first topics the two of you even talked about.

-If your doctor or pharmacy drops you or causes issues he’s on top of it. He’s probably the most calm towards them. It’s when they don’t budge that his gun gets drawn. He refuses to let you suffer in pain.

-He knows you really well and he’s always asking how you are. If you get symptoms from a new medicine he notices immediately. It doesn’t matter what is going on, he is going to make sure you’re taken care of.

-He just loves you so much. He’ll always be there, he just can’t let you take meds that will “hurt” your mind.

-He’s great with physical medicine, not mental. He’s an absolute sweetheart. 8/10 just for the sugar.

[gothic-aesthetic-gal]

MASTERLIST FOR THE CHAPTERS OF "OLD SCARS"

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. NSFW in one or two places but mainly this is narrative/story based first and foremost.

Title graphic by me, dividers by @strangergraphics ✨️

MASTERLIST CONTINUED ⬇️

[thesightstoshowyou]

No Questions Asked

Ledger!Joker x F Reader

- Chapter One -

(Chapter Two)

Summary: A house call puts you in the path of Gotham’s newest menace.

Warnings: Gunshot wounds, blood, descriptions of medical procedures and medical “torture,” reader is described as having longer hair because I was gripped with insanity and had to write that scene, swearing.

[A/N: This is a bit different than what I usually write! Stepping out of my comfort zone, I guess. Let me know how I did!]

The sidewalk simmers, heat rising off pavement. A weak breeze billows through the street, bringing with it the stench of refuse and exhaust. Gotham in the summer smells like literal hot garbage.

Paradise.

Your nose wrinkles and you tug your hat further down on your forehead to shield your eyes from the sun. Towering buildings offer shade, but thousands of windows reflect the glare of that accursed star at just the right angle to blind unsuspecting passerby. Even the skyscrapers here mean harm.

You weave through the crowd, calves burning with your quick, deliberate steps. The strap of your bag digs into your shoulder and sweat gathers beneath it until your shirt adheres to your skin. The relative cool of the alley you enter would be a relief if you weren’t already so sticky.

The door is unassuming; metal, distressed, a little rusted at the corners like all the others nearby save for the rectangular peep hole at eye level. You knock twice, two sharp raps in quick succession. Almost immediately, the shutter over the peep hole slides open with a clang.

You raise your chin in greeting to the pair of eyes that inspect you through the opening. Slam goes the shutter. The muted click of locks opening reaches your ears before the hinges squeal as the door is tossed open.

You don’t wait for permission from the burly man behind the door. Instead, you cross the threshold and descend the worn stairs two at a time. An annoyed sigh leaves your lips when the stuffy basement air presses into your already overheated skin. You’d think these rich assholes could at least afford some a/c.

Rossi meets you in the doorway. His uneasy expression immediately sets you on edge and you worry the urgency of the situation had not been properly conveyed over the phone. He gives you a look before you step into the room, a glance that says, ‘Don’t ask questions.’

He must think you’re an idiot. You could not have made it in this job for as long as you have by allowing your curiosity to speak for you.

It immediately becomes apparent what Rossi meant when you enter. The low ceiling is dotted here and there with aging, incandescent bulbs that bathe the room in sickly yellow. At the center of the room is a round, makeshift “conference” table littered with bloody paper towels and rags.

A few goons you don’t recognize hover uselessly around another slumped in a fold out chair, the reason you’d been called here on such short notice. He’s vaguely familiar, a distant relative of Maroni’s—Ronny Something. He’s clammy and pale, his scarlet coated fingers pressed limply to the wound in his shoulder.

However, what draws your attention and raises your hackles is the man seated in the corner atop an overturned box. His legs are spread wide and he hunches over them, elbows resting on his knees, fingers clad in purple leather and absently fiddling with a pocket knife. Dark green hair hangs like oily curtains next to a grease-painted face. Stained mostly white with blacked out eyes and a curling red grin, it’s apparently supposed to be a crude imitation of a clown. Above him, the light bulb flickers, throwing him in and out of shadow, but you can still make out the sharp eyes trained directly on you.

You don’t ask. Never do. That rule had been made abundantly clear. Instead you stride across the room and shoo the henchmen aside. Bending at the waist, you pull Ronny’s hand away from his shoulder and click your tongue as blood gushes from two distinct bullet holes.

“I was told these were grazes,” you start as you straighten to shoot a glare at Rossi. “There’s at least two slugs still in there. I’m gonna have to call the doc. He needs anesthetic and blood and other shit to keep him from going into shock. I don’t have the tools—

“Do it,” dares a sing-song voice. Startled, you turn to face the man in the corner. He’s smiling now, yellow teeth peeking between red, his upturned cheeks pockmarked and twisted. You realize the paint covers thick scars that stretch away from his lips like a macabre extension of his grin. The intensity in his gaze is difficult to hold so you don’t, instead glancing at Rossi, the unspoken question of, ‘Who the fuck does this weirdo think he is?’ written all over your face.

“No, no, no, no don’t look at him. Look at me.” Even with the weird, warbled inflection of his voice, there’s authority in his tone and an unspoken threat should you disobey. Brows knitting into a frown, you do as you’re told, and your head twists back to meet the eyes of the clown in the corner. The air in the room is thick and heavy and it’s no longer because of the heat. You can barely even hear the other men breathe.

“I’m a nurse. I don’t have the expertise necessary to perform surgery.” Not entirely accurate these days, but he doesn’t need to know that. “He could die, and then my head would wind up on a plate.”

“I like your head…where it’s at.” His own head shakes a little with his words and a pink tongue darts out to swipe across painted lips. Finally, he stands. Pinching the knife between thumb and forefinger, he slips the blade into an inside pocket. Gripping the lapels of his purple jacket, he gives them an exaggerated shake. His movements are erratic and cartoonish and you can’t stop your nervous little backwards half-step.

‘Who the hell are you?’ The question sits poised on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t let it free. Instead, you grit your teeth as the…man saunters over to Ronny and claps a hand on his uninjured shoulder. The movement jars Ronny enough to pull a pained cry from his mouth.

“Little, uh-“ the clown snaps his fingers like he’s trying to remember something, then makes a grabbing motion like he’s pulling the information out of the air, “Ronny here has faith in your skills. Don’t you, Ronny?”

Weak, but hasty, Ronny nods as though he’s trying to placate the other man. In response, the clown spreads his arms, palm up, eyebrows raised as if to say, ‘See? Told ya’ so.’ Voice a deep growl, he sweeps one arm in front of him and says, “The floor is yours.”

None of the men speak up. There’s no protest, not even a scoff. The only sounds are the flickering bulb and Ronny’s haggard gasps.

You don’t glance over your shoulder at Rossi. It is clear to you now that there has been some sort of shift in power and this clown…this man is in now in charge. And questioning orders is definitely not in your job description.

“Well, that’s fuckin’ great,” you sigh. The man chuckles, high and airy. “Get him on the table,” you snap at the two goons hovering nearby. After a second of hesitation, they quickly comply and hoist a blubbering Ronny onto the dirty tabletop until he’s flat on his back, his legs dangling.

Heart rate pulsing in your ears, you whip off your ball cap and toss it away. Hurriedly, you gather your locks into a messy bun before tossing your bag onto the table next to poor Ronny’s shivering form. The zipper is so loud in the tense silence, the rustle of bandages and the clink of instruments a cacophony. Unfortunately, there’s no sink to be found, so you settle for hand sanitizer.

“You’re gonna be okay, Ronny,” you tell the man staring up at you as you snap on a pair of gloves. Fear and pain twist his expression and you can tell he wants to protest, but won’t dare. It makes you wonder what the man in the makeup is capable of to inspire such fear in hardened criminals.

Scissors make short work of the bloodied shirt. With gauze and sterile water, you clean away dried gore so you can properly inspect the wounds. You note one graze along the bicep, a bullet buried in the deltoid, and another lodged just under the clavicle.

“If there’s any nerve or artery or organ or bone damage, I won’t be able to repair it. He needs actual surgery.” You shoot a withering look at the clown who makes a show of sucking in air through his teeth as though he’s concerned. You don’t miss the grin tugging at his scarred lips. “I can get the bullets out and do my best to stop the bleeding. You two,” you nod at the unnamed henchmen, “Will have to hold him.”

Ronny whimpers, the sweat pouring off his brow mirroring your own. You want to complain about just how not sterile this space is, how Ronny is probably going to die of an infection even if you get him stabilized, but you bite your tongue and focus on the task at hand.

You watch the process as though you are suspended just outside your body: Insert IV, start fluid, give what little pain meds you have on hand, sterilize the forceps, clean the injuries, bodily hold down a thrashing, screaming Ronny while you dig out the slugs, slap him awake and tell him to man up, hold pressure, stop the bleeding, suture the wounds closed.

“Keep this,” you shove the bag of normal saline into the hands of Goon Number One, “Above his head.” You turn to a stone-faced Rossi and solemnly tell him, “Doc needs to see him.” You fill a syringe with antibiotics, amazed by how steady your hands are. Ronny barely flinches when you jam the needle in the meat of his hip.

Snapping off your gloves, you release an exhale that trembles on its way out. On autopilot, you turn back to your bag and reach for the blood pressure cuff when, without warning, leather-clad fingers wrap around your wrist. Jolting, you stumble back into the table to put an arm’s length between you and the clown—where the fuck had he come from—but he closes the distance with one, bouncy step.

Just like that, you’re snapped back to reality. Now firmly seated in your body, you are startlingly aware of how hot everything is: The air, your sweaty palms, his chest against yours, his breath on your lips, your blazing cheeks, the stares of the other men burning into the sides of your head.

“Don’t—

“Shhh, shh, shh, c’mere,” the clown murmurs as he grips you by the back of the neck. You stiffen and push back against his hand in a subconscious effort to put distance between you, but fall still when his opposite hand comes to rest on your neck. His expression is unreadable, the look in his eyes a mixture of amusement and something a bit more menacing. You don’t want to search too hard, but fear of what will happen should you look away keeps your gaze on his.

White paint cracks along the creases in his forehead when his brows raise. “You’ve just got a little….” He presses a thumb to the corner of your mouth and drags it upward. You feel the slickness smearing across your dewy skin, too thick to be spit or sweat. Blood, you wager. Judging by the satisfied smile that spreads across his face and the contented hum he emits, you guess there’s a red half-grin now curling away from your mouth.

An imitation of his own.

You barely manage to contain the flinch when the clown raises his hand to your crown. Fingers dip into your hair and feel around for the hair tie keeping it piled atop your head. Three quick tugs sees your locks cascading around your shoulders. Both of his hands then come up to ruffle and shake until it’s all a wild, frizzy mess.

You don’t know whether to be afraid or baffled, and you realize this is entirely the point. Keep others guessing and unable to predict your next move. There’s fear in uncertainty.

The intensity of the moment, the frantic fluttering of your heart, the stifling heat of the room has you seconds away from begging for mercy, something you’ve never done before. Even the slouch of his shoulders—the way he almost curls over you—seems designed to make you panic. You swallow thickly and open your mouth to break the awkward, terrible silence when he interrupts:

“Why don’t you…run along, hm?” He offers you your ball cap and, tentatively, you take it. The clown shuffles back the tiniest inch and you suck in a gasping breath, your heart like some kind of trapped bird ricocheting against your ribs as you hastily whirl around to pack up your instruments. Fuck Ronny’s blood pressure. Doc can handle it. You must get out of here.

You don’t look over your shoulder as you quickly stride from the room, but lilting words reach you in the hallway and stop you dead in your tracks. A chill races up your spine.

“See you soon!”

The clown’s parting sentiment.

You’re up the stairs and out the door before Rossi can catch up. “Who the fuck was that?” you snarl, whipping around so fast your bag smacks against your sweaty back.

“Are you livin’ under a rock?” he shoots back, but any bite there might have been in his words has been shaken from him. He’s pale, you notice, obviously disturbed by what you had to do to Ronny.

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your arms up in the air. “Yes I am! I keep my head so far down, I’m underground.”

Rossi shakes his head and huffs a humorless laugh. “Turn on the news, then. That oughta answer your questions.”

**

Begrudgingly, you do as you’re told.

It doesn’t take long to put a moniker to the painted face splashed all over your television screen:

The Joker.

Maybe it’s time to pay more attention to current events.

[gh0stly-pages]

Out of Our Minds (Part 1)

Ledger! Joker x f!reader (18+)

CW: just swearing for now :)

Summary: You’re a psychiatrist at Arkham, and have now been assigned to the most recent of Batman’s enemies, the Joker. You’re already barely getting by, but this new patient poses a challenge. If you can get him to show progress he’s getting better, then you might get a raise. If he doesn’t seem to be getting anywhere, then you’ve lost your job. You’re prepared to work extra hard to help him but the Joker is nothing like what you’ve expected. Everyone warns you how he’ll get inside your mind, crawl under your skin.

They might be right.

Next part

Notes: I’m not sure if there’s an audience for this, this is lowkey kinda just guilty pleasure for me, but I hope some other people will enjoy this series :) I’ve always wanted to see a Harley Quinn in the Dark Knight universe, so in this fic, you are Harley (well, similar to her, lol). Obviously there’s no cannon Harley-type character in the Dark Knight trilogy so this is all made up, and I’ve taken bits and pieces from different DC Harley��s, plus their relationship with Joker, so look out for that :) So, just have fun with it, hope you enjoy!

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

Time seems to move slower at Arkham.

You adjust your coat, having barely swiped in just minutes ago but already it feels like hours and you’ve only just gone to the main office space and grabbed a cup of coffee. The coffee tastes disgusting, but you’re running off little sleep, so you down it quickly. Even from the office, you can hear the screams, cries, and rambles of the Arkham patients in the distance. You’ve been working here for two years already and still haven’t grown used to the constant roar of madness. You’re not upset over it though. You’re here to help these people, to help make sure the people in your city of Gotham are well. So, in a way, you welcome the noise. But that doesn’t mean you're fond of it, nor does it mean it lets you sleep.

Most people you talk to (which is very few, considering you’re always working) tend to judge you for choosing Arkham of all places to work. And, you’re honest with them, it certainly wasn’t your first option, but they pay well enough so that you can rent a decent apartment and you’ve quickly grown to enjoy the challenge it poses. It’s the higher-ups and the fear of being fired at any minute that makes the job truly a chore at times. But people will be assholes, and you’ve come to accept that.

When you’re done with your coffee, you toss the cup in the trash, grabbing a folder from out of your bag. It holds all your notes and the files of all the patients you deal with. You’ve got quite a few patients to meet with today, each with their own unique problems, their own unique story. You look over your notes, leaning against a wall when one of your bosses enters the room.

“Hello, y/n,” says Robert Dale, hanging up his coat on a rack to the side of the room. He’s a squat little old man who helps manage the asylum, keeping track of all the psychiatrists. He certainly isn’t the kindest of bosses, and you’re sure he only keeps you around because you’ve learned to just go with whatever the hell he and the other big Arkham bosses say. Sure, you can be easily submissive, but it’s that or the streets. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

You frown. That can’t be good. Everytime Dale talks to you, it’s either to demand, critique, or complain. “Good morning to you too, Mr. Dale,” you mumble.

He takes a deep breath and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You’ve been watching the news, I presume?”

You nod. Who hasn’t? You live in Gotham, for crying out loud, and there’s almost too much crime to keep track of as of recent. Especially ever since that Batman showed up, some kind of masked hero who you never got the hype over. “Of course.”

“You see all that stuff about…the Joker?”

The Joker. The Clown Prince of Gotham. Chaos incarnated. A rowdy clown criminal facing up against Batman. He had just been caught by the Bat a week ago, and the news had been all over the case, wanting to know where he was sent next. Where he was being held. If he would ever come back… “Yeah, I’ve heard.”

“See, he’s been being held up in Blackgate, but he is now officially joining our little…family.” He said the word darkly, snorting. Your breath hitched in your throat. The Joker? “Anyways, he is a bit of a, and I'm sure you know this, tough nut to crack. He arrived here yesterday, in a solitary, high security cell and we’ve been looking for a proper person to… attend to him. We sent in a few of our other psychiatrists as a sort of test, seeing who he fits well with.”

“Right,” you bring yourself to say, even though your whole mouth feels like it’s filled with sand. The Joker. Here. At Arkham. “And?”

He sighs, running a hand through his graying hair. “Every single one of them left that room different. Some were crying, others looked shell shocked. Batman told us Joker was going to be hard to deal with, but we weren’t quite expecting something of this level. He bends the mind, tries to break you. Twists the way you think until you don’t even know who you are. Gets under your skin. So, let's just say, we’re looking for someone strong enough to take on our special little patient.”

You know where this is going, and even when Dale says the words, your mouth still drops. “I’m assigning you to the Joker, Miss l/n. You’ve always been up for a good challenge, and are very good at listening to our orders.”

Right. So I don’t get fired and end up homeless or working for some crooks. “Mr. Dale, I have other patients I need to attend to today and I have no room to fit in-”

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “I have already swapped your ten o'clock appointment so you can meet with the Joker. This is very important, Miss l/n, and you wouldn’t want to fail us, would you?”

As easy as you find it to work with your patients, the higher-ups are much harder for you to manage. “No…”

“Then it’s settled, you’ll be meeting with Joker at ten today, every other day, or more if necessary. You’ll file reports after every session on how your patient is doing, and if we see any progress, well, we may just have to raise your salary.”

Now that catches your attention. You didn’t even know a raise was possible. Especially not for you. You’ve been working so hard your whole life for what feels like nothing but now? Now, maybe all that work will finally pay off. “Mr. Dale, thank you. Thank you so much-“

“Don’t get too excited. If our patient doesn’t show any progress, well… we might have to let you go.”

At that, your entire face falls, your shoulders slumping. “What…?”

“Well, we’ve been needing to make a few cuts on psychiatrists and anyone might be subject to getting kicked.” He smiles and pats your shoulder. “But don’t worry, I have full faith in you.”

His words do nothing to soothe you as your heart pounds heavily in your chest. The toughest patient, all your responsibility, and you have to make him better under a certain amount of time or else? Shit. They were practically setting you up for failure. No. No, you can’t think that way. You’ve dealt with tons of patients, and every single time you’ve managed to get good results. This will be the same thing… “It- it’s a wonderful opportunity, thank you. I won’t let you down.”

He laughs and walks off. “I sure hope not.”

___________________________

“I’m here to see the patient.”

The guard looks up at you through his sunglasses and smirks. He uses the gun in his hands to point at you, and you step back. “Ah, so you’re the one they decided on to fix up this lunatic?”

“We don’t refer to them as lunatics, sir. And, yes, I’m Doctor y/n l/n.” Digging into the bag on your shoulder, you pull out your ID and hand it to the guard.

He glances at it once, bored, before grabbing his walkie talkie. “It’s Doctor y/n l/n you’re expecting, correct?”

The garbled voice on the other side responds back. “Correct.”

The guard looks back up at you. “Gimme your bag, please.”

You’re a bit startled, but give him your bag. Already, before even getting to this checkpoint, you’ve been through two whole security checks, and were definitely not expecting another. This Joker guy really is trouble. That just makes you panic even more. Trouble is hard to tame. The guard rummages through the bag a bit before nodding and handing it back, clicking on his walkie talkie again. “Doctor is clear for entry.”

A click noise sounds, and the door opens, leading to yet another room with another door with two more guards standing beside it. You jump as the door behind you clamps shut, and the two guards hardly flinch. The one to the left moves forward, holding something out in his hand. “This is your panic remote. See the green button right there? Press that when you’re done with your session or you need to get out. Got it?”

You grab the remote, looking at it closer. “What about the red button?”

“That’ll set off a gas that’ll knock the Joker out cold.”

Oh. That doesn’t sound good. You’ve dealt with some pretty nasty people but nothing ever this intense, nothing that needed this level of precaution. “Okay… Wait, won’t the gas get to me too?”

The guard shrugs. “Eh, yeah, but you’ll be fine. The doctors will fix you right up.”

You tuck the remote away in your coat pocket. “Right. Thanks…”

The other guard who hasn’t spoken a word until now enters some kind of code into the pad on the door and it swings open. “Good luck, sweetheart.”

The nickname makes you cringe but you step forward and bow your head. “Mhm.”

As soon as you step inside, the door slams closed, and you’re left to face the man everyone has been whispering about.

And there he is, sitting behind a table, looking up at you. The first thing that strikes you is his face, which lacks any makeup, and you don’t know if it shocks you because you’ve only ever seen him with his makeup on or because he appears human. Not quite the monster he’s made up to be. His skin is slightly tanned, his eyes brown and dull, his hair curled and askew down to his neck. Although he doesn’t have his makeup, there’s faded green hair dye still at the tips of his hair. His signature purple coat and suit has been swapped for a straitjacket. You try to look only into his eyes, but instead you flush and look at his mouth. His mouth, gosh. Without the smeared red makeup, you can see his scars so clear, the mangled flesh titled up into a smile on either side of his lips. Whatever caused those was nasty. Always smiling.

Bringing yourself to move, you carry yourself to the table, sitting down in the chair across from him, and you try and pretend your heart isn’t hammering. As you sit down, his eyes trace your everything. It makes you feel like some kind of animal. Is he studying you? Plotting your death? Horrible, but who knows with a man who is all unknowns? You clear your throat. “Uh, hello there, Joker. Can I call you Joker?”

He frowns and licks at his lips, smacking them together. At first, you don’t think he’ll talk, but it just takes him a second. “Well, what else would ya call me?”

You’ve heard him speak before, on the television, in those frightening hostage videos, but it’s more chilling in person, his distinct voice causing you to shudder. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. “R-right. Joker. I’m Doctor y/n l/n. Feel free to call me y/n, though.”

“Y/n,” he says slowly, as if tasting the name on his tongue. You resist shuddering again. “You’re the one they assigned to, ah, fix me up?”

You nod. “That’s me. But please, don’t think of it as fixing you. Think of it as helping you.”

“Help,” he spits out the word. “Whatever ya wanna call it. Sure. What ever happened to those other people they sent to see me the other night? They were all just so fun to play with.”

His words have a lot of bite behind them. Dale warned you about this. He was going to mess with you, and have fun doing it. “I believe they weren’t prepared to attend to you.”

“Awwww, did I hurt their feelings?” His voice is dripping with pure sarcastic sadness. He even feigns a frown. Then he breaks into a wide grin, giggling madly. “Well, if words are gonna hurt them that badly, maybe, uh, they’re in the wrong work field, huh?”

You make sure your face doesn’t move a bit. Play. It. Cool. Besides, progress doesn’t come from backing down. “We all have our strengths. It doesn’t matter what happened to them though, what matters is that I’m here now.”

“They really threw ya to the wolves, Miss l/n.” His tongue traces across his teeth. “Lucky for you, I won’t bite. Yet.”

You try very hard to ignore him. He probably does bite. “Today is gonna be a short meeting. Testing the waters. Now, we’ll be meeting every other day, so don’t feel like you need to open up to me immediately-”

“Me? Open up? If ya wanna open me up, you’re gonna need a big knife.” When your face falls, he leans forward and laughs harshly, a laugh laced with insanity. “Ha! Tough crowd, it seems.”

Already, he’s testing your patience. But you’ve faced worse. Or at least, you’ll pretend you have. “Mr. J, please-”

“Mr. J?” The Joker sits up straighter. “Heh, I like that. Makes me sound, uh, all fancy and stuff.”

“Mr. J,” you say again, this time harsher. “Today, I just want to get to know a bit about who you are. This is our first session so I’m not expecting too much. We don’t have to dive into the crimes, or your past, but I just wanna get to know a bit about you.”

He snorts. “Why?”

“I’m trying to help, Mr. J. I can’t help you if I don’t know… well, you. Not to mention, we have absolutely nothing on you. No files. No previous history. You’re a bit of a mystery.”

“Ah, a mystery.” He licks at his lips a few times before licking at the inside of his cheeks, no doubt tracing along his scars. “And you wanna solve me.”

“No, I just want to learn a bit more.” You reach into your bag and bring out your clipboard and a pen, clicking it once. “Now, where would you like to start? Maybe your childhood? Your job before your crimes?” His face contorts, and his nostrils begin to flare at such personal questions, so you try and tone it down. Before he lunges at me and chokes me to death. “It’s okay, we can start small. What are your interests?”

His shoulders drop a bit. He rocks back and forth in his seat, humming in thought. It’s weird, really, to see him like this. Not blowing something up, or filming himself raming about some kind of new evil plan he has. “Hmmm, well, I like, uh, a good joke every now and again. I like, hm, ah, a good tussle. Blades. TNT.”

You scribble it all down, right with a question mark and a frowny face. None of that sounds promising. “Right…”

“What’s wrong, doll? You seem…” He smiles gleefully. “Upset.” His T’s are pronounced harshly.

Doll. You should definitely correct him, to tell him to call you by your name, but you decide to let it slide. “No, I’m just… taking it all in. So you like weapons. Jokes. Is that how you decided on your name?”

He smacks his lips. “More or less.”

“Okay. Right. And the whole clown thing, your persona-?”

“Persona? Ha! This is aaaallllll me, dollface.”

“Right. So, the clown thing, how’d that come about? Your makeup, what’s the reason for it?” As you say it, your eyes fall to his scars, the way his lips lick along the very edge of them, and when he catches sight of this, he glares.

“Ah ah ah,” he coos darkly. “We won’t be getting into that today.”

You swallow hard. “Okay. It’s fine. One day at a time.”

He nods and leans forward, and it’s like his eyes can see into your very soul. “Ah, enough about me, huh, doll? Tell me about little ol’ you.”

You frown. “We’re not here to talk about me, Mr. J.”

“Oh, you’re not, but I would like to hear a thing or two about the person I'll be spending lots of, uh, personal time with.”

The way he says personal time, with an almost ferociousness to it, makes you break out in goosebumps, and you’re thankful for the coat covering your arms. “Hm, fine. What do you want to know?”

“Oh, ya know, a bit of this, a bit of that.” He tosses his head around. “How’d you end up in a shithole like Arkham?”

You take a deep breath. Does he seriously care to know? Or is he messing with you? Knowing what you know about him, you’re sure it’s the latter. “Well, it’s always been my passion to be a psychiatrist. I love Gotham and I wanna help its people.”

Joker leans back. “Hmmm, you’re one of those little doctors, huh? Wanna get everyone all fixed up so you can feel like a little saint?”

That takes you aback. You resist the urge to glare. Stay calm. You’re trying to help. “No, I don’t want to be a saint. I just want to-“

“Make yourself feel better? Wanna, uh, be able to give yourself a pat on the back and say ‘look at how amazing I am’? Puh-lease. Nobody really wants to help because they’re selfless.” He leans in. “We’re all selfish, every last one of us. So don’t lie. Nobody likes a liar.”

If you were anyone else, you might have wavered. So this is what they meant when they said Joker was a tough case. He had flipped the tables and started trying to analyze you. Well, you were tough enough, and you weren’t going to back down. You look him right in the eye. “You have a very interesting world view, Mr. J. But if I was just doing this for myself, we wouldn’t be seated here today.”

“Oh, but you didn’t choose to be here, they stuck ya in with me.” His eyes widen. “Seems your bosses aren’t too fond of ya, doll. Or are you just so stuck beneath their boots that you didn’t even question them?”

Now he was really reading you. How could he tell? Was he just that good at digging into people, or were you just too much of an open book? Whatever it was, you pushed it aside. Don’t give in. You’re not doing this for your bosses, you’re doing this for you. “You’re very observant. But again, we’re not here to analyze me. We’re here to talk about you.”

He shrugs. “Whatever you wanna say, doll. But don’t worry,” he says, licking his lips, “I’ll figure you out before you even get anywhere with me. In fact, I think I’m already getting a good guess.”

“Please, Mr. J, I’m the psychiatrist here. Now, our session is coming to an end-”

“Pity.”

“-but I have one last question before our session ends.”

“Go ahead, doll.”

“If you were to describe yourself in one word, what would you use?”

“Ha! Easy. Chaos.”

“And, why does this word define you? Why do you want to be chaos? What do you get out of it?”

He shakes his head. “Ah ta ta, that’s more than one question, doll face. Now, before you leave, lemme, uh, ask you the same thing. What word would you use to describe me?”

His question takes you slightly off guard. There were tons of things you could say. Insane. Wild. Crazy. But those would describe the Joker he was outside, the man that fought the Batman. Whoever you were looking at now was clearly more than that. “Intriguing.”

With that, the Joker's face split into a wide smile. “Ah, now that’s a new one. I think I might actually come to enjoy these, ah, little sessions.” He tilts his head. “I expect you’ll be going now?”

You reach into your purse and grab the remote. “Yes, Mr. J. Thank you for your time. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

He’s smiling so wide now, the tips of his scars almost touch his ears. There’s something about his smile. It’s not horrible, not at all. It’s mesmerizing.

“I can’t wait.”

___________________________

That night you can’t go to bed, but not for the same reasons as usual.

Most nights, as you settle down, you’re pulled from sleep by the phantom echoes of the screaming of Arkham patients. Other nights, you’re up for hours thinking of different ways to help your patients. But tonight, you can’t be bothered to think about anyone but the Joker. Dale was right. Already, he’s creeping into your mind, settling beneath your skin. You should be frightened, really, but your mind just wanders with fascination. No, you definitely will not be getting sleep tonight. Instead, you grab your laptop and type in your patient's name. If he won't tell you anything himself, then you’ll get to the bottom of it.

You end up reading about him for hours. Intriguing, indeed.

End notes: see you next time ;)

[mrjstories]

[joashinray]

[bonzo2025]

Beauty and the Beast (!oc X Ledger Joker!)

@ajokeformur-ray @j0kers-light

[holybagelsstuff]

I like to think of TDK!Joker as the youngest of all movie Jokers. Not only due to Heath Ledger being 28 when he played him, but also because I believe this Joker appeared at the same time Bruce Wayne gave life to Batman. The Joker always seemed to be more than a person, an embodiment of chaos that uses a human face to trick the others into thinking he can be stopped like a regular thug. Something only a hero as uncompromising as Batman can reckon with. The Joker came to life specifically to be Batman's counterpart. There's no other reason for him to exist. At the time of TDK's events, Bruce has been a vigilante for roughly a year– so technically, the Joker has also been around for a year.

[aestheticforzoe]

Why so silly?

[dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd]

Guardian Angel

Ledger!Joker x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader works at Arkham as a nurse and is responsible for taking care of J, which can be quite a job.

Author's Note: Had this idea come to me not long ago and decided to write a little oneshot for it. Joker would be so annoying to look after lmao. We love him though <3

Taglist: @alittlesmartcookie @furisodespirit @lightsabergirl @gothic-aesthetic-gal

If you would like to be added to the taglist please let me know!

Being the Joker’s nurse was not an easy task.

Secretly he was your favorite patient. You formed a bond with the clown since the day he was first brought to Arkham. He was resistant to you in the beginning, but with a little patience you got him to trust you.

You were like his guardian angel in a place where most didn’t care at all for his well being. You snuck him extra food sometimes and made sure he was taken care of. Unlike everyone else you could look beyond the monster. You saw him for what he was, a broken man hiding behind a persona.

He was in his late twenties, nearly thirty. Still very young and surprisingly close to your own age. It shocked you to find that out. The things he said and did showed a level of maturity. Most people like him in the asylum were older and snapped after a long miserable life. His was shorter and filled with double the pain. It was tragic in your eyes. So much wasted potential.

You actually wanted to see him get better. Given his young age, you thought it was possible. There was still time for him to turn things around. He of course didn’t see things that way. He felt that it was too late to change anything and he might as well keep going and do whatever he wants.

He escaped frequently. Once he was actually consistently behaving and set in a good routine, he broke out, undoing any progress that had been made. It frustrated you to no end. But there was no reasoning with him. 

When he did stay put, things were turbulent. Some days he was quiet and behaved himself. Other days not so much. He’d fight the guards, fight you (not as violently but still), or just simply cause trouble. 

Currently he’d been back in Arkham for a few months now. This time there were a lot more bad days than good.

Yet again he was thrown into a padded isolation cell for another violent outburst. At this point it was hard to feel sorry for him. He knew what he was doing and you warned him several times that if he kept on he’d find out that these people didn’t play around. Each new outburst meant longer time spent in the cell than the last time. 

As of today he’d been in there for two weeks. You didn’t see how this was legal, but this was Arkham you were talking about and they went overboard when it came to Joker. 

You approached the cell, carrying a small tray of food, his breakfast. The guard standing by the door looked up at you briefly and then went to grab his keys. 

“Mornin’ Y/n.” He said lazily, unlocking the door.

“Morning, Carl. What’s J up to?”

Carl shrugged. “He’s still sleepin’. Hasn’t given me any trouble yet.”

You nodded and stepped into the cell as the guard pushed the door open. Once you were inside, the door was locked shut behind you. Joker was in the far corner of the small cell, straightjacketed like always and laying on a bare mattress on the floor. He was asleep just as the guard had said, totally unaware of your presence. 

You walked over and knelt beside the mattress, observing him quietly. His soft breathing was the only sound to be heard in the small cell. His expression was relaxed and peaceful. He looked so vulnerable, being restrained in the jacket. You swept his hair out of his eyes and tapped his scarred cheek lightly. “Good morning, J.”

He stirred a little and grunted at being woken up. His eyes fluttered open and scanned the room for a moment. He was understandably disoriented and groggy. He finally noticed you sitting beside him and smirked. “Morning, sweetheart.”

“Did you sleep well?” You asked. 

He nodded with a tiny yawn. “When can I come out of this thing, y/n?”

You sighed. “I don’t know, J. That all depends on whether you want to behave or not. I think it’s going to be harder to earn our trust after your latest outburst.”

“Aw, I didn’t mean to.” Joker pouted. 

“So you didn’t mean to stab a guard with a broken tile?” 

Joker giggled. “Oops. Maybe I did.”

He rolled dramatically onto his back and fidgeted inside the jacket, annoyed and frustrated by the device. 

“You know the more you squirm the tighter it gets, right?” You teased him. 

Joker huffed. “Doll, it’s sooo uncomfortable. Can’t ya loosen it up a bit? Please?”

You shook your head with a chuckle. “No, honey. I can’t. You’re gonna have to wait it out a few more days. I’m sorry.”

Joker sighed and grumbled something under his breath. You just smiled at him sympathetically.

“Are you hungry?” You asked, ruffling his hair.

He nodded.

You grabbed him gently by the shoulders and helped him sit upright. “Man, you’re heavy.” You muttered.

Joker grinned and rested his head on your shoulder. “Ya knoooww, you could always let me out of this thing and I could sit up on my own.”

“It’s not gonna happen, J.”

“Heh. It was worth a shot.”

He went quiet as you moved closer to him with the tray of food in your lap. It was a simple breakfast. A bowl of plain oatmeal, mushy fruit from a can, and a carton of orange juice. You spooned up some oatmeal and brought it to his lips carefully. He ate each spoonful without complaint and let you feed him until the tray was nearly empty. 

“Are you done?” You asked, setting the spoon down.

“Yeah. ‘M pretty full.”

You picked up the paper cup on the edge of the tray. Now came the fun part.

“Here, let’s take your meds now.”

“Ugh, do I have to?” Joker whined.

“Yes. Now open up.”

Joker rolled his eyes and opened his mouth obediently. You poured the small cup full of two pills and water into his mouth.

“Swallow them please.” He swallowed them down with a grimace. “Thank you.”

“Let’s see what these do to me today…” Joker grumbled.

“I checked up on that. They’re not so bad. You’ve had them before. They just made you a little sleepy last time.”

“Lovely.”

“It could be worse. Remember how sick that other medicine made you a few months ago?”

“How could I forget? I was puking my guts out for weeks.”

“I don’t know why they kept you on that for so long…”

“Cause they don’t know what they’re doin’, doll. For them it’s just trial and error at this point. They’re seeing what ‘works’ and what doesn’t.” 

You rolled your eyes. “I would like to think that’s not the case, but I’m constantly let down by this place.”

Joker chuckled at that. “I keep ‘em on their toes.”

You shot him a stern look. “Are you gonna behave today?”

”I guess so. I really don’t want to be restrained any more than I already am. Do I have anything planned for today?”

“I think they’re gonna let you go shower later.”

“Mhm. That’s always fun…”

“I think I’d rather be clean, J. You’ll definitely feel a lot better.”

“If you say so.”

“Other than that there’s nothing going on.”

“Oh, so no session with what’s-his-face today?”

“No. Dr. Matthews needs a break right now. He said you probably could use one from all the sessions.”

Joker laughed. “Does he need a break from me?”

“Actually no, just Arkham in general. He’s really overwhelmed. Maybe don’t be a pain in the ass next time you see him.” 

“I do feel bad for the old guy. He has to deal with people like me all day long.”

You shook your head and stood up with a tired grunt. “You better behave yourself or you’ll be dealing with Carl all day.”

Joker groaned and rolled over to face the wall. “Yeah, yeah. See you later, y/n.”

—

That afternoon you came back to his cell when most of the patients on the ward were taking an after lunch nap. Affected by the medicine, Joker was visibly getting sleepy but was having a hard time falling asleep. He was laying on the mattress again when you came in and his eyes were half lidded. 

You saw that the orderlies were true to their word and gave him a proper shower. His wild brown curls were still damp and he didn’t look so sweaty. You sat next to him and gently rubbed circles into his back. He looked up at you wearily for a moment and then put his head back down.

“You should really try to take a nap, J.” You advised him.

“Why?”

“You need the rest. At least close your eyes.”

“That’s dumb.”

“You’d feel a lot better.”

“You say that about everything.”

“But you will though. J, a good chunk of your problems would go away if you just got enough rest.”

“Well, I can’t. Because my body hates me. I was lucky to be able to sleep last night.”

You sighed. “Alright. Do you want something to help you sleep?”

Joker dismissed the idea with a scowl. “More meds? Nope.”

“I promise it’ll help. It’ll knock you right out.”

“No. I’m not tired.”

You scoffed. “Yeah right. You look like you’re about to fall over any minute now.”

“Fine! I’ll take the damn meds if you’ll just leave me the hell alone!” Joker snapped at you.

You backed away from him and threw your hands up. “Okay, okay. Watch your tone, mister. I’ll be back in a minute.”

You got up and left to go get the medicine, ignoring the angry glare Joker was sending your way. You returned a few minutes later with a syringe filled with a clear liquid. You sat beside him and moved his body towards you. 

“I’m gonna lay you across my lap and undo this top strap, okay? Don’t fight me or I’ll stick it in your neck.”

“Yes, Nurse Y/n. No fighting. I’ll be the bestest boy.” Joker said in a singsong-like voice, mocking you. 

You rolled your eyes and laid him facing down over your lap. Then you unbuckled the top strap of his straightjacket and pulled the material back to expose his shoulder. You cleaned the injection site with an alcohol wipe and steadied your hand.

“Be still.” You said calmly.

“This is so stupid...” Joker grumbled as he draped limply over you like a child.

“Shh. It’ll only take a second. Now hush.”

Joker winced as you stuck the needle into his skin and injected the medicine. You removed it just as quickly as you jabbed it in and swabbed the site with another wipe. Then put all the trash in the proper disposable bag.

While you were distracted, Joker bucked upwards, trying to get the rest of the jacket off, but you were too fast for him. 

“J! Don’t even think about it.” You scolded him as you pinned him down against the mattress. 

Joker laughed it off. “Just testing your reflexes, doll.” 

You fastened the straps back the way they were and rolled him onto his side. You stood up from the floor and looked down at him, your arms crossed and expression unamused. 

“I don’t want to hear another peep out of you until I see you again at dinner, alright? Go to sleep. I mean it.”

Joker smiled, his eyes growing heavy. “Whatever ya say, y/n. I’ll be…” He yawned. “...quiet.”

With that his head rolled to the side and he fell asleep not long after. You sighed in relief. Finally.

__

Days passed and Joker was still locked up in the cell. He grew increasingly antsy, whining and complaining about wanting out. You tried your best to comfort him as much as possible while gently reminding him that it was his own actions that put him there. 

You kept telling him he’d be let out soon but you didn’t even know when that was. Every time you asked the doctors about it, they’d wave you off and say he ‘hadn’t learned his lesson yet’. You’d just shake your head and carry on. One could argue that J would never learn his lesson. And those doctors weren’t the ones that had to listen to him whine. You were.

They finally said yes after days of you politely pestering them about it. Even if Joker wasn’t making such a fuss, you still didn’t think it was right for him to be locked in there for so long. It wasn’t humane at all and if it was your call he would’ve been out of there weeks ago. 

As soon as you received word, you went to tell Joker the good news. Carl wasn’t at the door to let you in so you grabbed a set of keys from the nurses' station and unlocked it yourself. 

“J? You can come out of here now. Your doctor-”

You stopped in your tracks. The cell was empty. He was gone.

Hundreds of questions filled your head. He just completely vanished! You didn’t know how in the world he did it, but he did. The straightjacket was left discarded by the mattress. Beside it you found a note scribbled in red crayon that read:

SoRRy SweetHeaRt! I juSt Had to BuSt otta HeRe! ThiS pLace kiLLS me. See ya SooN! ;) - J

You folded up the paper and stuck it in your scrubs pocket with a tired sigh. “Dammit, J.”

[into-crazy]

Christmas with the Joker headcanons

Warnings- violence, mentions of murder, crime, brief sexual innuendos, J style fluff, ages 18+

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've written anything thanks to writer's block. But I had a lot of fun with this one.

💕divider by @strangergraphics

Believe it or not, Joker is actually very into the holiday festivities. Some of which in his own twisted way.

For example, like putting bombs in cheery gift boxes and sending them to his targets. Or using colorful sting lights to strange some of his victims.

Any stockings he happens to come across would be stuffed with dangerous trinkets such as knives and hand grenades. No stocking is safe around him.

But there are normal things that he tends to enjoy- mostly with you.

He likes all of the crazy lights and decorations. Especially when green and red- his signature colors- are put on full display around Gotham.

Speaking of which, expect there to be YARDS of those Christmas colors hanging everywhere in your house.

RIP December light bill.

"J, why is there an entire light show in my bathroom?"

"Oh ya know, just getting into the holiday spirit. But also putting my colors in every room so that you're constantly thinking of me."

He'll bring you back a real tree to decorate. A big one that barely fits in your living space. Only the best for you.

He will purposely break the ornaments. Throwing them across the room and watching them shatter while laughing hysterically. But don't worry, if he breaks too many of them he'll get you some more.

If there's mistletoe hanging up above he's definitely giving you a kiss that'll quite literally take your breath away and leave you dizzy.

Joker hums along to a select few Christmas songs. One of his favorites is Rocking Around The Christmas Tree by Brenda Lee.

He's definitely going to wear a Santa suit when he goes to carry out some of his jobs or even terrorize the city. If anyone gives him any sort of trouble, then he'll deem them as "naughty" and kill them.

If Batman is the one who gives him trouble then Joker will simply refer to him as a grinch for spoiling his fun.

The suit will also be worn when Joker's home with you. And yes, he'll expect you to call him Santa J.

If you happen to wear a sexy little elf outfit, know that there will be nothing to hold him back from ravaging you.

Lots of terrible dirty jokes from him.

"How about I uh- stuff your stocking for Christmas, doll?" // "Santa will definitely be coming tonight." // "Be a good girl and let me slide down your chimney and deliver your gift."

Speaking of presents, Joker will give you lots of gifts. Expensive jewelry, luxury handbags, designer shoes, pretty lingerie, books, candles. Anything for you.

Sure he might have stolen everything. However it's the thought that counts, right?

You gift him items that you know he'd like and would most likely use. Patterned socks and boxers. A brand new camcorder since he broke his last one. A few custom, well-made knives with a 'J' embedded in the handles. Stacks of red, white, and black greasepaint.

He will wear matching pajama pants with you. By the way, that is to be strictly kept between the two of you.

Since he's got a major sweet tooth, he'll eat up any sweet goodies you make. Gingerbread cookies, hot chocolate, homemade rice crispies- you make it, he'll eat it.

Yeah, Christmastime with the Joker would definitely be an interesting experience.