#and yes i kept things tame in these gifs lmao

[pharawee]

—KNOCK KNOCK, BOYS! · Episode 4

[ajokeformur-ray]

Ok so I have a joker request if you are taking them. Could you please do a headcanon for Arthur finding his s/o hiding in an alley during the riots cus the apartment got overrun and she had to escape, but when he finds her she is scared of him but tries to hide it. Sorry if this doesn’t make any sense.

I changed this up a little, I hope you don’t mind! It’s just what I have in mind is a little different in regards to the reader’s fear.

Okay so we got - swearing, smoking, rioting, moral flexibility (something I have so there’s a tiny bit of self-insert in here woops lmao), blood mentions. All pretty tame but I thought I’d tag them anyway! You never know.

For me, this GIF says one thing: wear your inside on the outside. Also, this poor man didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this, but that’s a separate headcanon set I already wrote and cried over lmaooo.

Quickly did the riots in Gotham City grow out of control.

There were police cars stationed everywhere; window screens bashed in, blood running down car doors as passengers had been killed immediately or knocked out upon impact.

Fires and fireworks, smoke bombs and smoke grenades all made Gotham a blaze of light, of colours and yes, it was pretty and it made you feel oddly happy, giddy, to see such a shitty city burning, but you were also terrified.

Before Arthur had left for his performance on the Murray Show, he had told you to pack two bags: one for him and one for you.

In the event that anything should go wrong, he had said.

You couldn’t have known how right that wrenching in your gut had been when it had told you to run, to run and to never look back.

But you couldn’t, wouldn’t do that to Arthur, and so you had packed both of you a bag each; with your precious possessions and a spare change of clothes, your spare apartment keys and anything else which you could think of.

You had left them by the front door, again as per instructed (you didn’t know where this confidence had come from, but you liked it more than you probably should).

Hours later, when Arthur was a wanted man and you had finished crying out of shock, fear and horror, the apartment building had been overrun as people who had fallen into the trap of mob mentality had taken out their frustrations on innocents.

Really, they were no better than the people they wanted to burn, but who were you to say anything?

So quickly had you grabbed your bags, having somehow successfully fought off the person who had tried to get in through the door, locked the apartment - it would probably be broken into but you hoped that the lock would hold itself - and done something you have should done earlier that day.

You ran.

Literally lost - in the fog, smoke and in the panic of tonight’s events had you gotten quite lost in the city you had been raised in - you had found an old dumpster and huddled behind it for safety, hugging your knees to your chest.

One thought kept you from going completely fucking mad. Just one.

Where was your Arthur?

His name was a soothing mantra in your mind, your eyes roaming about the place. 

All you could see was the back of the grimy bin, the wet and dank wall making your clothes stick to your back.

Later would you feel grossed out by all the bacterium that you were surrounded by.

For, now, though - 

A staggering figure dressed all in red.

A blood red grin from ear to ear.

Whistling that sounded like That’s Life.

“Arthur!” A hush of joy had fled your lips before you could stop it and the figure had stopped, whirled around desperately.

He was looking for you. His one.

He had heard you, somehow, over the utter chaos of the street.

“Y-Y/N?”

You sprang up, your cold joints aching in protest as you made your way over, holding your arms out like a child begging to be held.

It was as accurate a simile as any, in truth.

“Arthur!” You ran to him, your arms immediately throwing themselves around his neck.

“It’s Joker now,” he murmured, his arms coming to hold you tightly.

He kissed your hair, your face, again and again. He smelled of blood, the metallic tang tainting his every kiss. He smelled of greasepaint and a little of sweat, but underneath all of that could you still smell him.

“No,” You shook your head, moved to cup his injured face in your hands. “You’ll always be my Arthur, no matter what the world sees you as.”

A watery smile, a grateful kiss to your forehead.

He knew you would understand.

Green eyes sharpened as Joker realised you weren’t home. “Why did you leave the apartment? You didn’t listen to me! Why does no one listen?”

“I did.” You rushed to defend yourself, cheeks burning. “The apartment - someone got in. I fought them out, somehow, locked the door, and I got scared and I just wanted you, and - “

“Shshsh,” arms around you again as Joker held you protectively to his body, his eyes darting about the streets as he comforted you with quiet shushes.

Joker was hurt - a head injury, the cut on his lip, bruises all over his body, and you - if you were hurt in any way then he really would werewolf and go wild.

You were the only thing he had left to lose.

He had to get you both home.

He saw you had the bags - that was good. He hoped you had packed his contingency plans. 

You had. You were clever enough to put bits and pieces together; a cryptic comment here and there laced throughout your days with Arthur had all formed into a whole tapestry in your mind.

“I’m so scared,” You mumbled, half to yourself and half to Joker.

“Of what?” A sharp question. 

You clutched at him feeling his shoulder blades through his suit. You held onto them, finding comfort in the familiar parts of Arthur that you could reach.

“You.”

The word was out before you could stop it, before you could articulate properly, and Joker froze in your arms.

He went totally still. He stopped breathing. He stopped blinking. Time came grounding to a halt.

A broken whisper.

“You’re scared of me?”

You stepped back, stepped away, seizing both of his hands in yours.

Look at me, your grip told him.

He looked like he was going to be sick as he met your eyes, green swimming with unshed tears.

“I meant to say that I’m scared for you, not of you. Silly man,” You stepped closer again, pressing a kiss to the back of one of his hands, “How could I ever be scared of you?”

Joker’s brow creased as he struggled to understand through the exhaustion of all that had happened this night. 

Finally did he realise what you were trying to say and the sick expression on his painted, bloodied face mutated and turned instead into a smug grin.

So fucking perfect, he thought.

“They won’t find us.”

“Let them try,” You grinned, “They got what they deserve. It’s our turn, don’t you think?”

A joyful laugh.

You closed your eyes, cherished the sound, and when again you opened them did you find Joker closing in on you, to seal your promise with a blood stained, metallic tasting kiss.

Arms came around you, squeezed you into his embrace, and together did you take a few moments more to simply be.

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