#2022 joker x reader

[sometimes-i-write-good]

Earn Your Wings

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!taskforce member

3.2k | You’re tired of being told you can’t wear makeup when Ghost clearly has face paint smeared all over his face, so you take matters into your own hands and end up pissing off the big Brit in the process 

Genre: Secret Lovers ft Price is tired of this bs 

Rating: Teen Audiences and Up

CW: inferred misogyny, kissing, dry humping (semi-public), implied smut (nothing graphic!) 

Author’s note:  Completely self-indulgent as someone who wears heavy winged eyeliner every single day. I would never make it in the military. This ended up being way longer than it needed to be. Apologies for if that makes it a little meh, it’s only my second fanfic for the fandom. I’m trying my best! || This is also cross-posted on Ao3, so show it some love there as well <3 

===

=== 

Contacts had always freaked you out. As a kid your eye doctor had tried to get you familiar with the process of putting them in and taking them out. Your brain is like a sponge when you’re younger, or so everyone seemed to tell you, so getting used to it early on should have made it easier on you. Only the constant stress seemed to do the opposite. Contacts had quickly become your worst nightmare. The thought of touching your eyes to put them in made you so uncomfortable that you’d rather go against Ghost one on one than wear them. 

So, you settled on glasses instead. Fashionable, comfortable, and did the job just as well without a looming anxiety of you forgetting to take them out and losing them in the back of your skull forever (okay, that’s not how it works, but you’d convinced yourself that you would be the world’s single exception to the laws of nature). You had no shortage of glasses. The military health benefits covered your vision to the point you could get a new, fairly cheap pair every year until you had them stockpiled for every occasion, in every shape and size you could imagine. 

Your favorite pair were big with thick lenses that took up most of your face. It gave you a wide-eyed, innocent look you’d like to take advantage of on base. What do you mean large lashes like these aren’t allowed? or It’s a holiday, I thought red, white, and blue eyeshadow would be an appropriate celebration. Claims of innocence like this had earned you the nickname ‘Bambi.’ Used with contempt instead of affection by your captains. 

For a while you’d taken the punishments. Your instructors would lecture you - loudly - on the ways you messed up. Most of the soldiers around you could be reduced to a quivering bowl of jelly, but you saw this as a training exercise. You were the only one able to stand straight faced with a screaming higher up inches from your nose. Spit flying, veins popping, until you were forced to drop and do push-ups until failure. Public shaming was met with that same stony facade, but you had only ever had to undergo that once for your own backtalk. 

You’d been wearing the wrong glasses that day. One’s that didn’t give you the doe-eyed Bambi look you’d been going for, so your sarcasm had not been well-received. It didn’t help that you showed up late for duty because of the harsh liner on your eyes and that you’d broken a few other rules the week before. A culmination of events that ended with you moving heavy bricks from one side of base to the other for no real reason other than it shut you up. 

It made you stronger in a way. Most of the higher ups didn’t start paying attention to you until you did something to remind them of your femininity. Then it was their main goal to try and remind you of it too. Fine by you, they could watch as you handled yourself better than anyone else on base. 

You finally gave up your tiny acts of rebellion when they started forcing you to do some hard labor on diminished rations. Inhumane, but legal. Wearing bright makeup still crossed your mind every morning when you would get ready. The urge to look good for work never went away even as you worked your way up through the ranks and became a force to be reckoned with. 

You just wanted to look good doing it. 

Which is why it pissed you off so much that the 6’4” giant lurking in the shadows got to smear more makeup on his face than you did when you joined Task Force 141. All you had been making do with was your various array of glasses. They were still within guidelines. No frames of crazy colors like you wanted, but the sheer amount you owned earned you a new nickname. One spoken in adoration, if a little jokingly.

“Glasses?” 

It’s Gaz that notices first. Of course he is. He was one of your closest friends in the squadron, always willing to lie through his teeth for you. Unexpected from the man who claimed to move in silence, do his job, and melt away. It took guts but not a lot of brains to actively put himself in the line of fire just to keep you on Price’s good side. 

“Gaz?” You ask. A sweet smile quirks your lips upwards and you bat your lashes at him from across the table. “What’s up?” 

The arched eyebrow tells him all he needs to know. Are you trying to get me in trouble? 

“Uh,” he clears his throat, “nothing. I’m just going to… take a nap?” And, in the most unconvincing fashion, rests his head on the table as Price battles yet another technical difficulty. 

Ghost comes in - fashionably late, as usual - and takes his seat at your left. You can feel his gaze fall on your eyes as he walks in. There’s no interest, no confusion, or any other emotion that tells you what he thinks of your new look. Apathy. In fact, no one you passed by today seemed to care about your dramatic eyeliner in the slightest. 

That is, no one except the man in charge. Price takes a seat, abandoning his technical journey in hopes of holding everyone’s attention the old-fashioned way. “Alright, let’s get started.” But he stalls when his eyes land on you. 

“Glasses,” he says, “please go wash your face.” 

“Negative, sir.” You respond.

Ghost, for the first time you can remember, turns his head to watch your face remain a scary calm as you stare at Captain Price. You’re not one to backtalk Price. Gaz is the one who questions things. You typically rely on him to read your mind and ask the obvious questions, but he’s still pretending to sleep. Or the long nights have finally caught up to him and he’s really passed out at his spot across from you. 

“Y/n.” Price’s voice holds no room for negotiation. Ghost’s icy gaze holds even less. 

Soap, lacking all sorts of personal boundaries, leans to his left to grab at your chin and tilt for face towards him. He lets out a low whistle. “Foxy.” The sultry tone, or maybe just the accent playing up his flirtatiousness, sends Ghost tensing to your left. Though that surely must be a figment of your imagination. 

You roll your eyes. “It’s just a wing and the inner corner is pointy.”

“It’s out of code.” Price comments. 

“Look, I’m not allowed to have my purple hair anymore or wear my bright lips.” You sigh. “Let me have this.”

Price presses his lips into a thin line. 

“What if I count it as camouflage?”

Gaz snorts from his place on the table. 

“I don’t see how this is relevant to our briefing, y/n.” Price sighs. You could see the bags under his eyes. For a second, just a second, you felt bad for the poor man. Life hasn't been easy on any of you lately. Something as silly as eyeliner wasn’t worth aggravating someone who had shown you so much kindness. You wrap your fingers around the arm of your chair with every intent to shove away from the table and wash this wing off your face. Then he opened his mouth again and it all went south. “This isn't a beauty school.”

Next to you, Ghost snorts. He brings a gloved hand to rub at his mask. You narrow your eyes at him, zeroing in on the black paint surrounding his eyes. The whole reason you felt like the eyeliner wouldn’t be a big deal in the first place here. 

“I don’t see,” you say, “how Ghost over here gets to lather himself up in face paint, but I’m told to wash my face every time I put on eyeliner.”

“This is for anonymity,” Ghost says, “to protect my identity.” 

“Okay?” You tilt your head to scrutinize him better. The light tint of his lashes, the deep richness to his eyes. He’s handsome under that mask no doubt but it doesn’t matter. He’s here to serve as leverage. “This is for my identity’s well-being.”

“And mine,” Soap pipes up, “it’s helping me out plenty, too.”

Ghost shakes his head slightly at Soap’s comment, muttering a harsh ‘fuck off, Johnny,” before turning his attention back to Price. 

“Again, how is this relevant? You could follow an order, wash your face, and let me carry on with my briefing.” He’s being kind. Allowing you a chance to correct your misconduct before he’s forced to become a bad guy, but you woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. 

You lean back in your seat, crossing your arms, and scowling at the snickering men across the table. “I figure this is the mission I’m most likely to die on.” You shrug. “I want to look hot on my final day.” 

Soap laughs. It’s loud, even more distracting than your initial comment was but Price doesn’t scold him. 

“I’m serious!” You say. “I want my ghost outfit to be a good one.”

“Ghost fit?” Gaz lifts his head from the table. Eyes bleary, a mark indent into his forehead, and his voice full of confusion. “What the fuck is that?”

“We’re getting off track,” Price says but Soap waves a hand at him. 

“No, I want to know what bonnie here is going on about.” 

You grin. All eyes are on you, especially the quiet pair to your left positioned amongst an unnecessary amount of paint. Lately you’d been on the sidelines. Not going out with the rest of the squad. Not playing well enough in poker to stay in for more than a few rounds. Granted, you had been distracted these past few weeks, but not anymore. Now you had everyone’s undivided attention. 

“Your ghost fit,” you say, gesturing to what you’re wearing with your hands, “is what you look like when you die. It’s what your ghost wears for all eternity.” You spare a glance at Ghost. “He’s the only one here consistent enough to not care about a ghost fit.”

“It’s ‘cause I'm already dead, lass.” Ghost grumbles. His voice is deep, gravelly. If you weren’t so annoyed with him the hair on your arms would be standing up by now. 

Price has his head in his hands. He looks absolutely defeated as everyone takes a moment to think about their outfit for the day. Soap is complaining about his Mohawk being a little too grown out and Gaz isn’t happy with his choice of socks. “Can we please focus?”

“Can I please wear eyeliner from now on?” 

“Let the bonnie lass wear what she wants, Captain.” Soap leans over to punch you lightly on the arm. “She’s not hurting anyone.”

“Yeah!” You agree, but Price just raises his head to glare. 

“I thought you didn’t need anyone’s permission, Glasses?”

“I’m taking any allies I can get right now.” You look over to Ghost. “Are you on my side?” He gives you a blank, unwavering stare. “See what I mean? I’m drowning out here.” 

“Soap just wants to see you done up all nice.” Price’s hand rubs over his mouth. As though he can’t believe his briefing has gotten derailed for this. You mimic the action because you can’t believe he’s let the conversation get to the point where Soap has a say. 

“I bet, considering Ghost won’t so much as put on some lashes to help poor Soap see a pretty girl.” You see the hint of smirk on Price’s lip. “I’m just saying-”

Ghost’s booming voice fills up the small meeting room. “That’s enough.” 

“Captain-” you clasp your hands together- “I just want to look nice. It’s not hurting anyone. Please, please, please.” 

He stares at you. You stare at him. Ghost and Soap and Gaz look back and forth between the two of you. You’re wearing your thick-lensed, Bambi glasses that make your eyes look huge and innocent despite the sultry makeup, which may be the reason Price sighs and says, “They’re distracting Soap.” 

“I’d be distracted if the lass were bare faced too, sir.” 

“It’s true,” Ghost says to which everyone’s gaze swings over to him, but he doesn’t give any more comment to Soap’s one-track mind. 

“Fine.” Price fiddles with the files in front of him. “Now can I carry on?” 

===

The briefing goes exactly as you’d expect. A mission none of you want to go on, but know you’ll have to. Someone has to do the wrong things for all the right reasons, and it might as well be some of the most capable minds and bodies in the world. 

Everyone files out of the room one by one. Price pulls you aside to remind you that he’s doing you a favor being this kind, which you graciously thank him for. You don’t let yourself exhale until he leaves the meeting room. Then you’re left alone in the room. 

Someone clears their throat beside you. Your heart kickstarts again, jumping into your throat, and you restrain yourself from throwing a punch in their direction. “You know, for a man as big as you are,” you say, breathless, “you are very good at not being seen.” 

“They call me Ghost for a reason, love.” 

You run a tongue over your lips. The deepness of his voice always did something to you. Made your skin crawl. You could never make out whether he meant to be alluring or threatening or condescending. When it came to Ghost, he was a mix of the three with the former being an entirely subconscious endeavor. 

Instead of gracing him with an answer, you glance in his direction, and head over to the door. Stopped only by an “Oi-” Ghost motions for you to come over to him with his finger- “I know I said be aggressive, but don’t you think that was a little too much, love?” 

You glance over your shoulder at him. Shut the door. Click the lock into place. “No one had a clue.” 

By the time you turn around to make your way over to Ghost, he has a leg up on one of the chairs, resting his chin in his hand staring at you. “You did all this for me?” 

“Oh, love,” you mock his accent, taking an awfully long time to cross a few feet to get to him, dropping it when his gaze goes from seductive to annoyed, “the kohl was for you, but the wing was for me.” 

He reaches out to grab you by a belt loop and drag you close. A heavy arm wraps around your waist. His hand rests at the small of your back. It would feel like a booty call if he weren’t rubbing his thumb in a tiny, soothing circle. “Why don’t I get a wing?” Ghost asks, tugging you slightly closer to him so that you’re pressed flush to him. 

“Because.” You reach out to hook your fingers under his mask. “You have to earn your wings.”

Ghost takes his free hand and tugs up the mask just above his nose. Full lips exposing a devilish smile on his face. “You aren’t part of the Air Force.” 

“No.” You lean forward. “But it sounded good.” 

“Everything sounds good coming from you, lass.” 

Ghost closes the gap between you. Hungry. Kissing Ghost is always intense. He’s managed to convince himself everything good never lasts, which you don’t mind. It means each kiss feels like your last. Passion chalked up to the highest degree. His tongue swipes along your lower lip, a courtesy. Most of the time his tongue is in your mouth on the first kiss. Wasting no time.

As you part your lips for Ghost to enter, he tightens his grip on your waist and spins slightly to sit himself on the table with you standing in front of him. Your noses bump, offsetting your glasses slightly. His hand catches yours as you reach up to remove them and he yanks you forwards slightly.

“The glasses stay on.” His mask tickles your ear as you nod. These glasses were most definitely staying on. Orders from Ghost were orders you could follow. A little too easily. 

Everyone else had begun to notice and there wasn’t something Ghost hated more than being the center of attention. So, the two of you made a point of avoiding one another during the day. Harder than it sounded in theory. The more you strayed away, the more you yearned to be where you were now.

With Ghost’s knee wedging its way between your thighs. Your lips part wider as Ghost presses his leg up. Something he takes full advantage of. His tongue explores every part of your mouth while his hands come to rest on your hips, dragging them down towards his thigh. You buck your hips forward. He hums with encouragement. 

“Ghost.” You whine against his lips. Every move of your hips brushes your clit against the seam of your jeans. Not nearly as rewarding as when Ghost shoves his gloved hands down your pants, but the look he’s giving you as you try to get yourself off is more than enough to make up for that. “This isn’t fair.” He trails sloppy kisses up your neck. “Life ain’t fair, love.” He trails his tongue over the shell of your ear. “You’re doing so good for me.” 

You tilt back, hands reaching out to grab at the damn tactical vest Ghost insists on wearing all the time. Only you’re grateful for it right now because it’s the only thing stabilizing you as your head spins. He has you here, humping his leg like a dog in heat, and edging yourself to the point of loud whines escaping you. 

“Good girl,” he says. The gravel to his voice causes your breath to hitch and you moan, a lot louder than you mean to, but it’s okay because you’re alone with him in a meeting room that no one else is thinking about and -

There’s a knock on the door. 

You lean forward to bury your face in his neck because you’re so damn close and there’s no way in hell this powerful grip Ghost has on your waist is letting up any time soon. You keep dragging your hips up and down his thigh, panting and whining, as Ghost gruffly answers the knock with, “Busy.” 

“Lt,” Soaps muffled voice can be heard through the door, “I have no clue what the fuck yer doing in there, but when yer done I need you for something.” 

You bite down a little harder on Ghost’s shoulder. A muffled moan escapes you as he ruts his knee up a little harder. The friction is welcomed, but not nearly enough to null the growing need in your core. “Ghost,” you whine only to be met with another movement of his leg. 

“I’ll be right out, Johnny.” Then you feel it. Disappointment settling in your belly. Ghost’s strong hands are moving you off his lap, guiding you away from the table and your release. “Sorry, love. This is something we’ll have to finish later.”

You cross your arms with a pout. “I highly doubt that, Ghost.” 

“I’ll finish you off so that your legs are shaking for the rest of the day.” 

“I’m holding you to that.” You huff. He presses a kiss to your neck and slaps your ass lightly. 

“I expect you to, Glasses. That’s an order.” 

Like you could deny an order that tempting. 

[batmanlovesnirvana]

You know what villain I’d like to see in The Batman Trilogy ? PROFESSOR PYG. This man would fit so well in Reeves Universe. Lazlo Valentin, the pig-mask wearing, opera-singing lunatic surgeon, is the serial killer behind The Perfect Crime sidequest in the Arkham games.

This man makes Joker look sane himself.

Hell even an hallucination of the Joker considered Pyg to be too insane, you've got to be a special kind of nuts to even make someone like the Joker of all people think that. Joker will normally make a comment about the villains Batman puts away in the GCPD, the comments he makes for Pyg pretty much show that, if Joker were alive, even he would be put off by how deranged Pyg is, and this is coming from the hallucination of someone considered absolutely insane by most of Gotham City.

He honestly terrifies me. One of those Batman villains I could see some version of actually existing and its just intensely scary to me. Also the way he talks in Arkham is downright disturbing.

Professor Pyg in concept is an intriguing foil to Batman, the problem is the comics treat the character with bare minimum characterisation. Even, Hush by comparison feels nuanced and layered.

Personally prefer Gotham’s portrayal of the character. That version creeped me out, rather than the hyperbolic or shock horror version in the comics.

In conclusion, I like him a lot. I think a lot of people write him off as being a generic psycho killer or “creepy for the sake of being creepy” but I think he’s more interesting than that. It makes me wonder if those people actually even know anything about him. He does need some more fleshing out though which will hopefully come with time as he’s a relatively new addition to the rogues gallery.

[sahsalart]

Since quite a few people liked my last post with the Batcat kiddos, here’s a WIP sketch of Selina holding her twin baby boys. Saint is a tired lil man. The twins are between 5-7 months here.

@majesticwren 👀👀 more batfam content

[undiscovered-horizon]

Batman kidnaps you to get to them ~ headcanons

(Joker and Riddler headcanons)

🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀

[TW: kidnapping, canon violence]

Riddler 🐀

You are, in fact, anxious about the situation but it's mostly because you're worried for Eddie and his well-being - he can get into his own head

Batman is interrogating you and you're just trying to buy some time before he gets more desperate (*cough* physical *cough*) for info

When he finds out, he's going to spiral just as you had predicted

Like going from a panic attack to destructive rage and back to panic. Vicious circle

His anxious imagination is constructing wild, gory scenarios of what Batman could possibly be doing to you at the very moment

The whole thing gets live-streamed. His followers are invested and offer to help (Batman gets really bad PR for being so easy to play)

Probably constructs a gracefully complex ruse to get Batman far away from where he's keeping you (high-key impressive)

Checks very meticulously for any injuries, multiple times

If you have any mark on your skin, he'd cry

Bawling his eyes out and apologizing for letting you get hurt

He's not letting you out of his eyesight for the next few months

For the most part, he's not letting you out of arm's reach

Eddie's holding you close and kissing your face, still not over how real the possibility of losing you was

Oh, you're just going to the kitchen? He's following you

He just cares, you know? And who knows what Batman was willing to do to you to get any kind of intel on Eddie?

Joker 🃏

You're surprisingly calm about the whole thing

Mainly because you know Joker a little too well

"He already hated you but now you've made it personal, you know? You're not going to get anything out of me." "Then I'll make you talk." "Lay a finger on me, batsy. I dare you."

You're gonna be out of Batman's hands before dawn

Very loud front entrance

Guns blazing

Explosions and fire visible from the other side of Gotham

Goes out of his way to clock Batman square in the jaw

Not a necessary move but a very satisfying one

Lowkey wants to dismember him

If you think this is him being angry, I got bad news for you because if he finds the smallest bruise or rope burn on you, that man goes on a Rampage (TM)

Like outrageous collateral damage - more than usual, that is

Dramatically carries you out of the building

Whoever was responsible for keeping an eye on you is either getting murdered or getting their eyes gouged out (very poetic, yes)

Joker wants the whole lark to be a warning for anyone else stupid enough to think they can take you away from him

He's generally soft with you but after getting you back he's suspiciously soft and the change is so nice you pretend you haven't noticed

[slowlyzealouslover]

So here me out my platonic yandere idea,you can use my idea but please give credit me and also tag me too:

- Platonic yandere gregory from security breach with willing big sister/ brother darling.

- Platonic yandere batman with henchman darling.

- Platonic yandere 2022 riddler with murder mystery writer darling.

- Platonic yandere 2019 joker with joker henchman darling.

-Platonic yandere alastor with cannibal friend darling.

- Platonic yandere charlie morningstar with little sister.

- Platonic yandere spiderman with willing redemed villain darling.

- Platonic yandere mammon with willing fallen angel.

[junipersberries]

Dear Y/N,

I see you're keeping tabs on the situation.

Anyways...sorry for the break in communication... things have been a bit rough here. It's hard to have much fun in a tiny, little cell.

All I do is sit and think.

Yes, I am in solitary confinement at the moment for biting a guard's face off and whole bunch of other stuff....

I've got to say, that riot at Arkham was more fun than I could've ever imagined... and believe me, I've imagined a lot of things due to the boredom. The guards and doctors thought they had us all locked up tight, but they were so wrong. Nothing and no one can keep the Joker down.

Those poor souls in my path got a real taste of my style. The things I did... that's just how I like to show my appreciation for their, ah, hospitality.

After all, if they're gonna put me away like an animal, why should I show them any consideration?

You're probably thinking to yourself, "How is the Joker going to get himself out of this one?" You may even be thinking, "Maybe this clown finally got in over his head this time." But it's nothing I can't handle.

It's lonely in here... But guess what? I have a new neighbour! That's right, I just moved in next door to the infamous Riddler. Well, let's just say his music skills are... less than stellar. He has been singing Ave Maria for hours. I'm starting to think he's just singing to drown out the sound of his mind going to pieces. He's such a puzzle box! Maybe I could strike up a conversation. Who knows what's in store?

Anyways, my darling. This little incident will only serve to highlight how far and just how quickly I can bring Gotham and its people to their knees! Hahahaha!

Let's just say that Joker and Arkham are an explosive combo. Everyone there is in for a little surprise.

- The Joker

Part 7 Part 9

[innocent-artery]

DC Masterlist

Ledger!Joker

Pattinson!Bruce Wayne - nothing yet!

Bale!Bruce Wayne - nothing yet!

.

Main Masterlist

[amourlyns]

⟢ 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐍 bruce wayne • GN!READER | N/A. 1 of 2 

in which the reader meets bruce wayne at a gala, the riddler is rampant in the city. and this gala is his next target.

[lolahauri]

✎ Introduction ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Requests are always open, and you can send as many as you want, as detailed as you want! I just get to them whenever i can/feel like it.

Anon's: 🌹-🕯️-🍁-❤️-🎴-

Other Accounts: @lolas-favfics @lolamultifandom @lolahaurisfw @chowderpop @lolaloa777

AO3: Here

Get To Know Me: Here

Boundaries: Flirting, nicknames, tmi, spam are all okay.😛Just don't copy or repost my stuff. Translations or taking inspo is fine w cred. <3

-> MASTERLIST <- -> EVENT MASTERLIST <-

DNI: MAP, ZOO, Pro-Para, Pro-Ana, TERF, Zionist, Bigots, Minors!!!, Discourse Blogs. ❤️🖤🤍💚

Things I Won't Write: ❌

Sex Crimes of Any Kind, Super Violent/Xtreme Kinks, Inflation, Feederism, Abuse, Puke, Shit, DDLG, Age Play, Raceplay, Wound Fucking, Gore, Vore, Misgendering/Detrans, CBT, Sounding, Fisting, Gunplay, Drugging, Stepcest etc...

Things I Will Write: ✔️

Genderbent Characters, Mild Yandere, Daddy/Mommy Kink, Cheating, Mild BDSM, CNC, Dubcon, Monsters, Hybrids, Sex Pollen, Legal Age Gap, Power Imbalance (Prof/Student, Boss/Employee), Feet, Armpits, Piss, Breeding, Mild Blood/Knifeplay, Cock Warming, Dry Humping, Voyeur, Public Sex, Orgy, 3somes, Sex Toys, Overstim, Edging, etc... etc... :P

Trans Reader, Tall/Short Reader, Chubby/Curvy/Fat/Buff Reader, Other Specific Characteristics. ✔️

Ch x Ch / Ch x Reader / Ch x OC / OC x Reader / Poly Ships of any kind.

F/F, M/M, F/M, GN/F, GN/M, Poly Ships of any kind.

Now that that's out of the way, here's the list of fandoms and characters i'm familiar with and will happily take requests on! (you can request other characters from these fandoms, but it might take me longer!)

Adventure Time/Fiona & Cake: PB, Marceline, Marshall Lee, Winter King, Candy Queen, Simon, Ice King, Fiona.

Attack On Titan: Armin, Eren, Mikasa, Sasha, Levi, Hanji, Annie, Historia, Reiner, Erwin, Ymir. 

Avatar: Jake, Neytiri.

Batman Begins Triology: Batman, Catwoman, Bane, Joker, Scarecrow.

Bee & Puppycat: Bee, Deckard, Cass, Toast.

BigBang Theory: Raj, Leonard, Penny, Amy.

Black Dynamite: Honeybee, Black Dynamite.

BNA: Michiru, Shirou.

Bob’s Burgers: Bob, Linda.

Breaking Bad: Jesse, Skylar.

Call of Duty: Konig, Ghost, Mace, Keegan, Krueger, Valeria, Farah.

Creepypasta: Jeff, Jane, Ben, Toby, EJ, LJ, Slenderman, Splendorman, Clockwork, Kate, Masky, Hoodie,

Desperate Housewives: Bree, Gabi, Edie, Lynette, Carlos, John.

Dirty Dancing: Johnny, Baby.

Earth Girls Are Easy: Mac, Zeebo, Wiploc, Valerie.

Elemental: Wade, Ember.

Encanto: Isabela, Bruno, Dolores, Julieta.

FNAF Movie: Vanessa, Mike, William/Steve.

Frozen: Elsa, Anna, Kristoff.

Futurama: Leela, Fry, Amy, Bender.

Gravity Falls: Ford, Stan, Soos, Melody, Giffany, Bill.

Jane The Virgin: Jane, Michael, Petra, Luisa, Rose, Rogelio, Xiomara.

Jurassic Park (1993): Ian Malcolm, Ellie Sattler.

Jujutsu Kaisen: Gojo, Choso, Nanami, Sukuna.

King of the Hill: Hank, Peggy, Luane, Nancy, Dale, Khan, Min, John Redcorn.

Lisa Frankenstein: Lisa, Creature, Taffy.

Little Mermaid (2022): Ariel, Eric.

MHA: Dabi, Hawks, Aizawa.

Moon Knight: Moon System, Layla, Khonshu.

Mulan: Mulan, Li Shang.

National Treasure: Benjamin, Riley.

Nintendo: Link, Zelda, Peach, Daisy, Rosalina, Luigi, Bowser, Waluigi.

Norbit: Rasputia, Norbit.

Princess & The Frog: Tiana, Lottie, Naveen, Shadow Man.

Ratatouille: Colette, Linguini. 

Regular Show: Mordecai, Margret, Eileen, CJ, Benson.

Resident Evil: Karl Heisenberg, Carlos Oiliveria, Lady Dimitrescu.

Rick and Morty: Rick, Jerry, Beth, Doofus Rick.

Riverdale: FP Jones, Hiram.

Scott Pilgrim vs. The World: Kim, Ramona, Gideon, Wallace.

Scream 5: Amber, Tara, Sam.

Serial Mom: Chip, Beverly.

Silverado: Slick, Rae, Mal, Paden.

Shallow Hal: Rosemary, Hal.

Shameless: Lip, Fiona, Kev, V.

SheRa (2018): All Adults.

Sherlock (2010): Sherlock, John Watson.

Slashers & DBD: Brahms, Ghostface, Michael Myers, Jason Vorhees, Pyramid Head, The Spirit, Huntress, Trapper, Wraith, Trickster, Pearl, Jennifer Check, Stu Matcher, Billy Loomis, Tiffany Valentine, Patrick Bateman, Thomas Hewitt, Vincent Sinclair, Eric Draven, The Artist, Amanda Young.

Spiderverse: Miguel, Jessica Drew.

Spongebob: Dennis, Man Ray.

Squid Games: Gi-Hun, Sae-Byeok, Ali, Sang Woo.

Steven Universe: Garnet, Amethyst, Peridot, Lapis, Jasper, Blue Diamond, Rose, Greg.

Stardew Valley: All Adult Humans (Except George & Evelyn)

Stranger Things: Robin, Billy Eddie, Chrissy, Hopper.

Supernatural: Sam, Dean, Castiel.

Super Store: Amy, Jonah, Dina, Garrett, Cheyenne.

Tangled: Flynn, Rapunzel, Mother Gothell.

The Batman (2022): Batman, Riddler.

The Breakfast Club: John Bender, Allison Reynolds.

The Nanny: C.C, Fran, Maxwell.

Total Drama Island: S1 Contestants, Chris, Chef, Blainley.

Triple Frontier: Frankie, Santiago.

Turning Red: Ming Lee, Jin Lee.

Twilight: Edward, Carlisle, Alice, Charlie.

YOU: Beck, Joe, Peach, Love.

Young Sheldon: Mary, Connie.

~

Abel Morales (A Most Violent Year)

Astarion (Baulder’s Gate 3)

Babbo Natale (Violent Night)

Barbie (Barbie 2023)

Basil Stitt (Lightning Face)

Beverly Goldberg (The Goldbergs)

Bruce (Beyond Therapy)

Charles Ingalls (Little House on the Praire)

Charlie Dompler (Smiling Friends)

Chel (Road to El Dorado)

Dale Kobble (Longlegs)

Dan Conner (Rosanne)

David Levinson (Independence Day)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Doug Remer (Baseketball)

Duke Leto Atreides (Dune)

Fezzik (Princess Bride)

Francine (American Dad)

Fujimoto (Ponyo)

Georgia Miller (Ginny & Georgia)

Jack Harrison (Translyvania 6-5000)

Jackson Rippner (Red Eye)

Jon Arbuckle (Garfield 2024)

John Doe (John Doe Game)

Jonathan Levy (Scenes from a Marriage)

John Wick (John Wick 4)

King Baldwin (Kingdom of Heaven)

Kitten (Breakfast on Pluto)

Laurent LeClaire (In Secret)

Linda Gunderson (Rio)

Llewyn Davis (Inside Lleywn Davis)

Master Chief (Halo)

Mike (5lbs of Pressure)

Moe Doodle (Doodle Bops)

Nani Palekai (Lilo & Stitch)

Nathan Bateman (Ex Machina)

Outcome-3 (The Bourne Legacy)

Orestes (Agora)

Paul Blart (Paul Blart: Mall Cop)

Paul Cable (Last Stand at Saber River)

Peggy Bundy (Married With Children)

Peter Mitchell (3 Men & A Baby)

Poe Dameron (Star Wars)

Prince John (Robin Hood 2010)

Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd (Top Gun: Maverick)

Rose Tyler (Doctor Who)

Shiv (Pu-239)

Stanley Ipkiss (The Mask)

Star-Lord (Gaurdians of the Galaxy)

Tate Langdon (AHS: Murder House)

The Janitor (Willy’s Wonderland)

Thomas Magnum (Magnum, P.I 1980)

William Tell (The Card Counter)

[sometimes-i-write-good]

Pretty Vein

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f!taskforce member

2.4k | Tensions are high after losing close to an entire squad. Ghost tells bad jokes in the hopes of keeping you and Soap in good enough spirits to get back to base.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

CW: canon-typical violence, descriptions of blood, mentions of death, inferred misogyny

Author’s note:  I’ve never played CoD but this man has rewired my brain chemistry. I can think of nothing but this tall, faceless Brit. || This is my first fanfic published to tumblr. It’s also cross-posted on Ao3, so show it some love there as well <3

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“Man down.”

Two words that burned at the back of your throat. Two words you never wanted to say again. Fourteen soldiers - five more people than originally supposed to be there - walked into a town for a mission you were never given details of. The real details. Those Ghost knew and kept under lock and key.

“Man down.”

Those words were going to haunt you for the rest of your days. Your first time out with 141. Your first time under Ghost. So much of your afternoon had been spent screaming those two words into your radio as man after man fell. You lost your gloves in the chaos. When you first joined the military people would comment on how a pretty girl like you must feel without her nails done up all nice. Now they were stained red with blood.

A cruel form of irony.

You were the only woman on squad. In the truck you were reminded of guys back in boot camp making bets on how you’d be the first to stumble, the first to tap out, or the first to miss a shot. So you put everything into proving them wrong. Rising through the ranks. Becoming a force to be reckoned with. Anything to make sure that there’d never be anyone else betting on you being the first to be shot dead on mission ever again.

Except every step you took forward felt more like three back. Accusations of you sleeping with the higher ups flew through every base you were assigned to. The doubts still kept creeping in everywhere you went. Then you got to 141 where you were respected and Soap and Gaz and Price and Ghost and every person you interacted with treated you like a person.

The slamming of a door draws you back into awareness. “How are you holding up?” Ghost hovers at one end of the room back from securing the perimeter of the building. He, you, and Soap had tailed out of town the first chance you got and ended up miles away from your last known location.

His question is met with silence. Soap is off in the corner. He’d put the last remaining shreds of sanity into creating a fire. And god were you grateful for it. There was something other than darkness to stare at. Something other than blood.

Out of the three of you, it seemed you were the only one around anyone who had half a shot at survival. Soap and Ghost were spotless. There was dirt, grime, and sweat you’d expect from a desert village, but no blood.

You were covered in enough blood to coat the three of you. A nightmarish look. Out in the field you’d forgotten about sticking your fingers in one of your squad’s bullet wound and dragged your fingers across the corner of your lips to dislodge a stray hair. Instead you painted your face in the blood of your friend. Got it matted into your braids and ensured you’d taste nothing but metal for weeks to come.

“Two goldfish are in a tank.” Ghost says as he settles against the wall directly across from you. His gear makes the loudest scraping noises you’ve ever heard. For a man who doesn’t let himself be heard, you can sense the exhaustion. He doesn’t care about being quiet, he cares about taking a seat. “One turns to the other and says, ‘You know how to drive this thing?’”

The fireplace crackles. Its warmth is welcomed despite the risk it poses. Ghost could hardly argue with Soap about setting the fire up. Your teeth were chattering loud enough to wake the dead. Shock had the tendency to do that to people, but with every chatter came a visible puff of air. If the three of you were destined to die tonight it would be in a blaze of glory and not becoming human ice pops in the abandoned flat of some unknown town.

Soap swings his head over to look at Ghost before he glances in your direction. “Fuckin’ pathetic, ain’t it?”

Your vision is blurry. Soap's figure is just as hazy as the flames he sits by. Dried blood flakes off your wrist the more you run your fingers over them. Who does it belong to? You wonder. Specs? Gunther?

“Oi!” Soap snaps his fingers in your direction. The noise lodges in your consciousness the same way the slamming of the door and the dragging of Ghost’s gear did. You uncross your eyes to stare back at Soap. “You good?”

“Do I have to answer that?” Your voice croaks. Still raw from the screaming. Man down.

“I’ve got one you can answer.” Ghost says.

Both you and Soap swing your eyes over to him. Ghost rests the back of his head against the wall. “Why don’t blind guys skydive?”

You squint at him. “Why?”

“Scares the shit out o’ their dogs.”

The answer catches you off guard. You let out a loud, barking laughter. One not easily reigned in. It feels good to breathe like this, without the weight of thirteen dead men on your chest. “Shit.” Soap says over the sound of your manic laughter. “It wasn’t that funny.”

But it is. The thought of something as absurd as Ghost telling jokes and sounding proud of them is enough to send you into another fit of giggles. Gasping and side stitching giggles where nothing else can cross your mind except for the creases around Ghost’s eyes as he stares at you.

“The lass seems to think so,” he tells Soap.

“She’s not used to a dead man like you being so openly entertaining.”

“Just because Ghost is dead doesn’t mean I’m in good spirits.” Ghost says and draws a loud groan from Soap who was still squirreled away by the fireplace.

“That one was bad, Lt. - God, that was so bad.”

“Well,” you pipe up, finally calm from your bout of laughter, “Ghost is known for his torture techniques?”

“I am?”

“Yeah, and these jokes are killing me.”

“Oh shit.” Soap doubles over in laughter. “He’s really going to kill you.”

You don’t have to glance his way to feel that icy stare tear away from Soap to rest on you. The coldness was familiar to you. It wasn’t negative, you’d quickly come to realize. Ghost existed in phantom expressions. Stares boring into parts of you like a cipher you could only figure out by being half in the grave yourself.

“Ghost wouldn’t lay a hand on me.” You say, turning towards him with a wide grin. One that draws a slow blink from him. You still catch the movement of the fabric by his lips. “Isn’t that right?”

“Why,” he asks, “do you think that?”

Because you know him. Better than anyone else on this team. Better than Soap. Better than Price. You know that slow blink was a distraction from the smirk. You know those icy stares are only partly filled with annoyance. Mainly at himself for letting a fondness grow in the ruins of his heart.  

You can’t say all that.

Not when half the unit you were leading ended up with their brains splattered all over a wall hundreds of thousands of miles from home. Not when the threat of that happening to you still hung heavy over your heart. Especially not with Soap curled up next to the fire likely to fall in out of shock if the idea that you and Ghost having the chance of being anything managed to work its way through his thick skull.

“He’s a ghost, Soap.” You say instead. “His hand would pass right through me!”

Ghost laughs. It’s the ghost of a laugh. The barest hint of a chuckle he poorly attempts to disguise as a cough but you and Soap both know he laughed.

“Lt,” Soap says, “did you just? Did you just-“

“I don’t think you want to finish that sentence, Johnny.” He sits up a little straighter. Looming over us from his spot on the wall. Threatened.

Soap holds up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The fireplace popped, breaking any remaining tension and reminding you all of the time. Ghost announces he'll take first watch. You stare into the fire instead of making a joke about watches and dogs. Soap settled down right in front of it. Laid out, tactical gear and all. He had one hand gripping his rifle while the other was tucked under his head in place of a pillow.

“Sweet dreams.”

“Piss off.” Soap says and, moments later, there’s gentle snoring coming from the man.

Leaving you and Ghost alone to stare at one another from across the room. Both of you pressed up against a wall ready to peer out the window and take out anyone who dares to walk by.

“Maybe we should change his name to Sleeping Beauty.” You nod your head over at Soap. In all the time you’ve known him he’s never once had an issue falling asleep. “Seems more fitting.”

Ghost’s eyes slide over to Soap. You follow his gaze to watch the rise and fall of his chest. How his hand tightens around his rifle every few moments as if to remind himself that this safety belt is still there. You can’t fault him for it. There’s always been a pistol under your pillow when you sleep.

“Though,” you rest your hand on your chin. “That would require him being a beauty.”

“Not your type?” Ghosts asks.

You arch a brow and slide your own gaze back towards Ghost. He’s already staring at you. Goosebumps litter your arms. Enough to send shivers down spines. Yet there’s no denying a warmth that burrows itself in the pit of your stomach. Something hopeful. Like his bright eyes against the dark paint surrounding them. Something real compared to the phantasmic mask he insisted on wearing.

“Nah.” You shake your head. “I prefer men with a sense of humor.”

Ghost nods slowly.

Silence trickles back into the room.

“I’ve got a nickname for you.” You raise your head to look at Ghost who has shifted from leaning against the wall to resting his forearms against his knees and leaning towards you. “You said you didn’t have one back with your old team.”

“Not a real one.” Everyone in the barracks was likely to be called some variation of ‘dumbass’ or ‘fucktard.’ It had never been a defining nickname for anyone. “Not one I care repeating.”

Ghost tilts his head. The movement reminded you of a puppy. “Why not?”

You shoot him a look. He was proving to be thick-skilled in more than one way. “How does a misogynist keep himself warm?” There was a beat. “Incel-ation.”

“I’ve never understood that.”

“Do you want me to mansplain misogyny?”

You watched Ghost roll his eyes. It was a movement you’d seen a lot from him. Mainly when Soap was talking. Something done out of affection because if he was truly annoyed Ghost wouldn’t be in the room. “Misogyny.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “it must be real hard on a big guy like you.”

Ghost’s hand came up to fiddle with his mask. “You’re an ass.” The movement displaces the shadows contrasting the harsh glow of the fireplace. This was the most light you’d seen him in. Between him talking and touching the mask you could see the slightest hint of stubble. The kind that made you think there were dark circles under that dark face paint.

You return his eye roll. Less affectionate because, unlike the hulking man across from you, you were more than willing to express your aggravation.

“I’ll give you a nickname.” He says so matter-of-factly. “One that isn’t dripping in…”

“Prejudice?” You fill in. Ghost nods and your lips twitch up into a smile. “Alright, Lieutenant, let’s see what you got.”

Soap groans loudly, rolling over, but never losing his grip. The sight of his rifle swinging over makes you slightly nervous. You trust him. You trust Ghost, too. There are just the memories of earlier lurking at the surface.

Ghost must notice the grimace on your face because he clears his throat. Once, then once more until you stopped staring at the gun and the sounds of rounds grow quiet in your mind.

“Joker.”

“Joker?” You don’t mean for it to come out as a question. The word simply took you by surprise, but Ghost took your inflection to mean dislike.

“No, that’s stupid.” He shifts positions. Almost squirming in his seat to press his back against the wall. “No one heard it. It won’t stick. Just forget about it.”

Ghost’s eyes flick away from you. Just enough to keep you in his peripheral but far enough away that you assume he’s lost interest in the conversation. A trick that works on most people in 141. He has yet to get you to fall for it. You’re too eager to get wrapped up in conversation with people to drop something that easily. You’ve spent months battering away at him. Talking even when you knew he wasn’t going to respond. So far, it seemed to be working. He held conversations with you no matter how trivial or, if Ghost truly did not feel like talking, he let you chatter on for hours at a time without so much as attempting to quiet you.

“Joker.” You test the weight of the word in your mouth once again. “Because I’m funny or because I’ve got blood on my face right now?”

Ghost sighs, loud. A strong suggestion to shut up without the bluntness of snapping at you.

You bite down softly on your lip to hide the smile pulling on them. “Joker,” you say again.

“I told you forget about-“

“Shut it,” you interrupt, “I’m testing out my new nickname.”

Chills ripple out over your skin again. The icy stare is back. A refreshing reminder that Ghost cares enough to watch you. That he’s seeing the wide smile on your face. “You like it?” He asks.

“I’d like anything you were to give me.” The thought leaves you before you truly think about it. Maybe the heat of the fireplace has warped your mind or the shock has yet to wear off and you’re settling in true mania. “Sorry, that was… I, um, I’m sorry.”

Ghost grunts. You watch a long blink but shift your eyes down to watch what can only be a phantom smirk beneath his balaclava. “‘Is fine.”

You nod silent with embarrassment.

“Get some rest, Joker.”

Your name sounds so soft falling from his lips that all you can do is follow orders. You settle down in as comfortable a position as you can manage with your gear on and turn to face him. “Goodnight, Ghost.”

He nods. “Goodnight.” Only this time it’s followed by your name, your real name, and that sounds even sweeter than you could imagine.

[crazyvaleska]

Listen To Me | Jerome Valeska x GN! Reader

summary: you are jerome's psychiatrist at arkham asylum and after years of treating him he opens up about his childhood trauma

genre: angst

word count: 8479 (it's a long one folks! so get comfortable and grab ur popcorn & blanket! and tissues.)

warnings: cursing, self harm, mention of sexual assault & domestic abuse, mention of death & suicide, just a lot of angst in general. read at your own risk, you've been warned.

a/n: i started writing this back in august 2022 and finished it just now. been adding small paragraphs to this story every now&then. some paragraphs were written days apart while others were written weeks apart. i'm writing this bc i feel like there aren't many angsty stories with jerome. imo jerome isn't evil but broken. also having read his diary added up a lot to his character as it's pretty depressing. perhaps everyone has a different version of a certain character. here's my version of jerome.

also i got a tiny bit inspired by the harleen graphic novel and the joker movie for this !!

the playlist i was listening to while writing this: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5E2lk49zurRTAaHq3Nz7FQ?si=7TQxYHDsQ0ypPYkIvlLCpw&utm_source=copy-link

jerome's thoughts are written like this btw!

enjoy! (or don't.)

A huge amount of people would say it is impossible to become a psychiatrist at 18. That must mean they've never been to Gotham City. Here anything is possible. Therefore, you had just graduated medical highschool when you were offered a job at Arkham Asylum and you had no choice but to take it. You were aware of the risks of working in a place surrounded by criminally insane lunatics, but you didn't really have another option. You needed a job. Besides, taking risks never ever scared you. Though many viewed Arkham as a spooky place, to you it was interesting. Treating mentally unwell criminals was challenging because you liked helping people, no matter who they were.

What you didn't know was that one of the patients you would have to treat was none other than the infamous Jerome Valeska himself, probably one of the most demented and wicked being Gotham City had ever know.

Yet, you thought his character was rather fascinating. After all, you had known Jerome for years.

Jerome Valeska. How do you even begin to explain Jerome Valeska?

You first met him right after he killed his mother, the first time he was in prison. Before he died. Before he was an infamous murderer. And you had to admit, he did become more intimidating as years passed by.

There was nothing out of the ordinary about him at first, same old story about the son committing matricide. Though, he never told you the entire story. You noticed he was uncomfortable and you didn't want to push, everybody had their boundaries and you respected that.

If you had to describe in one word the way he was acting in his firsts therapy sessions, you would use the word "flirty". Sort of. A mix of charisma and inappropriate jokes.

He told you he didn't plan on killing anyone else, claiming that the murdering of his mother was something personal. For some reason, you chose to believe him. Until Theo Galavan happened. It was like the Jerome you once knew had completely vanished. He was the same and a different person at the same time. You almost felt sorry for him. But then again, you weren't supposed to get attached to your patients. Jerome was charming and all, but he probably didn't feel the same way you did. He was just a kid after all, and so were you. Both 18. The only difference was, you were trying to cure insanity while he was trying to spread it.

A few days later he died. Actually, was murdered. Poor thing, you thought. You wished you had more time to know him. You wished you could've helped him. You knew small parts about him but not his entire story.

You had hoped you would forget him as time flew by, but you didn't. His evil crackle never left your dreams. It was always there. You could hear it all the time, as if he was trying to reach you. It was torturing you. Yet pleasant at the same time. You missed him, truth be told. But you knew he was in a better place now. Or so you thought.

That was until he was resurrected. Being honest, you weren't exactly surprised. This was Gotham City, after all. Everything was possible in Gotham. The actual shock was seeing him faceless and unconscious. You wondered how much strength does one require in order to be able to staple their face without passing out. Jerome's pain tolerance was so high, it concerned you.

By the time the ginger maniac was sent back to the Asylum, his face had been attached back to its place. He was hideously scarred now, wearing a permanent disturbingly bright smile. Although, to you he looked fine. Somehow attractive. You weren't sure why. Maybe it was simply your questionable taste in men. At the same time, he was much more intimidating now, much more grown. And as a result to him dying by being stabbed in the throat, his voice had also changed. It sounded more threatening now.

"It's good to have you back, Jerome!" you said in his first therapy appointment of the year, a warm, kind smile on painted on your lips.

His reply came out natural, "Well, at least someone missed me." but his face was expressionless and emotionless, and his voice numb, as if he had lost his spark.

To most, he was simply just out of his mind, a low-life criminal, but you felt there was more than that. You desperately wanted to know what made him the way he was, what made him turn to a life of crime, because you knew no one was born evil, not even in a city like Gotham (though he wasn't born in Gotham) it was usually the environment that could cause one's insanity. And you could see it in his eyes: he wasn't born bad. He was shaped evil, but not born evil. But then again, anyone could go insane with just one bad day.

Jerome was very charismatic, he could get anyone do whatever he wanted. Nevertheless, he was an amazing liar, you couldn't ever tell when he was speaking the truth and when he wasn't. He didn't seem to care about the way others felt and showed lack of remorse, he was impulsive and manipulative, deceitful and reckless. He was extremely narcissistic and showed lack of empathy towards others, and you had diagnosed him with Psychopathy Cluster B Personality Disorders and Schizophrenia. The ginger was on different medications. Sometimes he didn't take them, other times he did and not only his, but others' as well . You had told him multiple times how that was no good for him, but he never listened.

The thing about Jerome was, you never knew what he would be like in your therapy sessions. Sometimes you felt like you knew Jerome, but did you really? Oftentimes his behavior was passive aggressive, other times he would crack up jokes and you actually enjoyed his company, getting lost into his mesmerizing hazel eyes, as if you two were actually friends. Most of the times he just stayed quiet though, especially if you mentioned his family. Sure, he had no problem talking about killing innocents but once you switched the subject to the murdering of his mom, for example, he would tilt his head and pretend he didn't hear you or just say the same old story about her being mean, but you suspected it wasn't just that, you could see it in his eyes that part of him was still... hurt? His eyes spoke volumes. Although he always tried to hide it by pretending to be a God, deep down he hated himself. But of course he didn't want anyone else to know that, he didn't want to be seen as weak. Not anymore. He knew better than that. You noticed this thing about Jerome, he tried to act unbothered all the time but he always did this head tilting thing whenever he felt uncomfortable. Sure, Jerome was always surrounded by people, mostly his followers, but being around people doesn't mean you actually trust them. And you couldn't blame him for having trust issues considering he was stabbed to death by the only person he ever trusted. You could only imagine the feeling of betrayal he felt. That must have been traumatizing, but he had never ever addressed it.

One rainy Thursday the young Valeska told you he was upset because there wasn't any pudding left at the cafeteria. So the following day, Friday, you came up with an idea that could get you killed, but it was worth a try.

It was getting dark, your shift was over and you were supposed to go home. But instead of heading towards the Asylum's exit you found yourself walking towards its core, towards one certain inmate's cell, inmate E-146's cell: Jerome's cell. You would be lying if you said you weren't nervous, because you were. You didn't have anything to defend yourself on you. If anything, you were aware you were walking towards something that could be mean your sudden death.

You did have to pay bribe to the prison wardens that guarded his cell. They warned you about the homicidal redhead, but you liked to believe you weren't scared of him. To you, Jerome wasn't scary-looking. What really scared you was his mind. You had read his criminal record thus you knew what he was capable of. Even though you tried to tell yourself he won't hurt you, truth was you had no idea what he'd do or say, he was unpredictable.

First time you stepped foot in his cell was an experience you weren't going to forget anytime soon. The room was smaller than you though it would be. Not that you were expecting any kind of luxury. But this was worse than anything you had ever imagined. The first thing you noticed was the extremely low temperature, it was bone-chilling. No wonder why Jerome sounded sick all the time. Four gray walls and a dark ceiling that looked like it could collapse over you at any given moment. A bed for one person that was placed next to a prison porthole and near it a small, cheap table with an old chair in front of it. The smell wasn't very welcoming either, you thought rats were the only thing missing from the picture.

Jerome didn't notice you initially, he was busy writing in something that appeared to be a notebook. You cleared your throat loudly, which made him jump. You caught him off guard, quite literally. He looked equally shocked and confused to see you.

"Whatcha doing here, doc?" the redhead asked as he sat up. He placed the pencil down and closed his book, then took small steps closer to you. Only now that you were both standing up at the same time you noticed how tall he actually was. In the therapy room, his arms were always folded together in a shinny white straightjacket that prevented him from harming the doctor before him. You had actually never seen Jerome with his arms free so close to you before. He was wearing his stripped prison uniform instead of that tight straightjacket and you could tell he was way more muscular than you thought, his hands were enormous, he could knock you out in a second. His looks should've alarmed you but for some reason they didn't. Actually, you were happy to see his body looked healthy. Everybody said he looked like a nightmare, but to you he was the opposite. You shook your head quickly trying not to think of that or anything potentially inappropriate.

You hitched your breath nervously as you took a few steps back. "I told you already, you can call me Y/N... Uh, yesterday you said there wasn't any pudding left for you so I thought I would...um ... I... well," you stuttered while searching for something in your bag. The man raised an eyebrow but stayed silent. You reached your hand out, holding a bowl of chocolate pudding, "I-I... I made it myself! And I paid the guards to leave..." you said in a low murmur.

The unsurety in your voice didn't go unnoticed and it made Jerome grin. He walked even closer to you and crossed his arms while nodding, "That's so brave of you, Y/N! But you do realize I could poke your eyeballs out and squash you like a bug right about.... now!" he hissed. The next thing you felt was your chin being lifted up by his gloved hand, holding it in a tight grip, forcing you to face him. You avoided looking directly into his eyes so you just stared at his hand. Unfortunately for you, that seemed to bother him, "My eyes are up here," he used his free hand to point at his eyes.

The fabric of his white glove was soft but his touch was aggressive and harsh, the clutch on your chin was hard, "... I just... I just came here to give you this, nothing more." At first, Jerome was very sceptical, not believing any of it. He even thought the pudding was poisoned and insisted on you having a try before he did. The rest was history.

That happened approximately one year prior. You had spent the last 12 months seeing Jerome 2 times a week: one time during his therapy appointments every Thursday, the other time every Friday night, when most of the Asylum's staff had gone home. You had stolen they keys to his prison cell and no one knew about your late at night meetings with the clown prince.

The first times everything was pretty awkward, Jerome used to search your bag and pockets for any sharp objects that you could potentially use against him. But with time he stopped doing that. Approximately after 6 months.

You mostly brought him food, especially sweets, Jerome loved candies but he wasn't allowed to eat those in prison. Sometimes you even played cards with him and he would win every game, the boy knew how to play the jokers, that's certain. He did make inappropriate jokes from time to time, but nothing that made you too uncomfortable. He never touched you or anything like that. Everything stayed platonic.

One time you attached a colorful self-made bracelet to his wrist. You had a similar one on yours. Jerome pretend he didn't like it, telling you that friendship jewels were a waste, but truth be told, he liked it, he wore it all the time, he liked playing with it beads. Of course, he made sure it stayed hidden underneath his sleeve. He didn't want anyone else to see him like that. He had a reputation to uphold. Thus sometimes he would threaten your life in a playful manner just because he was Jerome Valeska.

You had also noticed the ginger was great at arts and crafts so you brought him crayons. Lots of them. The previous week you even brought him a scissors after he had begged you to for weeks. He promised he wasn't going to hurt other prisoners with it. He was using those to draw and decorate his diary. You knew he had a personal journal that he had never showed you. But you were cool with that. Though you wished he could open up to you, you didn't want to push, you wanted him to talk to you because he wanted to, not because he had to. All you knew was that you desperately wanted to help him get better. You didn't feel that way about other patients. Obviously, you wanted to help them too, but with Jerome it was different. Not that you would ever admit it out loud, but you had grown some sort of crush on the maniac. You knew how wrong that was, but you couldn't help the way he made you feel everytime his eyes met yours or when he smiled at you. You came to the realization that Jerome wasn't half as bad unless he was surrounded by other loonies or by people he despised. He was quite chill aside from his maniacally laughter.

Although Jerome didn't own a watch, he simply knew what time you were supposed to show up. In fact, he had actually grown to like your little visits. At first he found all of this annoying and irritating, but with time he changed his mind. You weren't so bad after all. Actually, he was waiting impatiently each of your visits. You were nice to him. Not a lot of people were nice to him. Nobody, actually. Just you.

Therefore you being late one certain night didn't go unnoticed. Strange, Jerome thought at first. You had never been late before. Was this all? Did you spend all that time with him only to leave him like that? Did you replace him with another patient? Did you get bored of him? Did something bad happen to you, perhaps?

Jerome shook his head. He didn't like to picture you dead. Why was that? He loved everything about death and killing, blood and gore. Why did it bother him now? He promised himself he wouldn't get attached. No, no, Jerome Valeska didn't give a shit about anyone. He was heartless. A monster. Everybody said so, so then it must be true. So what if you died? Who cared? Not him, that's for sure. Yeah.

But then, why had he been walking circles in his small cell for minutes? Why was he breathing heavier and why did he have an awful gut feeling? And now how did he find himself in this position again? Sitting on his bed, facing the wall with teary eyes, clinching his fists anxiously and twiddling his trembling thumbs. There were drops of dark red blood on his already dirty mattress. Drops of blood between the beads of his bracelet. When did that happen? He could vividly remember when he started pressing the scissors down his wrist. It all happened so fast. He didn't even apply much pressure and yet he had managed to draw enough blood to cover his fingertips. How did he end up like this? Like a sobbing mess. Why did you do this to him? Why did you give him hope? He should've known better. Humans are deceitful beings. They lie and they never keep their promises. One day they love you, the next they don't need you anymore. So he really didn't learn anything from trusting Theo Galavan after all. He remembered it as clear as day. He thought he could finally be happy when Theo came along, gave him a proper bed and proper clothes. He was like the father he never had. But then his life flashed before his eyes as he dropped dead by the hand of the one man he thought was trustworthy.

Oh, dear ol' Jerome. Getting attached to the first person to treat him like a normal human being again. So all those times you took care of him were all on act. Of course. Why was he so stupid? Stupid enough to think anyone would ever care about him. Of course it was all a lie. He hated you. This was pathetic. Everyone was pathetic. Crying was pathetic. Crying was for the weak. Jerome wasn't weak. Not anymore. But what if, perhaps, you weren't even real? What if he had been imagining you the whole time? After all, it was all too good to be true. But maybe that's just the way life is: it hits you harder than a train truck, then you feel good for a while because you start doing things that distract you from how you truly feel, killings in his case. But then you realize you weren't ever really happy, just delusional and that makes you depressed again. It's like a never ending loop.

The boy shivered at his own thoughts. So many questions at the same time. His mind was suffocating him. But he liked it, didn't he? Or maybe did he just trick himself into thinking he liked it? He liked being sick, right? Who was he without his sickness? Pills. He needed more pills. The pills were never enough. If only he had enough pills to...

His train of thoughts was interrupted by the very familiar sound of his creaky door being unlocked then opened. Jerome knew this could mean one thing. He quickly wiped his teary eyes with his knuckles then clothed his fingers with his gloves. He cleared his throat, "Where were you?" he asked, his voice harsher than ever. He didn't want you to see him vulnerable. He tried to hide it. He didn't want to admit not even to himself he was somewhat worried. But, in fact, he had grown very fond of you. He wasn't sure why, he wasn't sure what he felt towards you. There's a very thin line between love and obsession. All in all, part of him was relieved once he heard your voice.

"I'm sorry, Jerome. I had some things to take care of. Things that involve you, actually," you closed the door behind you and took a few steps forward.

The last sentence got Jerome's attention so naturally he turned his head around to look at you. His stare was so intense it seemed like he was staring directly into your soul. His hazel eyes were so beautiful yet so terrifying, you couldn't stare at them for too long. The dark circles under his eyes were darker than ever and you wondered if he ever slept. It was your job to help him get better but it seemed that he was getting worse everyday, like he was losing himself therefore you were failing. But you had to pull him out of his misery. You had to.

"You threatened Oswald Cobblepot," Jerome couldn't help but snicker proudly at your remark before you could continue your sentence "And you also took his medicine. How many times have I told you that taking meds you don't need only makes things worse?" you paused but the boy didn't reply. He knew it was bad, he just couldn't help himself. You sighed "They want to change your therapist, Jerome. They don't think I'm doing a good job with you."

Jerome's face dropped, "As in you'll be replaced?" he asked and you nodded. No, this wasn't possible. You were lying, you had to be. First you're late, now this. The redhead jumped out of his bed and walked up to you, "You're lying."

"Jerome-" you started but he didn't let you finish.

"Don't you dare to Jerome me. You're an hour late and now you're telling me you wanna get rid of me?" his tone went from numb to mad in a matter of seconds.

"I'm so sorry for the waiting, I'll try my best to keep you. I promise! Cross my heart and hope to die."

That only made Jerome crackle in an ironic manner "Oh please, Y/N. Don't make promises you know you can't keep. Empty promises. You're growing tired of me. It's funny, actually. I think this may be just my luck! Jeremiah promised he wouldn't leave too, but he did anyhow. And now you."

"Who's Jeremiah? I don't know what you're talking abo..." you felt like you couldn't breathe as panick took control over your body, "...why is there blood on your gloves?"

Shit, Jerome thought. "It's paint," he smiled but you knew he was lying the moment he tried to change the subject "Jeremiah's an old acquaintance, if you will."

"I never brought you paint..." you murmured. Then you remembered what you did bring him. The scissors. "You promised you won't hurt anyone with it..." you whispered.

Jerome shrugged, "I promised I wouldn't other inmates. I never promised I wouldn't hurt... myself...!"

Your eyes opened widely at the sudden realization. You covered your mouth with your fingers and your heart was beating impossibly fast while tears were filling your eyes. It was only now that you noticed his slightly puffy eyes too, "I'm so sorry... Jerome... oh God..." you muttered. He didn't look at you until he felt your hand on his.

Jerome hesitated to speak at first, "Oh, y'know... the scissors just slipped. I'm fine, really. No need to worry about me. If anything, I like bleeding out."

You knew that wasn't true. "I'm gonna get the doctor... we need to get it patched up."

"Then they'll know you're here."

"I don't care. I'll probably lose my job anyway. You hurt yourself, Jerome. You could get an infection. Fuck, I was supposed to help you get better but I didn't do shit! Now you're bleeding and it's all because of me-" you were cut off by Jerome's gloved hand covering your mouth.

"Shh. I'm fine, Y/N. It's not that serious. It's just... I don't feel safe when my scars are healed. I need to bleed to calm myself. It's like a part of me. It's my biggest comfort."

You tried to mumble something underneath his hand which made him frown, "I don't need your pity, Y/N. You're trying to weaken me, it won't work," he moved his hand, giving you the chance to speak.

"Please, Jerome. I care about you! I won't let you hurt yourself any longer!" you cried out. It was true. You would've done anything for him and it hurt you knowing he was harming himself. He thought he had it all under control but clearly he didn't. You were scared of what he could do to himself next. You couldn't just watch him destroying himself knowing you could've helped him.

Jerome shook his head repeatedly and covered his ears with his plams while circling around the room, mumbling things to himself. Eventually, his voice got louder and louder, "NO NO NO NO NO! No, you don't, stop saying that! Cut the bullshit, Y/N! You don't care about me, no one does! Jerome has no one, Jerome's all alone! It's how it's always been. It's how it's always gonna be. What the fuck do you want from me? Look at me! I have wanted to die for as long as I can remember. And guess what? When I finally did some jerks thought it'd be funny to bring me back to this shitty life! You think you understand me, but you don't! You can't save me, you can't fix me! What have you done to me? You cracked me! Just leave me alone! Leave me alone! LEAVE. ME. ALONE!!!" he yelled as he shed a single tear.

His face turned red from all the rage and you could swear he was gonna kill you at that very moment, but he didn't. Instead, his body collapsed on the ground. He was hugging his knees while staring at the floor, with his back pressed against the cold wall. You had no clue what just happened but he looked defenseless, practically harmless right now. You knew this was risky, but you kneeled next to him then reached out your hand and caressed his shoulders which caused him to look at you. You didn't see a psychopath in his eyes anymore, just a frightened child. That wasn't the ginger maniac everybody feared. That was a poor boy stuck in his traumatic past.

"Let it out, Jerome. This is why I came here, so we could talk like 2 human beings. Help me understand you. I know I can't take your pain away, but you can talk to me," you whispered.

"I'm not a human being. I'm a monster, can't you see? Everybody fears me. I'm the monster parents tell their children about," he muttered quietly. Usually he said that proudly, but now it sounded as if he was ashamed, which was very out of character. What he felt at that very moment was confusion.

"You're not a monster, Jerome. I have this feeling that... you're misunderstood, like no one ever listened to what you had to say. I am here to listen and I promise I won't laugh or judge. But if you hold everything inside you it's only gonna get worse... Let it all out, please." you spoke in a soft murmur.

"I don't even know.... what I am supposed to say," Jerome sobbed.

"Anything that comes to mind, that upsets you, that you wanna get off your chest. What is that one thought that won't let you get rest at night? The things you always wanted to say but nobody ever listened to. The things you always tried to forget because it all hurt too much. I can see the depth and complicity of your character, Jerome. You're not evil. Your past is haunting you, isn't it? I can see it in your face, it was rough. So please, I just want to help you. And I won't tell anyone, you have my word."

The ginger glanced at you with furrowed brows, trying to keep track of his thoughts. He felt something he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. He felt helpless and he didn't know why. He didn't know why he suddenly no longer felt in control. Was it because you were the first person to actually look at his wounds concerned instead of laughing? Because you were willing to actually listen to what he had to say? No one had ever told him that before. Except for you. But he couldn't bring himself to entirely believe anyone could actually care about him. His chest was hurting and his heart was aching. He was tired of hiding.

"... okay, I'll tell you everything," he nodded his head eventually, "but I'll never tell this story again so you better be all ears."

You nodded while caressing his once-so-soft-cheek slowly. Initially he shuddered, then he closed his eyes and leaned in your touch, giving you permission to carry on. Tracing your fingers on his cold pale skin made you feel his every scar, but his scars didn't scare you, they never did. You could tell he wasn't used to this kind of stuff. He wasn't used to people treating him like a normal human being. He wasn't used to being touched unless the touch was meant to harm him. He hadn't even started talking but you just knew something terrible was about to come out of his mouth.

The man took a deep breath. He knew that once he started speaking he wouldn't be able to stop. He had been holding all in for so long, it all came out like word vomit.

"Jeremiah is my twin brother. He was always mother's favorite. Mother. Can I even call her that? No, she was never my mom. Lila Valeska never loved me. She never treated me like her son, not even when I was a baby. She had only one son and that was Jeremiah. I was just... there. Like a nephew she had to take care of or something. But not a son, no. She always said I ruined her life. Yeah, like it's my fault she had unprotected sex. But I could never understand why she praised Jeremiah all the time. What was so special about him? What was he doing so much better than me to get that kind of appreciation from mama when we were just 5 years old? I can only remember he was into maths and puzzles and that kind of shits from a young age. He pissed the hell out of me. But I didn't hate him. I mean, at the end of the day he was still my brother. And sometimes he would hold me while that whore was busy banging clowns the next room, assuring me that everything would be alright and that mother didn't actually hate me, promising me that one day we'll get out of the circus and live our best lives. What a dirty little liar...! And to think I actually used to believe his empty promises... Until he turned his back on me."

Jerome paused. His eyes were now filled with anger, you could tell he didn't like his brother much. Then he continued.

"It happened once we turned 7. Lila had hit me multiple times and I don't even remember what was the reason, but then again, it's not like she ever needed a reason to hurt me. Before this it was usually just slaps, but this time it was a proper beating. The sadness mixed with anger I felt at the time were too much to handle for a little boy. I had to somehow let it out, y'know? So... I started mutilating small animals. Soon I grew an interest in murdering them. And it felt... therapeutic. I know I should feel ashamed of this, but I don't. I never did. Hell, I even pretended they were her because I knew I wasn't strong enough to actually hurt her back. How fucked up I must've been to behave this way at 7, right? But things got complicated when Jeremiah found out. He said," Jerome talked in two different thin voices the next parts:

"... ' I understand your anger, 'Romie! I think it's quite interesting, really! '

I actually believed him and replied happily ' You think so, 'Miah? But please don't tell 'ma, she'll get really mad at me! My cheek still hurts from the last slap she gave me! '

' I would never! She hits me too sometimes, you know. But I don't know why she's so mean to you all the time! '..."

Jerome cleared his throat and went back to his usual tone "Well, he kept his promise, kinda. He didn't tell our mother but he told uncle Zach ―and let me tell you this― he was the WORST. Such cruelness in one man. He used to cook food for the other circus members, but he was an ex prisoner, spent years in jail for robbery and rape. Yeah, that's my fucked up uncle. He was a cook and yet I was always left to starve. Mind you but I used to be underweight 'cause of that.

Anyway ...! Dear ol' Zach thought I had gone psychopathic when little 'Miah showed him the dead animals' corpses, so he made sure he worked me over. And, of course, Lila made sure of that as well. And as if those injuries weren't enough, Jeremiah saw this as a perfect opportunity to leave the circus. He started spreading rumors about me kickin' and punching him, feeding my mom and uncle with funny stories about me threatening his life, when the truth is I never touched a hair of his. For him, those were the stories that were gonna get him out of that damned place we so called home. For me, those were the stories that were gonna ruin my life. Even though I tried to defend myself they never believed me, because after all I was the animal abuser while he was the perfect innocent son, with his little nerdy hamster glasses and fancy books and puzzles. And let's just say, it didn't end well for me when he would randomly bring up something that didn't even happen. He had totally brainwashed them and I was lucky if I could get away with just a slap or two. But they didn't abuse me just physically... verbally as well. The amount of times I heard them planning my murdering were countless. And maybe they should have done it. Maybe they should have murdered me. Instead, they used to remind me every single day that I was such a heartless psycho monster who's gonna cause nothing but disaster. Well, I guess they weren't exactly wrong with that one. I mean, just look at me now..." he narrowed his eyes.

"Nobody ever stood up for me. Nobody cared. Nobody. They always managed to cover it all up, they always told me to smile once they were done. I was known as Haly's Circus little sociopath. And Jeremiah? They'd always make sure he was treated right, that he got the best stuff, while I could be freezing at night and they wouldn't even notice.

On our 9th birthday our uncle decided to take Jeremiah to the city away from me so he could celebrate his birthday properly and left me with my mom and her partner at the time. The got drunk and had sex all day, not caring that I was in the same room, beating the shit out of me afterwards. And when I had finally managed to get out of that hell of a trailer, my father ―I didn't know he was my father back then, but he knew I was his son― didn't even try to comfort me, he simply told me to suck it up because nobody cared. And he was right. This world indeed doesn't care about me or anyone else. But for a child? Damn, that hurt. And I suppose it's even sadder now knowing he was my dad...

Moving on, by the time we were almost 10 his lies got worse and worse, and so were the beatings. According to him I had tried to poison him and to light his bed on fire. One time he injured his knee when he fell on the ground, but later lied about me pushing him down the stairs. But the last straw was when he lied about me holding a cake knife to his throat on our 10th birthday. My uncle almost broke my ribs for that and my mom repeatedly kicked my stomach with her legs. Honestly, I can't really remember that day. All I know is that they decided it would be the best if uncle Zach took Jeremiah away while I was asleep. And I'm not gonna lie, I was pleased when I saw they both left, but little did I know that it was only gonna get worse for me.

Haly's Circus is a nightmare dressed like a daydream. A lot of fucked up things happened there. I hated that place. And with Jeremiah gone, she started drinking more and more, and got more aggressive. She got pissed at every little thing I did and made sure I received punishment. Did I forget to do that dishes? She'd kick me. Forgot to take out the trash? She'd slap me across the face. Didn't feed her snake? She'd punch me. Was breathing too heavily for her liking or my existence simply bothered her? She'd beat me till my vision was blurry or till I coughed in my own blood. I did try to get help from the cops, but guess what! They didn't give 2 shits! Ya see, the system is so corrupt they don't care unless someone's been murdered. They made fun of me and I understood no one could ever save me, I was the only one that could free myself from the pain."

You stood quiet when Jerome removed his gloves. You hadn't seen his hands unclothed in a very, very long time. Last time you saw his bare fingers was before he died. His veins were more noticeable now, among with multiple half healed blueish bruises he had probably given himself. Seeing Jerome without his gloves felt like him breaking a wall between the two of you. Like he trusted you. Like he trusted you enough for you to see him at his lowest. He needed to trust you enough to tell you everything. The scarred man was silent for a brief moment, trying to find the right words to describe the next part of his story that made you feel like throwing up.

"On my 14th birthday one of Lila's hookers...how do I say this... one of her hookers touched me, Y/N. Like, parts he shouldn't have touched... And... she was there, watching. She didn't do anything to stop him, she didn't even try. I was crying and screaming and begging her to make him stop. She just laughed. Her awful witch-like laugh followed by her favorite line: ' shut up! boys don't cry! '. And afterwards she just left with him for the night and before that she told me to smile. Smile. I felt so embarrassed and ashamed. I felt like I couldn't breathe. I couldn't feel my body. The only thing I could feel were his hands all over my body... To put it into words, I felt worthless and helpless. Smile," Jerome smiled weakly through the tears as he repeated his mother's words, hugging his own body, "Smile. I was smiling that night. I was smiling when I tried to kill myself. It was all too much, I couldn't handle it. My life was a living Hell I started to believe Hell itself couldn't be that bad. So... I just took a bunch of her pills and I thought that was it, I thought I was finally gonna die. I smiled because I thought everything was finally going to end. Sadly, I survived. After taking the pills I dropped down to my knees and then... I don't know. I can't really remember anything except the fact I woke up with a terrible headache. Did she notice? Nope. Did those pills have had an effect on me? Absolutely.

I didn't have anyone to comfort me anymore. Not that Jeremiah was ever a great comfort, but it was better than nothing. I didn't have any friends, 'cause who would wanna befriend the freak who tried to murder his twin and massacred tons of pets? And if anyone tried to get close to me I would push them away. Literally. Push them. Because what was the point in denying my violent urges? Everybody thought I was the villain already anyway."

Jerome paused to blow his nose into a handkerchief you handed him. You were at loss of words. This was a lot to process and Jerome's voice was now shaky. It was painful to hear his life story, it was painful to look at him now, to stare at the helplessness in his eyes. Tough people always have the most heartbreaking pasts.

"I used to cry myself to sleep every night, but I barely managed to fall asleep knowing that she could strangulate me when her snake in my sleep, and I low-key hoped she would so my suffering could end already. But when I did manage to fall asleep I ended up getting a... What was that called? Oh yeah, sleep paralysis. She was the demon suffocating me. Even now... I can't ever properly fall asleep. I'm always half awake. Actually forget I said that... Stupid! stupid...." he cried while gripping on his ginger hairs, scratching his thin pale skin with his sharp nails.

"Jerome," you whispered and took his hands in yours, "it's not stupid. Your emotions are valid. Please, carry on."

The boy nodded and did as you said, "At some point I just stopped talking because my body was hurting so much. I started isolating myself from everything and everyone. Because you see, people like me, we're put in this world for one thing: to suffer. The only thing that made the pain go away for a while was the thought of torturing her, cutting her open and feeding her snake with her organs then bathing in a pool of her blood and maybe sending her bones to Jeremiah. All I know is that I was so sick and tired of her calling me names and spitting on my face, beating me up till I bled, abusing me, banging my head against the wall, ripping my hairs off, punching me with her cold fists, slapping and pinching my skin, throwing empty alcohol bottles at me and kicking my bones. And when she was done with beating me, she'd always call over one of her sex partners to have some fun. I was tired of having to hear her moans as she was getting railed the next room. But I knew better than disturbing her, because if I did she'd invite her lovers to beat me too... or worse. I just had to keep quiet because if I behaved she'd leave me alone for a day or two.

But in time I got used to it. The beatings and all. It didn't even hurt that much anymore. The psychical wounds healed eventually, but the emotionally ones were always there. She didn't even need to get physical, her words were enough to torture me, they were like poisson. Her words cut deeper than a knife. When she wasn't the one hurting me I was hurting myself. That's so messed up, I know. But what isn't messed up about me or my life? I just couldn't help it. I had grown addicted to watching myself bleed. It's like... that was my only comfort. My sadness, my pain... Bugs. There were bugs on my skin, crawling on it. One second they were there, the next they weren't. I had to peel some of my skin off just to make sure. But I liked it. I think. It looked pretty. Such a pretty shade of red...! I could've stared at it for hours. Don't know if I was high or if I just had lost touch with reality. Or maybe both.

I just wished she would just kill me already and be done with it, 'cause it was better to be dead than to be alive and suffering. I just wished that everything would go quiet once and for all. My mind was like a prison I could not escape. My mind was the darkest place. The negative thoughts, they were always there. The voices telling me to do horrible things to myself. People screaming. A thousand voices howling in my head all the time. Dead people. I saw dead people everywhere. I couldn't control it.

Nobody cared about me, so who would've noticed if one day I just disappeared from this world? If one day I just stopped breathing? Definitely not her. If anything, she'd beat my corpse. I mean, she didn't even notice my first attempt.

That's what I told myself as I tried to slash my veins. But then I heard it," his face suddenly lit up, "That voice. The voice. The only comfort I ever had was that voice in the back of my head. That voice that grew louder as the years passed by. That voice that was giving me hope saying ' your day will come, your revenge will come, you just have to be patient '. And I had done my waiting. All the suffering, all the abuse I was forced to endure were about the end. I wasn't gonna let her win. Little did that whore know her beatings gave me strength and a high pain tolerance. Suddenly, all the fear I ever felt towards her turned into hatred and anger. She was going to pay for everything she had ever made me go through. People call me insane but they don't know my insanity gave me strength to save myself from that Hell I used to call home.

So, by the time I was 16 I had already started planning her murdering. I started working out and made better meals for myself so I'd be sure I was stronger than she was. I wanted to no longer be skinny. I had also made the perfect plan to kill her and get away with it.

So on my 18th birthday, like a birthday gift for myself, if you will, I grabbed an axe and chopped her off, hitting her repeatedly with it, digging it up and down into her skin. The first stab was the hardest one, but once I saw blood drawing out I just couldn't stop. I laughed as I did. Seeing her like that, lifeless and all covered in blood made me shiver in a good way. It was like feeling a brand new emotion. I was...happy? Entertained? I had finally given in that voice, I was finally free! That day I promised myself that I would come after my brother and uncle too, they also needed to pay for the way they'd treated me. And after that I'd be finally free to kill myself... I know how fucked up that sounds, but now that you know what they put me through, I hope you understand why I had to do it. There was no other way. One of us had to go. I killed her because she deserved it, self defense really. You get it, right? Tell me you get it, please."

You nodded while massaging his thumbs. His eyes were red and so were yours. You were both crying. Jerome couldn't believe he just told you all of that. He had never told anyone about any of that before. Did he say too much? Did you not want to be near him anymore?

"Jerome, I don't even know where to begin... you are such a strong person, really. You didn't deserve what happened to you. It wasn't your fault. You were just a child, none of this was your fault. No one ever treated you like a human being. No one ever gave you a chance. It's like you were forced to be evil, you didn't have a choice. They made you evil. They turned you into the villain. Of course you snapped eventually. I can't blame you. I would've done the same if I were in your shoes. No one ever gave you the chance to tell the full story. I wish I could take it away. All the pain, all the suffering... Oh, Jerome... I can't even begin to describe how bad I feel for you. Your heart has endured way too much at a way too young age. It's not you who is the monster. It's them. You had and have every right to kill them, I'll even help you. Jerome... I'm so proud of you for staying alive. Jerome, please remember that you matter. You matter to me. I see you, Jerome. I see you for who you are. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are? You are a very, very handsome boy."

"Even with the scars?"Jerome smiled, his eyes puffy from crying. Not a threatening or disturbing smile. A genuine smile that made you smile too.

"Absolutely. Your scars just show how strong you are. Your scars make you prettier. I myself ain't a strong person but... I won't let anyone hurt you anymore, you've been through enough. And I won't let you hurt yourself either. Because I care. And you can trust me with anything, Jerome. Let me be the one person that makes you feel like home. Please." you got lost in his gaze. Words weren't enough to express what you felt. So you just hugged him. A gentle, loving hug. Jerome wasn't a touchy person in general, but he gave in and hurled himself into your warm embrace. Soon he was holding you so close to him like he was never going to let you go. Then he cried more. And louder. He cried on your shoulder and you patted his back. This was all new to him, he was still confused by the way he was acting. But it just felt right. He felt safe at last. He wondered if you were an angel sent from Heaven to rescue him. You scooped him up in your arms. Yours arms were tight around him, his head on your chest. He needed this. He needed to feel okay. He needed feel loved and accepted. You held each other for so long you could feel each other's breathing, and you weren't going to let go of each other anytime soon.

"Thank you for listening."

[sahsalart]

The Kyle-Wayne children.

For The Batman 2022 (c) Matt Reeves

(Left to right) Saint, Helena, Marcus Kyle-Wayne. (And Oreo the kitty!)

I drew this quite a while ago, so it’s old but I wanted to share it anyway! Probably will redraw it eventually, but till then here :)

Saint and Marcus are identical twins and 8 y/o, Helena is 5 y/o.

@majesticwren (thought you’d be interested and I’m a big fan of your Batcat fic!)

[undiscovered-horizon]

"Mirror, mirror on the wall" - Keoghan!Joker x Detective!Reader

[TW: scars, mentions of past abuse]

🫀REQUESTS ARE OPEN🫀

SUMMARY: A scar is not equal to another scar. Despite that, survivors are pretty much the same. Joker meets a detective who's not so easy to impress or intimidate.

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.6k

A/N: got inspired by playing 'Still Life' for the hundredth time. Old game but still great and highly replayable.

Gordon wasn't one to joke around, especially when it came to the life and safety of Gotham and its citizens. Still, you couldn't believe he was absolutely serious:

"Look as much as I hate to say it if there’s someone who can get some sense out of that madman, it’s you," Gordon confessed.

He's been at this for the entire week, no matter what excuse you gave him. Normally, he would be a lot more civil and drop the subject the moment you said "no" for the first time but, unfortunately for you, he was a little too desperate. You knew he simply cared and felt like there was nothing else he could do to push the investigation forward. It was that uncharacteristic pushiness that made you question your own will - if there truly was no one else and Gordon was crumbling feeling powerless, maybe you could take a leap out of your comfort zone and into the deep, dark chasm of uncharted trauma.

"Why me, Gordon?" you asked in a weak voice. Truthfully, you weren't sure why you were even asking him that question - you knew perfectly well why.

"You've been through shit, detective. Shit I can't put into words. You got a good look into a psycho's mind and came out alive. You survived history's worst and that changes people."

Elegant euphemisms were one of the reasons Gordon was so good with people. He knew that "change" barely scratched the surface of what happened to you.

"What about your bat partner in crime?"

The officer stood with his hands on his hips. He shook his head slightly before answering you.

"Batman may be good, really damn good but he lacks your self-control. Get him in a room with that guy and he’ll scream and bang on the glass like he did with the Riddler. Maybe even worse. And that ain’t gon’ get us anything useful out of him."

Gordon was right. You knew that, although didn't want to admit it as admitting it would rid you of all of your excuses and you'd have to face and make use of something that murdered a part of you years ago. A scar had to become a medal.

"Alright," you said quietly. Gordon's shoulders momentarily slouched. "I'll try but no promises."

"Good enough for me. Thank you, detective. I know how much this costs you."

"No, you don't, Gordon."

He didn't try to argue or reason. There was no way in which he could relate to your experience - to that dark basement and rusty chains. Although it gnawed at him, that he couldn't offer genuine understanding and sympathy to someone he cared about, Gordon was secretly relieved, even happy, that he was unable to. He saw how those terrifying days changed you, made you into an entirely new person and he lived in fear of what they would have done to him.

You would live a happy life never stepping foot on Arkham Island. The barbed wire, neogothic buildings, unkept gardens - all of that painted a grim picture of an already unwelcoming place. Arkham Asylum looked like Tim Burton's theme park joke was taken too far.

"My condolences, ma'am," the guardian who was leading you said. "Over here, we do everything not to end up in the same room with that freak and you came here willingly."

"Wouldn't call that 'willingly'," you said under your breath. Had Gordon appeared any less desperate or powerless, you wouldn't have agreed.

"Warden Sharp agreed to one hour interview," the guardian continued. He stopped in front of the door to the visiting room, his hand resting on the door handle. "If you need more time, your supervisor gotta send in a query. I know you probably know all the rules but I'm still required to tell you them, so: don't touch the divider, don't provoke him, don't hand out any prohibited objects. The guards are authorized to step in and immediately end the interview should they deem the situation dangerous for either party. Good luck with whatever you have going on, detective."

The guard gave you a sympathetic look and pushed the door open. For some reason, the lighting was outstandingly dim inside the room. While the side where the prisoners sat was bright, the visitors could barely see anything on theirs. Without a hint of anxiety in your step or facial expression, you entered the visiting room.

Once he got to see your outline in the corridor lights, Joker's eyes kept following each of your movements and microexpressions. Even when the bizarre darkness made you disappear for a moment, it felt as if he was still capable of seeing not only you but through you. There was a mischievous yet amused smile on his face. His visual did not terrify you - it no longer could. One simply cannot get scared of clowns after playing statues with the Devil himself.

"I'm a detective with the Gotham Police Department," you said as you sat down and pulled out the file you brought. "We're investigating recent bombings happening throughout the city."

"Sorry, sweetheart, can't remember making anything go ka-byool lately." His handcuffs rattled as he waved his fingers to accentuate his point. Joker's hands were drenched with already dried blood. That sight hit a little too close to home for you but you took a calm, deep breath and didn't let your sudden uneasiness show.

"Maybe not you but one of your old friends possibly had."

You pulled a few papers stuck together with a paperclip out of the police file. Carefully, you slid the small dossier through the small opening in the Plexi divider. It was a very 'train station booking office' design.

At the very top of the papers was a mugshot. The picture presented a heavily tattooed man with a bizarre haircut and a harelip: Cooper, who used to be something akin to an underboss before his boss, Joker, got locked up. Curiously, Cooper seemed to literally vanish off the face of Earth as soon as that happened.

Joker barely spared a glance at the picture when he voiced an opinion with utmost certainty:

"Nah, it's not him."

He pushed the papers back towards you with disinterest. It shouldn't be surprising: he surely knew more about Cooper and his possible associates than the police did. You couldn't tell him anything new.

"What makes you say that?" you asked. Joker only laughed.

"He's an absolute, complete, useless moron. He lacks the, hmm... " he paused looking for the right word while waving his hands, "sophistication for something this big."

"And yet he was your go-to for so many years. How did that work out?"

"Darling, you know what's great about working with idiots?"

"They don't ask questions?"

"Oh, you were so close!" he exclaimed giddily. "They don't question."

Were all antisocial people so nitpicky?

Although the building was old and made of stone, the air inside was very warm. Feeling a little hot, you rolled up the sleeves of your shirt, reluctantly presenting the very thing that made you eligible for that lovely interrogation you were conducting: various burns and scars left from chains digging into your skin. At least once a day you considered getting full sleeve tattoos to cover them up but it wasn't considered exactly professional among higher ranked police force. You didn't need another stigma following you and your career.

"It's you." Joker cackled with mysterious satisfaction. Was he expecting you? Truthfully, it wouldn't be so surprising: your survival made national news and the demimonde, directly connected to your capturing, could only be equally interested. "Please, indulge me, princess peach."

"How about you tell me what you know about the bombings and I'll tell you about what gives me sleepless nights."

"Aw, you're trynna tease me, officer?" His pronunciation of the title was at least mocking. It didn't impress him one bit and neither did the badge. "I don't like teases. They ruin the fun."

"Treat it as a fair exchange. Intel," you pointed at yourself first, "for intel." You pointed at Joker to make your point.

"And what if you're boring, princess peach?" he asked with a whine in his voice. "Who will guarantee my fun time?"

"No one," you answered with a shrug. Although that wicked smile never left his face, you thought that a shadow of viciousness appeared in his eyes. Something about your aloofness was getting to him. "You either play with fire or there's no deal. Just you and your sad little life in your sad little cell. No fun for either of us."

"Risky business, princess peach," he sang to you.

You had to make him cooperate somehow or anyhow. Momentarily, you leaned closer to the Plexi divider. The tip of your nose was nearly touching it. Joker's smile only widened.

"You tell me what I want and I'll tell you everything you want to know," you said quietly. "Every darkest, most fearful memory I have. You want to hear what he did to me and how? How loud I prayed to God to finally kill me? First, you gotta tell me about Cooper and who he could be working with."

Joker was quiet but appeared very cocky in his silence. For a moment he was simply staring at you, his eyes studying your face - he was evidently waiting for something.

"I'm looking forward to our little dates, sweetheart."

It was suspicious to you that between you and Joker, he was the one imprisoned and yet he seemed to be the only one enjoying himself. He wasn't stupid - he knew you needed him more than he needed you. In fact, he probably had figured out that if Gotham's police goes to him for help, you must be in a really hopeless place. Joker was going to milk your little arrangement as much as he could - that you were already certain of.

[jokeringcutio]

WE NEED MORE ALBERT SHAW X FEM READER FICS ‼️ ethan hawke just hits diff

YES! See my Grabber x Reader fic Masterlist below this text (: I have attributed a few to the fandom by popular demand. And there's a Reader having her Period Request Fill coming up right after Halloween. So keep an eye on my Tumblr if this takes your fancy. There are more prompts pending. I also write for other Ethan characters. I have quite a few fills for Moon Knight's Arthur Harrow, and my very first Ernst Toller fill for the Halloween prompts is online. Send me more, I would love it.

MASTERLIST BLACK PHONE

The Black Phone (2022) Albert Shaw / The Grabber: Stories: *~* The Chance to make a Change (Grabber x Reader) When you end up in front of the Grabber’s house, you decide to take matters into your own hands and stop Albert Shaw from kidnapping and murdering these innocent boys like he does in the movie. You have good intentions. But will you succeed? (Rating Explicit, Lots of warnings and tags such as odler man/younger woman, age difference, size difference, rape/noncon, violence, dead dove: do not eat, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, daddy kink, major character death, etc) *~* The Gift (Grabber x Reader) Your curiosity got the better of you (Mature, though not overtly explicit, kidnapping, older man/younger woman). *~* A Gift for his Gift - Albert Shaw / The Grabber x Reader Insert [ WARNINGS ] (Explicit, Dub/noncon elements/can be seen as a continuation of ‘the gift’). *~* TEARS - Albert Shaw/The Grabber x Kidnapped!Reader (Explicit, lots of warnings, Dacryphilia, Daddy Kink, Non-con elements). Reader hasn't succumbed to Stockholm Syndrome yet. *~* HALLOWEEN DECORATION – SWEET GRABBER X READER VERSION (Explicit) Reader is Albert's coworker. *~* TRICK OR TREAT – SWEET GRABBER X READER VERSION (Teen, No Warnings except perhaps dark undertones? But overall quite innocent). Reader rings Albert's doorbell to trick-or-treat.

Drabble: *~* Grabber Finds a Plushie, Yellow Bunny in your backpack, NC-17 due to themes. *~* A warm spring day in the garden with your family (implied kidnapping) * ~* You’re kidnapped and have insomnia (Smut), Explicit, Non-con warning. *~* You’re kidnapped and have amnesia [ Part 1 ], Mature. [ Part 2 ] *~* You’re his new neighbor and meet him when Samson enters your garden. Sweet, light drabble, bit of flirting, Rating: Teen. *~* The Grabber returns for you after you escaped him. Modern AU. Mature. Imagine: *~* Albert Shaw x (Teacher afab) Reader - Search Party

Crossovers: Black Phone & Joker

Drabbles:

The Magician - Reader and Arthur go to see a show, but the Magician is getting a bit too friendly. Rating: PG13, no real warnings except jealousy and possessive men.  Bumping into Albert on way to date with Arthur, Rating: Teen.

[goldentlme]

i’m searching for you in my fading memories .

alternate versions .

whooh . WHOOH !!!!! good GOD !!!!

listen to the song linked while looking I think it really adds . look up a translation too if you want ! listen to the entire lies of p ost in fact . its fucking fantastic .

NOTES .

in april 2022 , i drew a fanmade book cover for the danganronpa x reader fic Sleep Awake . in december of 2023 i redesigned my reader for that story for the third time and thought it appropriate to redraw that old cover with their new design . and yesterday , january 13th 2024 , i finished that bitch . View the fruits of my labour .

in my last Notes section i talked about nerfing the lighting . well um . i nerfed it again . i dont know if it was fate or if i just . idk . didnt want to but i axed both original concepts - the yellow overhead light ( mostly) , and the light blue under light - and just Winged the fuck outta it . that ' mostly ' means that the light source is Still overhead but i just took the colour out to make it more neutral .

another thing i brought up were the shelves and how i wanted to add more items to them . I did it this time , but not to the extent that i really wanted to . i'd hoped for more Clutter and ultimately couldnt think of anymore than a few items . SAID ITEMS BEING !!!!

the pills . self explanatory , since they haunted the majority of cases 2 and 3 .

chess pieces . cute little reference to the chess scene ! even if the scene itself didnt feature real chess pieces , the imagery wouldnt work if i didnt use real pieces .

the letter opener . dont need to explain this one . but i Did originally plan to have it in shin's hand ( explaining why that one is balled like that , because there was originally a Thing in there ) but i couldnt figure out how to draw it and make it look Good . i only added it back when i was colouring the trinkets on the shelves and realised that i Forgot to put it back into the drawing .

the joker card in the bottom corner . also shouldnt have to explain this one .

LITTLE DETAILS I THINK YOU SHOULD LOOK AT .

THE HANDS !!!!!!!!! i decided at the very last second to make them vaguely see through . and theyre all a persons ! amami and shinguji are the obvious ones , but the two holding at the top are supposed to be ouma ( on the scarf ) and akamatsu ( on the rope ) . i would have included tojo's as well but i couldnt fit it in the composition without it looking awkward and out of place and i thought there were already enough references to case 3 as is .

and you literally cant even see it but if you look REALLY closely at oumas hand . his skin is a little grey and you can see the veins through the skin . wonder what happened there . Guess we'll never know !

THE BOOKS !! did the same thing as last time with a Little More . purple books are ouma , green are both amami and tojo , blue is both kiibo and chabashira , pink is akamatsu , and red is phys themselves . i know phys's canonical colour association is olive green but consider : shin is red . look at him . hes Red . that ones for me specifically .

with that . i did all of those books by hand . i drew about 9 variations of books and copy pasted them sure but i Shaded and Coloured them all individually . youll never guess how fucking LONG that took . so yeah . no one book has the exact same shading . goodie !

THE JOKER !!! yes i know i talked about it in the previous section but i WILL talk about the card itself . because i unironically am so in love with how that drawing came out . the little guy featured there is my Lies of P oc scaramouche or scaramuccia ( i use them interchangeably ) . hes a silly jester :3 . the depiction on the card is of him in his prime , before . All Of That Happened . story-wise he's a super famous circus performer known as " The One Man Show " because all of his acts are done alone and are absolutely insane . hes very good at what he does which is Why he doesnt have a crew . and the only reason hes so good is because he't not even human , just pretending to be !

additionally , i originally planned for that joker card to be a Real Life Joker . because a little known fun fact about me is that i collect playing card decks ! but i looked and literally NONE of the ones i currently own would have fit the piece . so . yeah . i just ended up drawing darling scaramuccia . heres the full image im so chuffed

i think thats all i got for the drawing itself . i initially started this back in early december but got stuck and picked it back up a couple days ago , so its been marinating for a bit . hope we all like it ! i think its Better than the original . THE SERIOUS STUFF .

its so fucking insane to think that its been almost 2 years . not only have i truly rediscovered my love of reader insert fanfiction after so many years unable to even think about it without feeling a little sick to my stomach , but ive made so many good friends and core memories through this fic . i even got back into writing . literally never thought id write again after my 11th grade english class and my 10th grade creative writing class . and im having FUN with it . wild .

anyways , this one goes out to vee @chihirolovebot for writing one of The Fics of all time , putting up with my insane ramblings about idol these past months ( READ SWINGING RIGHT NEOWWWW ) , and for letting me help design their dnd characters . godspeed .

it goes out to nex @nexuswrites for beating better genshin character builds into me , giving great fic recommendations , creating thief of detectives quandary fame . READ DQ ( THREAT ) !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! , and being a fellow p5 and pokemon lover . i miss the coordinator and justice

and of COURSE !!!! rei @berry-creates . the gay the myth the legend . a fellow oc haver and lover , a fantastic writer , and an overall lovely person . this one goes out to u for sharing oc playlists , playing splatoon with me , and for creating maddie . theyre a little freak and i want to study them . i love seeing u go insane over them its like enrichment for me bc i too am also a little mentally ill about them im just really good at hiding it .

theres a whole lot more i could say and more people i could talk about but this is long enough , isnt it ?

thanks for a beautiful 2 years of physouma yaoi . heres to the upcoming sleep awake case 6 , epilogue , all the future additions to the one shot book , the entire rest of dq , tfp , and sams , and more blorbos to put in the smoothie maker . this took a whole two hours to write .

cheers , boys .

song of the post .