#[ it wasn't greasepaint or anything ]

[chaoticjoke]

hold this for a second. / from harley quinn

For a brief moment, there's a puzzled look on his face, followed by an exaggerated 'Beg pardon?' expression. Then he simply shrugs and roughly snatches the offered item from Harley's hand.

"Mmmmm, let's see." Wiry hands quickly open the harlequin's purse and the Joker shamelessly starts rummaging through its contents like a kid searching for candy.

"Whadda we got here?.." He murmurs, totally absorbed in his task. The Agent of Chaos takes zero interest in her cellphone or wallet, casually throwing the things away along with the bubblegum he's found. A smirk twists his scarred mouth when he fishes out a tiny pocket knife and a bottle of mace. He nods in approval but continues his search.

"Ahhh!" he exclaims, dexterous fingers extracting a tiny object -- a red Maybelline lipstick -- and a connoisseur he is, Joker raises his eyebrows dramatically, closely examining the crimson shade. "Finders keepers." He clicks his tongue. "I'm taking this one."

@fragmcntdstars

[aerodaltonimperial]

(For @spacegatito 💚)

The music is loud. In hindsight, Bowens probably shouldn't have put Max in charge of it, but he thought it was a nice gesture given how bummed Max has been recently about things. MxM, the fights he keeps getting into on Twitter... anyway, he's regretting it now, but he can't say anything because Max has already spent the last twenty minutes glaring daggers at Colten Gunn.

Maybe this theme was a bad idea. Also, hindsight. It's really not Bowens's fault that Colten took the theme of "dress as something you love" to create a giant fake Tweet of Tony Khan saying that "Max Caster is a talentless hack and sucks" out of cardboard. It's really unfortunate, because the sheer amount of work that went into it is impressive, but Bowens has had to glare a lot and pretend it's all horrible. (Colten can't even fit through half the doorways, it's so wide.)

The doorbell rings. Bowens only hears it because he's parked next to it; otherwise, the raps are too overpowering. When he swings the door open with a cheery "Happy Hallo...!," he loses all his joy midway through. "What the fuck?"

"What?" Darby asks. "You sent an invite."

"I sent an invite that you CLEARLY didn't take seriously," Bowens groans, because what the fuck. Specific instructions. He'd said dress as something you love, because the roster is on fire lately and they all need something positive, and here's Darby on the doorstep dressed in a grey shirt, black jacket, and a Scapegoat armband. "You know, this isn't funny."

Darby frowns at him. "Wasn't supposed to be. I'm starving, you got food in there?"

"Can't you just try to go along with things once in your life?"

"Dude, what the fuck," Darby says. "Get off my dick, I did what you asked. Now let me in, cause you're being an asshole."

Bowens can't really tell him to go, so he lets Darby past, but like, what the hell. He'd asked for one thing. One thing! Honestly, a fight is gonna break out, and it's not gonna be his fault. He sits back down on his stool while Max continues to toss tootsie rolls at Colten, which keep bouncing off the painted cardboard. God dammit, that costume is funny.

The doorbell rings again, and when Bowens opens the door the second time, he's met with... pink. Fuzzy pink.

"What?" Bowens exhales, aghast. "Did...?"

Jack stares at him, a challenge. Oh my god, he's got the greasepaint on and everything. "What?"

"Why are you...?"

Jack frowns. "You sent a theme. I did the theme."

Is this an elaborate prank of some sort? Bowens has to be hallucinating. Did Hook switch out the Haribo bears with weed gummies? "The... the theme was..."

"Yeah, open up, man. He's in there, isn't he? He didn't even wait for me, which is so fucking typical."

Bowens opens the door, but only because his brain is spinning like a hamster on a wheel. Jack breezes past him, spies Max on the turn table, and yells, "Goth phase!" which immediately draws a delighted crow out of Max and a change in the music.

Bowens stays there for a minute, trying to sort things out. He's still there when Daddy Ass comes by, and asks, "Hey, did you notice that Jack and Darby are dressed as each other? Did you not send them the theme? It's like they thought they were supposed to be scary or something."

"No," Bowens says. "No, I sent them the theme!"

They both go silent for a minute.

"No," Bowens says again.

"No way," Daddy Ass agrees, but it's a little dubious.

The two in question have found each other in the living room, and are sort of arguing with each other, gestures back and forth. So that's all very normal and expected, even if they are weirdly dressed as each other and Bowens is just about to write the whole thing off when Darby abruptly laughs, grabs Jack’s face, and plants a kiss right on his mouth. A ridiculously sloppy kiss with gusto that Jack does not immediately punch him for.

Oh, god.

"Huh," Daddy Ass says, brow furrowed. "I did not see that coming."

"Well, you know what I DO see coming?" Bowens points. "Max attempting to strangle one of your sons with the mic cord. We gotta go stop this. Worry about weird roster relationships AFTER we prevent murder."

[cuephrase]

Thank you so much for the comic recs!! I'm just getting started on my Batfam reading journey so this is super helpful, and I'd be really interested to hear your thoughts on your current reads once you're further along. On a related (but opposite) note, anything you'd say to steer well clear of, like run for the hills, hazard sign attached, avoid if at all possible? (for example, I know All-Star Batman & Robin is something I shouldn't read outside of morbid fascination)

yeah ofc! getting into comics, in my experience, was super fun and sort of overwhelming because there's so much content lol, so i hope you're enjoying it and i'm happy to help however i can :)

OMG all-star batman and robin, i still need to read that to satisfy my own curiosity, but perfect example.

so okay, i have three runs + one arcs, but i'm going to preface this by saying, read whatever you want. all three runs and one arc, i read going into it knowing they were absolute messes, but i wanted to experience it for myself. i would say to not read these first, if possible, if you choose to read them because they're just not great intros to the characters and they're not great stories, imo. lose-lose

Red Hood and the Outlaws 2011 (New 52). if you like kory and/or roy, this will be torture. if you don't know who they are, please god do not meet this iteration of them first. but if you're interested in jason, maybe you want to read it because he's there! i get that. but. there's very little, if anything, in rhato 2011 that you'll learn about jason that isn't reiterated in rhato 2016/doesn't get flat out retconned in rebirth. for example, in rhato 2011, his origin story is him stealing from leslie's clinic. that wasn't his preboot origin, and his origin gets retconned back to his preboot origin of stealing the tires off the batmobile. most of rhato 2011 just had me like ???? so bad. just so bad.

Teen Titans 2011 (New 52). full transparency- i did not even finish this run. at some point, i will probably drag myself back to it and force myself through it, but oh god. no one felt like themself. everything was wrong. i like tim's n52 red robin costume, and that's about it. i'm also not sure how much if any of this run is currently relevant in canon so like, even less reason to put yourself through it.

Tim Drake: Robin 2022. i have nothing nice to say. wait. no i do. it got some really cool variant covers. i don't want to bash the art, because i have enjoyed this artist's style in other comics, so i'm just going to be diplomatic and say it was a horrible match/fit. . as far as the writing...no, just no. this is one of 2 pieces of fitzmartin's writing that i've read and so i don't want to speak too harshly, but i really didn't like it. this whole run makes me so sad ngl. dc canonized tim's bisexuality and then supported it with this? bro. c'mon. there's already so many homophobic comic readers, they didn't need to give them "it's bad writing" ammo. genuinely would love to know the though process behind the production of this comic

the infamous Ric Grayson era, Nightwing 2016 #50-74. i just read this. i've legit been putting it off since august. it is so mind-numbingly boring for 85% of the run, first off. this is literally how most of the issues go: "i was shot in the head. i don't remember anything after the night my parents died. they told me i used to a hero. nightwing. i don't remember that. or them. they act like they love me, but it feels fake. i don't want to remember them. i'm happier this way." and then he starts running around, superheroing with a slash of black greasepaint across his face because that is just a+ identity protection and regular clothes because superhero costumes totally only serve visual purposes. and it does all get resolved in the STUPIDEST WAY, but not before the joker takes control of him and has him referring to/responding to “dickie-boy”- reading this i was either bored out of my mind or dying from the cringe. all that’s relevant is a) he lost his memories, b) he gets them back, and c) he had a girlfriend, bea. i knew all of this before i subjected myself to this run. but now i can say i’ve read every nightwing run woooooo. my LCS (local comic store) guy has been trying to get me to read it as a “rite of passage” and he was so entertained when i came in and was like “i read ric” 😐🧍suffice it to say, i do not envy the nightwing fans who had to go through that in real time. i love travis moore’s art but it was not enough to save this arc

as for my thoughts on my current readings, i post those under the tag #cue first read reactions! they’re usually not all that in-depth tbh, just me freaking out haha. if you’re comfortable, my dms are open!

tysm for your ask + i hope you have as much fun reading batfam comics as i do!!

[red-hemlock]

@nightmarefuele started following you! (For Joker!)

Cold steel bars slam shut, unceremonious, uncaring to the disheveled woman now caged within; and the officer responsible rebukes and he chides... It's all cocky crap that's ignored, and deserving of an eye-roll. In truth, this situation hardly mattered to River, because she wasn't itching to stay here for any sort of long haul. But as Officer Arrogance finally ups and leaves, a figure in the cell next-door catches her attention. Causes her eyes to widen.

The way they talked about him, he was the devil himself, walking the Earth in a greasepaint smile... The monster in mauve. Certainly seemed to have that aura about him, anyway. Its exudation was utterly miasmic.

She figured he'd be a bit taller, though.

"So what'd the Bat get you for this time, Chuckles?" A cage-wall is chosen, and River leans against the bars, close enough to converse but not to allow for anything sly, "Did you snatch Baby Jesus from the manger, at Gotham Cathedral?"

[oletus-hullabaloo]

🎭 Oh? What’s your greatest wish?

🎭 "JOKER" [JAMBOREE] HAS RECEIVED YOUR LETTER! 🎭

Much to everyone's fitting dismay in the already gloomy Manor, a source of joy had been snuffed out in time for Hallow's Eve - Mike had lost himself in the persona of "Joker", if only for a short span of time, and was intent for all the world not to respond to any questions addressed to his true name.

Letters were going to be no different.

It wasn't clear if it was all a joke or not - the jest of the name was solely paying homage to the usual owner, though he was anything but a joker. "Joker" had atypically hidden himself away from his fellows, donning greasepaint typical of the true smiling clown, and considered everything a simple practice round for the true event of the day.

As the young man's calendar turned to "October 31st", he finished his last strokes of make-up. The envelope slid under his door, and he donned yet clawless gloves to open it. Though the clock had struck in his mind, he'd afford brief correspondences, as long as they didn't take up too much of his fun.

"My greatest wish, you say? It'd be to get closer to her. Gain the respect I'm deserved from my peers, and finally see my ambitions play out. The shows I put on are just a vessel for my true plans, you know, and tonight is no different. The moon gleams high in the sky, and it's a wonderful time to put on a show.

I'm tired of having no reason to smile! These miserable little ants that see themselves fit to be on my stage? They'll never get in my way again. Not while I have any say in it. One of them stole that away from me once, and you should know well enough that I have no intent of letting them pull it off again.

Repeat acts become boring, and flowers from audiences past still wilt.

Why shouldn't I get it all over with?"

[graemegardenappreciationsociety]

Article from the Liverpool Echo, 21 August 1978

Text reads:

"For the past nine months, Graeme Garden has been busy not writing a play. It has been a time-consuming occupation. Not only has the Goodies goon spent countless hours reading, researching and writing himself notes (which he files verycarefully and occasional re-arranges), but he also suffers from the morning after the write before syndrome in which the brilliant gems of the previous evening's script look like tawdry baubles in the hard light of day.

He admits he is also easily distracted by noises-- the door bell, the telephone, his wife and two children.

But more often the greatest nuisance is.... himself.

'I'm not very good to live with when I'm working because if I can't write I stroll about doing nothing. So my wife tells me 'While you're ups, why don't you go and prune the roses' And I say 'I've got work to do, can't do that. Then I stroll about somewhere else, doing nothing and feeling guilty. But you can't commit yourself to doing anything else like washing up or pruning the roses. That would be an admission of defeat and you'd only be wasting valuable writing time. So all you can do is stroll about.'

The result is that after the title, Lost Causes, all that exists on paper are the words Act One, Scene one.

The idea however, seems a Goodienough reason to persevere.

'Basically, it's about a small charity trying to help in a major disaster which gets more major than they can cope with, and in fact, it spells the end for the charity as well as the country and indeed for the chap who is getting involved with it'

It is not a hatchet job on charities, he insists: That wouldn't be fair.

Lost Causes, Graeme's second play, his first for grown-ups, is due to be produced by the Cambridge Theatre Company early next year.

As with many writers, the guillotine threat of the deadline has encouraged Graeme to get his head down. But at the moment the trouble is finding the time.

He has been writing a hush-hush pilot with Bill Oddie for London Weekend which will hopefully become a series and he is currently recording both a Goodies album of animal songs for the Christmas market and acting in Royce Ryton's death-defying comedy, The Unvarnished Truth.

One reason Graeme Garden accepted the part in The Unvarnished Truth was a feeling of claustrophobia.

'It wasn't that I was getting fed up with the other two, but we'd worked on Goodies television series, Goodies records, and Goodies books for four years solid.'

Now that he has sniffed the greasepaint he is hooked on acting. Not that he is going to hang up the ribbon on his typewriter. But other than wanting to continue to act and write he has, he says, no ambitions.

'I think it's much more fun if something comes up, if opportunities arise and luckily, at the moment, opportunities do arise.

'I should keep a notebook because I suddenly thought the other day, 'Oh, there's an ambition,' and I don't normally have ambitions.

'Can't remember what is was, should have written it down. My ambition, you could say, is to own a notebook.'

[malusrecord]

~"Hey Sadwick, what if we ran away for a day? You could have a break from the circus and we could go and do whatever you'd like!"

Run away? Was she being serious? It was impossible---it was absolutely, positively impossible---but it MADE HIS HEART FLUTTER ALL THE SAME....

He couldn't bring himself to actually leave his grandpa or Spot for that matter but....to have a day? A day for fun? A day without Ben making fun of him, without having to do anything scary, without greasepaint or gross food or scary acts he could barely do? It could even be a day where he PRETENDED TO BE SOMEONE ENTIRELY NEW, wouldn't that be something? It was almost scary to think about.

"Oh, If only...." Sadwick wasn't saying no but he also couldn't say yes either and a genuine wistfulness overtakes his normally morose tone of voice. If only. If only. If only. If only he deserved a wonderfully impossible day like that. "I wouldn't even know where to start but...." He really shouldn't say anything more; it was too good to be true and they both knew it so he really, really, really shouldn't say anything else and yet.... "....I BET WE'D HAVE ALL KINDS OF FUN."

[dragonmuse]

Hey, that YAILY ask you answered a few anons back, how you mentioned you were trying to figure out how Izzy finds Read. "greasepaint is a bitch to get out of fabric" - what about Izzy tries taking it to dry cleaners, but "hmm, that kid on the other side of the street looks like they’re about to keel over-oh, never mind they did, welp, guess its hospital time. Hey eddy, I'm in the ER, no, no allergies, someone got stabbed. No, not me. anyway, how do feel about having a guest for dinner tonight?"

(ANON ANON YOU ARE A GENIUS! And anon who initially requested this, I hope this at last scratches the itch)

Fridays, Izzy picked up and dropped off the dry cleaning. He was so regular that they usually had it ready for him. The prices was generally astronomical thanks to a million kinds of fabric pressed against his work uniforms, but he paid it unthinkingly. Such was the way of his world.

"Sorry!" Marcus behind the counter called when he came in that day. "We've been overloaded this week, yours is ready, just buried. Give me five?"

Izzy nodded, turning to head back outside. It was a decent day and the smell of the dry cleaners was not a favorite. He cased the street idly. The kid that lingered by the convenience store was there again today. They'd appeared a week or two ago, not quite panhandling, but not refusing the few dollars that Izzy offered as he walked by either.

They were big, for all they folded down small. Smaller than last week. Hm. They were listing a little.

....and there they went. Shit. Izzy pushed off the wall, checked traffic, then hustled across the street.

He squatted down to their side,

"Hey," he said sharply, clearly. "You alive?"

No answer. Shit. He touched them gently, got a pulse and could hear them breathing. There was blood, he realized, soaking through the arm of their shirt at an astounding rate. Clinically, he took out his cell, punched numbers, jammed it between his shoulder and ear even as he got out his knife and started cutting away at their sleeve.

"What's your emergency?" A calm voice asked him,

"Hey, Barb, it's Izzy. I've got a fainter on Broadway, in front of the Sip and Go. Looks like blood loss I'm trying to get at the wound now."

"Why are you calling me?" Barb asked.

"It's my day off. Can I get a bus?"

"Lucky you, huh? Okay, I'm sending someone to your location. Do you know anything about them?"

He glanced at the face, broken nose definitely, along with a split lip.

"No, looks young, white. Underfed." He got the sleeve open and found a wicked, ragged wound. "Cut inflicted by something dull or went in dirty. They're going to need stitches, tetanus shot and probably a blood bag. Who's on duty?"

"Deb and Skunk are on their way to you."

"Great, thanks."

The cops always showed to scenes, but Deb and Skunk were a good smokescreen. They showed, got the kid on a stretcher and in the bus, Izzy still putting pressure on the wound until Skunk took over. The cops would get a bare bones statement later.

They didn't come to on the way to the hospital and being unconscious got you some privileges. They were whipped away past the waiting room. An hour later, one of the nurses that he knew well let him into the room.

"No ID," the nurse told him solemnly. "They've been sleeping rough, if I had to guess. There's a shelter that we can direct them too when they're up and about."

"Yeah, good," Izzy nodded.

Eddy: where'd you go to get the dry cleaning? Russia?

Izzy: in the er. not for me. kid passed out on the sidewalk. blood loss. must've been in a hell of a fight.

Eddy: you took them in?

Izzy: wasn't going to just leave them.

Eddy: ok. no dry cleaning?

Izzy: going to stay until they wake up at least.

That wasn't too long a wait. Eyelids fluttered open a few minutes later followed by a bone deep groan. Izzy waited until they'd sat up a little, oriented themselves.

"Am I in the fucking hospital?" they groaned.

"Yeah, that's what happens when you free bleed everywhere like a dipshit," Izzy leaned back in the chair, relieved that they seemed with it. "Who beat your face in?"

"I beat their face in," they said, a vicious undercurrent in their voice that he appreciated vastly.

"Got learn how to duck then."

"Who are you?" they asked warily.

"Lucky you, a bystander who moonlights as an EMT. Izzy Hands. You?"

"Read."

"You got somewhere to go home to, Read? Because the nurses are going to come back with pamphlets, tissues and questions."

They shifted, looked away.

"Sure I do."

"Uh huh."

He stayed while the nurses came in, then the doctors. Then the cops. He didn't say much. All he learned was her pronouns, and that she did not, in fact, have an address to provide. She gave nothing away about the fight and stonewalled them at every turn.

Izzy: she's homeless

Eddy: fuck, fine. I'll make the guest bed. where was all this sainthood in our twenties?

Izzy: drowned by the booze probably

Eddy: pickled. I'm leaving for the bar in an hour.

Izzy: probably miss you entirely then. see you on monday.

Read argued about going home with him right up until the nurse asked about calling a family member and then all of a sudden, Izzy was a dear family friend as it turned out. He had to leave to get the car and she was waiting in the parking lot when he got back.

"Grabbed your bag," he pointed in the backseat and relief passed over her face.

The further out they got, the tenser she went, but there wasn't much he could do for that. It was warm out, and the garden was in full bloom as he pulled up the drive. The sight of that seemed to ease her a little.

"This your work?"

"Nah, that's Eddy."

"Eddy is your..."

"Spouse. But they're with their boyfriend this weekend," he could generally say that in a neutral tone these days. Practice made mediocrity or something.

"Oh," Read settled on and followed him inside.

He got her set up in the guest room, pointed out the bathroom then made himself scarce. She falls asleep before he can get dinner into her.

Read haunted the house that weekend. He left food out for her, lets her maintain her space. He spent a lot of time outside. On Sunday, Lucius called and Izzy caught him up.

"You took in a stray?"

"Seemed like the thing to do," he meandered through the vegetable patch.

"Did it? Look at you. Very cute. What will you do with her?"

"Dunno if she'll let me do jack shit, but she needs help."

"She's staying, that means something."

Eddy came home on Monday morning in a great mood. She was singing to herself, and came to find him right away.

"Where's the girl?" Eddy wound an arm around Izzy's waist.

"In the guest room, probably," he stepped in closer.

Eddy kissed him, other hand sinking into his hair and Izzy just managed to switch off the burner before losing himself in it.

"Oh, shit, sorry," someone said and Eddy broke off with a soft sigh, turning.

"No worries," she shoved off Izzy, and held out a hand. "Eddy."

"Read," Read said tightly. "I was um. I'm going to-"

And she was gone.

"What the fuck?" Eddy glanced back at Izzy.

"No idea. She's skittish."

Skittish enough that Izzy caught her headed for the door later that night.

"You going to walk to town?" He asked from the couch and watched her jump about a foot in the air.

"Shit," she muttered.

"If you've got somewhere, I'll give you a ride," he offered mildly. "But otherwise that's a long fucking stumble in the dark."

"I can't stay," she lifted her pack a little.

"Why not?" Her eyes flicked up the stairs. "Eddy?"

Read looked at him miserably, not saying a word.

"Iz?" Eddy called down the stairs, "Where's the- oh! Never mind, found it."

"What about them?"

Read only shook her head, moved closer to the door.

"Shit, fine, hold on," Izzy got out his phone.

Group Text: THEM

Izzy: one twenty-something idiot needs temporary housing asap

Lucius: re-homing already?

Izzy: she doesn't want to stay, but it's us or the street so someone better pony the fuck up

Jim: she can stay on our futon

Roach: that's cruel and unusual punishment.

Jim: what about your place then?

Roach: fuck no.

Stede: It's not very large, but I have Alma's room if she'd like it.

Izzy hesitated, watched the way Read stood in the moonlight, ready to bolt. Not the fucking time.

Izzy: fine. we'll be there in an hour.

"Your lucky day," he told her, getting up. "Give me five. You've got a bed in the city."

"That's where I was headed," she said quietly. "I can get work there."

"Stede'll give you a job. And anything else your want if you turn those big blues on him. He's a fucking soft touch."

He went upstairs. Eddy was in their closet, putting away laundry.

"I saw the texts," they said, not looking up. "It's me, huh?"

"She's scared shitless of you," he agreed.

"Smart girl," she smoothed down the folds of a t-shirt, voice tight.

"Hey," Izzy stepped in closer. "Not like you did anything."

"No, I know," Eddy brushed hair back from her forehead. "Honestly, I didn't want her here anyway. But...still. Doesn't feel great."

"You'll win her over," Izzy said with certainty. "Everyone always winds up liking you better than me."

"That's cause you're an incurable asshole," she smiled at him touched his wrist. "But I think maybe not this time."

"Every time," he countered and kissed her cheek. "I'll drive her in."

Stede was waiting and Izzy could practically taste Read's relief at the sight of the man, about as threatening as a loofah. Izzy didn't bother telling her how dangerous Stede was in his own right. She needed to believe she was safe and she was. Good enough.

"You're not headed straight back home?" Stede frowned as Izzy lingered in the door, watching Read run a hand over the velvet couch.

"Yeah," he said readily. "I am."

"But-"

"Eddy," Izzy shrugged.

"Oh. Yes. I suppose..."

They stared helplessly at each other. It wasn't a bridge Izzy could bring himself to build, but once and a great long while, he appreciated looking over the valley anyway. To see someone else that had a general idea of the circumstance,

"Night, Bonnet. Night, Read."

"Good night," Read stepped towards him then stopped. "Thanks. For everything."

Izzy went home to crawl into bed with Eddy. He knew he was a living reminder of the past, but he could kiss her the way they did now. Be a reminder of the now too.

And he was right, of course. Eddy won Read over though it took months and a red head and the kind of night Izzy thought he'd never see again.

Read technically had a terrible little room that she would tell everyone was her home address, but after that, she lived scattershot between Bonnet's studio, Izzy and Eddy's house and sometimes even on Jim's terrible futon. It was only when Anne and her started both making a reasonable living that she genuinely had her own place. Even then, often she'd drive out on Izzy's bike (her bike now really, Izzy never needed it) and invade the kitchen for supper.

"Your kid is eating my leftovers," Eddy would inform him tartly when he got off a late shift.

"Uh huh," Izzy would laugh at her. "And you could've stopped her at literally any point."

"She was hungry," Eddy would grumble.

Read would make it up to them in the morning, weeding down rows of flowers tirelessly at Eddy's side. Izzy would watch them idly from the porch, Lucius sometimes there too, feet in Izzy's lap. The world was a strange and wonderful place some days.

[jslittlebirdie]

Nightshift

Pairing: Ledger!Joker x Reader, but there is no actual relationship between the Reader and J for it’s the first time they meet each other.

Summary: You are working in a small grocery store in the Narrows of Gotham City. Tonight you have agreed to fill in for your colleague Curtis. But little did you know that this nightshift would be anything but ordinary.

Word Count: 3,394

Genre: a little darker fic, I guess - but not too dark

Warnings: 18+ mentions of robbery, violence, blood, murder, knife play, and injury

Notes: I know that it’s probably not that good of a plot but, hey, I just wanted to try a little darker characterization of J. I hope it will still be enjoyable. And as always feel free to tell me whether there are any major mistakes.

(picture found here)

The air was hot and stuffy in the small salesroom of the grocery store you were working in. The drastic difference in temperature from the outer world was causing the windows to fog up constantly so that you had to wipe them with an old cloth if you wanted to see the streets and traffic outside. Not that you could see much anyway. It was a gloomy day, and that wasn't just because it was already late in the evening. No, the sky was covered with thick black clouds, an icy wind blew over the city and it was snowing heavily. Some referred to the beginning of a blizzard that would reach Gotham City in the next few days. Until this very evening, you hadn't paid any attention whatsoever to these, as you thought, annoying and false statements. After all, how long has there not been a real winter in Gotham? Four years? Five years? But now it seemed that they were indeed right with their predictions. Of course, much to your dismay!

The majority of people probably already had to lie and sleep in their cozy beds at home. What would you give to trade places with one of them! Why on earth did you agree to swap your shift with your colleague Curtis and take over the nightshift for him? Probably because he wasn’t only your colleague but also your friend and you felt sorry for him. He had been acting very strangely in the last few days. He was constantly nervous and tense, and he seemed to be sick. So you just couldn't decide otherwise than to help him. Even though you might regret your decision by now.

And so you were standing behind the sales counter waiting for a customer, who at this late hour still dared to step out onto the streets and happened to enter the small store. To be honest, you would like it best if nobody would show up. If you would spend the whole night alone. The Narrows were a dangerous place - both during day and night. But at night it was particularly bad. During this time of the day, the streets were teeming with criminals, prostitutes, and junkies.

And then there was the Joker, or the Clown Prince of Crime, as some people called him behind closed doors. Nobody knew his true identity. Nobody knew who the man who was hiding behind a thick layer of greasepaint and a purple suit really was. The only thing that could be said with any certainty about him was that he was capable of throwing an entire city into chaos within a few days and that he didn't hesitate to resort to robbery, kidnapping, murder, and torture to achieve his goals. He was unpredictable - a living mystery - and always one step ahead of anyone who dared to challenge him. Even Batman - The Dark Knight - hadn't succeeded in stopping him yet. Although the Joker hadn't shown up for a while now, you were absolutely sure that he was out there somewhere already planning his next big coup. The question wasn't if anything would happen, but rather when. It was the calm before the storm and sooner or later the storm would hit all the citizens of Gotham with its boundless ferocity - That was for sure.

Suddenly, a sound brought you back out of your grim thoughts. It was the soft ringing of the automatic door sensor. You knew what it meant and you sighed heavily. A customer had entered the store. "Good evening, how can I..."

But you immediately fell silent as you stared down the barrel of an old revolver instead of a customer's face. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what was just happening. You were being robbed!

Your mind raced and you tried to recall the safety instructions. Keep calm. Do not act rashly or without thinking. Listen to what the perpetrators have to say and give them what they ask for. Call for help. Remember important features such as clothing or the direction in which they fled. You looked around, wanting to get an overview of the situation and weigh your options. In addition to the masked theft holding his gun right in front of your face, there was another man standing next to the store entrance guarding the door. Your eyes slowly drifted to your phone, which was lying on the counter. In your mind, you were already counting the seconds it would take you to dial 911. But the masked man knew immediately what you were up to.

"I'd rather not do that if I were you, sweetie. We wouldn't want anyone to get hurt, would we?" He reached for your phone, hastily slipping it into his pocket. "Now take this sack here," he held out an old, tattered bag to you, "and grab all the cash from the..."

A soft ringing of a bell and then suddenly a loud bang. The man who had been guarding the store entrance dropped to the ground. Dead. You let out a sharp scream! The man in front of you turned abruptly to check on his friend. But he too met the same terrible fate. Another deafening bang and a jolt - a short twitch - went through the body of the man standing in front of you. You winced as his warm, sticky blood splattered onto your clothes as the bullet made its way through the man's throat. You heard him grunt - take one last desperate breath. Then he too collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

Your stunned gaze darted back to the person who had last entered the store and shot the two masked thieves. It was a man in a black hoodie and some old scuffed jeans. He walked towards the dead man and then stopped in front of him in a strangely bent posture. He flipped back his hood, revealing his face to you. The sight made your blood run cold. Because you knew him, even if he looked so... different without his signature suit and the makeup on his face. But the bulging scars that stretched from the corners of his mouth across his cheeks, forming a permanent grin, left no doubt. It was... the Joker.

"Amateurs."

The Joker spat on the corpse at his feet and then, unimpressed, took a big step over it - right towards you. He stretched out his arm to aim at you with the same gun with which he had ruthlessly shot the two thieves a moment before, while he eyed you with his penetrating gaze.

"You are not supposed to be here! Where's ah Razor?" When you didn't answer him immediately, he rolled his eyes in annoyance and licked across the scar on his lower lip. Then he added, "Where's Curtis?"

"l... um... He..." you stuttered. The whole situation was so overwhelming that you couldn't think straight. Your head felt empty, as if you had suddenly forgotten how to speak. What was happening?

"What's the matter? Cat got ya tongue? Never seen a clown without makeup?"

The Joker clicked his tongue impatiently and then slowly approached you until he was only two small steps away. You wanted to run off, scream! Anything! But you couldn't move - your body refused to do anything, so you remained standing in front of him, breathing heavily and trembling.

"Why so... nervous, hm? Is it the scars?" He smacked his lips and licked the corners of his mouth. "You wanna know how I got 'em?"

He began to encircle you like a predator stalking its prey. Gun pointed at you the whole time. And you were sure that if he pulled the trigger, the bullet would hit you straight between the eyes.

"You know, when I was young, I used to cause trouble everywhere. A few broken windows here, a little theft there... all just enough to stop the cops from taking any interest in me. They had more important things to do than take care of a brat like me. And I… naive as I was, think I was untouchable - the best. So once again it happened that I robbed a small store. But this time the cashier tries to threaten me. But I… I can only laugh about it ... Until a few upright citizens decide to take matters into their own hands. Inspired by virtue and justice, they force me into a dark alley. Their faces hidden behind ski masks."

He interrupted his movements to give the two dead bodies on the dirty floor a disapproving look.

"And while they are beating me up, one of them asks, 'Where is your smile? You always like to smile.' He takes out a knife from his pocket and puts it into my mouth. 'You've lost the fun, haven't you? But we can change that right now.' And while his friends hold me down, he carves a grin… across my face. So, why don't I put a smile on your face too?"

Your eyes went wide and you gasped in fear. Was your life nearing its end? Would you die tonight at the hands of the Joker?

When he noticed your shocked expression, he burst into roaring laughter. "Easy there, doll. I'm just kidding. Wouldn't want ya pretty face to look like mine."

He winked at you and then took a few steps back to check out the little store. But when he couldn't find what he was looking for, he growled angrily and turned back to you. There was an expression in his dark brown eyes that you couldn't quite understand.

"Well, here's the thing." He cleared his throat and licked his scars. "My time is ah extremely limited. I'm a busy man, ya know? So I'm going to ask you one last time. Where. Is. Curtis."

His voice sounded strangely nasal, as if he were disguising it. But at the same time it was deep and commanding. It was enough to finally get your brain cells working again. "H-He left a few hours ago," you struggled to say, for your throat was dry as dust. "I-I took the nightshift for him tonight. I-I couldn't have known that... W-will you kill me now?"

"Oh, doll, do you really think that if I wanted to kill ya, I wouldn't have done it already?" He shook his head in amusement, a broad grin on his face. "No, no, no. I didn't actually come here to kill anyone. Well, not counting these two idiots here." He pointed to the bodies of the two men and chuckled. "I'm just here to pick up my order."

Order? What was he talking about? Finally the gears in your brain started moving and you suddenly remembered how Curtis had put some big packages in the storage room last week. As curious as you were, you had asked him what it was all about, what was in the boxes. But the only answer you had gotten was that a customer would be showing up in the next few days - on the nightshift - to pick up the delivery. Now, all of a sudden, everything made sense. Today had to be the day in question and the customer was none other than the Clown Prince of Crime himself - the Joker. But why in the world was Curtis doing business with the Joker? And why the hell had he let you stand in for him when he knew exactly who was coming tonight?

"Oh, um... of course... the packages... they're in the... um... in the back of the storage room." You nodded in the direction of the door to your right, then started moving blindly, almost tripping over your own legs, because you were so nervous. And you could swear you heard the Joker chuckling behind you as he followed you closely. You opened the door and turned on the ceiling lights, which shone so brightly that you had to squint your eyes shut for a moment. "Your packages are right back there," you said as you made your way through the wide warehouse shelves until you reached the farthest part of the room, where Curtis had stacked the large boxes on the floor, one on top of the other.

"Ah! Finally!" the Joker stated, thoughtfully looking at the packages in front of him before lifting one of them and giving it an examining shake. When a metallic clang could be heard shortly afterwards, a broad grin spread across his face. He seemed to be more than pleased with the result.

"What's in these boxes?" you blurted out. Within the next moment you deeply regretted your outburst and instead would've loved to slap yourself right across your face. What the hell was wrong with you? Why couldn't you keep your mouth shut?

Suddenly he was right behind you. He grabbed you roughly by the hips and pulled you tight against him. He was now so close to you that you could feel his hot breath on your cheek. The fine hairs in your neck stood up and a strange feeling spread through your stomach. Did you have to throw up?

"A-ta-ta-ta." He shook his head so that the tips of his greasy hair tickled your ear and an icy shiver ran down your spine. "Didn't ya mother teach ya that curiosity... killed the cat?"

His right hand, which had been on your hip, disappeared when he reached into the pocket of his hoodie to pull something out of it. You froze instantly when in the next moment you felt the cold metal of a knife at your throat. Your heart skipped a beat. You knew you had crossed a line and now you would pay the price. You closed your eyes in anticipation of what would happen next. And then there was the pain! A strong sharp sting. But unlike you expected, you didn't sink dead to the ground in a puddle of your own blood. No. As unbelievable as it may sound, the Joker had spared your life. He had only wanted to teach you a lesson. A lesson you wouldn't easily forget.

A wave of relief washed over you and awakened your spirits. In a moment of new courage, you abruptly broke free from his grip and stumbled back a few steps. You were able to catch yourself on the wall just in time before you could fall to the ground. You could hear the blood rushing through your ears as you grabbed your aching neck. He had injured you. He had cut you with his knife. Not deep enough to kill you, but still so that the cut would bleed and leave a long-lasting mark. A silent warning that you'd better think twice before opening your mouth to say anything. And you had clearly understood his message. No more questions about things that were none of your business.

“Well, now that we've got that cleared up…” He looked at the bloodstained knife in his hand before he carelessly wiped it off on his trousers and put it back into his pocket. Then again he stared at you with his intense and mesmerizing gaze. “How about ya help me put these boxes in my car? I'm parked out back."

It wasn't a request but rather a command. And you didn't have to be told twice. You blinked at him. The shock was still written on your face. “The back door is locked. I-I have to get the key first,” you mumbled. Then you straightened up and ran as fast as you could, back into the salesroom and behind the counter. With trembling hands you opened the drawer to take out the key that opened the back door. Now that you had a brief moment to yourself, your thoughts were racing. Your eyes longingly drifted to the front door of the store. No! You shook your head. There was no way you were going to escape. If you ran away now, you would probably just end up with the next criminal. These were the Narrows, after all! And even if you could call the cops, the Joker would be long gone before they even arrived. And then what? You'd probably never be able to sleep soundly again. Always afraid that one day he would enter your apartment and murder you. Because one thing was for sure, it would be child's play for the Joker to find out where you were living. And make your life a living hell.

So you had no other choice but to play along with his little game. You had to trust the Joker that he wouldn't kill you. In this scenario, at least, your chances of survival were higher than in all the others - but what a poor consolation. You took a deep breath, then hurried back to the storage room, where he was already impatiently waiting for you. But before you could reach the back door, he got in your way and towered over you in all his glory and full height. Even though he wasn't wearing his warpaint and his signature purple suit, and the green of his hair was already fading, his appearance was more than intimidating to you, if only for the fact that he was so much taller than you.

"What took you so long, huh? Was someone thinking about... running away?"

He peered at you with his dark piercing eyes - it was almost as if he were staring deep into your soul. Heat rose in your cheeks and cold beads of sweat formed on your forehead. How could he... You suddenly felt caught, as if he had guessed all your secrets and deepest longings. You couldn't stand his gaze any longer and had to turn away from him in shame.

"You made the right decision, doll," he purred smugly. "I'm a man of my word." 

Then he finally stepped aside so you could get to the back door. Your hands were trembling so much that you dropped the keys a few times. The fact that he was standing close behind you, watching your every move, didn't make the situation any easier. You heard him growl, but by then you had finally put the key in the lock and opened the door. Immediately, the icy night air hit you. A thick snowflake landed right on the tip of your nose, but your body was already under such enormous tension that it hardly reacted. The Joker passed you by, untouched. And that's when you spotted the old SUV parked between two large dumpsters. It was an old vehicle, dark tinted windows, no license plates.

You immediately got to work and together with him you dragged the heavy boxes outside. Throughout the whole process, neither of you said a single word, and you were beyond grateful for that. When the last package was finally stowed in the trunk, the Joker unceremoniously opened the driver's door and got behind the wheel. He lowered the window and stretched out his arm to shove something into your hand.

"This one's for you, toots," he explained. "And tell Razor that if he ever lets ya work the nightshift alone again, I'll kill him. Well, on second thought... Perhaps you should take over his shift permanently starting today. It's far more fun to work with a pretty doll like you." A deep growl rose from his chest and once again he winked at you.

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could come up with an answer, the SUV started moving. A loud squeal was heard as the car turned around the corner at a far too high speed. Then the Joker had disappeared as quickly as he had appeared before. It was almost as if you had made it all up in your head.

You were standing motionless in the darkness of the night for quite a while. Trembling from cold and excitement. You still couldn't grasp what had just happened. You finally raised your hand to see what the Joker had given you. It was a big stack of money. Probably more than you could earn in a whole month. But you didn't care about that at the moment. You only had eyes for the card that was on top of it. It was a joker card with a handwritten message on it. 

I'll see ya soon - J

[chaoticjoke]

To be honest, hunger wasn't the main reason he asked her to cook for him. No. The Joker was simply curious. Wanted to see what she'd do. Or, rather, how she would work her way out of the trap he had so innocently put her in. As far as he knew, Harley couldn't cook for shit. She just wasn't cut for any housewife activities. That's why she would always offer to order some takeout food and all that junk.

His eyebrows were raised dramatically as the harlequin seemed to accept the challenge. The Joker didn't say anything except a surprised 'mmm-hmm', too amused with her refusal to give up without even starting that utopia show. He knew she was going to screw up at some point of her cooking spree, anyway. All he had to do was wait.

And wait he did, too busy scheming his next move on Gotham and too lazy to go and mess with her in the kitchen. The Joker decided to give her some privacy, which only fueled his anticipation for the upcoming dinner. But time seemed to slow to a glacial crawl.

When the delicious smell of grilled meat and potatoes hit his nostrils, at first he thought he was dreaming, although the sound of his growling stomach was signaling that he was pretty much awake, realizing that his dysfunctional girlfriend was actually cooking for him.

How much longer?.. Funny, the Joker had to give it to her, how she could turn the tables on him like that in no time, making his little acts of mischief to backfire so unpredictably. Not that he didn't like the element of surprise with her. Harley had her flaws but she was smart enough to know not to cross the line. Otherwise, she'd be dead by now.

Once the food is finally served on the table, he blinks twice, black-ringed eyes narrow at the blonde with suspicion and curiosity. The Joker is pasting an impressed expression on his greasepainted face, casually pointing an index finger towards the plates.

"Now that's quite a feast right here, huh? All this food for li'l ol' me." He says as he grabs the fork and stabs the steak, biting a huge chunk off and chewing thoughtfully, eyes rolling upwards.

"Mmmh, this is good, Harley." he chews loudly and vigorously, mouth full. "Very good." Joker praises as he quickly finishes the dishes she's so carefully placed on the coffee table. He takes his time to lick the plates clean, his gaze fixed on her as he does that. Once he's done, the Joker swings back to lean on the couch and exhales slowly, half-lidded eyes staring aimlessly at the wall.

"You know," he begins, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I gotta say, I'm impressed, Harley. You promised to make me a steak and you failed to disappoint. In fact, you've made Daddy proud..." he murmurs, mouth twists into a devilish smirk. "C'mere..."

Harley lets out a shrill giggle again, but nothing deafening or something that would get on his nerves. It's more sexy sounding. She purrs and pulls away from him, like a cat crawling away arching its back. "It's a good thing I went shopping yesterday J. Prime ribs with the bone in 'em were on sale," The platinum blonde bounds off to the kitchen to fetch the expensive meat from the refrigerator along with a few side ingredients. She steps outside and fires up the grill, but not before she rubs the meat down with special seasonings and fresh herbs.

She's outside and might as well be causing a bonfire but if one thing her worthless dad taught her how to do when she was nine years of age was cook a steak. It's something that always stuck and Harley knows how to grill meats, anything from red meat, to chicken to fish. She sets the steaks on the grill and goes back inside to work on the potatoes.

Butter and kosher salt she rubs them down with, pierces them with a fork and puts them in the oven to bake. Harley walks back outside and watches the meat while she busies herself with a game of Doodle Jump on her Iphone.

A few hours pass by and everything is smelling delicious in the hideout. She is sure her man is starving and salivating at the mouth. She makes a small salad for herself and just in case he may want one, makes one for him with extra blue cheese and bacon. She pulls out dishes, places the biggest rib eye on one for Joker and the biggest baked potato loaded with cheese and bacon (Like she promised) and carries it over to him along with a bowl of salad. Just bacon and croutons and only cherry tomatoes with bleu cheese dressing. She fixes her food last and joins him in the living room, clearing off the coffee table, but keeping mind of his blueprints.

"Here ya go, J. I got ya' some grape soda chillin' in the fridge. Lemme know when you want it."

@chaoticjoke